nomorekaraoke | Milliways, third strike

Entry tags:

millicanon,
plot

Milliways, third strike

Friday night. Thank goodness it is Friday night and Lorne's got nowhere to be but his dreary little office, and no one to chat up. He's all dressed up and got nowhere to go.

Nowhere but Milliways, and there's nowhere he'd rather be. He walks in like he always does (or, well, almost always), with a bounce in his step and an appreciative glance at everyone around. It's good to be here, among friends. And dear lordy, all the beautiful people, let's not forget about those.

"Bar, darling, fix me up with something good. I'm thinking hard liquor tonight, but something sweet?" Ta dah, Melon Bomb. "Thanks a bunch, love."

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Vaguely Lorne realizes it's a good thing he's sitting down, or his left leg would be tap dancing across the floor in all the wrong ways and none of the Fred Astaire ones. It's just his luck, to come face to face with Andrew again, and here of all places. Here, where he goes to be accepted and not-awkward with just about everyone around. And by the look of his face in the mirror, he not only sees him, but recognizes his green mug.

There's no turning back now. There's no going back. "Hey."

"Hi."

Andrew takes a swallow of his drink (a Coke float, spiked with a very little rum).

"First time here?"

"No." As silly as it may sound, you can tell a lot by a guy's chosen drink. What's Andrew's drink tell Lorne? Andy's playing it safe, not too adventurous, and he's got a sweet tooth to rival Lorne's.

All in all, not too bad. But Lorne knows better than anyone just how deceiving looks can be. "Doesn't look like it's your first time either, pumpkin."

A small dry laugh. "No, not my first by a long shot. Guess we just never bumped into each other here before."

Does that mean something? he finds himself thinking.

"Must be it."

Damn rules. Damn having to put differences aside because they're work related. Damn having to play this stupid game of make believe.

Why now? Is all he can think. Why Valentine's, why Central Park, and why now.

Edited 2009-04-05 19:57 (UTC)

"So you'd know the rules by now. Neutral ground."

His echo of Lorne's words isn't intentional, and it makes his stomach tighten unpleasantly when he hears it.

"It's my favorite kind." Always keeping to the gray zone, he is, and he's been fine with that since the big boom of LA. It isn't something he wants to think about, but seeing Andrew again brings it all back. All of it.

Every last painful bit of it. He sips his bright, neon green drink, and looks away.

Andrew turns back to his own drink.

"That's what I hear."

Sip. "I hope that won't be a problem." It's said deceptively softly. Quite frankly, he doesn't give a rat's tush what Andrew thinks. What he does care about is just how much he'll pass on to a certain Broodmeister.

"For you, or for Angel."

It almost -- almost -- sounds like a threat.

"Can't speak for Angel," he says to his glass, fighting the urge to look up, knowing that if he does it'll just turn into a deer-in-the-headlights stare. "But it's not like we could do anything about it if it were a problem."

He shrugs, deciding that's that, and what else is there to say, really? He doesn't quite like the answer, but it isn't as though he could do anything about it.

Well... There's something he could do. "How about I wave my white flag your way, and we treat each other like any other regular? Like two strangers meeting for the first time?"

He's told newbies the rules dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. Your worst enemy walks through that door, the spiel goes, you don't get to do anything about it.

But that doesn’t mean you sit down for a companionable chat. He needs to admit it, to himself at least: if he stays and talks to Lorne, it won't be because they're two strangers meeting for the first time. It'll be because maybe he can learn something. Maybe something useful.

"We could try that." He turns to face the demon, and holds out a hand. "Hi. I'm Andrew."

It prompts a smile from the demon - weary of the world though he may be, he can always spare a smile for almost anyone. It's just the way it is. He takes Andrew's hand, shakes it firmly (his hand might feel warmer to the touch than a regular guy, but that's him for ya). "I'm Lorne, and you're just scrumptious."

...just like meeting someone for the first time.

"Uh."

It's been a long time since a compliment, sincere or not, has taken Andrew that much off guard.

"Oh, pick your jaw off the floor, pumpkin. Take it as a compliment? Pretty please?"

He doesn't mean to be mean about his flirting, but sometimes, it's just too much fun testing people; maybe even throwing them off their game a little bit.

"I can't be the first one to tell you you're cute."

He can't tell whether Lorne's being friendly or mocking him behind that smile, and to cover his confusion he grabs for his glass and takes a swallow.

"First one in a while," he says, "and let's leave it at that."

There's a glint in Lorne's eyes as he looks Andrew over from behind the rim of his glass. A knowing one, or so he'd like to believe.

"You think I'm yanking your chain."

Dry: "Well, you wouldn’t be the first to do that."

"Well," Lorne notes, mimicking Andrew's tone of voice for the sake of it. "I'm not in the habit of being mean, and I don't plan on going there anytime soon. I'm much more prone to spilling the beans on completely awkward topics that no one finds interesting but yours truly."

Arching his eyebrows, showing the palms of his hands in a placating gesture, he goes on. "I may be an irrepressible flirt, but I don't make stuff up about people. I think you're cute, so I tell you. That's the way it works."

Not in the habit of being mean? says a harsh voice at the back of his mind. Tell that to Fitz. Except oh wait: he wouldn't know what you were talking about.

Never mind. Just never mind. He's here to see if he can learn something.

"Okay," he says, and manages a small (and, he hopes, sincere-looking) smile. "Thanks." Beat. "I like your suit."

(Not hard to be sincere about that, and it shows. It's a fantastic suit.)

Still a game they play, this, but the compliment certainly facilitates things. He smooths his hands down the contrasting lapels with obvious pride. "Thanks. I have the best tailor, darling. He's never failed me, knows my likes and my complexion to perfection."

But, he ponders as he gives Andrew another appreciative look, if I were to respond in kind, what would I say? Maybe something about his hair - which is just fabulous, fyi. He ends up going a completely different direction.

"Just so we're on the same page, no offense... But how much of this exchange of ours will be making its way to Angel's pretty little ears?"

For maybe half a second he considers lying.

And then he gives a small resigned sigh. "Most of it," he says, "probably. Unless you can convince me I shouldn't."

He leans in closer, casually. "What makes you think I'll tell you anything to begin with? What makes you think you know the right questions?"

"And what makes you think I'm trying to find anything out?" he counters, working hard to make it sound just as casual.

Because that's exactly what he's doing, and if Lorne's aware of that already --

"Maybe I just know people," Lorne shrugs casually, tilting his head down to light up a cigarette behind cupped hands.

"But what do I know," mumbled, low and soft. "I don't know anything about you."

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