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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).


"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."


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."


"And I tip well."
"I didn't think people at Panera were allowed to accept tips."
He chuckles.

"It's not a tip if I find it behind their ear," he says, opening the door and gesturing for her to go in.
She walks in, eyes immediately going to the menu. "Oooh, I feel like a Crispani!"

Why yes, this thread is nothing but a plug for Panera. Product placement FTW!
He waves one hand absently.

"Do indulge."

With a smile.
Lindsay hops in line. A few minutes later, a crispani is on its way and Lindsay is looking for a table.
And Nick waves from the table he's found.
Right then.

Lindsay moseys on down there with two drinks in hand.

"I hope this is what you wanted."
He looks at the latte.

"It works. I'm not much for coffee, but I can't resist the foam."

He gives her a grin and nods to the table.

"What'd you get?"
"A chai latte."
He grins.

"A woman after my own heart."

He shakes his head.

"So... cue awkward conversation and/or anything exciting you'd like to share since last we met?"
"I...fell asleep on the couch."

A solemn nod.
"I almost got an arrow through my head," he says absently, sipping at his latte.

"How is that, incidentally?"

He points to the crispawhatever.
"It's good. Like a very thin and tasty slice of pizza."
He peers at it for a moment before sipping on his latte again.

"It's not really pizza unless it's coming out of New York or straight from Italy."

...yes. He's not being fair at all to the cuisine of the rest of the country.
She rolls her eyes.

"It's not as if Chicago has good pizza or anything."
"Nope," he says, "They have Sicilian. It's square."
"What's wrong with Sicilian pizza?"
"Nothing!" he admits airily before shaking his head and sipping his coffee. "Except that I don't like it. But there's nothing wrong with it, certainly."
"There has to be something wrong with it if you don't like it."
Los Angeles: The Beach

December 2006

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