With a mug of Cronian coffee placed on the desk within Irving’s reach, they stare down at scattered papers.
A sound comes from somewhere in front of them. They look up and immediately beam at the sight of an awake Cormac.
"Hello, my dear!"
Cormac groans and places his hands on his back. He presses, making his spine pop. Irving chuckles.
"Oh, hush you," Cormac says, his voice annoyed but only on the surface. He reaches down to itch at the stumps of his thighs.
“Are those getting itchy?” Irving asks. “I-”
“You still have some nicer pairs, I know, I know,” Cormac interrupts. He sits down across from Irving, shucking the prosthetics off and tossing them behind him.
"You'll scratch the floor," Irving says in a sing-songy tone. Cormac huffs.
"Whatever." He reaches over and grabs the pot of food between them, and then a plate, taking the cooked egg inside and dumping some on.
"Irving, dear, you eat eggs like every morning." Cormac says amongst mouthfuls. "Don't you wanna try something new? Maybe spend some of that jewel revenue on a little treat."
Irving shrugs, and folds the map that they were looking at. "I like eggs."
Cormac sighs and shrugs. “...Alright,” he says through a mouthful of food. “So what’s the plan?”
“To put it simply, we park our ship outside of the city, dress up to attend the Queen’s ball, we snatch whatever riches we can find, we leave.”
“Are jewels just gonna be lying around the ship??” asks Cormac, pausing in his eating to look up. “Like, will there be a ball pit but all the balls are Callistoan pearls?”
Irving howls with laughter, the maps on the desk in front of them rustling in dissent as they’re pushed around. “That would be incredible luck on our part if there was something like that,” they say in response lightly, sipping their coffee. “But unfortunately, I doubt it.”
“There will be jewels and other such expensive items used as decoration, however. Some will be harder than others to slip up a sleeve or into a handbag, but you’re good with your hands, my dear Cormac. You could pluck a diamond off of a dress someone was wearing as you danced.” Dimples grace Irving’s cheeks as they smile.
Cormac flushes. “Thank you dear.” He almost reaches his hand out across the table to grasp Irving’s own, but decides against it. “Though I may very well get us caught. The elite are incredibly thorough with their dissection of who is deserving of such finery or not, you know. The Queen will surely have the best security by her side as well.”
“We have been to such parties before,” Irving responds, warm. “It will be alright.”