Log:About the Other Night
| About the Other Night | |
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#neverforget #blackoutdrunk #kissandtell | |
| Participants | 17 September 2017 With no phone to occupy herself with, Lala has to find other ways to amuse herself. Like annoying CB. |
| Location | |
| Though it's late on a Sunday and there's not many folks in the place, C.B. is here and he's still working. Reading today instead of his usual writing, Mozart's 'The Magic Flute' plays out over the speakers as Yossarian's tail occasionally flits along to the music. He's wearing a green and blue plaid shirt open over one of his biting t-shirts, wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose as he turns the pages of his book and sips from the mug by his side. Mason is nowhere to be seen tonight, alas.
In wanders Lala. Usually, it a big to-do. Usually, you KNOW when she enters a room. But tonight? Tonight, she just drifts in. Her face is freshly scrubbed, the makeup reapplied minimal. Clothing? Jeans. T-shirt. Leather jacket. A glance to the counter -- no Mason, dang it -- and then she just heads over to a love seat. The blonde Garreau looks over at CB but even annoying him holds no allure, not tonight. Woe! Misery! She's just not herself, a hollow shell. Goodness gracious, what happened?! Was there a death in the family? Leaning back where she sits, the normally gregarious girl just chills. Chills with a faint frown on her face.
C.B. moves his book aside for a moment so he can see who's coming in. Then he...well...his brow furrows. His blue eyes follow her all the way over to the love seat, and then he puts his book down, folding his arms and frowning at her. There's a long, pregnant pause before he says, blunt as always, "What's eating you, sugarlips?"
She slides her gaze over toward CB and there is a moment of silence, a time where she is considering whether or not to reply. Which! Is very unlike Lala. She always, always, /always/ has something to say. "Sugarlips, huh?" she finally responds, the faintest of faintest smiles brushed over her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes though, the girl remaining, for the most part: Troubled. "I feel like I am starting to have a positive effect on you, Bronson. That you might be loosening up a bit," she continues. A heavy sigh follows and then she runs her hands through her hair, fingers getting momentarily tangled up in her locks. "Or do you just cheer up a bit in the face of my overwhelming misery?"
"Do not call me that," C.B. says, squinting his skeptical squint. But it might be because the joke is lost on him, so it just sounds random and pointless. "And I call people dumb nicknames all the time. But no, the only person whose misery I take a little pleasure in is Amanda Green's. Okay, maybe Kip's too. And Count's." Smirking a touch, he slides away from the counter and goes to sit next to her, if there's room, taking his mug with her. Doesn't smell like there's coffee in there. After another sigh he says, "Alright, kid. What's bothering you?"
Getting under his skin, even just a teeny-tiny bit, cheers her up a little. What can she say? Driving him crazy nourishes her soul. But in a good way! Like, there's affection there -- the way a little sister would pick on an older brother. Or something. So when he grumps about her calling him Bronson, her smile flutters a millimeter wider. "Seriously though," she says, once he's taken a seat next to her. "Why do you call me kid? You're, like, the same age as me. When is your birthday? How old are you?" Lala gives him knee a little pat. "You can tell me, Charlie Brown."
At least he knows who Charlie Brown is -- enough to make him roll his eyes. "I call you kid because you act like a kid. Look at you, clearly pouting over something. You never see me pouting, do you?" Don't answer that. Though he does answer her, "Birthday's in November. Yourself?" Then, with a nod back to the counter, he asks, "Want anything? Your boyfriend's gone home for the night." Yes, he says that disdainfully.
You never see ... what? Lala just stares at him. Stares. "Mr. Chester Bartholomew Alexander. I don't think I have ever met someone who pouts more than you do! I mean, well, it's more of a scowl than a pout but everyone knows that's just the man version of a pout anyway. See, you and me? We're two peas in a pod and you just refuse to see it." And then he tells her that his birthday is in November as that seals the deal! The Garreau's face lights up. Positively illuminates! "My birthday is in November as well! Are you a Scorpio? Oh, I should have guessed. Oh-oh!" She clutches his forearm, gives it a squeeze. "We should throw a /joint birthday party/! It will be amazing! Let me see what date would be be-.." She reaches for her phone. But -- OH YEAH -- she has no phone. And she's back to being a sad panda. She wilts before his very eyes.
"It's /definitely/ more of a scowl than a pout. And scowling is very manly. Men aren't supposed to smile; that's what women do." C.B. is smiling a little, though -- well, really, he's smirking. On the birthday question, though, he shakes his head. "No, I don't think I'm a Scorpio, actually, and that's a terrible idea. You and I have very different tastes in parties, I'm sure. Like, I would like to not have one. For example." He watches her wilt. "Seriously, Lala, what the fuck is wrong? You look like me whenever the Sox lose a game."
She just nods along with what he's saying as she sits there, the mayor of the Land of Dejection -- yes, yes, scowling is very manly. Whatever! Her heart is broken and CB JUST DOESN'T CARE. Except he's asked a couple times now so maybe he does? Lala looks up at him (she had been staring off there for a second, see) and eyeballs him skeptically. "Your asshole cousin stole my phone. My /phone/, CB! There I was, being perfectly nice and adorable and my usual, wonderful self and he stole my phone! I mean, WHO DOES THAT!" She clutches her hands against her heart before flailing her arms into the air, just .. just .. dismayed by the abject cruelty of it all.
"What?" A slight chuckle escapes before C.B. can do anything about it, but. He's not /actually/ an asshole. And actually, it is a kind of shitty thing to do. So his facial expression defaults to a scowl and a squint again as he folds his arms, staring at her. "Wait. You know it was him, and you're not doing anything about it?" He suddenly stands up. "C'mon, let's go get it back from the douchebag right now. I mean, I think cell phones suck, but I think Cian sucks more. And yeah, even I can admit that's not right." A beat. "Mostly, it gives me an excuse to beat up Cian. You coming?"
"I just met the guy! It's not like I know where he lives. I-.." She pauses a moment and then squints. "Is he your only cousin? How did you know it was him? Is this something he does often?" Lala, surprisingly, isn't leaping to her feet. You'd figure that she'd be anxious to get her phone back -- and she is! She's got some stuff on there, man. Private things. Shh, never mind. However, she reaches for CB and takes hold of his arm, giving him a tug to sit back down. "Listen, instant retribution is not my style and resorting to physical violence, well.." Now it is her turn to chuckle. It's a sort of 'oh honey' laugh. "People heal quickly enough from that sort of thing. I like to plan out my revenge to ensure that it hurts for a good, long while and won't soon be forgotten. Ya know?" She pats the area right beside her, the spot he just vacated. "So come on. Give me details. Where does he live, what's he do, what's he like, blah blah blah."
"I dunno where he lives, but I know where he hangs out. And with /whom./" C.B. isn't marching right for the door or anything. He mills about in the space, arms folding again. "I'm sure he's not my only cousin, but...I don't really know the other Alexanders around here too well. And I don't really care." But he scowls when she tugs on his arm. And then he rolls his eyes -- hard. "Goddamnit. You are /exactly/ like /your/ cousin. Is this a Garreau thing? Plot and plan in darkness, sneak around, lie, ruin someone's life the rich person way?" But it's not his fight, is it? No. So he does sit down again, reaching for his glass and downing the rest of the contents. "He hangs out over in Twixt, at Mercy Plaza. I don't know him too well. Franky and Green, they know him better than I do. I think he's an obnoxious little creep."
"Hey! He's the one who stole my phone! Don't turn this around and make me out to be the bad guy," she sniffles in reply when he starts to grump about the Garreau style of vengeance. "/Beating people up/ doesn't solve anything and, as you admitted yourself, you mostly want to do it just to feel better. Just because it feels good." When he sits down again, she reaches over and ruffles her fingers through his hair -- probably because she suspects that it will annoy him. "And I didn't say I would /ruin/ his life -- those are your words, not mine. But my retribution will hurt him in a way that will make him think twice about ever stealing from me again." She smiles a soft little grin at the grumpy author, clearly amused or charmed or .. something .. by his response to her nascent plots and plans. "Why do you think he's an obnoxious little creep?"
He does flinch and try to move away from her a little when she touches his hair, although...he's not as irritated about it as one might think. "Alright, fine. Have it your way. You're the one with the phone addiction and no phone. Maybe try reading a book, for a change?" C.B. has to smirk as he points to his shirt: Read a Fucking Book! "The guy just stole your phone, and you're asking me why I think he's an obnoxious little creep? Do I really need to justify that with an answer?"
"Well .. yeah. Because you are not a fan of phones so I can't imagine /that/ behavior would irritate you in any particular way," Lala says, her smile deepening when he moves way from her hair ruffling fingers. You know what this means, don't you, CB? This means that she is going to play with your hair some more. It's your own fault, really. If you'd just get a haircut, maybe you wouldn't have these shaggy locks that are just so damn inherently touchable. She reaches over and starts playing with the faintly curling bits at the end. "Did he steal a book from you? Did he steal something from Franky? Come on, the more you tell me about the guy, the better I'll be able to put him in his place." Chestnut hair is getting wrapped around her fingers over and over again before she combs her digits through, fingertips brushing at the nap of his neck. "Pleeeeease tell me. Pretty, pretty please?" Eyelash bat. Lower lip jut. Pout-pout-poooout.
C.B. /does/ have inherently ruffleable locks, it's true. He tries batting at her hands next. Does it help that he rarely washes his hair? Kinda dry and greasy at the same time. "No, he didn't steal anything from me or from Franky, as far as I know. Like I said, I know next to nothing about the guy. Why don't you fucking believe me? Go ask one of the girls." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "See, this is why beating him up would be so much easier. Violence only asks so many questions."
"Well, now you just seem like a bully." Why, because he is swatting her hand away from his hair? No, not because of that! Because: "You don't know anything about the guy but you think he's a creep. You're offering to beat him up -- yes, he took my phone but you also admitted that it just gives you a reason to introduce your fists to his face. Why? There has to be a reason. If nothing else, you have always struck me as someone whose actions have clear intention and meaning behind them." Lala leans back in the love seat and stretches her legs across CB's lap -- oh, he's sure to love that. This will probably last for a hot second. "Why won't you tell me why you don't like him? I thought we were friends?" And, speaking of being friends: "I'm guessing that you don't want to extend him an invitation to our joint birthday party?" Oh, did you think she was going to drop that? Think again, Mr. Alexander! This is happening, whether you want it to or not!
"You're right. And there is a reason. The reason is that I'm drunk. Though -- not that drunk, as you can see, I'm not slurring my words, and I can walk just fine. However, sometimes I get a little aggressive when I'm inebriated." Oh, really, C.B.? Tell us something we don't know... "Okay, that, and he comes in here and skulks around, barely says anything to me, and does stupid shit like steal your phone. I mean, if half the town can make broad assumptions about me, why can't I do so about my own cousin, right?" Touch of bitterness there. Still, he does nothing to move Lala's legs from his lap. Hell, he even rests one of his on her ankles like that's what it's there for. Then he gives her the side-eye and asks: "Okay, tell me exactly when your birthday is." Is he trying to figure something out? Negotiate something? What?
See? Now that is an answer. Lala nods and seems to accept this one, not pushing CB to explain his distaste of Cian any further because this reply seems solid enough. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she chews on her thumbnail briefly as she considers the floppy-haired man who she's holding prisoner -- ha! -- beneath her stretched out legs. "Fair enough," she says before laying an arm along the back of the love seat. "My birthday is November 10th," the blonde continues, shifting to the topic of their shared birthday month and upcoming celebration. "And before you claim that you'll be out of town, don't worry. We can plan our party around your schedule. Do you want to have it here? Or should I book a place? Don't worry about cost -- I'll take care of everything." She winks at the man, her expression twinkling -- if such things are possible.
"Okay, see, our birthdays are nowhere near each other. Mine's November 29th. See? Weeks apart." C.B. makes a gesture with his hands to show that gap. "And I'm not coming to any birthday party for myself. You wanna throw one for you, be my guest. Franky would probably drag me to it, and I'd give you a book or something. You can get all the glitterati in town, if they even exist. I'm sure you'll have a grand old time."
She laughs. Yup! That's right. She laughs at him. "Our birthdays are 19 /days/ apart, Drama Llama. It's not like there is half a year dividing us. We'll just split the difference and have a joint party somewhere in the middle. November 20th or thereabouts -- you know, before everyone starts breaking off for Thanksgiving. Listen, let me ask you something.." She leans forward along her body, reaching over her stretched out legs to take ahold of one of his hands. Lala looks at him with a serious expression now -- not grave or anything, just free from the silliness that is usually present across her features. "Answer me truthfully: when I came over the other night with the bourbon and we were asking each other questions .. did you have fun? Any fun at all?"
Lala forgets: C.B. is a pedant. Nineteen days are still nineteen days! "I am not going to --" He breaks off when she takes his hands. That serious expression creates one of surprise on his own face; he also colors, probably to his consternation. Then he wets his lips, eyebrows raising as he answered. "Did I have fun? Uh...sure. I guess so.” There's a slightly abashed smirk on his face now. "Would you hate me if I told you I don't remember much of that night now?"
He's blushing? If only she had a phone to capture this moment. /Dammit/. Anyway, she keeps ahold of his hands -- her thumb rubs very slightly against his skin. Is she doing that on purpose? Maybe. But maybe not! It's subtle so it's hard to say. "Wait, you don't rememb- .. do you remember when we ran out of bourbon and had to shift to the other set of rules?" Her eyebrows needle up worriedly -- she looks like she is sincerely concerned that he's forgotten this. Taking in her lower lip, she bites on it and then looks away. Lets him go. Pulls her legs quickly off his lap. "Shit. Do you really not remember?"
C.B. sighs, running a hand through his hair, and he's starting to look mighty ashamed and uncomfortable by the time Lala takes her legs off his lap. He sticks his bony elbows on his thighs and rests his chin atop his intertwined hands, very much not looking at her. "I never said being friends with me is easy," he muttered, "but /you/ wanted to be anyway, and this is what happens, okay? Sometimes I...don't remember stuff, and I remember bits of that night, but I can't remember everything. So, sure, let's say it was fun and call it a night." He suddenly gets to his feet again, about to peevishly grab his empty cup and return to the counter.
She is quiet for a stretch of time, staring at the cuff of her jacket. There is a loose thread there are she starts pulling at it, tugging out stitch after stitch after stitch. CB has stood up, he's gotten his cup, he's returned to the counter -- and still, she just sits there. Staring. And pulling. Tug. Tug. Tug. Finally, she looks over at him and hurt is broken across her features, the girl looking like a kicked puppy. After another moment or two, she gets up and heads over to the counter as well. "So, all those things you told me .. you didn't mean any of it?" Lala asks quietly, focused on a spot on his chest rather than risk looking directly at his face. She blinks rapidly and -- aww, shit. Are her eyes damp? Are tears collecting there?
C.B. is busy refilling his mug with a few fingers of bourbon. "I -- no, I didn't say that. I guarantee I didn't lie to you." He's frowning. "I'm not a liar. I just have a shitty memory, okay?" There's a pause that's somehow ripe with his frustration. "Don't be like that -- Jesus. Lala, don't cry. I had fun, okay? I had fun. It was a right jolly old time. We laughed, we drank, and I probably told you some embarrassing secrets. Right?" His eyes narrow, trying to suss her out.
"And the kiss? You don't remember that either, do you?" Now she looks up, her gaze meeting his and while he is frustrated? She's just hurt. It's like .. she trusted him with something precious and he was careless with it. Broke it. Didn't even care! At least, that is what she is telegraphing. God! What /happened/ that night?! "I mean, I know that .." Her cheeks color and she shakes her head, taking one, two, three backwards steps away from the counter. "Never mind. Forget it. I'll see you around." Lala rubs the heel of her palm against one eye and then the next before turning to leave.
"Wait!" C.B. tries to reach out for her before she goes. "There's no /way/ I kissed you. I would've remembered /that/. I don't forget kisses that easily..." Although he's starting to look bonafide panicky now. "Lala! Come on, don't be like that. I like you, Lala. You're not a bad kid, when you get right down to it. If I hurt you, somehow, I'm sorry. I'm a shmuck. We all know this."
He manages to catch her sleeve before she can get too far and she turns around to face him. "But CB, it .. it was amazing. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I mean, how could you forget this?" And before he can object, before he can protest or pull away -- oh my god, she leans across the counter and.. At the very last moment, she zigs to the side and plants a big zerbert on his cheek. A big ol' raspberry. PRRRRRRRBT! Releasing him, she is grinning now. Ear to ear. "Ha! I really had you going, didn't I?" Lala laughs, clapping her hands together. This is sure to piss him off -- but maybe it wooon't? Come on, it's kind of funny, right? "You're not a shmuck. You are adorable."
After she plants that raspberry, C.B. turns the color of an actual raspberry. He rolls his eyes and drains the contents of the cup. "/Women/." Still blushing like crazy, he disappears into the back for awhile because -- because he's upset and embarrassed, but maybe not unamused, too. And he doesn't want Lala to see any of those things! | |
