"Well, let's go then. Lead the way Richard." Azkar leaned back and turned awkwardly, popping open her case and pulling out a grey hooded jacket, which she quickly put on, but left undone. "I recently found the joys of changing temperatures, I'm playing it smart."
Oh, yeah, that was right. There were a dress-code in places like that. However, all things considered, Richard had a feeling they couldn't refuse to let Azkar in. He lead the way, across the road and into the restaurant. While they did get a few looks when they arrived, people turned soon enough, and the waiter that seemed to be in charge of telling people where to sit, waved them over.
"Hello," Richard said, making it perfectly clear he didn't speak any French, so that there wouldn't be any confusion. "Is there any tables? We don't have a reservation, but it would be great if there was some room." The head-waiter - the word Maitre d' popped into his head from visits to fancy restaurants when he was younger- nodded. "Oui monsieur, we have a table over here. Follow me, it might be a bit hard with the... wheelchair, but we'll take care of that." The waiter turned to Azkar, smiling, seemingly not shocked by her attire and lack of legs. "Anything for such a beautiful mademoiselle. So, follow me, follow me," the head-waiter said, and showed them to their table. It was one with a lot of room around, so that the wheel-hair wasn't in the way.
"If there is anything else you need, just call for me," the waiter said, before handing them three menus, and returning to his post by the entrance. "So," Richard said. "You want to eat in the wheelchair, or do you want one of us to place you in a chair?" he asked Azkar. He then opened the menu. "Also, I can't read this, only things I know what are, I either don't want, or are wines."
