Boxer's just about to put his phone away when it buzzes once again. He rolls his eyes--this woman plays hardball like she gets paid for it. God, this better be worth it.

He's late.

Not egregiously late, but long enough that some of the other patrons notice that Sybil is sitting by herself for far too long, but the sentiment wanes when he actually shows up--rarely will these citizens begrudge the "disabled" for tardiness. Especially when he's put in the effort to be dressed to the nines--appropriate for this venue--in something he clearly spent a lot of money on to have this bespoke upper suit made for his bulk, a matching wrap going the complete distance to hide his inhuman lower half completely. Even the tentacles usually relegated to wheel duty have been packed away.

"Sorry. Been a long day."

Whether or not it was a lie or not is undetectable; the only thing in his eyes for sure is the faint yellow glow they have in this dim light, a stark change from the bleached light of the supermarket.

He orders a bottle of wine by name, one of their more expensive lines for those with a taste for dryer profiles.