Maeve, growing up, had certainly never been short on other children surrounding her. Now, whether or not she would play with them was an entirely different matter. Most of the children Maeve was with in her group homes, they often gave the fae child a wide berth, as if they could sense how different she was, on some sort of instinctual level. But, Maeve was content to be on her own, reading books, practicing dancing, appreciating beautiful art, she didn't need friends. Or so she believed.

She is grateful for the brunette's company. She seemed nice, and for Maeve, that was more than enough. "I like the cherries they put in here," she says happily eating the final second cherry. "Do you like cherries? Or do you like raspberries? Or both?" Children ask the strangest questions. It seems, most often, it is only with a child that adults are forced to answer such questions such as which is their third favorite animal and why, or if you could paint a butterfly, what colors would you paint it? Silly questions, but perhaps, underneath it, there is something hidden within those inquisitive, childish inquiries. When Arya hands her card to the bartender, Maeve suddenly puts down her drink and slides it away from her as if she no longer deserved such a thing. She knew what that card was. The multiple foster parents would hand that card to cashiers as they bought Maeve new school clothes, complaining about how she was costing them money and really if she wanted to stay with them and out of the group home, the state should give them more money. "Sorry," she utters before looking up at the girl through those dark, innocent lashes of hers, strange violet eyes standing stark against her pale, porcelain skin.

"Thank you," she says in response to the compliment, Maeve hardly used to such things. But that face quite clearly beams a little brighter with talk of Disney movies and the princesses in them. "I wish I could fly like Tinker Bell," she says, unaware of the power that lays dormant within her that would offer her just such an ability in due time. "I wish I could swim like Ariel because I would try to find fish like flounder and lobsters like Sebastian," she says, excitedly chattering away to the seal girl. She had always been a lover of animals. "What do you like to read?" Ever the curious child and quick with questions, wanting to know everything she can about her new friend.

She cannot help but find the panther handsome with her lavender jailbait eyes, but it doesn't move much further than that, Maeve hardly old enough to notice the differences between a boy and a girl. But the little dove is safe in her ignorance, content and blissful as all children ought to be. "I cant keep secrets from my friend," she says with a cute smile on her face, attempting to wink back at him, but ends up just blinking instead, clearly not yet having mastered such an action. Suddenly everyone is sticking their tongues out and Maeve decides to join in, sitting upon her knees on the high bar stool she first flashes that pink tongue at Tetra before turning to Arya and once more performing the action.

"Tuna!" She turns looking at the woman in shock, her voice, even when used in surprise still holds that almost silken quality to it. "You like tuna?" Maeve was quite the picky eater, and even when she was roaming the streets hungry, she often refused to eat the foods she disliked. Beggers can be choosers it seemed at times. She then points a similar question towards the panther as he places his own order: the same one as Maeve. A surprised smile alights her pale features as she realizes what he has just done. "What?" She says looking to him. "I thought adults didn't like mac and cheese!" She exclaims.

She looks to him as evenly as she can, even sitting as high as she can in the chair she probably doesn't come close to the panther's height. Maeve was a small child, part in due to the fae blood that runs rampant in her veins. "Yeah, you aren't supposed to say bad words," is all she says with a quiet smile. "But it's okay, we all forget the rules sometimes." A sentence that Maeve has clearly heard else where before, perhaps from a teacher, instructor, or foster parent.

Tetradore was certainly a name she had never heard of before. It was strange and foreign to her delicately pointed ears. She wanted to ask him about it, but Maeve knew her manners and would never wish to make another uncomfortable. So as he responds to the girl that Tetradore was in fact his name, she looks to him with eyes unblinking, as if studying him for a moment. "Good," she finally says before beaming up at him one last time, looking into his green eyes and proceeding settling herself back into her seat. "I needed someone named Tetradore," she says and what she means by such a thing is not known, but she says it all the same in a delicate voice as if her lungs were made of crystal and should she speak any louder they would shatter. And then the golden haired girl looks up at him with those pretty eyes and all the bubbly exuberance of a child she points directly at Tetradore with one pale finger. "We are going to be friends, you and I."