Post by JR on Nov 20, 2015 3:22:53 GMT -8
Characters: Alice Clare ( wrecked ships ), Molly Star ( flash of throat ), Derrick Storm ( unchecked honor ), and Tucker North ( hesitantly yours )
Triggers: Mild flirtation.
Summary: Just hangin' out really. Things we determine: Alice Clare likes soup. Tucker can't dance. Derrick is misshapen. Molly is awkward.
wrecked ships: Alice Clare liked Joe's the best at night. When the size of the crowd could be hit or miss depending on the day of the week. She liked the special events that drew people in, and the ambiance of the place -- especially since it'd been taken over in the subtle way that not many had been able to detect. But it was there. Her sniffer smelled it. Or something. Probably not. Maybe AC didn't realize and she's just a wacky ol' git. It was just herself tonight, no strutting bearded monster, no silent Golem who so recently hadn't been so silent and was missing an eye to make that happen, and no bobcats to be found snuggling stowaway in her shirt. Fantastic shirt, that -- but we'll get to it in a moment. A perusal of the place showed that the faces inside were mostly unfamiliar. And maybe that was a good thing. No show to put on, no expectations, no hiding, no acting. Just Alice Clare -- and a peckish belly. Maybe it was not what she'd intended on coming to Joe's for, but the smells coming out of the kitchen swayed her that away. A wander to the counter, shrugging out of her coat as she did. The girl was a waifish thing -- she hadn't really been eating that well these days -- and she had the willow of her figure covered in a pair of plaid stretchy pants in blues and greens tucked into a pair of open military styled boots. Neon green and pink could be seen a little by way of the socks she wore, decorated with some sort of hula girl, but her new favorite thing was the tee shirt she was wearing. Sleeveless, with enough of the sides of the thing missing to reveal the lace of a pale blue bralette. The tee was white, and upon first glance, one might thing it was the Barbie logo emblazoned in big chunky slanted hot pink font across her breasts. But nope. That shit said "Barf" and it was amazing. -d-
Flash of throat: The number of people who came to Joe's for one reason and ended up staying for another had taken a turn for the plentiful in the weeks since its repurpose. The once-hole-in-the-wall had gone ahead and knocked a few walls out to expand on its forty-plus year-old layout, creating room for a full kitchen -- that, of course, meant changes to the menu -- and a long, wooden counter with bar seating on one side, among other niceties. Its signature collection of thrift store antiques, that wasn't going anywhere. Neither was tall, quiet, blue-eyed lead server, Andy. Molly, however... she still wasn't sure that Joe's or South Bank were where she belonged. She'd pulled long, fantasy spirals of white up into a ponytail atop the crown of her head for the dinner rush, which was long gone by the time this moment came around, and tied a red bandana behind her ears a la the day Cher Lloyd forgot that her curled lip and aggressive upnod isn't enough to qualify her as a hood. They still have standards, don't they -- the gangs? There are ways you have to prove yourself before you get to do the curled lip and the aggressive upnod with any credibility,right? Zoom. There it went, Molly's mind, chasing after something that didn't matter even one little bit instead of fully committing herself to the ledger bookended by her elbows on the service side of the counter. One of her hands scritchy-crawled up the side of her face and into her hairline to fuss at a spot underneath the fold of that stupid bandana, then smoothed everything back into place without even checking to see if it had come unsmoothed. Her assumption that it had was typical of her. The button-down she wore open over a teeshirt with a faded band logo that was probably older than she was made up of navy, red and white plaid. White trim played at an American country western design in a horizontal span across her chest and right breast pocket. Who knows what she'd wriggled the bottom half of her into? She was standing behind a counter, did it matter? Narrow eyes the color of blue-green lake ice yoinked themselves from wherever they'd stuck themselves between lines of figures that desperately needed more black and less red to spy Barfie Girl come through, and the lefthand corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. "Nice,"murmured a soft-spoken Brit to one with ridiculously expressive eyebrows. "The shirt. What'll you have?" (d)
wrecked ships: Oh. There was nothing a vain girl liked more than compliments -- our Alice wasn't entirely vain, but she had her moments. Like this one. So when the singularly spoken one came, a beam flooded her down-turned mouth. "Aww, thank you,"she cooed, you know, as if she'd come up with the shirt herself. She hadn't. She'd only handed over the correct coins for the thing, and called it hers. Below those bold slashes of brow blue eyes gave a quick sweep to wherever the menu choices were listed, but barely lingered before they flashed back to the platinum blonde and all her height and misrepresented Americana that in no way matched the voice that had greeted, and Alice let out of a huff, falling into a pitch against the counter where her elbows prevented her from complete collapse, and then her hands even supported her pretty lil' chin. "Have you got any soups? I could go for a thick soup. Or a stew. Maybe a half sandwich? Do you do that?" Read, Alice Clare. "I'm not picky." Lies. Fingers and all their inked decoration -- the not so cute anymore lion, the traced heart, the vintage looking wasp, her own initials -- drummed against the sides of angular cheeks, before Alice blew them out like a pufferfish and cranked herself back up to a proper posture. "You know what really sounds good though? A Christmas goose. I don't suppose you've got that?" Such hope in vibrant blues. -d-
Flash of throat: The thick slap of paper on paper as Molly closed her ledger was punctuation enough to dash all hope of Christmas goose, but she followed it up with words spoken, anyhow, and shoved the ledger... somewhere. Somewhere under the counter, and probably into a bin of dirty dishes she had yet to lug behind the burgundy employees only curtain that she liked so well to hide behind while watching Joe's comings and goings. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for Christmas as to the goose, Tim," she lamented -- and with the tiniest bit of actual lament! "I've got a London particular and a Mulligawtany on the burner, though. Could likely come up with half a sandwich for you, either way. Ham, if you like the particular." Because split pea and lentil soup needed half a ham sandwich along side it; that was just plain common sense, wasn't it? "Let's see?" Molly held out a hand just as inky to nose into Alice's art. (d)
Unchecked Honor: One large hand had taken hold of the handle on the door, and with a shove it had been swung open to allow his entrance. Derrick hadn't made it down to Joes in about a week now, because things had just been crazy work wise. The heavy steel toed work boots, and those long legged denim jeans carried him through the doorway with that steady, predatorily stride. His figure slowed as he entered, shrugging against the November chill from outside of the shop, as he swung the door closed behind himself, so that it would block out the chill that he'd left behind. However, a blast of that frigid wind would've swept in with him, heralding his arrival with the scent of leather and a hint of gun powder. Derrick had stopped just inside the doorway, eyes glancing towards the counter, and stopping on the two women there ... one of which was bent over the counter. Dark storm cloud gray eyes took a moment to take in the two beauties, before he started slowly through the store and towards the two strangers, not because they were beauties, but because Joes was the only damn place around here that made a decent cup of coffee! It wasn't until he was standing there in line, and the girl ahead of him had popped up off of the counter, that those gray eyes had taken in the girl behind the counters features appropriately. Brows rose, and he grinned a little as he waited patiently for his own turn to order, admiring the obvious change in her features, as his strong fingers moved to sweep over the rest of his clothing. Simple dark green button down shirt, with that brown leather vest over it. The buttons done up, and a little silver chain running from one button to the slit of a pocket on it's front. There was another silver chain hanging from his right hip, running back towards his back pocket, and a brown leather sheathe that obviously held a knife within, the handle a worked stag bone handle. Over it all, to help block out the cold was a simple brown leather jacket, stylish and simple, but it definitely helped define the broad cut of those muscular shoulders. Standing there, he would waggle his brows at Molly if she made eye contact with him, and a small grin, but he'd wait for her to finish with her customer, like the gentleman he was. -d
wrecked ships: The shape of that mouth scrunched a bit in pure and utter disappointment when there was no goose to be had. It wasn't a surprise really. There was still a bit of time before it was even proper to truss one up for the holiday. It did make her think though, about how she was going to make Frank prepare a whole huge spread, even if only she and the cats ate it. That'd be a fun challenge, actually. Pulled from the misadventures of Alice Clare by way of other food choice, Alice maintained her pout for a moment, even going so far as to mutter a curse beneath her breath, "Guacamole," but her voice rose up and she gave a little salute. "Sold, then, mate. Whatever's easiest. I'm easy." Stop lying to the woman, you little witch. The arrival of another at the counter would cast a lift of glacial blues that away, but they didn't linger on the man, since a request was made, and dutifully Alice presented her hands to the woman. She gave the one with the lion a little twist, to show off the side of her hand, where initials scrawled in CJD. "My granddad," she'd offer, then turn her hand again to fist it and nudge her pointer finger a little at the knuckle and make a little growl to go along with the lion she was puppeting to Molly. -d-
Flash of throat: Whether it was the waggle of Derrick's eyebrows or the scrunch of Alice's mouth that did it, Molly blinked, pulling her head back an inch or two and lifting her chin as she usually did when caught off guard by anything. Yes, hello, Derrick, she sees you, and she raises your waggle the visible flare of an inhalation. Alice Clare's hand was only given the gentlest and most brief of touches imaginable -- well, unless I were playing Hannah, I guess it could get even subtler here with the right hands behind it -- as she turned it over to peek at ink scars, all ears for their reasons why and all soft laughter for the puppeted lion's maw. "Lovely." Then she was pulling back, crouching low and coming back up with a large stoneware bowl in some bizarre color combination that had obviously been chosen at the height of 1970s nope and a spoon. She foisted both across the counter at the other blonde with a tilted head toward the double burner in the counter a ways down. "Help yourself, then. I'll have Andy out with that sandwich soon enough." Apparently Molly is not afeared of soup thieves. (d)
Unchecked Honor: ... that was, awkward. When she had noted the Derrick's presence with a quick inwards breath through her nostrils, he was left kind of momentarily confused. Those brows had waggled, but now one of them just sort of hung high over those stormy gray eyes. However, Derrick would wait for the two women to finish their business, his large hands slipping down to force thick and callused thumbs through the denim belt loops, to let his hands press into the front of those jeans as he waited. Tongue slipped outwards to brush over his bottom lip, and whenever Alice moved on to go and get her soup, he'd step forward, and his chin moved upwards in a nod. "Hey there. Just a coffee, black with a subscription to diabetes..." Oh, she knew his order, he was a regular by now! Or he figured he was ... -d
wrecked ships: Alice was gonna thieve all the soups. A delighted sound left the Barf clad witch, and she cupped the sides of her bowl as if it were the most precious dish ever created -- and it wasn't even full yet! "You're a superstar," she said by way of thanks, completely oblivious to the fact she'd been all touched and examined by a flippin' legend. Skirting around the tall man with her creepy features and ultimate resting bitch face, Alice trounced to the soups, filled her bowl to brimming with the pea and lentil one, and then oh so carefully took precise steps back to the counter, where the now hot thing was set down and Alice hovered over it protectively. The spoon lifted, given a twirl and was dipped. "You should be wearing her shirt," northern cadence piped up, using her chin to gesture between the Yank and Molly in her red white and blue. Spoon lifted, soup clinging to it's tiny lil' bowl, and with a blow to cool it, the bite disappeared beyond her lips. -d-
Flash of throat: A legend. Ha. Do we count soft-spoken, introverted pin-up girls turned cafe queens legends, now? Oh, wait -- you meant the whole... other thing. The whole smells-like-magic-from-a-hundred-miles-away thing. Yeah, there's that. Just don't tell Molly about it. Joe sure didn't. With Alice Clare souped and Andy seeing to her other wants, Molly was exhaling a close-lipped smile for her next customer, whose coffee order she did remember, even if she might argue that two visits hardly constituted the highly prestigious honor of regular. That's two visits to you, Molly; not two visits to Joe's. Sometimes she forgets about the years-long gap in time between when she left London and when she returned. Anyone coming through the door might be a regular, as newly come home as she was. "Cap," mused the nickname-giver, already reaching for the cup that bore his favorite superhero's logo. "You've been moonlighting, haven't you? I thought we had an arrangement." She was talking about his facehole and her medium roast, poking facetious fun at his recent busy schedule. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Oh, there was no doubt what so ever that pretty little Molly was a legend! So much so in fact, that Derrick had a picture of her in a very specific file on his phone. However, he had only discovered that after he had left the coffee shop the last time, later on that evening, during his personal time. Then he had done some digging, and he had found many, many more pictures of the pretty little ... well, now she was blonde, and it was even more obvious to him who she had been, before she'd become the local barrista. However, Derrick had been here more often than just the two times that Molly had interacted with him, and ever since their last encounter, every visit had been with the hopes that she'd be the one behind the counter. When she called him by that nickname, he grinned a little, and those big hands lifted to rest palm down onto the counter, so he could lock his elbows, and lean forward ever so slightly on those thickly muscled arms. "Well darlin', I'm here now, aren't I?" He grinned a little, and gave a lazy shrug of those broad shoulders. "Yeah, I've been working crazy hours since that whole..." He gestured with a vague wave of his hand, back over his shoulder towards the door. "... Paris, thing." Derrick was in security after all, and he worked as a private consultant for a defense company. So those wealthier individuals who had been worried, and panicked by the attack that was relatively close to home for Londoners. The money had been great though! So when his hand dropped back to the counter, and he glanced towards Alice at her insinuation that he needed to be wearing her shirt. Which drew those gray eyes back towards Molly, and he took a moment to let those grays scan over her more slowly, and appreciatively. "... It is definitely my style." So, she should go ahead and take it off, right?! -d
wrecked ships: There was no mistaking the way he perved on Molly at Alice's suggestion, which was not at all what she'd meant -- and also managed to jog her memory. "Hey, I met you. You're Tucker's friend." Didn't those types of blokes tend to flock together? "Right, right, you came for Samhain. What's your name again?" She had a perfectly valid excuse for forgetting the guys name, you know. The spoon scraped at the bowl a little, and Alice took another bite; swinging the lightness of her weighted stare back to Molly. "Heavens to Betsy, this is far better than a goose any day," came a purr around the swallow. -d-
Unchecked Honor: Derrick wasn't perving! ... Okay, maybe he was perving a little, but with the pictures that he had on his phone of her, how was he not going to?! It wasn't physically possible for him not to remember them, whenever he looked at the pretty blonde now. However, he snapped those stormy grays away from Molly's figure, when Alice spoke up about having met him, and one dark brow rose skywards as he let his eyes lock with her own. There was a moment when his features went stony, and stern. The look made him look exactly like who his father was, but it passed relatively quickly, and the Byrne resemblance departed just as quickly as a passing breeze, wafting across the girl. "Yeah, Tucker invited me out ... I'm Derrick." Derrick turned while Molly went off to get him that coffee, eyes darting to admire whatever she was wearing from the waist down, but then swept back to Alice again, and he had the courtesy to seem a little sheepish at his inability to not admire Molly's curved posterior. "... and you are? Sorry, it was a crazy night ..." -d
hesitantly yours: The steady march of scuffed boots could have belonged to anyone, but the figure that darkened the door of Joe's wasn't just anyone. It was the barista returning for more punishment--or really, returning for a take-out order. The good news was that he looked happier than he had in a while. The bad news was that he...looked happier than he had in a while? Yeah, well, with Tucker that could go either way. It depended on a lot of things. Bundled up in his warmest coat, a dark gray scarf about his throat and his hands in his pockets, he strolled inside like he owned the place (he did not), and took in who was present. There was Derrick, whom he hadn't laid eyes on since Samhain. Alice Clare over there, and Molly with her admittedly admiration-worthy posterior. How do you think Tucker felt, working with her? Then again, he was starting to surmise that the baristas were part of the charm of the revamped coffee shop. Come for the coffee, stay for the eye candy, right? "Evenin'." Hand rose to wave to the small assembly gathered.
wrecked ships: Unfortunately for him, Alice didn't get a lot of face time with his father -- most certainly not enough for his brief flash of a moment that he resembled him for her to be all ``omg Alistair jr`` on him. Instead, she was more focused on his words, and it brought both of her amazingly thick and on FLEEK brows up. "That was a crazy night?" She couldn't stop the laugh that nearly barked out. "That was so far the opposite of crazy. Do you not celebrate the holidays? Was that your first? Oh what a boring way to pop your cherry," she frowned a little, her attention turning when the cambion she literally just mentioned showed up. "Hello, devil." Soupy spoon was pulled from the dish, drip drip dripping back into the bowl with the short salute she gave Tucker with it. And to Derrick, "And it's Alice Clare, by the by. You'll do well to remember it." Such a sweet smile from the sinister girl. -d-
Unchecked Honor: Oh, there was already someone in the room who had realized who Derrick's strong jaw line was reminiscent of, but she hadn't seemed to want to be forthcoming with that information, so Derrick wasn't aware at all that Alistair Byrne was his Daddy. When the door swung open, Derrick's head turned out of habit to eye the entrant. His training forcing him to assess the entrant in the manner of threat assessment, and what not. However, when Derrick realized it was Tucker, he gave the friend a grin, and he raised his chin in a nod towards the man. "Hey Tuck. We were just talking about you ..." Then those gray eyes had drifted back towards the girl before him, as she reintroduced herself. One dark brow rising ever so slightly as she admonished him to remember her name, and even more so at her having informed him that the evening had been a boring one. "Um... No. It was my first, Samhain..." That's right, he totally pronounced it wrong! Grinning a bit, and patting the center of his chest, where that brown leather vest, and the button down green shirt hid the silver rosary. "I was raised Catholic, back in Boston... So, that was my first, pagan ceremony." There was a chuckle, and a shrug of those broad shoulders, as he turned to glance towards wherever it was that Molly had gotten with that Captain America cup of coffee. That was when Andy had handed it over, and Derrick had frowned at the man, because he wasn't Molly! But, he had his coffee, and so he'd turn and move towards that sugar shaker, so that he could dump half the damn thing into that dark brew, and give it a stir to mix it in thoroughly. -d
hesitantly yours: "Oi, you were talkin' about me, were you? Whatever that silver-tongued little minx tells ya about me, it ain't true, unless it's flatterin'. Then it's absolutely true." He sidled up to the counter to place his order, though not before shooting Alice Clare a playful smile. "Hi yourself, witch." If they were going to be accurate and all. Even though devil wasn't quite the truth, it was close enough. "So that was your first one, was it? Samhain? Oh just you wait, Derrick. Just you wait til Litha. Summertime." Though blues did follow a nervous trail to the patting hand, and what he suspected was underneath. Just so long as he kept it underneath the layers of leather and fabric, they were fine. Sooner or later he realized he'd likely have to tell his new buddy here why that rosary could only spell bad news for him, or maybe he'd just have to take off his shirt and show off the cross-shaped scar between his shoulders. "It was my first Samhain, though. Wasn't sure what to expect, but I didn't expect that. It was soberin'." Beth had briefed him, to be sure, but it had still surprised him how somber it was in contrast to the other festivals he'd attended. "It was good. I think we needed some soberin'." It had been a rough year at Shepherd. When Andy was back behind the counter, he placed his order. Two cups. One was a ginormous thing of coffee with Tucker's usual bastardization of syrups. The other was tea, ordered to his Earthy little witch's specifications. Seemed he wasn't planning on staying for too long.
Flash of throat: Ahem. You'll have to pardon little miss Molly. She'd gotten some urgent phone call or another, a persistent bzzz against a right ass cheek covered up real modest like by blue jeans that snuggled in close to her skin all the way down into half-laced boots, like she'd been taking style cues from Mira, who she'd... never actually met. Oh well. The point is, she had to step into the back to take care of the ugly business of a past due bill, leaving service in Andy's capable hands for a few moments. He never seemed to mind. Unflappable, really, that guy. Mostly. Still, she was checking on this and that like she thought he might have missed something. She'd learn, in time, that Andy missed almost nothing, whether conversation or order. For now she felt like an island. A really small one, if her posture was any indicator. Good luck finding it anywhere in her eyes, though. There, Alice Clare had her sandwich, Derrick was giving himself coffee-laced cavities and Tucker... oh, Tucker! Molly's eyes widened. "Is it...? It's not Friday," she murmured. "Right?" Tucker didn't work on Thursday nights, usually! When she caught a clue thanks to the order Andy was working on behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Poor girl doesn't even know what day it is. Someone make her take a day off. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Derrick had turned more fully towards Tucker, now that he had that sweet and delicious coffee in hand. Stepping back towards the counter, as he lifted that mug upwards and took a long pull of the dark liquid. Eyes slipped closed, and he groaned ever so slightly at the delicious flavor of that rich blended coffee. Lowering the mug, he let those dark and stormy eyes wash back over Tuck, and the girl who was engrossed in her soup all of a sudden. "Mmm, well I'll have to check out another one then ... I mean, growing up you hear all kinds of stories about dancing naked around fires, and all of that. It's nothing like what I imagined." He shrugged, and turned to rest his ass back against the counter, so he could watch the door as he sipped that coffee, and continued that conversation with Tucker, and Alice, when she wasn't devouring that soup! However, then Molly was coming back out from the back area, and Derrick gladly turned back around, to face her once more. His hip pressing into the counter as he grinned, and sipped that sweetened coffee. "Mmmph. No? It's Thursday." Slow nod, and a glance over at Tucker, and then back towards the pretty blonde. "What about you Molly? How do you feel about dancing naked around a fire?" He was being a gentleman, and pulling her into the conversation! -d
hesitantly yours: There was Molly! Tucker grinned at her, easy, friendly, his usual smile. "No, no. What, you think I'm gonna patronize some other coffee shop just 'cause it's my day off? Absolutely not. But I will be seein' you tomorrow evenin' for my usual shift." Molly really did need a day off. Maybe after finals Tucker could pick up some extra shifts to give her some more time to herself, at least during the break. He was starting grad school in the spring, after all. His head swung towards Derrick, and he smirked, for a few reasons. One was that it was pretty blatantly obvious that the guy was thinking about Molly dancing naked around a bonfire. The other was because, well... "Dunno 'bout naked. I've seen some people goin' round with very little clothing, though." Rest in peace, Beth's little crochet scrap-of-fabric. Rest in peace. "Doubt you're gonna find that at the winter ceremonies, though. Not unless we got some people with death wishes. Why, you plannin' on showin' up in your skivvies?" Lord, did the cambion just wink at him? Yes he did. Sorry, Derrick, this is your life now. Just accept it.
wrecked ships: "Skyclad," Alice interjected, while the topic of conversation had turned to what happened at events such as the one back on All Hallow's Eve. "It's not naked, nor is it in any way sexual." Except when your very own dark wizard turned it into that, but that was a whole other story and not appropriate for Council events. -d-
hesitantly yours: "No, but the orgiastic aftermath sure is." Mumble.
wrecked ships: "No, Tucker." Spoon was pointed at him, Alice all glarey. Alice Glare. -d-
Flash of throat: "If that's what you're into..." she shrugged, or at least that's what she was doing until Tucker mumbled something or other about orgiastic, and after that she was sooo not comfortable being a part of that conversation! That was why she grabbed up a rag to distract herself with and... cleaned things. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Derrick's gray eyes had rested on Molly while the other two had started spouting out other words of importance, and one brow arched skywards as Derrick repeated a single word. "Skyclad." It was as if he were testing the word, while he kept his grays on Molly's features, but then she became determined to clean something. So he let those grays drift over to the winking friend of his, and he gave a chuckle as he shrugged those broad shoulders. "I've got nothing to hide Tuck... though, I'm not that great with dancing ... maybe I could do the Skyclad Robot, or something?" Now there was a site for one's imagination, right?! -d
Flash of throat: Molly kind of hunched forward, cleaning what ever she was cleaning, shoulders rising and falling with silent laughter. Skyclad robot. Dork. (d)
hesitantly yours: "Oi, don't you go givin' me that look, Alice Clare." Look, Tucker could appreciate the ceremony, he really could. But the aftermath was his, you know, his freebie night. So Tucker did continue, briefly, his game of Make The Presumably Straight Guy Vaguely Uncomfortable, and raised his brows in a manner that bordered on coy. "Aw, c'mon, dancin' ain't hard. Just gotta feel it." Tucker, you have two left feet, why are you even speaking right now, you clod. He was a graceful, deadly shadow in combat and walked like he was prowling, but get him on a dance floor and well...he was half incubus and half white boy. "Maybe you just need somebody to help you find the rhythm a bit..." Tea and coffee were ushered his way by Andy, who looked like he was about to eyeroll at his coworker's antics. "Thanks. And with that, I'm gonna head back to Turner Hall. Me and Bethy, we got a long night ahead of us. ...Of studyin'." He pulled a dramatic face.
wrecked ships: "I only have one look to give, and it's this one!" Aslan on the pointer finger, and it was thrust at her own face -- but this time, she went incredibly cross eyed and wonky in the face. The sort of face that old grannies warned would stay that way if you weren't careful, or perhaps pissed off the wrong creature. Or maybe that was just in her house. "Give Beth some tongue for me," Alice waggled a wave at Tucker, turning back to her soup -- and oh look, Andy
hesitantly yours: yes hello beth pls enjoy this sexy kiss it's from alice
wrecked ships: had delivered her sammy too, hadn't he? What a stud. Consider the soup abandoned for the hammy goodness. Too-big bite, and she eyed Derrick while thoughtfully chewing on the thing. "Are all you American's so bloody tall?," she very full mouthed asked. -d-
Flash of throat: aw tell her thx she hasn't kissed me like that since litha 2010
wrecked ships: Yeah, basically. AND BETH WILL.
Unchecked Honor: Make the straight boy uncomfortable? Oh, poor Tucker. Derrick had spent months at a time alone in the wild wastes of the Middle East with a half dozen other guys, constantly joking about which of them was the prettiest, and whether or not they'd take turns, or resort to the goats first like the locals. However, he continued to listen as Tucker did his best, and he arched one brow skywards even higher. His large left hand leaving that coffee cup, to reach out and brush his fingertips along the collar of Tucker's jacket, head tilting downwards almost coyly. "... and are you that guy, Tuck? Can you teach me... rhythm?" He did his very best to sound innocent, but he couldn't hide the shudder of the chuckle that ran through him, as his hand drew back, and he covered his mouth. Laughter spilling free, as he turned and set that coffee down onto the counter. So he wouldn't spill it as he laughed. However, he composed himself and turned to give Tucker a nod, as he started to dismiss himself. "Right, hit them books, hit 'em hard boy-o!" Derrick gave him a pat on the shoulder, and glanced towards Alice as she asked her question, grinning a little and shaking his head. "No, I'm a freak there ... I'm tall, and hideously misshapen ... they chase me in the streets, and throw rocks at me... it's why I moved here to London ... I'm a fugitive of the pretty society of South Boston ..." -d
hesitantly yours: Tucker paused. Those blues flickered up to Derrick's eyes, and the smirk didn't once go away, not for a second. Even though he wanted to crack the fuck up at the way that the guy took his bait and ran with it. "Rhythm, sure, but I damn well can't teach you dancin'. Take that bloody rosary off, though, 'fore gettin' too close to me. I'll explain why some other time." A brush of fingertips against Derrick's hip, and he was heading for the door. "By the way, I'll be lookin' for you at Yule." He paused in the doorway, smirked back at Alice. "Oh, I'll be sure to kiss her and tell her it's from you. Plenty of tongue action, straight from Miss Donovan herself." And he was off, into the streets and the cold, laughing all the way out. Just the way he should be.
wrecked ships: "That's Mrs Bell if you're nasty," Alice called out after him. -d-
Triggers: Mild flirtation.
Summary: Just hangin' out really. Things we determine: Alice Clare likes soup. Tucker can't dance. Derrick is misshapen. Molly is awkward.
wrecked ships: Alice Clare liked Joe's the best at night. When the size of the crowd could be hit or miss depending on the day of the week. She liked the special events that drew people in, and the ambiance of the place -- especially since it'd been taken over in the subtle way that not many had been able to detect. But it was there. Her sniffer smelled it. Or something. Probably not. Maybe AC didn't realize and she's just a wacky ol' git. It was just herself tonight, no strutting bearded monster, no silent Golem who so recently hadn't been so silent and was missing an eye to make that happen, and no bobcats to be found snuggling stowaway in her shirt. Fantastic shirt, that -- but we'll get to it in a moment. A perusal of the place showed that the faces inside were mostly unfamiliar. And maybe that was a good thing. No show to put on, no expectations, no hiding, no acting. Just Alice Clare -- and a peckish belly. Maybe it was not what she'd intended on coming to Joe's for, but the smells coming out of the kitchen swayed her that away. A wander to the counter, shrugging out of her coat as she did. The girl was a waifish thing -- she hadn't really been eating that well these days -- and she had the willow of her figure covered in a pair of plaid stretchy pants in blues and greens tucked into a pair of open military styled boots. Neon green and pink could be seen a little by way of the socks she wore, decorated with some sort of hula girl, but her new favorite thing was the tee shirt she was wearing. Sleeveless, with enough of the sides of the thing missing to reveal the lace of a pale blue bralette. The tee was white, and upon first glance, one might thing it was the Barbie logo emblazoned in big chunky slanted hot pink font across her breasts. But nope. That shit said "Barf" and it was amazing. -d-
Flash of throat: The number of people who came to Joe's for one reason and ended up staying for another had taken a turn for the plentiful in the weeks since its repurpose. The once-hole-in-the-wall had gone ahead and knocked a few walls out to expand on its forty-plus year-old layout, creating room for a full kitchen -- that, of course, meant changes to the menu -- and a long, wooden counter with bar seating on one side, among other niceties. Its signature collection of thrift store antiques, that wasn't going anywhere. Neither was tall, quiet, blue-eyed lead server, Andy. Molly, however... she still wasn't sure that Joe's or South Bank were where she belonged. She'd pulled long, fantasy spirals of white up into a ponytail atop the crown of her head for the dinner rush, which was long gone by the time this moment came around, and tied a red bandana behind her ears a la the day Cher Lloyd forgot that her curled lip and aggressive upnod isn't enough to qualify her as a hood. They still have standards, don't they -- the gangs? There are ways you have to prove yourself before you get to do the curled lip and the aggressive upnod with any credibility,right? Zoom. There it went, Molly's mind, chasing after something that didn't matter even one little bit instead of fully committing herself to the ledger bookended by her elbows on the service side of the counter. One of her hands scritchy-crawled up the side of her face and into her hairline to fuss at a spot underneath the fold of that stupid bandana, then smoothed everything back into place without even checking to see if it had come unsmoothed. Her assumption that it had was typical of her. The button-down she wore open over a teeshirt with a faded band logo that was probably older than she was made up of navy, red and white plaid. White trim played at an American country western design in a horizontal span across her chest and right breast pocket. Who knows what she'd wriggled the bottom half of her into? She was standing behind a counter, did it matter? Narrow eyes the color of blue-green lake ice yoinked themselves from wherever they'd stuck themselves between lines of figures that desperately needed more black and less red to spy Barfie Girl come through, and the lefthand corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. "Nice,"murmured a soft-spoken Brit to one with ridiculously expressive eyebrows. "The shirt. What'll you have?" (d)
wrecked ships: Oh. There was nothing a vain girl liked more than compliments -- our Alice wasn't entirely vain, but she had her moments. Like this one. So when the singularly spoken one came, a beam flooded her down-turned mouth. "Aww, thank you,"she cooed, you know, as if she'd come up with the shirt herself. She hadn't. She'd only handed over the correct coins for the thing, and called it hers. Below those bold slashes of brow blue eyes gave a quick sweep to wherever the menu choices were listed, but barely lingered before they flashed back to the platinum blonde and all her height and misrepresented Americana that in no way matched the voice that had greeted, and Alice let out of a huff, falling into a pitch against the counter where her elbows prevented her from complete collapse, and then her hands even supported her pretty lil' chin. "Have you got any soups? I could go for a thick soup. Or a stew. Maybe a half sandwich? Do you do that?" Read, Alice Clare. "I'm not picky." Lies. Fingers and all their inked decoration -- the not so cute anymore lion, the traced heart, the vintage looking wasp, her own initials -- drummed against the sides of angular cheeks, before Alice blew them out like a pufferfish and cranked herself back up to a proper posture. "You know what really sounds good though? A Christmas goose. I don't suppose you've got that?" Such hope in vibrant blues. -d-
Flash of throat: The thick slap of paper on paper as Molly closed her ledger was punctuation enough to dash all hope of Christmas goose, but she followed it up with words spoken, anyhow, and shoved the ledger... somewhere. Somewhere under the counter, and probably into a bin of dirty dishes she had yet to lug behind the burgundy employees only curtain that she liked so well to hide behind while watching Joe's comings and goings. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for Christmas as to the goose, Tim," she lamented -- and with the tiniest bit of actual lament! "I've got a London particular and a Mulligawtany on the burner, though. Could likely come up with half a sandwich for you, either way. Ham, if you like the particular." Because split pea and lentil soup needed half a ham sandwich along side it; that was just plain common sense, wasn't it? "Let's see?" Molly held out a hand just as inky to nose into Alice's art. (d)
Unchecked Honor: One large hand had taken hold of the handle on the door, and with a shove it had been swung open to allow his entrance. Derrick hadn't made it down to Joes in about a week now, because things had just been crazy work wise. The heavy steel toed work boots, and those long legged denim jeans carried him through the doorway with that steady, predatorily stride. His figure slowed as he entered, shrugging against the November chill from outside of the shop, as he swung the door closed behind himself, so that it would block out the chill that he'd left behind. However, a blast of that frigid wind would've swept in with him, heralding his arrival with the scent of leather and a hint of gun powder. Derrick had stopped just inside the doorway, eyes glancing towards the counter, and stopping on the two women there ... one of which was bent over the counter. Dark storm cloud gray eyes took a moment to take in the two beauties, before he started slowly through the store and towards the two strangers, not because they were beauties, but because Joes was the only damn place around here that made a decent cup of coffee! It wasn't until he was standing there in line, and the girl ahead of him had popped up off of the counter, that those gray eyes had taken in the girl behind the counters features appropriately. Brows rose, and he grinned a little as he waited patiently for his own turn to order, admiring the obvious change in her features, as his strong fingers moved to sweep over the rest of his clothing. Simple dark green button down shirt, with that brown leather vest over it. The buttons done up, and a little silver chain running from one button to the slit of a pocket on it's front. There was another silver chain hanging from his right hip, running back towards his back pocket, and a brown leather sheathe that obviously held a knife within, the handle a worked stag bone handle. Over it all, to help block out the cold was a simple brown leather jacket, stylish and simple, but it definitely helped define the broad cut of those muscular shoulders. Standing there, he would waggle his brows at Molly if she made eye contact with him, and a small grin, but he'd wait for her to finish with her customer, like the gentleman he was. -d
wrecked ships: The shape of that mouth scrunched a bit in pure and utter disappointment when there was no goose to be had. It wasn't a surprise really. There was still a bit of time before it was even proper to truss one up for the holiday. It did make her think though, about how she was going to make Frank prepare a whole huge spread, even if only she and the cats ate it. That'd be a fun challenge, actually. Pulled from the misadventures of Alice Clare by way of other food choice, Alice maintained her pout for a moment, even going so far as to mutter a curse beneath her breath, "Guacamole," but her voice rose up and she gave a little salute. "Sold, then, mate. Whatever's easiest. I'm easy." Stop lying to the woman, you little witch. The arrival of another at the counter would cast a lift of glacial blues that away, but they didn't linger on the man, since a request was made, and dutifully Alice presented her hands to the woman. She gave the one with the lion a little twist, to show off the side of her hand, where initials scrawled in CJD. "My granddad," she'd offer, then turn her hand again to fist it and nudge her pointer finger a little at the knuckle and make a little growl to go along with the lion she was puppeting to Molly. -d-
Flash of throat: Whether it was the waggle of Derrick's eyebrows or the scrunch of Alice's mouth that did it, Molly blinked, pulling her head back an inch or two and lifting her chin as she usually did when caught off guard by anything. Yes, hello, Derrick, she sees you, and she raises your waggle the visible flare of an inhalation. Alice Clare's hand was only given the gentlest and most brief of touches imaginable -- well, unless I were playing Hannah, I guess it could get even subtler here with the right hands behind it -- as she turned it over to peek at ink scars, all ears for their reasons why and all soft laughter for the puppeted lion's maw. "Lovely." Then she was pulling back, crouching low and coming back up with a large stoneware bowl in some bizarre color combination that had obviously been chosen at the height of 1970s nope and a spoon. She foisted both across the counter at the other blonde with a tilted head toward the double burner in the counter a ways down. "Help yourself, then. I'll have Andy out with that sandwich soon enough." Apparently Molly is not afeared of soup thieves. (d)
Unchecked Honor: ... that was, awkward. When she had noted the Derrick's presence with a quick inwards breath through her nostrils, he was left kind of momentarily confused. Those brows had waggled, but now one of them just sort of hung high over those stormy gray eyes. However, Derrick would wait for the two women to finish their business, his large hands slipping down to force thick and callused thumbs through the denim belt loops, to let his hands press into the front of those jeans as he waited. Tongue slipped outwards to brush over his bottom lip, and whenever Alice moved on to go and get her soup, he'd step forward, and his chin moved upwards in a nod. "Hey there. Just a coffee, black with a subscription to diabetes..." Oh, she knew his order, he was a regular by now! Or he figured he was ... -d
wrecked ships: Alice was gonna thieve all the soups. A delighted sound left the Barf clad witch, and she cupped the sides of her bowl as if it were the most precious dish ever created -- and it wasn't even full yet! "You're a superstar," she said by way of thanks, completely oblivious to the fact she'd been all touched and examined by a flippin' legend. Skirting around the tall man with her creepy features and ultimate resting bitch face, Alice trounced to the soups, filled her bowl to brimming with the pea and lentil one, and then oh so carefully took precise steps back to the counter, where the now hot thing was set down and Alice hovered over it protectively. The spoon lifted, given a twirl and was dipped. "You should be wearing her shirt," northern cadence piped up, using her chin to gesture between the Yank and Molly in her red white and blue. Spoon lifted, soup clinging to it's tiny lil' bowl, and with a blow to cool it, the bite disappeared beyond her lips. -d-
Flash of throat: A legend. Ha. Do we count soft-spoken, introverted pin-up girls turned cafe queens legends, now? Oh, wait -- you meant the whole... other thing. The whole smells-like-magic-from-a-hundred-miles-away thing. Yeah, there's that. Just don't tell Molly about it. Joe sure didn't. With Alice Clare souped and Andy seeing to her other wants, Molly was exhaling a close-lipped smile for her next customer, whose coffee order she did remember, even if she might argue that two visits hardly constituted the highly prestigious honor of regular. That's two visits to you, Molly; not two visits to Joe's. Sometimes she forgets about the years-long gap in time between when she left London and when she returned. Anyone coming through the door might be a regular, as newly come home as she was. "Cap," mused the nickname-giver, already reaching for the cup that bore his favorite superhero's logo. "You've been moonlighting, haven't you? I thought we had an arrangement." She was talking about his facehole and her medium roast, poking facetious fun at his recent busy schedule. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Oh, there was no doubt what so ever that pretty little Molly was a legend! So much so in fact, that Derrick had a picture of her in a very specific file on his phone. However, he had only discovered that after he had left the coffee shop the last time, later on that evening, during his personal time. Then he had done some digging, and he had found many, many more pictures of the pretty little ... well, now she was blonde, and it was even more obvious to him who she had been, before she'd become the local barrista. However, Derrick had been here more often than just the two times that Molly had interacted with him, and ever since their last encounter, every visit had been with the hopes that she'd be the one behind the counter. When she called him by that nickname, he grinned a little, and those big hands lifted to rest palm down onto the counter, so he could lock his elbows, and lean forward ever so slightly on those thickly muscled arms. "Well darlin', I'm here now, aren't I?" He grinned a little, and gave a lazy shrug of those broad shoulders. "Yeah, I've been working crazy hours since that whole..." He gestured with a vague wave of his hand, back over his shoulder towards the door. "... Paris, thing." Derrick was in security after all, and he worked as a private consultant for a defense company. So those wealthier individuals who had been worried, and panicked by the attack that was relatively close to home for Londoners. The money had been great though! So when his hand dropped back to the counter, and he glanced towards Alice at her insinuation that he needed to be wearing her shirt. Which drew those gray eyes back towards Molly, and he took a moment to let those grays scan over her more slowly, and appreciatively. "... It is definitely my style." So, she should go ahead and take it off, right?! -d
wrecked ships: There was no mistaking the way he perved on Molly at Alice's suggestion, which was not at all what she'd meant -- and also managed to jog her memory. "Hey, I met you. You're Tucker's friend." Didn't those types of blokes tend to flock together? "Right, right, you came for Samhain. What's your name again?" She had a perfectly valid excuse for forgetting the guys name, you know. The spoon scraped at the bowl a little, and Alice took another bite; swinging the lightness of her weighted stare back to Molly. "Heavens to Betsy, this is far better than a goose any day," came a purr around the swallow. -d-
Unchecked Honor: Derrick wasn't perving! ... Okay, maybe he was perving a little, but with the pictures that he had on his phone of her, how was he not going to?! It wasn't physically possible for him not to remember them, whenever he looked at the pretty blonde now. However, he snapped those stormy grays away from Molly's figure, when Alice spoke up about having met him, and one dark brow rose skywards as he let his eyes lock with her own. There was a moment when his features went stony, and stern. The look made him look exactly like who his father was, but it passed relatively quickly, and the Byrne resemblance departed just as quickly as a passing breeze, wafting across the girl. "Yeah, Tucker invited me out ... I'm Derrick." Derrick turned while Molly went off to get him that coffee, eyes darting to admire whatever she was wearing from the waist down, but then swept back to Alice again, and he had the courtesy to seem a little sheepish at his inability to not admire Molly's curved posterior. "... and you are? Sorry, it was a crazy night ..." -d
hesitantly yours: The steady march of scuffed boots could have belonged to anyone, but the figure that darkened the door of Joe's wasn't just anyone. It was the barista returning for more punishment--or really, returning for a take-out order. The good news was that he looked happier than he had in a while. The bad news was that he...looked happier than he had in a while? Yeah, well, with Tucker that could go either way. It depended on a lot of things. Bundled up in his warmest coat, a dark gray scarf about his throat and his hands in his pockets, he strolled inside like he owned the place (he did not), and took in who was present. There was Derrick, whom he hadn't laid eyes on since Samhain. Alice Clare over there, and Molly with her admittedly admiration-worthy posterior. How do you think Tucker felt, working with her? Then again, he was starting to surmise that the baristas were part of the charm of the revamped coffee shop. Come for the coffee, stay for the eye candy, right? "Evenin'." Hand rose to wave to the small assembly gathered.
wrecked ships: Unfortunately for him, Alice didn't get a lot of face time with his father -- most certainly not enough for his brief flash of a moment that he resembled him for her to be all ``omg Alistair jr`` on him. Instead, she was more focused on his words, and it brought both of her amazingly thick and on FLEEK brows up. "That was a crazy night?" She couldn't stop the laugh that nearly barked out. "That was so far the opposite of crazy. Do you not celebrate the holidays? Was that your first? Oh what a boring way to pop your cherry," she frowned a little, her attention turning when the cambion she literally just mentioned showed up. "Hello, devil." Soupy spoon was pulled from the dish, drip drip dripping back into the bowl with the short salute she gave Tucker with it. And to Derrick, "And it's Alice Clare, by the by. You'll do well to remember it." Such a sweet smile from the sinister girl. -d-
Unchecked Honor: Oh, there was already someone in the room who had realized who Derrick's strong jaw line was reminiscent of, but she hadn't seemed to want to be forthcoming with that information, so Derrick wasn't aware at all that Alistair Byrne was his Daddy. When the door swung open, Derrick's head turned out of habit to eye the entrant. His training forcing him to assess the entrant in the manner of threat assessment, and what not. However, when Derrick realized it was Tucker, he gave the friend a grin, and he raised his chin in a nod towards the man. "Hey Tuck. We were just talking about you ..." Then those gray eyes had drifted back towards the girl before him, as she reintroduced herself. One dark brow rising ever so slightly as she admonished him to remember her name, and even more so at her having informed him that the evening had been a boring one. "Um... No. It was my first, Samhain..." That's right, he totally pronounced it wrong! Grinning a bit, and patting the center of his chest, where that brown leather vest, and the button down green shirt hid the silver rosary. "I was raised Catholic, back in Boston... So, that was my first, pagan ceremony." There was a chuckle, and a shrug of those broad shoulders, as he turned to glance towards wherever it was that Molly had gotten with that Captain America cup of coffee. That was when Andy had handed it over, and Derrick had frowned at the man, because he wasn't Molly! But, he had his coffee, and so he'd turn and move towards that sugar shaker, so that he could dump half the damn thing into that dark brew, and give it a stir to mix it in thoroughly. -d
hesitantly yours: "Oi, you were talkin' about me, were you? Whatever that silver-tongued little minx tells ya about me, it ain't true, unless it's flatterin'. Then it's absolutely true." He sidled up to the counter to place his order, though not before shooting Alice Clare a playful smile. "Hi yourself, witch." If they were going to be accurate and all. Even though devil wasn't quite the truth, it was close enough. "So that was your first one, was it? Samhain? Oh just you wait, Derrick. Just you wait til Litha. Summertime." Though blues did follow a nervous trail to the patting hand, and what he suspected was underneath. Just so long as he kept it underneath the layers of leather and fabric, they were fine. Sooner or later he realized he'd likely have to tell his new buddy here why that rosary could only spell bad news for him, or maybe he'd just have to take off his shirt and show off the cross-shaped scar between his shoulders. "It was my first Samhain, though. Wasn't sure what to expect, but I didn't expect that. It was soberin'." Beth had briefed him, to be sure, but it had still surprised him how somber it was in contrast to the other festivals he'd attended. "It was good. I think we needed some soberin'." It had been a rough year at Shepherd. When Andy was back behind the counter, he placed his order. Two cups. One was a ginormous thing of coffee with Tucker's usual bastardization of syrups. The other was tea, ordered to his Earthy little witch's specifications. Seemed he wasn't planning on staying for too long.
Flash of throat: Ahem. You'll have to pardon little miss Molly. She'd gotten some urgent phone call or another, a persistent bzzz against a right ass cheek covered up real modest like by blue jeans that snuggled in close to her skin all the way down into half-laced boots, like she'd been taking style cues from Mira, who she'd... never actually met. Oh well. The point is, she had to step into the back to take care of the ugly business of a past due bill, leaving service in Andy's capable hands for a few moments. He never seemed to mind. Unflappable, really, that guy. Mostly. Still, she was checking on this and that like she thought he might have missed something. She'd learn, in time, that Andy missed almost nothing, whether conversation or order. For now she felt like an island. A really small one, if her posture was any indicator. Good luck finding it anywhere in her eyes, though. There, Alice Clare had her sandwich, Derrick was giving himself coffee-laced cavities and Tucker... oh, Tucker! Molly's eyes widened. "Is it...? It's not Friday," she murmured. "Right?" Tucker didn't work on Thursday nights, usually! When she caught a clue thanks to the order Andy was working on behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Poor girl doesn't even know what day it is. Someone make her take a day off. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Derrick had turned more fully towards Tucker, now that he had that sweet and delicious coffee in hand. Stepping back towards the counter, as he lifted that mug upwards and took a long pull of the dark liquid. Eyes slipped closed, and he groaned ever so slightly at the delicious flavor of that rich blended coffee. Lowering the mug, he let those dark and stormy eyes wash back over Tuck, and the girl who was engrossed in her soup all of a sudden. "Mmm, well I'll have to check out another one then ... I mean, growing up you hear all kinds of stories about dancing naked around fires, and all of that. It's nothing like what I imagined." He shrugged, and turned to rest his ass back against the counter, so he could watch the door as he sipped that coffee, and continued that conversation with Tucker, and Alice, when she wasn't devouring that soup! However, then Molly was coming back out from the back area, and Derrick gladly turned back around, to face her once more. His hip pressing into the counter as he grinned, and sipped that sweetened coffee. "Mmmph. No? It's Thursday." Slow nod, and a glance over at Tucker, and then back towards the pretty blonde. "What about you Molly? How do you feel about dancing naked around a fire?" He was being a gentleman, and pulling her into the conversation! -d
hesitantly yours: There was Molly! Tucker grinned at her, easy, friendly, his usual smile. "No, no. What, you think I'm gonna patronize some other coffee shop just 'cause it's my day off? Absolutely not. But I will be seein' you tomorrow evenin' for my usual shift." Molly really did need a day off. Maybe after finals Tucker could pick up some extra shifts to give her some more time to herself, at least during the break. He was starting grad school in the spring, after all. His head swung towards Derrick, and he smirked, for a few reasons. One was that it was pretty blatantly obvious that the guy was thinking about Molly dancing naked around a bonfire. The other was because, well... "Dunno 'bout naked. I've seen some people goin' round with very little clothing, though." Rest in peace, Beth's little crochet scrap-of-fabric. Rest in peace. "Doubt you're gonna find that at the winter ceremonies, though. Not unless we got some people with death wishes. Why, you plannin' on showin' up in your skivvies?" Lord, did the cambion just wink at him? Yes he did. Sorry, Derrick, this is your life now. Just accept it.
wrecked ships: "Skyclad," Alice interjected, while the topic of conversation had turned to what happened at events such as the one back on All Hallow's Eve. "It's not naked, nor is it in any way sexual." Except when your very own dark wizard turned it into that, but that was a whole other story and not appropriate for Council events. -d-
hesitantly yours: "No, but the orgiastic aftermath sure is." Mumble.
wrecked ships: "No, Tucker." Spoon was pointed at him, Alice all glarey. Alice Glare. -d-
Flash of throat: "If that's what you're into..." she shrugged, or at least that's what she was doing until Tucker mumbled something or other about orgiastic, and after that she was sooo not comfortable being a part of that conversation! That was why she grabbed up a rag to distract herself with and... cleaned things. (d)
Unchecked Honor: Derrick's gray eyes had rested on Molly while the other two had started spouting out other words of importance, and one brow arched skywards as Derrick repeated a single word. "Skyclad." It was as if he were testing the word, while he kept his grays on Molly's features, but then she became determined to clean something. So he let those grays drift over to the winking friend of his, and he gave a chuckle as he shrugged those broad shoulders. "I've got nothing to hide Tuck... though, I'm not that great with dancing ... maybe I could do the Skyclad Robot, or something?" Now there was a site for one's imagination, right?! -d
Flash of throat: Molly kind of hunched forward, cleaning what ever she was cleaning, shoulders rising and falling with silent laughter. Skyclad robot. Dork. (d)
hesitantly yours: "Oi, don't you go givin' me that look, Alice Clare." Look, Tucker could appreciate the ceremony, he really could. But the aftermath was his, you know, his freebie night. So Tucker did continue, briefly, his game of Make The Presumably Straight Guy Vaguely Uncomfortable, and raised his brows in a manner that bordered on coy. "Aw, c'mon, dancin' ain't hard. Just gotta feel it." Tucker, you have two left feet, why are you even speaking right now, you clod. He was a graceful, deadly shadow in combat and walked like he was prowling, but get him on a dance floor and well...he was half incubus and half white boy. "Maybe you just need somebody to help you find the rhythm a bit..." Tea and coffee were ushered his way by Andy, who looked like he was about to eyeroll at his coworker's antics. "Thanks. And with that, I'm gonna head back to Turner Hall. Me and Bethy, we got a long night ahead of us. ...Of studyin'." He pulled a dramatic face.
wrecked ships: "I only have one look to give, and it's this one!" Aslan on the pointer finger, and it was thrust at her own face -- but this time, she went incredibly cross eyed and wonky in the face. The sort of face that old grannies warned would stay that way if you weren't careful, or perhaps pissed off the wrong creature. Or maybe that was just in her house. "Give Beth some tongue for me," Alice waggled a wave at Tucker, turning back to her soup -- and oh look, Andy
hesitantly yours: yes hello beth pls enjoy this sexy kiss it's from alice
wrecked ships: had delivered her sammy too, hadn't he? What a stud. Consider the soup abandoned for the hammy goodness. Too-big bite, and she eyed Derrick while thoughtfully chewing on the thing. "Are all you American's so bloody tall?," she very full mouthed asked. -d-
Flash of throat: aw tell her thx she hasn't kissed me like that since litha 2010
wrecked ships: Yeah, basically. AND BETH WILL.
Unchecked Honor: Make the straight boy uncomfortable? Oh, poor Tucker. Derrick had spent months at a time alone in the wild wastes of the Middle East with a half dozen other guys, constantly joking about which of them was the prettiest, and whether or not they'd take turns, or resort to the goats first like the locals. However, he continued to listen as Tucker did his best, and he arched one brow skywards even higher. His large left hand leaving that coffee cup, to reach out and brush his fingertips along the collar of Tucker's jacket, head tilting downwards almost coyly. "... and are you that guy, Tuck? Can you teach me... rhythm?" He did his very best to sound innocent, but he couldn't hide the shudder of the chuckle that ran through him, as his hand drew back, and he covered his mouth. Laughter spilling free, as he turned and set that coffee down onto the counter. So he wouldn't spill it as he laughed. However, he composed himself and turned to give Tucker a nod, as he started to dismiss himself. "Right, hit them books, hit 'em hard boy-o!" Derrick gave him a pat on the shoulder, and glanced towards Alice as she asked her question, grinning a little and shaking his head. "No, I'm a freak there ... I'm tall, and hideously misshapen ... they chase me in the streets, and throw rocks at me... it's why I moved here to London ... I'm a fugitive of the pretty society of South Boston ..." -d
hesitantly yours: Tucker paused. Those blues flickered up to Derrick's eyes, and the smirk didn't once go away, not for a second. Even though he wanted to crack the fuck up at the way that the guy took his bait and ran with it. "Rhythm, sure, but I damn well can't teach you dancin'. Take that bloody rosary off, though, 'fore gettin' too close to me. I'll explain why some other time." A brush of fingertips against Derrick's hip, and he was heading for the door. "By the way, I'll be lookin' for you at Yule." He paused in the doorway, smirked back at Alice. "Oh, I'll be sure to kiss her and tell her it's from you. Plenty of tongue action, straight from Miss Donovan herself." And he was off, into the streets and the cold, laughing all the way out. Just the way he should be.
wrecked ships: "That's Mrs Bell if you're nasty," Alice called out after him. -d-