The man Don Juan was talking to had noticed the way he laughed — it was rather impossible not to have — and paused for a moment, seemingly unsure what to make of it. Usually this was the sort of thing Don Juan would take as a sign to disengage — but usually he would have been building off of some clues about interest, anyway, not just taking shots in the dark. And he liked the spot he was in — he could glance Hudson's direction to see if he was looking without being too obvious. (Hudson wasn't looking). So if he wanted to smooth things over with the fellow he was talking to rather than scaring him off, and not have to find a new conversation partner, he needed to be charming.

(Hudson had his hand on the girl's waist; playing the game on easy. Don Juan would have to make it clear he was having fun without such gratuitous displays of public affection).

"You know that does remind me," he started, conjuring up one of his best crowd-pleasing antics: the time he'd gone sailing (during his two-month obsession on sailing) and been becalmed in the midst of what had turned out to be a mer colony. Hudson had heard this story already. Hudson had heard most of his well-trodden stories already. The story's connection to the conversation that had preceded it was tenuous at best, but it was a lively tale and well-rehearsed, so the bloke hardly minded.

"Do you want to step outside?" he asked, leaning in just slightly and hoping hoping hoping Hudson was noticing the body language. "For a cigarette?"

The man agreed. Don Juan, triumphant, led the way towards the garden door — which Hudson and his blond stood in the way of.

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