It may be warm out, but that really doesn't mean much in terms of the colors of Wren's wardrobe. It does, however, mean he's lost the leather jacket in favor of a white vest over a tank top. And sunscreen.

He's thinking of heading over to the zoo, maybe catching Hana, but there's some time to kill and he has music in his head, so he wanders into Quill to grab a drink and think.

At first he thinks he's just seeing things. Every tiny redhaired (or blonde, or sometimes pinkhaired) girl with a corset or sufficient spring in her step was Lexi, for a while, after they all parted ways. It had been maddening: every word something to tell Lexi or Rian or both, every corner filled with their faces and knowing he could have done something, something better, been better, less -- him.

He's been thinking he's over that stage, so he has to hold himself still and remind himself he's fucking in his thirties for a second.

And then she turns very slightly and he realizes it is her.

"Fuck me," he says out loud, drawing stares from patrons, including a glare from someone with a small child. "Lexi Gibbs. Were you planning on saying something?"