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cracking_mirror in wetheinvincible

LA - Walking Around

You couldn't say he was doing anything other than wandering. He'd pop into the occasional bookshop, and he'd gone through three different Starbucks at various points, but he didn't have any specific aim really. His time in LA up till then had been show after show, which was great since he'd been getting rave reviews for the new show... but all the performing had taken it's toll on his brain and thus: day off.

He's got a pair of shades on, since this is LA, but they're perched on top of his head because it was a little dark for him to see well with them (and he's from NY).

Comments

"Oh, well, even if you specifically ask for the cheese they'll usually forget to put it on." Bastards.
"Maybe for you," he says with a charming grin, though he does avoid her eyes as always.
"Why me? What'd I ever do to make them deny me cheese?"

There's plenty of reasons she can think of that would tip karma in favor of denying her cheese, but let's not get emo just yet.
He looks her up and down.

"I wouldn't have a clue."
"Are you implying that I'm fat?"
He snorts.

"You know you're not. What? I'm not allowed to take the chance for a surreptitious glance over a beautiful woman? Yeesh."
"I'll have to charge for that."

Of course, this lovely banter has distracted Lindsay into passing Panera right by.
He opens his mouth.

"You know? There's not a damn good thing I could say after that. I think it would just end up being a question of what you hit me with, so I'm just going to keep it to myself and compliment you again."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with making a little bit of money, and if I had a penny for every time someone's looked me up and down the way you have I could buy a Ferrari."
"I was admiring your wit."

How he says this with a straight face is anyone's guess.
She snorts.

"And Playboy is popular because of its thought-proviking articles."
"You should see the brain surgeons, astrophysisists, and learned scholars on staff," he answers, still straight-faced. "And the humanitarian articles are positively heartbreaking."
"Ah, by doesn't everyone see them sprawled across the centerfold?"
He seems to consider this.

"Yes, well, by that point, everyone's vision is a little off..."

A smile.

"Now. I think we passed our planned place of respite?"
Lindsay stops. Turns around.

:O!!!!!!!!!!!

"How astute of you to observe that..." She begins to walk int he opposite direction.
He chuckles.

"I try to be astute. It's gotten a little difficult, but... such is life."

And he leaves that as it is. In fact, he doesn't say anything for a moment, seemingly considering something before finally turning.

"You really are beautiful. Not... pretty. Or sexy. Well, I suppose you are, but--"

Another moment of consideration.

"I enjoy you. Whatever that means."

A quirk of his lips.

"So... bread?"
Lindsay stops, folds her arms. "You...enjoy me."
He nods. Then points to the Panera. As if telling someone that was the simplest thing in the world.

"Bread?"
"All right." She grins. But somehow is not moving.
He rolls his eyes. And then in a voice, very matter of fact, as if this should be self-evident or perhaps more that it's positively normal for him to say this up front:

"I like your sense of humor, find you fascinating, appreciate your intelligence, like looking at your body, find pleasure in your features, and had a thoroughly good time the last time we were together and forsee other wonderful times in the future. I figured 'I enjoy you' might cover all of that."

Beat.

"Bread?"
She holds the door open for him. "You know they don't just serve bread here."

A grin, nervous. She has every reason to fear an impending relationship--every reason to fear she'll mess it up.
The same with him, but he's always been the sort to charge into whatever, even when he's expecting the worst. Impatient and erratic and passionate, thy name is Nicholas Caldwell.

"Yes, but that's what I usually come here for. And it's nice and short and easy to repeat."
"'Hello there, cashier, can I have some bread?' 'Bread? What kind of bread?' 'Oh, I don't know. Bread!' And the cashier gives you a death glare as you continue to be unspecific."
He smirks.

"Where I usually go, that's all I have to say. They know me by now."

Eyeroll.

"And I tip well."
"I didn't think people at Panera were allowed to accept tips."
Los Angeles: The Beach

December 2006

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