[ тωєиту-єιgнт ]

[unflagging]

What? No kisses for me? :(

[ooc: He's out and around...if you want to kiss the friendly guy who is actually a creepy guy :)

Comments

[valentineluke]

I draw the line at artwork.

[unflagging]

Yeah, the feeling is mutual. Have no fear, man.

[Action] for the lulz man

[likehim_likeme]

[Jean-Paul was really expecting that most people were keeping a decent distance from others by now. Although the Parisian was paying no attention to those around him at the moment. He had spent most of the day in the library before finally finding a book on blindness and dancing.

Caught up in thoughts on how to help Lilith become comfortable dancing again, if only in private, he didn't even see Flagg, um, Fletcher. Nor had he seen the text comment on the network.

He really was far too wrapped up in his thoughts.]

[Action] for immense lulz, help

[unflagging]

[Well, that's a good set of reasons to ignore the scruffy guy standing there under the lamppost--the one with all the stuff growing out from the bulb of it. Between thinking about someone else, being preoccupied with a book, having certain expectation, and being Parisian, well, that just about explains it all.

Anyway, he was just standing under a lamppost, fiddling with his Network device and watching the crowds rush past--and into each other's arms, as the case may be. Whichever.]

[Action]

[likehim_likeme]

[He nearly walked into Fletcher, although the still person in front of him finally processed into his thoughts enough to stop him and pull him from his reverie.]

Oh. Excuse me, monsieur. I was paying no attention.

[Action]

[unflagging]

Hey, no problem, man. [A wink and a grin.] But you'd better watch where you're going today. It's kind of dangerous out here.

[Action]

[likehim_likeme]

[He laughs softly.] Ah, oui, so it is. I really should have been watching where I was going, but I confess I was too involved in my own thoughts.

Yet you were... just waiting out here?

[Action]

[unflagging]

Sure. [Still grinning.] I'm just watching the City go by. It's pretty great. And I can get involved in my own thoughts without walking into anyone.

You can see just about anything here if you just stop and take a look.

[Action]

[likehim_likeme]

Ah, yes.

[He gives Fletcher a curious look before looking out in the direction he'd been facing.]

Things one might not see otherwise...?

[Action]

[unflagging]

[Nodding nod nod.]

Sure! Blue hair, impractical shoes, pointy ears, swords. All kinds of stuff that you don't usually see just walking down the street--on a stage, maybe, but not down a regular street.

[Action]

[likehim_likeme]

Blue hair and pointy ears. It certainly sounds like something one would see on stage.

[And there it hits him. That urge to kiss this guy. And oh dear God, what? It has to be this place, has to be. But it's not something he can completely fight off.

Have a kissy-kissy, Flagg. Or push him off. Whichever.]

[Action]

[unflagging]

[Nope, nope, definitely not a welcome thing. Don't kiss the scruff American, pal.

He fights him off and winds up with his hands on this guy's, this total stranger's, shoulders, holding him at arm's length.

But he's laughing at the ridiculousness of it (probably)]

Hey, man! Cool it! That ain't my theatrical scene!

action;

[sleepingstar]

[Pai is standing outside a kitchen store, staring at a display of knives. She has the money to buy them, but she's tempted to steal them, just to see how rough her skills have gotten in the months she's spent here. She's not paying attention to anything around her, beyond a vague sense of whether or not a threat approaches.]

action;

[unflagging]

[This is not a threat approaching. This is just a guy in a faded denim jacket walking by, humming, with his hands in his pockets. Not a threat, no.]

action;

[sleepingstar]

[Pai looks up, cautiously examining the inside of the store through the window. Making note of obstacles in her path, where the exits are, who is watching what.]

action;

[unflagging]

[Hence the reason he bends to whisper in her ear:]

And what would you like for Christmas, little girl?

[sleepingstar]

[Pai's too well trained to jump; the only sign of surprise is a slight widening of her eyes. Caught already.]

You don't look like Santa Claus.

[unflagging]

That's because I'm one of his helpers. If you tell me what you'd like for Christmas, I'll tell Santa for you.

[sleepingstar]

[He's lying, of course, but Pai is curious to see how far he'll take this charade. So she points to the knives.]

[unflagging]

[He will take it as far as he can. He will take it farther than necessary.]

Oh... Aren't you a little young for something like that?

[sleepingstar]

I want them. [Ignoring the question as irrelevant -- irrelevant and ridiculous. You're never too young to need tools to protect yourself.]

[unflagging]

And what will you cut with them?

[sleepingstar]

Why do you care?

[unflagging]

I'm curious. Can't I just be curious?

[sleepingstar]

I can't stop you. [But she doesn't have to answer either.]

[unflagging]

Nope, you're right. You sure can't stop me.

So have you been good? Will Santa bring you what you want for Christmas?

[sleepingstar]

[Bitch plz.]

Santa isn't real.

[unflagging]

[Still smiling.]

Humor me.

[sleepingstar]

If Santa were real, you'd have to ask him.

[unflagging]

You could make a guess, you know. Do you think you've been good?

[sleepingstar]

Good is a meaningless word.

[unflagging]

[He laughs, bright and loud and joyful]

Suddenly I have a very youthful philosopher on my hands!

[sleepingstar]

It's just the truth. [Unimpressed youthful philosopher is unimpressed.]

[unflagging]

[In a patronizing tone.]

Of course it is, sweetie.

[sleepingstar]

[Pai's eyes don't narrow with irritation. Adults always condescend to her, because she looks small and they don't realize how easily she could kill them. There's no point getting offended by it, and often it works to her advantage.

She just keeps staring at him, her expression unwavering.]

[unflagging]

[Still smiling.]

I hope you get just what you deserve for Christmas.