[ Professional wallflower or not, even without the giant glowing (... thing?), the man on the outskirts of the demonstration cuts a hell of a silhouette against the crowd. He hasn't escaped notice entirely, but he's been quiet enough to let drift to the back of her mind in favor of cringing at this mockery of a best friend of hers. (That ought to mean he's here, right? Then again, it'd be easy to get her hopes up...) ]

[ Her little titter persists even as the man raises some vague sort of acknowledgement. Or rather, because of it, she returns his glance, eyebrows raised. ] No kidding.

[ To be honest, she wouldn't even be surprised if this was a guy Richie might have rolled with out in LA. There's something so inexplicably slick even in the understated way he dresses, the way he carries himself—not to mention that face of his. He could be an actor himself, a right shoe-in for one of those generic eye-candy action heroes if he could manage the bluster. Or at the very least a hopeful, moonlighting as a bouncer— ]

[ —There had been a point to all this. ]

[ ... ]

[ Right, he seems to know old Michie, here, somehow or another. ]

I'm pretty sure I've heard worse, but I don't think he'd ever leave the workshopping to a stunt double.