[ Goddamnit, but Sal's got some moves, too. Her hand pushing back Anathema's hair makes her stomach turn over again; makes her wish, for the first time since she burned her ancestor's books, that she actually had the safety of a prophecy again. Some predictable guarantee, some promise of you'll get the girl and this works out okay.

Looks like you'll just have to wing it like everybody else for once, Anathema. ]

Mmhm. I managed to find a a Cuban place just the next neighbourhood over that I'm a fan of. I'm gonna ask that we walk this time, though. The wind'll fuck up my hair.

[ She flashes the other woman a wider grin, then. It really is a good restaurant. It was her closest thing to a touch of home in this strange and unfamiliar world; meals that reminded her of her mama's cooking. When they set out into the street — February is a little brisk, but they're in Nevada, so the night is still warm enough — she locks the door behind them, then loops her arm companionably through Sal's while they walk. ]

Saint Valentine isn't a thing back in your world, is he? Or something like it?