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He was seated in such a way that he had very few blind spots but the lighting was such that he wasn't sure of her identity until she spoke. Already in motion to stand politely his smile widened as he closed his suit coat.

"Ms. Ives!" David exclaimed with pleasure. "I apologize for having missed your entrance or I would have introduced myself sooner." He may be wrinkled at times but he made sincere attempts to be polite.

"Thank you," he continued before motioning towards the booth. "Will you join me? Can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, no apology needed, I assure you," she gently insisted, freeing her hand from its clasping onto the other amidst the dark folds of her dress and lifting it out to stay him — although it seemed she could not keep him from rising to greet her, nor could she find it in herself to protest at the gesture. "You were... otherwise occupied, when I arrived."

She gave a polite nod and then gently slipped into the other side of the booth, carefully arranging the fall of her skirt across her lap before motioning to the mug resting on the table.

"Perhaps... another of whatever it is you are already enjoying here?" Rumpled though he might be, or slightly less pristine, she found her gaze lingering on his open collar for an extra moment.

Manners beget manners. Vanessa presented herself with poise and propriety and David could not help but respond. He waited until she was seated and settled before unbuttoning his jacket once more and retaking his seat.

"It is a cup of Mr. Pennyworth's signature brew," he explained already turning to motion to the man behind the bar. The man looked both indulgent and long suffering as he stepped away from the bar back and jogged quickly up the stairs. "I have tried to mix my own but I have yet to come close to what Mr. Pennyworth has concocted."

While they waited for the tea tray that would soon be coming back down David folded his hands on the table in front of himself and studied her. She was even more intriguing and splendid in person than over the device and his eyes were appropriately appreciative.

"They were a lovely partnership," he said glancing quickly to the dias to make it clear who he meant. "It is easy to be artistic when provided such alluring participants."

“I should have known,” she murmured, following his gaze across the room over to the bar and offering the man in question a similarly faint smile and a momentary, grateful nod before he retired to the upper story in order to prepare the necessary tray.

Her gaze soon landed on the man seated across from her, a look seemingly passing between them before he gestured to the dais; she did not have to redirect her attention for the memory to make itself known in her mind’s eye, nearly as vivid as it had been when she’d first been witness to it.

“And is that what you often favor? An allure that begs for artistry? Or do your tastes run more... broadly than that?”

In any other instance, it might have been a less appropriate conversation starter, but here, taking their surroundings into account, she did not suspect he would take offense.

Guiltea was certainly a place decorated and designed for conversations of an erotic, if tasteful, nature.

The bartender returned in short order. The tray in his hands held a pot, two matching cups, lemon, sugar and cream as well as a selection of fresh from the oven tea cakes. It was set down on the table between them and they were left alone. David reached a hand towards the pot in an offer to serve but then stopped himself and arched his eyebrows at her, in case she wished to serve herself.

"There are a few areas that do not suit my nature," he did not hesitate or act the scandalized man in response to her question. "The list is small but it is absolute. Otherwise, I like to think of myself as open minded on many pleasures consenting adults are interested in exploring."

He studied her for a moment struggling to restrain the very ungallant ask of whether or not she had enjoyed what she witnessed this evening. But he was wondering and that curiosity was no doubt in his gaze.

It was a space she was less familiar with, but no less intrigued by, given that most of her meetings and time spent had been on the upper floor. Now, of course, her attention was solely captivated across the table, and she offered a wordless indication to him to continue proceeding with serving them both, a subtle press of her lips serving as a signal that she would not object to his electing to pour for her as well.

"Of course. My understanding is those are what the individuals who pursue the lifestyle refer to as hard limits."

And she had her own list relative to herself, although she considered herself of a similar mind; those limitations were non-negotiable under any circumstances, and after a moment of letting the silence linger between them, she spoke again.

"Yes. If all parties are consenting, then of course... some things are worth exploring." She drew in a breath, quiet, subtle, and then mused, "Do you have a preferred type of rope to use for such constructions? I have only been bound myself just the once."

Her nuanced agreement was intriguing in how she managed to both agree and seem to expect it of him. The Superior General approved.

He poured her cup first and gave her a slight dip of his chin to indicate she should help herself to the cakes as she wished. Then he poured his own. He set the pot to the side within reach of them both and exposing the lemon, cream and sugar if she wished any of the additives.

Only then did he sit back with his own cup and saucer balanced in large hands. A dark eyebrow rose in response to the question and also the admission.

"It depends on the Submissive," he answered before taking a sip of his tea, his expression briefly blissful. "The Submissive always has first choice and last approval of the rope we use. If relinquishing that choice to me is something they desire then I will choose rope based on how the Submissive, what they have asked for in the scene and my own vision for what we wish to accomplish in the scene."

Another sip of tea and then a slight side nod of his head as he acknowledged that he hadn't truly answered her question.

"I like to use silk with female submissives and hemp with males. Usually I am seeking to accentuate the natural beauty of the former and the raw masculinity of the latter.

Did you enjoy your experience?"

The sugar was what she reached for, once the cup was settled in front of her, eyes flicking to him for a momentary smile of gratitude to be offered between them; any minorly observant person would be able to note that the amount of sugar she placed into her tea was well beyond anything that would likely make it palatable for anyone. Her sweet tooth was unrivaled among many of those she knew back home, and the same had seemed to hold true here.

Truth be told, she didn't have a specific answer she was in search of; it was more a product of her own curiosity, trying to gauge what sort of response he would give her in regards to the question.

It proved to take her by surprise, if such a thing was even possible.

"There are some in this city, I think, who believe that submissives are at a disadvantage in all things, and perhaps some of that is true to an extent," she murmured, recalling a previous conversation she'd had. "But if the dominant is truly respectful of their position in a scene, then the submissive is the one who holds more power than they believe. The right to choose, and the right to stop at any moment."

She paused for a sip of tea, setting her cup down again while she considered the question.

"It was the first time I had opportunity to experience anything of that nature here," she admitted. "Though it was with a dear friend I ended up contracting with, and he ensured my safety and comfort throughout, resulting in the scene being... very satisfying for me."

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