Teas'n Tomes - February 7th, 2017
As fun as the Inn was for her last night (not! well, kinda), she'd decided a reprieve from entitled men in suits was just what the doctor ordered. In a black velvet off-shoulder dress that flowed down to her knees, she was curled up at the end of one of Teas' comfort swarming couches. She'd kicked off her heels and folded her legs beside her, tucked beneath the flowing skirt of the dress. She had a mug of Heart Attack Coffee (caramel macchiato with 4 shots of espresso) fit snug in the confines of her palm. On her lap, a magazine was spread out. She'd claim she was reading the articles...but really, she was just looking at the pictures to pass the time.
"By ten thirty?" He looked at the piece of paper and the three illustrations beside it as he stood outside of the tea-house. At this point he was only twenty-seven, which meant be wore a bowler hat, an ascot and vest and coat with pants. They were newer at this stage so he didn't have the shabby-chic look just yet. He appeared more like a lost grad student from the 1800's, agonizing over a paper he needed to submit. Not all men could be so lucky as to have all their worries be summarized with the one word: homework. "Well, maybe." He muttered to himself before he gripped the doorknob, gave it a twist and stepped inside the lounge that called itself a tea room. He'd been there before but it was years ago so he had some hints of confidence when he went to the counter, taking off his hat. The impression of its brim pressed a crown into his brassy hair. He was trying to fix it with one hand coming through his curls as he spoke to the counter maid, "Yes, yes, an earl grey. Please. With vanilla. Did you know that vanilla can be made with a high end vodka and split vanilla beans" It takes about a year and it isn't very potent b— yes, of course." He reached in to begin to pay her.
She was making a sizable dent in her coffee by the time the chiming of the bell told of someone's entrance. Not-so-subtly, her head snapped in that direction. A wash of ebony tresses coiled around her shoulders like a curtain, settling around a wide jawline and casting shadows over an angular face. Dark pools that one could get lost in was glued to the man the moment he walked in, squinting faintly in a slow assessment as she did with everyone in her vicinity. Ever so slowly, her head tilted as fine brows swept high to the old fashioned wardrobe of the man. A crook of a smile flickered over velvet burgundy lips like a serpent's tongue in what could only be mirth. The expression only broadened as she heard his rambling fit at the counter, eyeing him shamelessly over the rim of her cup as it was brought to her lips to bring her closer to that heart attack. And it seemed all was forgotten with that magazine in her lap.
He didn't know about the look. Not yet. He was busy paying, which ended up taking him about five minutes to complete. Not that bill. This bill. Wait. He had change. Take the change. Not enough change. Wait! There was a coin in the other pocket. He was sure of it. Just let him empty out that pocket. See!"! Success! And with that he lost five minutes of his life in exchange for a more precise change exchange. Earl Grey cup in hand, he was walking away with the smile of the cat who caught the mouse. These expressions were short lived on him, especially when there was the cut of a smile from someone with raven hair like her. He almost dropped his cup of tea but played if off, poorly, as if he had taken a misstep. As all men do when a woman was sultry and intriguing he sat as far away from her as possible, in the bean-bag looking chair. It sank in deeper than expected and he was honestly struggling to look composed while not spilling and sitting in the furniture-blob thing near books titled "Top 50 Best Sex Jokes" and "Conversation Starts for Dummies."
Plump lips were pressed together into a thin line to suppress a hiss of giggles that were threatening to spring out of her throat as she watched him. There you go, doll. Oh. Nope. Not that pocket. Try the other one. Oh, no. There you go, you go-...nope. Try again. Theeeere we go. When he finally got it. He might've lost five minutes of his life, but she gained five minutes of entertainment from watching that. She was eyeing Sylvester with a mirthful predatory look at that point, one she could never really shut off. Though maybe Jerry was a more proper name considering the way he caught her in the act of her shameless staring and did his best to redeem his almost-oops!-moment. That velveteen smile spread as she tilted her head with an expression reading no less than you alright, doll" She was silent for the moment, finding it far more amusing what her simple presence was doing to him that didn't even need words! Just wait until she started talking! A plump bottle lip was caught between pearly whites as she eyed him sinking into that chair, stopping herself from pouting but couldn't stop the murmur of, "hey that's my job.." as she saw it swallow him whole. When he was settled, she lifted her mug only to finally pout when she noted her Heart Attack Coffee was all out. The tragedy! "That won't do.." She sighed, slithering to her bare feet in fluid movements as she started to pad her way to the counter. "Another, sweetheart' Thank you," only to turn her back to the counter and lean against it with her palms pressed to the edge. And stared. At the awkward rambler cat man. Just ignore the curl of a grin on her lips. Actually, don't.
Maybe it's his face. Or what he's drinking. Or maybe it's what he's wearing. Definitely what he's wearing. It's too stuffy for this area, he looks ridiculously snooty and half digested by his chair. He's committed to it, now, at least for the entire cup of tea he's drinking. Lyall couldn't quite come up with a way in his mind as to how he would gracefully rise out of his seat without wearing his tea. Or looking drunk. He did what every man does when totally terrified by someone he doesn't know who's staring at him. He invites her to join him. "There's another seat, but I wouldn't take it. They're more formidable than they look and not at all graceful." The bean bag chair was a far cry from being stretched out amid a sprawl of pillows. Maybe she was ten thirty. She had the smile and she kept looking at him. Was it a knowing look and he'd missed it' Had he tried so hard not to look that he hadn't seen and now she was heavily emphasizing the point of TEN THIRTY WINK WINK. Probably. So he did the subtle thing. He winked. It went about as smoothly as one might expect. Somewhere between a catastrophe and something in the eye.
Part of it might be his attire. He looked a little snooty and it made her wonder if there was a rod shoved up his backside and how much it would take to yank it out. But, she hadn't quite expected the invitation. She might've been planning on joining him all along, but the fact he spoke up and gave her the invitation only had her hissing out a giggle. That dark pools dragged toward the seat he mentioned, a purse of lips as she narrowed her eyes at it like it had challenged her honor. "....Challenge accepted..." And it was at that point that she saw the man....possibly having a stroke in the chair" Oh, wait. Was that a wink" No, no. He was possibly having heart failure. "..You alright, hun?" A swept of her brows, she looked about ready to call an ambulance if he needed one. Just that moment, her coffee was brought to her and she slid her fingers into the front of her dress, plucking out a bill from her bra and set it on the counter with a tap of a middle finger. "Keep the change," she murmured to the girl. Her eyes were seemingly glued to Lyall as she slinked her way on over, standing in front of that death trap of a bean bag chair. She eyed it suspiciously at first, only to glance to the shelves...oh. That looked interesting. "Hn," she hummed, sidestepping a couple feet and plucked "Top 50 Best Sex Jokes" off the shelves and returned to the bean bag. But, she was smart. She sat her mug of coffee down on the floor before working herself into the squishy chair. Which, she just sort of slithered her way into by the ways of a few languid movements and folding her body with plenty of grace and balance. Poor, Lyall. She made him look like a chump! Mua-ha!
It was a wink!!!! A pretty decent one. Mostly. He was certain. Like on a good day it was a fair wink and there were a lot of people out there that would have happily accepted it. Babes cried out in the night in the hopes for such a wink. No, not really. That would be awful. Like a whole street of babies crying because of a wink" That didn't even make sense. Oh, wait, she's right there now. Had she teleported" She was just at the counter and now she's right there. When she looked at the shelves he felt the urge to defend himself, "Those were here when I got here. They aren't mine. They aren't even my friend's. They put books here for people, you know. I haven't had time to read a book but if I could read a book I would read that beatnik one by Kerouac. Not that he's a good author, just that whole era was interesting. Did you know he believed in not editing yourself" That you just wrote your whole stream of thought out and that to disturb the raw result would have made it less pure?" But she picked up the sex jokes book, which he made a valiant effort not to notice. Usually he could sip tea in a way that was more quiet than that.
They don't look like eye seizures!! Okay, sometimes. At least he was adorable when he did it! She...was still a little concerned. She didn't bring it up again. It might be a tick or a twitch he didn't want to talk about. That's what she chalked it up to. Her brows swept high when he started rambling, looking between the shelves and him as that mirthful expression returned. "I believe you," she assured him, on the fact that they weren't his. "Beatnik?" Her head tilted, not seeming familiar with it, but then he was making an extravagant point that had her velveteen lips spreading into a broad and toothy smile. "Yessss," ignore the hiss. It happens sometimes. "That is a wonderful perspective. Why censor yourself when the raw result is often the best?" More amusing, she means. Or it could critically scar someone depending on who wasn't being censored. Settled into that chair, her shoulders shifted from side to side in a strange, slow shimmying movement to move around the beans in the chair to get more comfortable. "You will not defeat me, Beans," she muttered to it. When she seemed more pleased with the result, she glanced over to his loud slurping as she pushed her skirt lower over her thighs where the movement had made it ride up. At least he wouldn't see anything. "You like jokes, Jerry Stroke?" A lift of a fine brow as she blindly reached for her mug of coffee, seeming to find the heat radiating until it was caught in her palm.
Women often had that thigh-hiding impulse when around him. He hardly blinked or seemed offended or, perhaps, aware of it at all. She hadn't winked back to him at all. Maybe she wasn't ten thirty. Maybe she was an assassin. Sometimes they would send sex assassins to sleep with a man and while he was subdu....no, that's not what was happening at all, Mr. Bond. There was a much more slow, careful sip of his tea, as if trying to swallow down his thoughts until she posed the question. Oh! It was code. Of course. Winking was much too obvious. Right. He cleared his throat, "I do, Su...zy.....Cue?" It was a terrible time to misplace a James Bond reference, Octopussy.
She's a snake, Lyall! Not a Black Widow! Well...there was that one time...moving on! Ahem. She stretched out her legs in her seated position, hooking her ankles to cross as she set the book in her lap to enjoy a bit of her coffee. Though it was the clearing of his throat and his...Suzy...Cue...reference that had her eyes slowly sweeping over to him. She did her best not to giggle and was mostly successful as she nodded her head. "Well, alright then, Jerry. Let's see here..." she hummed, using her nails to slip between the pages, making an utterly random selection. Splaying her fingers to hold it open, she let out a little giggle until she seemed enthused to tell him this one. She wiggled in her bean bag chair, turning to face him as she had a devilish grin on her face. Those abyssal pools twinkled with a little bit of light as she gave him the line. "Okay," glance to the book for reference. Another wiggle. "Kay, what does a sign on an out-of-business brothel say?" Her brows lifted expectantly.
She didn't look remotely or anywhere near a "Suzy" for the record and he was instantly regretting that he had called her that. Suzy' Who calls anyone with black hair and a sultry smile Suzy' An absolutely idiot. Maybe he should have said something like Beautiful or Gorgeous. No....no....there had to be something better to say. Well, maybe something she hadn't heard. Was that likely' What was she doing with a guy like him' That was easy. Beyond overlooking his mental disabilities (haha....ha) she too a bigger swallow of his tea than he should have, looking through the lenses of his glasses at her, "....Hoesale....no....whoresale" Oh! We have relocated. Or....there isn't one. Brothels don't go out of business." It was best she cut him off least he continue for an hour.
No, she looked nothing like a Suzy, but she let it slip. He looked nothing like a Jerry either! But the point of nicknames never really made a lot of sense. Maybe he'd meant it ironically. And hey, his mental disabilities made him adorable. A slick man who could lay a line on her was a dime a dozen in this town, the awkwardness from him was a breath of fresh air. Who are we kidding" It was that, and she just liked to make people uncomfortable. She blinked, all but hugging the warm mug of coffee to her chest as she peered at him with that expectant smile, only for her velveteen lips to press together as she fought bursting out into laughter. She almost didn't cut him off, almost just let him ramble away until he ran out of breath or thoughts but something told her that he....might not ever do that...Cutting him off at the knees, she lifted her chin with a knowing smile. "Beat it. We're closed. That's the punchline, doll." That hiss of a giggle flowed off her lips as she held up her cup so she could use her index finger to point at him. "You....are too friggin' cute for words." Shaking her head, she had that predatory look in her dark eyes that peered at him over the rim of her cup when it was sipped from. Squirrrrrrm.
"Beat it....." He echoed the line, looking honestly confused. He mouthed 'beat it' again and it seemed that he was on the verge of asking her to explain when the revelation dawned on him. Oh no. She said that word. The death sentence he had heard one too many times: cute. Women didn't sleep with cute. They patted it on the head and smiled in that solemn but not entirely sympathetic way. Not that he really had hope. Okay, he could suppress the 3% of him that thought maybe. Not that he was looking. She was looking. She really totally looked. He was sure. But that was beside the point. She'd given him a code and had he missed it' She really did look much more like the sex assassin type than a Suzy. So far Lyall had missed landing on either end of the spectrum. Just once it would be nice to be James Bond. Or Johnny Smith. Maybe if he sharpened the focus of what he thought he wanted he could actually get it. At this point, however, ten thirty showed up. Ten thirty was, in fact, a woman named Alba who was a few minutes early of the ten thirty hour with ratty blond hair but a comely smile. The doorbell rang and when he looked up to see her and their eyes met' He knew. She knew. That was the not-so-subtle code. That was what it was like to recognize someone you'd never met before. Your gazes just kept digging like you might one day find that false memory you shared. "Suzy, I'm afraid I should get going." He drank the rest of his tea which was only one large, half-painful swallow.
Her head tilted as she watched him try to figure it out. Seeming patient as she wondered if he was going to get it. Maybe he does have that stick rammed up there high. Is he a prude" Maybe he is stuffy. Oh, he's going to be fun. 'Cute' was never the death sentence for Little Miss Suzy there. Adorable" ....Ehh, that was hard to come back from. Adorable was bunnies and puppies, and often the way she says it sounds like she's going to eat them. Which is a 50/50 chance, really. She gnawed a bit on her bottom lip as she watched him working out....something in his head...only for her eyes to snap to the doorway before he looked. Drawn by the movement caught through the plate glass windows, her pools of darkness making swift assessments until the chime told Jerry his meeting had arrived. She looked between the two, making assessments of her own. They know each other. Or so she assumed from the exchange. When he claimed it was time to go, she nodded. "Don't want to keep the lady waiting, Jerry." Assumptions on who this woman might be two to him swirled in her thoughts but were never voiced. "Thank you for the company, doll."
He seemed to know her while registering surprise. "It was nice to meet you." And would they meet again? Maybe they had already and that was why her smile had been so confident. He couldn't be certain. But he could get out of his seat now. Mostly. Okay. Well, it took both hands and a stumble and no looking back but he had gotten out of it. She stepped towards him, hesitated, then motion that they step outside. Grabbing the brim of his hat to say yes, he gave one concerned look back to Suzy before climbing out of the beanbag chair, which required both elbows and his legs. It wasn't a beautiful transition but it worked! Once he was on his feet he grabbed the brim of his hat as if to signal to the woman that he would follow. Was his concerned look that last moment for Suzy or himself" It was hard to tell before he disappeared out the door. Ten thirty.
"It was nice to meet you too, doll." There was a touch of warm in the cold-blooded woman's smile, but she questioned the same thing. Well, the 'would they meet again' question. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she watched him struggle out of the bean bag chair, trying not to giggle until that look of concern cut that off at the knees. The sharp angle of her brows dove down toward the bridge of her nose as she watched him depart, not liking that look one bit. Caution for herself and worry for him was a thick energy that could almost be touched as he made his departure. And those eyes stayed locked on him until he was out of view, perhaps even after.
(Posted from live play with Lyall British. thank you!)
As fun as the Inn was for her last night (not! well, kinda), she'd decided a reprieve from entitled men in suits was just what the doctor ordered. In a black velvet off-shoulder dress that flowed down to her knees, she was curled up at the end of one of Teas' comfort swarming couches. She'd kicked off her heels and folded her legs beside her, tucked beneath the flowing skirt of the dress. She had a mug of Heart Attack Coffee (caramel macchiato with 4 shots of espresso) fit snug in the confines of her palm. On her lap, a magazine was spread out. She'd claim she was reading the articles...but really, she was just looking at the pictures to pass the time.
"By ten thirty?" He looked at the piece of paper and the three illustrations beside it as he stood outside of the tea-house. At this point he was only twenty-seven, which meant be wore a bowler hat, an ascot and vest and coat with pants. They were newer at this stage so he didn't have the shabby-chic look just yet. He appeared more like a lost grad student from the 1800's, agonizing over a paper he needed to submit. Not all men could be so lucky as to have all their worries be summarized with the one word: homework. "Well, maybe." He muttered to himself before he gripped the doorknob, gave it a twist and stepped inside the lounge that called itself a tea room. He'd been there before but it was years ago so he had some hints of confidence when he went to the counter, taking off his hat. The impression of its brim pressed a crown into his brassy hair. He was trying to fix it with one hand coming through his curls as he spoke to the counter maid, "Yes, yes, an earl grey. Please. With vanilla. Did you know that vanilla can be made with a high end vodka and split vanilla beans" It takes about a year and it isn't very potent b— yes, of course." He reached in to begin to pay her.
She was making a sizable dent in her coffee by the time the chiming of the bell told of someone's entrance. Not-so-subtly, her head snapped in that direction. A wash of ebony tresses coiled around her shoulders like a curtain, settling around a wide jawline and casting shadows over an angular face. Dark pools that one could get lost in was glued to the man the moment he walked in, squinting faintly in a slow assessment as she did with everyone in her vicinity. Ever so slowly, her head tilted as fine brows swept high to the old fashioned wardrobe of the man. A crook of a smile flickered over velvet burgundy lips like a serpent's tongue in what could only be mirth. The expression only broadened as she heard his rambling fit at the counter, eyeing him shamelessly over the rim of her cup as it was brought to her lips to bring her closer to that heart attack. And it seemed all was forgotten with that magazine in her lap.
He didn't know about the look. Not yet. He was busy paying, which ended up taking him about five minutes to complete. Not that bill. This bill. Wait. He had change. Take the change. Not enough change. Wait! There was a coin in the other pocket. He was sure of it. Just let him empty out that pocket. See!"! Success! And with that he lost five minutes of his life in exchange for a more precise change exchange. Earl Grey cup in hand, he was walking away with the smile of the cat who caught the mouse. These expressions were short lived on him, especially when there was the cut of a smile from someone with raven hair like her. He almost dropped his cup of tea but played if off, poorly, as if he had taken a misstep. As all men do when a woman was sultry and intriguing he sat as far away from her as possible, in the bean-bag looking chair. It sank in deeper than expected and he was honestly struggling to look composed while not spilling and sitting in the furniture-blob thing near books titled "Top 50 Best Sex Jokes" and "Conversation Starts for Dummies."
Plump lips were pressed together into a thin line to suppress a hiss of giggles that were threatening to spring out of her throat as she watched him. There you go, doll. Oh. Nope. Not that pocket. Try the other one. Oh, no. There you go, you go-...nope. Try again. Theeeere we go. When he finally got it. He might've lost five minutes of his life, but she gained five minutes of entertainment from watching that. She was eyeing Sylvester with a mirthful predatory look at that point, one she could never really shut off. Though maybe Jerry was a more proper name considering the way he caught her in the act of her shameless staring and did his best to redeem his almost-oops!-moment. That velveteen smile spread as she tilted her head with an expression reading no less than you alright, doll" She was silent for the moment, finding it far more amusing what her simple presence was doing to him that didn't even need words! Just wait until she started talking! A plump bottle lip was caught between pearly whites as she eyed him sinking into that chair, stopping herself from pouting but couldn't stop the murmur of, "hey that's my job.." as she saw it swallow him whole. When he was settled, she lifted her mug only to finally pout when she noted her Heart Attack Coffee was all out. The tragedy! "That won't do.." She sighed, slithering to her bare feet in fluid movements as she started to pad her way to the counter. "Another, sweetheart' Thank you," only to turn her back to the counter and lean against it with her palms pressed to the edge. And stared. At the awkward rambler cat man. Just ignore the curl of a grin on her lips. Actually, don't.
Maybe it's his face. Or what he's drinking. Or maybe it's what he's wearing. Definitely what he's wearing. It's too stuffy for this area, he looks ridiculously snooty and half digested by his chair. He's committed to it, now, at least for the entire cup of tea he's drinking. Lyall couldn't quite come up with a way in his mind as to how he would gracefully rise out of his seat without wearing his tea. Or looking drunk. He did what every man does when totally terrified by someone he doesn't know who's staring at him. He invites her to join him. "There's another seat, but I wouldn't take it. They're more formidable than they look and not at all graceful." The bean bag chair was a far cry from being stretched out amid a sprawl of pillows. Maybe she was ten thirty. She had the smile and she kept looking at him. Was it a knowing look and he'd missed it' Had he tried so hard not to look that he hadn't seen and now she was heavily emphasizing the point of TEN THIRTY WINK WINK. Probably. So he did the subtle thing. He winked. It went about as smoothly as one might expect. Somewhere between a catastrophe and something in the eye.
Part of it might be his attire. He looked a little snooty and it made her wonder if there was a rod shoved up his backside and how much it would take to yank it out. But, she hadn't quite expected the invitation. She might've been planning on joining him all along, but the fact he spoke up and gave her the invitation only had her hissing out a giggle. That dark pools dragged toward the seat he mentioned, a purse of lips as she narrowed her eyes at it like it had challenged her honor. "....Challenge accepted..." And it was at that point that she saw the man....possibly having a stroke in the chair" Oh, wait. Was that a wink" No, no. He was possibly having heart failure. "..You alright, hun?" A swept of her brows, she looked about ready to call an ambulance if he needed one. Just that moment, her coffee was brought to her and she slid her fingers into the front of her dress, plucking out a bill from her bra and set it on the counter with a tap of a middle finger. "Keep the change," she murmured to the girl. Her eyes were seemingly glued to Lyall as she slinked her way on over, standing in front of that death trap of a bean bag chair. She eyed it suspiciously at first, only to glance to the shelves...oh. That looked interesting. "Hn," she hummed, sidestepping a couple feet and plucked "Top 50 Best Sex Jokes" off the shelves and returned to the bean bag. But, she was smart. She sat her mug of coffee down on the floor before working herself into the squishy chair. Which, she just sort of slithered her way into by the ways of a few languid movements and folding her body with plenty of grace and balance. Poor, Lyall. She made him look like a chump! Mua-ha!
It was a wink!!!! A pretty decent one. Mostly. He was certain. Like on a good day it was a fair wink and there were a lot of people out there that would have happily accepted it. Babes cried out in the night in the hopes for such a wink. No, not really. That would be awful. Like a whole street of babies crying because of a wink" That didn't even make sense. Oh, wait, she's right there now. Had she teleported" She was just at the counter and now she's right there. When she looked at the shelves he felt the urge to defend himself, "Those were here when I got here. They aren't mine. They aren't even my friend's. They put books here for people, you know. I haven't had time to read a book but if I could read a book I would read that beatnik one by Kerouac. Not that he's a good author, just that whole era was interesting. Did you know he believed in not editing yourself" That you just wrote your whole stream of thought out and that to disturb the raw result would have made it less pure?" But she picked up the sex jokes book, which he made a valiant effort not to notice. Usually he could sip tea in a way that was more quiet than that.
They don't look like eye seizures!! Okay, sometimes. At least he was adorable when he did it! She...was still a little concerned. She didn't bring it up again. It might be a tick or a twitch he didn't want to talk about. That's what she chalked it up to. Her brows swept high when he started rambling, looking between the shelves and him as that mirthful expression returned. "I believe you," she assured him, on the fact that they weren't his. "Beatnik?" Her head tilted, not seeming familiar with it, but then he was making an extravagant point that had her velveteen lips spreading into a broad and toothy smile. "Yessss," ignore the hiss. It happens sometimes. "That is a wonderful perspective. Why censor yourself when the raw result is often the best?" More amusing, she means. Or it could critically scar someone depending on who wasn't being censored. Settled into that chair, her shoulders shifted from side to side in a strange, slow shimmying movement to move around the beans in the chair to get more comfortable. "You will not defeat me, Beans," she muttered to it. When she seemed more pleased with the result, she glanced over to his loud slurping as she pushed her skirt lower over her thighs where the movement had made it ride up. At least he wouldn't see anything. "You like jokes, Jerry Stroke?" A lift of a fine brow as she blindly reached for her mug of coffee, seeming to find the heat radiating until it was caught in her palm.
Women often had that thigh-hiding impulse when around him. He hardly blinked or seemed offended or, perhaps, aware of it at all. She hadn't winked back to him at all. Maybe she wasn't ten thirty. Maybe she was an assassin. Sometimes they would send sex assassins to sleep with a man and while he was subdu....no, that's not what was happening at all, Mr. Bond. There was a much more slow, careful sip of his tea, as if trying to swallow down his thoughts until she posed the question. Oh! It was code. Of course. Winking was much too obvious. Right. He cleared his throat, "I do, Su...zy.....Cue?" It was a terrible time to misplace a James Bond reference, Octopussy.
She's a snake, Lyall! Not a Black Widow! Well...there was that one time...moving on! Ahem. She stretched out her legs in her seated position, hooking her ankles to cross as she set the book in her lap to enjoy a bit of her coffee. Though it was the clearing of his throat and his...Suzy...Cue...reference that had her eyes slowly sweeping over to him. She did her best not to giggle and was mostly successful as she nodded her head. "Well, alright then, Jerry. Let's see here..." she hummed, using her nails to slip between the pages, making an utterly random selection. Splaying her fingers to hold it open, she let out a little giggle until she seemed enthused to tell him this one. She wiggled in her bean bag chair, turning to face him as she had a devilish grin on her face. Those abyssal pools twinkled with a little bit of light as she gave him the line. "Okay," glance to the book for reference. Another wiggle. "Kay, what does a sign on an out-of-business brothel say?" Her brows lifted expectantly.
She didn't look remotely or anywhere near a "Suzy" for the record and he was instantly regretting that he had called her that. Suzy' Who calls anyone with black hair and a sultry smile Suzy' An absolutely idiot. Maybe he should have said something like Beautiful or Gorgeous. No....no....there had to be something better to say. Well, maybe something she hadn't heard. Was that likely' What was she doing with a guy like him' That was easy. Beyond overlooking his mental disabilities (haha....ha) she too a bigger swallow of his tea than he should have, looking through the lenses of his glasses at her, "....Hoesale....no....whoresale" Oh! We have relocated. Or....there isn't one. Brothels don't go out of business." It was best she cut him off least he continue for an hour.
No, she looked nothing like a Suzy, but she let it slip. He looked nothing like a Jerry either! But the point of nicknames never really made a lot of sense. Maybe he'd meant it ironically. And hey, his mental disabilities made him adorable. A slick man who could lay a line on her was a dime a dozen in this town, the awkwardness from him was a breath of fresh air. Who are we kidding" It was that, and she just liked to make people uncomfortable. She blinked, all but hugging the warm mug of coffee to her chest as she peered at him with that expectant smile, only for her velveteen lips to press together as she fought bursting out into laughter. She almost didn't cut him off, almost just let him ramble away until he ran out of breath or thoughts but something told her that he....might not ever do that...Cutting him off at the knees, she lifted her chin with a knowing smile. "Beat it. We're closed. That's the punchline, doll." That hiss of a giggle flowed off her lips as she held up her cup so she could use her index finger to point at him. "You....are too friggin' cute for words." Shaking her head, she had that predatory look in her dark eyes that peered at him over the rim of her cup when it was sipped from. Squirrrrrrm.
"Beat it....." He echoed the line, looking honestly confused. He mouthed 'beat it' again and it seemed that he was on the verge of asking her to explain when the revelation dawned on him. Oh no. She said that word. The death sentence he had heard one too many times: cute. Women didn't sleep with cute. They patted it on the head and smiled in that solemn but not entirely sympathetic way. Not that he really had hope. Okay, he could suppress the 3% of him that thought maybe. Not that he was looking. She was looking. She really totally looked. He was sure. But that was beside the point. She'd given him a code and had he missed it' She really did look much more like the sex assassin type than a Suzy. So far Lyall had missed landing on either end of the spectrum. Just once it would be nice to be James Bond. Or Johnny Smith. Maybe if he sharpened the focus of what he thought he wanted he could actually get it. At this point, however, ten thirty showed up. Ten thirty was, in fact, a woman named Alba who was a few minutes early of the ten thirty hour with ratty blond hair but a comely smile. The doorbell rang and when he looked up to see her and their eyes met' He knew. She knew. That was the not-so-subtle code. That was what it was like to recognize someone you'd never met before. Your gazes just kept digging like you might one day find that false memory you shared. "Suzy, I'm afraid I should get going." He drank the rest of his tea which was only one large, half-painful swallow.
Her head tilted as she watched him try to figure it out. Seeming patient as she wondered if he was going to get it. Maybe he does have that stick rammed up there high. Is he a prude" Maybe he is stuffy. Oh, he's going to be fun. 'Cute' was never the death sentence for Little Miss Suzy there. Adorable" ....Ehh, that was hard to come back from. Adorable was bunnies and puppies, and often the way she says it sounds like she's going to eat them. Which is a 50/50 chance, really. She gnawed a bit on her bottom lip as she watched him working out....something in his head...only for her eyes to snap to the doorway before he looked. Drawn by the movement caught through the plate glass windows, her pools of darkness making swift assessments until the chime told Jerry his meeting had arrived. She looked between the two, making assessments of her own. They know each other. Or so she assumed from the exchange. When he claimed it was time to go, she nodded. "Don't want to keep the lady waiting, Jerry." Assumptions on who this woman might be two to him swirled in her thoughts but were never voiced. "Thank you for the company, doll."
He seemed to know her while registering surprise. "It was nice to meet you." And would they meet again? Maybe they had already and that was why her smile had been so confident. He couldn't be certain. But he could get out of his seat now. Mostly. Okay. Well, it took both hands and a stumble and no looking back but he had gotten out of it. She stepped towards him, hesitated, then motion that they step outside. Grabbing the brim of his hat to say yes, he gave one concerned look back to Suzy before climbing out of the beanbag chair, which required both elbows and his legs. It wasn't a beautiful transition but it worked! Once he was on his feet he grabbed the brim of his hat as if to signal to the woman that he would follow. Was his concerned look that last moment for Suzy or himself" It was hard to tell before he disappeared out the door. Ten thirty.
"It was nice to meet you too, doll." There was a touch of warm in the cold-blooded woman's smile, but she questioned the same thing. Well, the 'would they meet again' question. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she watched him struggle out of the bean bag chair, trying not to giggle until that look of concern cut that off at the knees. The sharp angle of her brows dove down toward the bridge of her nose as she watched him depart, not liking that look one bit. Caution for herself and worry for him was a thick energy that could almost be touched as he made his departure. And those eyes stayed locked on him until he was out of view, perhaps even after.
(Posted from live play with Lyall British. thank you!)