orangetoughguy | phone post

[ Eames looks at him plainly, taking a long drought from his straw of water, and though Orange's voice drops a few pitches, he himself continues on like normal. Maybe Orange really has gotten manic. Maybe he's got the airs. ]

Yes, I bloody well know the X-Men - what does that have to do with anything?

[Hallefuckinglujah. His hands are moving again.]

Emma Frost. I'm not sayin' she's a goddamn telepath but it's up on that level. I've seen guys on blow, smack, meth, you name it, this guy was clean. What she put in him I don't know, but I can't work with someone who pulls that shit.

[He ought to amend it with "...on people I like." but hey he's more or less giving Eames due warning so that counts for something??]

[ Okay Eames may know of X-Men but he doesn't necessarily know the characters but whatever let's just roll with it. ]

So - what, he exhibited behavior as though he was... high? You think Saya mind-roofied your friend?

Edited 2011-09-03 00:48 (UTC)

[Goddamnit Eames work with him here.] He exhibited behavior like he was thoroughly dicked around.

[That's a hint, bro, though it works both figuratively and literally. As for the mind-roofieing....well.]

Yeah, something like that. I told you I don't know if she's a telepath but there's somethin' goin' on in there.

[Oh fuck Eames' mouth is starting to look good.]

[ Eames' tongue darts out to collect a stray drop of water from his bottom lip. Dicked around would suggest perceiving or perhaps being influenced in a way that was unwanted - something that could arguably be unconnected but all the same, a small flag goes up in the back of Eames' mind, and he frowns. ]

How did he act? Out of the norm in general, or orientated around a specific desire?

[Stop that, Eames. Stop that right now. Freddy swigs his beer, yeah that'll distract him.]

The last one, the only one I got any idea about.

[Orange is shifting in his chair some more. Look at how those short legs cross, oh wait the more you don't see the better.]

Is it one he wouldn't normally have, or the exaggeration of something already present? An idle wish, perchance.

[ Eames chews thoughtfully on the end of the straw before drawing a few more sips, glancing toward the waitress as she finally brings him his gyro. Freddy certainly is acting rather strangely - extremely stressed, which he understands well enough is stemming from some sort of concern from his friend, though half of him has to wonder if this is the effect of a curse rather than Saya. ]

[For the love of God stop doing that thing you're doing. It's distracting him from giving specific answers. Orange shakes his head, another sip is due.]

Gray area. You see what I mean, when you fuckin' look like that? [That being Saya, even Freddy knows she's a sight for sore eyes. She's attractive, she's gorgeous, she's handsome.] It seems goddamn 'natural' but me, I know this guy, he's a fuckin' professional. It wouldn't happen like that.

[Orange is trying to keep his eyes off Eames now, leg bouncing a little more under the table.] You don't fuckin' believe me do you?

Oh.

[ There's a long pause as Eames takes his gyro to hand, then reconsiders for a knife and fork, cutting off a piece and chewing thoughtfully. ]

All I'm hearing, Mister O, is a friend of yours has succumb to Miss Saya's particular charms.

. . . . . . .

[So unhelpful.] What if I told you she doesn't do anything for me?

I wouldn't disbelieve you, considering I'm the same. [ He plops a piece of lamb into his mouth, brow raising. ]

Really, O, you ought to check that the flood of leaves didn't catch in the ventilation of your flat.

[Whoa wait a second.] Really?

[Eames surprises Freddy. Like genuinely surprises him. This revelation combined with how he calls him O, Mister O, and variations of, is kind of endearing. Without warning his chair is scraping along the floor from this side of the table to that side of the table, until they're sitting side by side.]

Explain walkin' out of her office with one'a these.

[Your hand, Eames. Orange is going for it to put it on his stiff one. In all the times they've worked together, all the smell of motoroil, the bending over to grab a wrench, muscles flexing and contracting to open up a frame, sweat and alloy, he'd choose now to put the moves on Eames. That's just not like Orange, right?]

[ Eames is trying to figure out what's so strange about not being attracted to Miss Saya, but then Orange is scooting closer. Unnecessarily. And taking his hand. And-

Putting it on his stiffy.

...

Eames pauses, fork midway to his mouth before he slowly lowers it onto the plate. He straightens up in his chair, glancing down at where Orange has his hand pressed. Carefully, he curls his fingers away, removing his hand from Orange's grip with a quick twist before those fingers turn into a fist and he promptly punches the shit out of Orange's thigh. ]

Mind your manners, Mister O.

Fuck!

[Flsjasldkal;scsdlkf;. Orange actually nearly curls out of his own seat from the numbing that fist delivers. Fortunately he stays put, or maybe unfortunately, but at least he's let go of Eames. The question is did it prove anything??]

Jesus Christ man...

[The waitress from earlier can't help but kind of smirk over the commotion on that side of the cafe. Sounds painful.]

[ Eames, for his part, calmly takes another sip of water, returning to his gyro. FUCKING UNNECESSARY. ]

So, Saya gave you wood. By your reaction to how abnormal that ought to be, I'm presuming your base of attractions lie on the opposite side of the spectrum.

You're therefore of the belief she was somehow able to enter your mind and change your usual preferences to something more suiting to her needs. And you think she did this to your friend?

What the fuck are you, Sherlock Holmes? [He'll...slowly scoot back...kinda. Ouch. That's probably gonna leave a bruise. At least it keeps him from reaching for Eames. Oh watch Orange's face get a little red.] It doesn't matter, what matters is she doesn't do it for me. Fuck man did you have to break my leg?

[Exaggeration but look nobody likes getting massive nerve tingling and numbing and all that jazz so close to one's balls.]

I don't know if that's the case but it's something like it. Mind shit, maybe some kinda secondhand smoke. Fuck I'm not an expert. [Bitch bitch moan whine. Actually wait he does have something to add here.] For the fuckin' record it's not goin' down.

[....Because Eames' aggression does it for Orange.]

You're very well lucky I didn't.

[ Eames' eyes finally make contact with Orange's face again, frowning slightly. ] No chemical compound would influence sexuality- were that your case. If not, perhaps. But be that as it may, considering our surroundings and the powers people lay claim to - well, it's plausible, isn't it?

I'm guessing you've already tried- erm, taking care of it?

That's what I've been fuckin' saying.

[See all the sincerity in this slightly freckled and roman-nosed face? Orange just gives Eames a look, the kind of look that says "No shit Sherlock!" because some kind of unknown power is what he's been getting at. Maybe not in such eloquent terms but the point is the point is the point. At least now Freddy's certain Eames got it or is considering the possibility.]

No why are you offering?

[Sarcasm. Read; that's sarcasm (guarding a guilty feeling that he wouldn't entirely protest if Eames did). Oh shit just go Newendyke, just go.]

[ OKAY EAMES IS OUTIE. He sits up, digging into his pocket to drop a few coin to pay for his meal on the table. ]

Go piss it out, Mister O. When you've regained your sensibilities, give me a call. We'll hash out details on your and your friend's observations at a later time, hmm?

[This is excellent timing and somehow awkward and yet fulfilling in that someone listened to him but he still has a hard one and he's gotta get that taken care of oh but first pay for your beer. Freddy gets up and drops a coin down even for the pita too. Obviously he's moving a little slower and more discretely than Eames.]

Okay. We'll do that.

[They'll be departing in completely opposite directions too, no doubt. Orange as his lightweight flannel to cover up the front of his pants. Real discrete yep.]