Papa's Got a Brand New...Bling (Late July 2008)

[nomorekaraoke]

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life--

Wrong theme song, even though the theme certainly applies. It's a new day in Lorne's life. He quite enjoys dawn, thank you very much. He's found a new place to live - another penthouse in the middle of Youdon'tneedtoknow-ville. And recently, he's been indulging more and more in taking breathers at Milliways.

In short: good times all around.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

"It's your outing," Andrew points out, and takes another lick of his cone. "We could just, you know, wander around?"

[nomorekaraoke]

Ducking his head to close his lips around a substantial spoonful of ice cream, he nods. Tapping his lips with said spoon while thinking it over, there's really only one place he can think of going right now.

"Central Park isn't too far away, right?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Nope."

He starts to grin again.

"Wanna?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"To be very, very blunt:



"Duh."

[stilljustandrew]

"Shall we?" Andrew says in his Quoting Something voice, and answers himself happily: "Let's shall!"

Gesturing with his ice cream, he adds "If we take Eighty-First across, we'll pass by the planetarium on the way."

[nomorekaraoke]

His initial response, being ooooh the Planetarium, disappears swiftly as something even more intriguing flickers by on the inside of his eyelids.

"Where's that from?" He chuckles. "Bugs Bunny?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Chip and Dale," he corrects. "The early cartoons, before they were in the Rescue Rangers."

[nomorekaraoke]

He snaps his fingers, borderline victorious. "I knew I knew that from somewhere. I love those little critters! There's this short little film of them stowing away on Mickey's freshly chopped Christmas tree that I just adore. Gets you right in the--"

After a moment's thought, he makes a fist and thumps his chest twice. He actually had to think about which side. Ahem.

In an undertone, "Freudian slips are even more embarrassing when you're having a masked ball moment or a dozen."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew snerks.

"Kinda gets you right here," he says (Quoting Something again, this time with a half-plausible gruff Southern accent), touching his chest. "Or, in your case, right here," he adds, touching his side.

"Vulcans," he explains.

[nomorekaraoke]

Careful now, with all this giggling, Lorne won't get to actually eat his ice cream before it melts. He sighs, wistful. "Aw, Bones. You and your subtextually suppressed homo erotic inclinations."

Or in so many words: If you've so much as thought of it, there's internet porn about that very figment of your imagination. Somewhere. And chances are, you don't ever want to know about it.

Unless you do.

[stilljustandrew]

Rule 34: true as ever.

"I thought it was Kirk and Spock that everybody always says were a couple."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Oh, please." Another dig in the wasteland that his 2-Scoop is turning into renders him a wealthy man indeed - ah, if cherries and rum were currency.

"You don't argue like that if you don't have history together. They're the quintessential old married couple, fer cryin' out loud! ...if they'd only get a room, that is."

[stilljustandrew]

"Seriously," Andrew agrees, and starts to say Spike and Angel are like that sometimes, and bites it back just in time.

And, more for lack of any idea what else to say than anything else --

"Darnit, I've still got that song in my head."

[nomorekaraoke]

Alas, with nothing left of the wonderful, creamy, flavour-popping goodness but the very tasty waffle cone, Lorne starts breaking off bite sized pieces to munch and crunch on.

"Hm?" Omnomnom, what song?

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew bites off a piece of his own cone along with some of the ice cream, munches, swallows.

"The ice-cream-and-cake dance. It's your fault," he accuses amiably. "You had to go and start humming it."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Huh?" He blinks, completely nonplussed and taken aback and reeling with the implications of him humming for the first time in years. Since when did he hum anything at all since Los Angeles, and how come he didn't notice?

[stilljustandrew]

He glances at him, a touch uncertainly. "Humming? You know, right before you threatened to do the dance?"

Something about Lorne's expression stops him from teasing any further.

[nomorekaraoke]

"I, I," he starts to stammer. "I haven't... That's not--"



Just within earshot, there's a girl with a guitar, singing her heart out on the street corner. Her fingers strum the guitar strings with confidence, and at first he can't place the song. The chords remind him too much of I'm the Only One by Melissa Etheridge (and wouldn't that be ironic) before something just clicks into place and he can hear the words.

--skies gonna open
People gonna pray and crawl
It's gonna rain down fire
It's gonna burn us all



His waffle cone falls to the ground.

[stilljustandrew]

"What -- Lorne?"

Andrew reaches to grab his upper arm, leaning in to try to catch his gaze; concern and alarm flicker over his face.

"What is it?"

[nomorekaraoke]

Every breath he takes drags nausea into his gut - his glamoured face is going an impressive shade of queasy green with hints of bloodless pallor - and all he can hear is Lindsey's voice echoing in his head. The smokiest, most soulful voice he's ever heard, and isn't that ironic too; the voice and face of an angel, working for Wolfram & Hart.

Lorne stumbles backwards. He can't talk right now, or he'll throw up all over someone's shoes. He shakes his head, stumbling away.

[stilljustandrew]

"Lorne. Lorne --"

There's no park bench anywhere nearby, but there's a residential building with a few wide concrete stairs leading up to its front door; he tugs on Lorne's arm, trying to draw him in that direction.

"Come on. Come on, you need to sit down."

[nomorekaraoke]

Somewhere far, far away, there's the sound of a gunshot. Someone whimpers, and the smells of iron and gunpowder mingle too far up his nose, covering the roof of his mouth.

His knees shake, but there's really no choice in the matter of where he's going. Andrew's there, and making perfect sense (or he suspects he does, he can't really hear a word he's saying, but he sounds reassuring), and he's a steady, comfortingly familiar presence. "That, that song, she... How did she...?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Sit." Andrew's guiding him down, half pushing him into place, crouching in front of him. "Breathe. Put your head down. Breathe."

[nomorekaraoke]

One voice in his head insists that putting your head down only makes sense if you're human, or at least if you have a cardiovascular system along the same lines. Another voice is astonished, incredulous and accusatory at the same time. 'A flunkie?'

He shakes his head, covering his face with his hands. He can't deal with this right now. He can't deal with this ever, and not in broad daylight, not with someone there to see it.

[stilljustandrew]

"Shh," Andrew's voice is saying, somewhere very far away, concern deepening to something near frantic. "Lorne, it's okay. It's okay. Breathe."