Marguerite tsks at the girl, growing more and more irritated as she goes on.

“Yes, and those men left wanting often turn to drink, which is where you should come in.” She shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. ”Theresa, need I really explain this to you? When we took you on, I had a hard time of convincing Aristide you were little more than a stupid dog- do try and prove me right.”

The girl’s insistence, however, at being allowed more responsibility, pulls a laugh from Marguerite. She rises and practically glides down to where Tessie has moved, and hovers over her. “Darling, if we had a need for more teeth, I would hire a dragon for the jobs. I require someone with subtly and occasionally business savvy- neither are traits you posses.” A devilish smile spreads over her face, as if she’s just thought up a delicious scheme. “But if you are so certain you can handle the job- go to Aristide. He is in charge of the runs. See if he will reward your hard work with more responsibility, hmm?”

Marguerite looks briefly from Tessie to the dance floor, for once pondering if the girl may be right. It’s a fleeting thought, however, and it’s gone as soon as it comes to her.

“The customers, petit chien, are here for one thing and one thing only. To drink. And that is what we provide- that is what you are here to provide. ”

With a small huff, she slides onto a bar stool, nearly in the way of where Tessie is cleaning, and stares coldly at the girl.

“Theresa, how do you expect to be trusted with larger work, if you cannot even be trusted to remain here?”

Dirt pretends like the punch has grievously wounded him, grabbing at his shoulder and pulling a comically pained face. Then he laughs–ah, he laughs so much when he’s with Tess–and sips at his whiskey. He glances over his shoulder, looks around a moment, seeing if he can wave off whoever is boring holes into the back of his neck, but of course they’re nowhere to be seen. They never are.

“I’d hate to see any kittens that woman birthed. Scary, sharp-toothed, angry kittens who like to go for the eyes. Ahh, no need to worry, though. I am a subtle man.”

And, oh so subtly, Dirt downs another good gulp of his whiskey and grits his teeth at the welcoming burn.

“Tess, I need to get going soon. The bosses are starting to get annoyed, you know they don’t like to be kept waiting. But, hey, let’s hang out again sometime? Outside work. I found this fantastic new hunting ground…”

Dirt tosses his head back and he laughs, rumbly and deep and bark-like, rubbing at his thick dark hair. Of course Tess wants to go dancing, and she’d fit right into the Palace’s swinging scene. “Maybe I’ll see if I can get you a leg-in, little pup,” he says in a low growl just for her ears before sitting up straighter again and leaning back on the bar.

“Chassis is putting it lightly, that woman is the whole machine.” Dirt gives Tessie a conspiratorial sort of wink, flashing his teeth. “I ain’t gonna get myself in too deep, though. And, hell, if I do, I’ll just swim right back. Have you knock some sense into my old head, eh?”

He’s all too aware Miss Duchess is, indeed, only a human.

“Another drink, sir?” the bartend interjects from behind. Dirt turns and gives them a look, as if surprised to be asked. They go about pouring him another glass of whiskey, and he accepts it with a grateful nod, sipping at this one slower than the first. Biding his time before he has to go spill the beans to his superiors, and all that.

Dirt cows his head soothingly toward her, another canine gesture that would go unnoticed by anyone else. Tess is filled with fire and spunk and it’s going to get her into a lot of trouble someday, but it also makes her adorable. He laughs and raises his eyebrows when she eagerly leans in, peering down at her with sleepy eyes and a wide grin.

“Mm, ritzy is one word for it. I’m usually the one servin’ up said booze, so I’d be inclined to say it’s pretty good. They don’t shirk for quality, that’s for sure.” Dirt rubs the scruff on his chin absentmindedy. “Good company, really. For humans. Can’t say I mind workin’ there.”

The sensation of being watched starts to prick at the back of his neck, and he knows his bosses are growing impatient for their report. Leave ‘em. He’s catching up with his girl.

“And the lady who runs the whole gig? She’s incredible. Got the looks, got the style, got the attitude... I think you’d like her.”

Dirt can see the way she carries herself, read her body language quite well. He returns with comforting posture, telling her: I missed you too, I’m always here for you, no matter what.

Aloud, he simply speaks what’s safe for prying ears to hear. “Hey, if the bosses want me to scope out that, haha, gaudy gin mill, I’m not gonna argue. It’s easy work.” He pats her on her shoulder and he laughs, flashing his teeth again. He’s glad to hear she’s safe, at least. Sure she could handle a lot, but Dirt’s tired old soul could hardly take worrying about his little pup out on the streets running rum. Getting in danger.

“Yes, yes, in time, I’m sure,” Dirt says to the girl, before downing the rest of his drink and sighing. “I know it’s hard for you to be patient, little pup, but it pays. Soon enough they’ll see what you’re worth, and you’ll be ready for it when they do. Ain’t that right?”

And Dirt will be keeping a sharper eye on her if that ever happens. Keeping her safe. She’s one of the few around here who truly understands him, and he won’t have her hurt, not over the idiotic war between his two speakeasies.

Not like he’s making it any better, spying the way he does. Exacerbating it.