milliways_bar | (no subject)

"No like...ballroom type dancing stuff...me in your arms.

"I want you to meet my friend Archie and his girlfriend Svava so yeah."

"Do they know how to?"

He doesn't want to be the only one who sucks.

"Not so much from the impression Svava gave me. Archie knows...drunk 1800's sailor dancing...but yeah. Besides, this way if we get married we'll know how to danace."

"Or we could elope," he suggests.

She frowns. "We can't elope..." She looks very upset at this idea. "I want a big wedding...with a cake...and a dress...and..."

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Oh good God..."

And it was this reaction she'd been afraid of...Warren could talk about it, yes, but...she couldn't make herself believe he'd ever actually marry her.

She frowns.

In actuality he's calculating.

$1500 in credit on his tab now...

Wedding stuff costs...well, lots, that much he knows.

Maybe he could somehow rob something. Just a little something. A tiny little something no one would ever, ever miss...

But the woman pays for the wedding. She just wants a nice ring...one that'll more than double his tab...heh...but still...

"Warren..."

The woman's father. And Warren's your daddy now, Kitten. He reluctantly tears himself away from math.

"Yeah?"

"Baby...if you're not ready to talk about this we don't have to okay?"

She looks pained to say this though. She hadn't been meaning to get her hopes up but...

He looks confused.

"No, it's...I like cake."

"Look...if you really ask me, we'll start talking about plans and stuff, okay?"

She's hurting. She shouldn't be...but she is. She'd said earlier that she wouldn't have a problem waiting. That she wasn't expecting him to ask for awhile yet. But she wanted so much to believe he would...

But Warren has to plan plans before he allows himself to begin planning them. No failure. Or smallest possible possibility of. He'll draw up bluprints if he can. Or collums on collums of numbers.

"I...w-..." he stutters.

Because he sort of thought he did.

Nope. She'd told him when he really asked it had to be romantic with a really nice ring. That doesn't equate to bedside chatter.

Ah the joys of miscommunication. She slides off of his lap, moving to sit in the seat catty corner to his.

"Baby. It's fine."

But Warren has neither romance, nor a really nice ring. He has clumsy, goofy, fumbling need, and fear, and weakness, and dubious charm, and dubious looks, and an army of the wrong things to say at his disposal.

And now he has a cold empty lap as well.

"Is it fine, or are you saying it's fine?"

"I dunno. I don't even know what's going on." She leans on one arm, then lays it down on the table, head still atop it.

"That...makes two of us," he says.

He reaches out to stroke her hair.

"Uh. Hey! Let's...not have a...thing," he suggests. "Disagreement. Since we both...don't know."

Her hand of the arm under her head stretches out to him. "We aren't having a thing."

He lets out a relieved breath.

"Oh. Good."

He can never tell. He's never sure what it is he does (he's sure it's something), or when, until it's too late.

Time machine. More reason for the time machine. You thought he forgot about the time machine, didn't you?

"So, uh, who's hotter? Me? Or, uh, the other, apparently, me?"

Ice breaker!

"You. He's a little trimmer, an d has facial hair. He's a good looking guy but he's not you."

He beams and pats her hair less timidly.

"That's my girl."

Good answer.

She smiles at him. "What can I say? I'm hopelessly in love with you. And really you're just so...I dunno. You. You're charismatic."

He laughs, but looks proud.

"All right. I'll keep you."

"Forever?"