The response wasn't overtly hostile, which was a great start given their previous interaction. It was discouraging, though, and Alfred had a moment of internal panic. What was he supposed to do, make an appointment? Surely not. And it was the sort of thing you were supposed to ask in person, wasn't it? It probably would have been easier to just write a letter and send it off (and then fret continuously until the return came), but that didn't seem like the right way to go about things. Should he have sent a letter beforehand to warn Mr. Fisk of his intentions? Tried to meet the man elsewhere and find some other pretense for inserting himself into their parlor on this particular evening? Was he doing this all wrong?

There was something in the other man's tone that implied that tonight wasn't the best time, but that could have just been Alfred nerves jumping to conclusions — or it could have been the fact that, however civil he was being now, Alfred knew that Ari Fisk didn't like him. As far as Zelda's oldest brother was concerned, never was probably a better time for this conversation. But maybe it was a bad time. Maybe Mr. Fisk wasn't even at home. Would that be a disappointment, or a relief? He wasn't even sure.

"Er, no," he admitted, face still flushed. "I didn't expect — I mean, on a Monday evening, I thought — I could come back tomorrow?" he offered. "Or — some other time?"

This was not exactly how he had planned the evening to go.