A low groan emanated from Oscar's throat. Indecisiveness irked him like nothing else. It was a lack of control, a wild element, an unpredictable rogue of a concept. "This is what we're going to do," he said with a wave of his hand. Oscar began spreading the cups out onto the table. "We pour at once otherwise we'll be here all day. But we fill them half full," he said, punctuating his last point. "This is important to remember," he pressed, looking her in the eye. His brow furrowed as his voice dropped to a stern tone.
Oscar knew it was a small concern. It didn't matter how the cups were filled. It didn't matter whether or not they were filled at all. People could figure out how to serve themselves. But with the death of the mayor, a man that he could almost admit was a friend, he felt directionless. Who would he lead? Who would he advise? Who would spend late nights arguing with him about street names and city sanctions? Who would debate with him on human-magic relations? Change didn't come easily to him. He needed a purpose and right now, it was cups.
"Once your done here, stack the cups and don't put too much ice in the bowl. We don't want to water it down," His point ended with a stern nod as he began toying with the cups and their positions. If he was going to do something, it would be perfect.