An Obnoxiously French Restaurant Near Broadway, New York, Saturday Brunch Time

[suitably_heroic]

This was without a shadow of the doubt the most pretentious, expensive-looking, suits-laden restaurant Atton had ever laid eyes on, let alone entered. He had briefly considered going for some of his Earthside nice-button-ups anyway, but no. There was only one way to approach a place like this: ironically.

So that morning he'd grabbed the rattiest of his old Fandom-era band shirts, an incredibly over the top Megadeth thing, and a pair of jeans. He had now walked into the building wearing said ensemble, ignored all the looks, and informed the guy at the front that yes, actually, he had a reservation.

(Points to guy-at-the-front's sense of professionalism, honestly. If Atton hadn't been Force sensitive he wouldn't have known the man was affronted.)

And now he was there at a table by the windows (the obnoxiously be-curtained windows), slumped in his chair, sipping orange juice from a fancy mimosa glass.

Perfect atmosphere. A+.

[[ for the one in pink. ]]