orangetoughguy | phone post

god do you have to get so technical

i figured you could appreciate a good oral sex story.

during D&D? the campaign comes first

and that's why i'm not servicing you.

jesus you're hard to please would you settle for lunch?

only if you're paying.

[Because he secretly has a job now.]

i'll pay

of course because otherwise we'll be drinking water. where and when?

you good for today?

yeah. i haven't taken my break yet.

your choice nothin too fancy

damn. i was craving lobster too. oh well, i guess the diner will have to do.

thanks

[Because Freddy doesn't know how to crack open a lobster without using his bare hands.]

[A certain number of minutes later, Angela's stationed in the diner at a corner table, flanked on both sides by plate glass windows, and sipping on a cup of sugar-laced coffee. She isn't here just to get a sight of Orange from far away. She's enjoying the sunshine streaming through the windows. Cheap ass suntan, ahoy.]

[At least girl don't need no tanning booth or a can of spray. Unlike Freddy here who couldn't tan without peeling to save his life, but today he's in a long sleeve button down with the cuffs rolled to his elbows. Look at that headwound, looks like he got clawed by a werewolf from above his right brow halfway into his hair line. There's some bandage dressing on it to keep from making people lose their lunch although it's not that bad looking. Freddy's scanning the tables now for Angela.]

[Not that bad looking? Let somebody who doesn't downplay the urgency of being in the emergency room be the judge of that. Speaking of judging, Angela actually does catching sight of him walking in and her eyes go wild. Really wide. What in the world did he get into this time?]

Oh. My. God. What the hell happened to you?

Bear attack.

[Not far off the mark where Eames is concerned. Freddy moves over to her table quickly. Good secluded spot.]

Play it down a little.

[Please?]

What do you mean play it down? You look like something tried to scalp you. And what's with the Spongebob bandaid?

[This guy is a joke. Angela worries. It's what she does. If she doesn't worry, then she's dead.]

You need to see more horror movies, this ain't no scalping. [Playing it down and playing it supercool. Yeeeeep...] Okay what the fuck is Sponge Bob?

[He's not changing the subject per se but she's not the first to address the Squarepants.]

[No thanks on the horror movies. They'll keep her up for a week straight. Angela's a scaredy cat like that.

She manages to remember to put down her cup before touching Freddy's head lightly. No need to give him a third degree burn to complement the wound.]

The guy on the bandaid. What the hell happen to you?

[She's not letting that go. He might as well confess his sins.]

I had a light fixture fall on me. [He nods once, not pulling away from her artist's hands.] It's not gonna come back and bite me in the ass if that's what you're thinkin'.

[Freddy's fairly sure on that part.]

And there ain't no guy on my band aid. [It's a yellow face with glasses. What even.]

Edited 2011-09-30 22:00 (UTC)

Why do I feel like you're not telling me the truth?

[Angela specifically avoids using the word liar, but knowing Orange how she does--or how little she does--she can't take his excuse at face value.

Her fingers tap out a little rhythm on his head.]

That's him on your bandaid. His face, anyway.

I'm tellin' you the truth about it not comin' back to bite me.

[As far as Freddy knows anyway, because those guys are dead and he fears what she would do or think of him to know that. Sure there are vampires and aliens and other vicious fucks around here but to Freddy Newendyke, after being here for some time, the scariest motherfuckers to him are still the human ones. As for the rhythm, he sure doesn't stop her. Too bad he doesn't recognize the beat either.]

It's a person?

[His fancy schmancy dancing around the bush isn't lost on Angela. She pulls her hand back to her side of the table, folding it over the other one as she eyes him carefully.]

It's one thing to withhold information from me. It's another to lie to my face. I don't like liars.

[A look around the place before he leans in, voice low, as if tripling the privacy of this conversation is anymore helpful.]

What do you want me to tell you? You work with cops don't you?

[He says so in a tone that implies yes, he has something to hide and it's something he would report to work right away, if he were in LA.]

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