milliways_bar | (no subject)

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To be brief: there is a snoozing demon onna sofa. Bare feet and ankles sticking out from what appears to be silky jammies what have become bunched against the armrest, and a ~~smoking frock~~ robe. Asia seems to be a subtle theme. When you're hobbling, you have to take what you get, even if it's a loveseat, and you're six foot something. Not the best match, but it'll do. Besides, the fireplace is fabulous.

In actual brevity: snoozing demon onna sofa. Crutch onna floor, within easy reach and out of the way of waitrats and slightly bigger footsies.

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Jonathan blinks at him, then actually laughs.

"Yeah, there's a reason my weapon of choice's the crossbow."

Okay. He can't hide the grin anymore. "Then I think we've established that size really doesn't enter into things, now, haven't we."

That? That gets an involuntary and entirely unwelcome blush.

"Maybe we have."

If there's one thing he loves just as much as a nice, stiff drink, it's making cuties blush. It's common knowledge, and even if it weren't, it's obvious by the way he seems to stretch a bit taller despite being slumped, slowly sliding into a sideways lounge on the sofa.

The glint in his eyes is another dead giveaway. "So puff up your chest and stand as tall as you can, hombre. You're plenty man enough."

He seems to have got a grip on himself quite quickly, as he shoots back, "No that I have been told."

"Oooh, cheeky!" There's a new light in the demon's red eyes, a little something brightening the dull red irises, be it mirth or interest or a new shade of respect.

Lorne so seldom gets banter back when he dishes it out, even the slightest little jibe gets his attention. But this, now, this is more. This is effort in the making. "Go on, handsome, before I quote Grease at you. 'Tell me more, tell me more', and so on."

...

"Too late!"

Edited 2009-09-13 21:15 (UTC)

Jonathan snorts, leaning back against the upper part of his sofa arm. He picks up on the brightening of Lorne's mood, though.

"What can I say? Some girls like something a bit different." He holds up one arm, letting his sleeve fall back as he unsheathes the tentacles there.

How come every last cutie who knows how to play a good game of gregarious flirting is a fudging tease?

Lorne would sigh if he wasn't such a good sport. Instead he chuckles, propping his cheek on the knuckles of his good hand. Tentacles. Of all things, it had to be tentacles.

Not that he's complaining. Quite contrary. "Honey, don't forget about the boys."

"...well, it has been noted once or twice."

He's hedging his words about whether he reciprocated.

Every boy's allowed his fair share of secrets kept well hidden. And all that besides, Lorne isn't one to pry. Not unless he knows it's the mot du jour, so to speak.

"Uhuh. I bet it was."

A heartbeat's worth of afterthought has him sobering a teeny tiny bit. He needs to remember why Jonathan's here, and it doesn't involve any kind of amusement on either their parts. Doesn't matter that he's wonderfully easy to talk to and can banter up a storm; that sort of thing can be dangerous.

"Listen... I appreciate this. What you're doing. It's very kind of you, as emissary to the Council or not."

"The Council actually didn't send me", Jonathan confesses. "Not for this. It just seemed like someone should do it."

Something tightens incrementally way down below his left hip joint, and he averts his eyes for the space of a heartbeat he doesn't want to term touched. Then he looks back up, and gives Jonathan a small nod of acknowledgment.

Jonathan nods back.

"So, I'll get back to you about visiting Emma. Shouldn't take me long... are you staying here?"

"For the time being, yes... Please do. I'm--" he hesitates, wondering just how far he's willing to stick his neck out. But giving Jonathan his room number would just be tacky, with the less serious aspects of their conversation in mind. His mind once again drawn to Beth - Emma, Beth, who cares which one's right - he feels silly and stupid and careless for having forgotten her predicament.

"Leave a note with Bar."

"She's safe", Jonathan reminds him, seeing his expression. "And you don't have to worry about any more vigilantes. Jordie and the others getting arrested too was a good lesson about that."

Eyes carefully downcast, two things poke at Lorne's attention. Vigilantes, goes the first tiny little whisper at the back of his head, bringing forth images of spandex clad bombshells of either sexes on one hand, and the reality of vigilantism on the other. The second little spin to his attention span comes along at a much more languorously sinister pace.

She's safe, he says. She's safe. But how would Jonathan know that was what's on his mind, unless it's written all over his face?

Suspicious, idle minds do tend to run away with you. "Jordie. She's the one with the hair, right?" He thinks he remembers her name, and when in doubt or fear, pick a topic and run with it.

Edited 2009-09-14 13:11 (UTC)

"That's her. The one in the lead when they came for Emma."

"The girl with the axe." He shudders involuntarily, images of what might have been flashing before his eyes. Emma's head cleft in two like so much a ripe watermelon, her brains spattered over his walls in sickly red clumps of death and horror. Death and horror. Death and horror and bone fragments. Nausea rises for the umpteenth time in half as many hours.

"Yeah", Jonathan agrees flatly. "That'd be the one."

He shakes his head as if to will away the images. "I'm just glad I stalled the darlings long enough so the cavalry could move in."

Not that he had any clue that would happen, but...essentially, that's what he did, his intentions notwithstanding.

"So are we", is the sincere response. "I don't know what we would've had to do, if they'd finished the job."

"Yeah," he notes wryly. "A scolding only goes so far, huh..."

"And that's somewhere the Council really doesn't want to go, if we can avoid it."

He nods. "Good..."

He doesn't know what else to say.

"Shouldn't take me more than a day or two to set up your visit."