orangetoughguy | phone post

No, softball. [She doesn't care if he looks down on it. It's what she played and what she kicked ass with.] If you're so badass, you'd be able to flip flop between the two.

[What? What? He makes a face.]

Oh come on...fine.

[He relents as only a good sport can. Fff.]

[She just smiles, grateful enough to push her alcohol to the side. Her liver is grateful itself for the break in all the abuse she put it through this weekend.]

Thank you. Not for the softball. For coming out.

[If she neglects it long enough Freddy might just pour the rest of her beer into his own glass. Waste not want not.]

Nothin' doin', Angela.

[He gives her a genuine smile under all that bruising.]

[For a minute or two, she's quietly cracking the ice from her water between her teeth. He can have the beer and the bourbon too.]

Want to spend the night?

[It's not her attempting to thank this still nameless man with sex. She just doesn't want to be alone in that apartment with everybody else's belongings still hanging around. Maybe she can even get him to tell her who did that to his face. But if push comes to shove, she'll stop by for the animals and camp out a hotel to save her sanity.]

[Freddy looks at her straight on, as if trying to glean what her motive could be from sight alone. Just as well he thinks that's what it is, she doesn't want to be alone. He feels bad already for having to say so because much of what did follow Freddy from youth was a willingness to please.]

I can't...I gotta...

[He gestures to his own face with his hand, it's hard to convince someone everything's okay when the issue that caused his ugly mug in the first place is a work in progress.]

But I said I'd walk ya.

No, no, I understand. I totally get it.

[A lie. She doesn't understand or get it, not his sign language, whatever reason he's trying to suggest to her, or his tendency to play his cards so close to his chest. He's a mystery all together and Angela doesn't have the energy to try and decipher hints.]

You don't have to. I thought I would be drunk, but I'm barely buzzed. I probably won't go straight home anyway. [There's a casual attempt to wave off a question she shouldn't have asked.] Besides, you look like shit. No offense.

[He doesn't think she does but that ain't her fault and for what might be the hundredth time he thanks fucking God Mr. Blonde didn't stick around to make matters worse. Speaking of him, Freddy can't help but smile when she tells him that. Now is not the time to be thinking of Marvin Nash and his fucked up ear. He didn't know what to tell the guy back then, you look like shit would have been a good one.]

None taken. It's up to you.

[There's a small inconsequential choice for her to control, but it's a choice nonetheless.]

[Granted, it would be doubtful if Mr. Blonde would have even had a chance to tell her anything. Larry--to her, Frank--told her not to talk to him because he was a dangerous man. Still no clear reasons on why, but what was crystal clear was that Blonde was bad business.]

I'll be fine. I'll just stick around here for a while, maybe get some food in me. And then head home.

[Suddenly that bourbon looks tempting again, if only it'll be a great time diversion. For now, as long as Freddy is sitting across from her, Angela sticks to the water and a smile.]

[He's aware Angela's spoken with "Frank" before, all the more reason not to tell her who did this to him. That's a mess he can't handle without first handling the business between Larry and himself.]

Okay okay.

[Freddy shrugs, taking another gulp of that beer and not going anywhere just yet. He's pretty good at holding his liquor, what he can do is finish it all up and pay for his keep.]

[Watching him take a drink, but not actually finish the bottle, Angela wonders what happened to the thing he had to do or whatever he was pantomiming about. She shakes her head as she grips her glass tighter.]

You don't have to stay, you know. [Admittedly, she wants him to, but if he doesn't, she can't force him.] I don't know who deals dope around here, so no worries. I'll tell them Mr. Orange told me to say no to drugs.

I might look like shit but I ain't no McGruff.

[Freddy's got his eye on the time. He hasn't been here too long just yet, not enough for him to want to leave Angela alone already.]

Not hairy enough. Too blonde. Plus you'd need a trench coat.

[How long is too long? Just long enough to believe she's not going to follow that hard shot with something stronger as soon as the door closes behind him? Enough to feel that she'll be okay as much as she likes to try and convince herself?

It's almost automatic how Angela pulls a pen out of a pocket and begins drawing the cartoon dog in question on a napkin.]

Voice isn't deep enough either.

Fair enough. [He points to his nose.] I got this though.

[When you know you've got a roman profile may as well get some laughs out of it. When Freddy looks over to the napkin he's just got to ask.]

You ever do comics?

Well, one out of five isn't bad.

[Angela's seen and drawn worse noses. Besides, to her, Freddy doesn't have the face fit for a itty bitty nose.]

Sometimes. [And a layer of shading goes down around McGruff's own nose.] I did them a lot more when I was in college, usually doing the art for the writing majors' comics, though I drew a couple for my ex who was a Star Wars geek.

Star Wars is alright. [For films, but for this fanboy comics are where it's at.]

The Fantastic Four were in space long before that though.

[Look at least the beer's done. Now Angela can sit through some Marvel talk until the bourbon's gone.]

Don't let him hear you say that. He's very sensitive about his Star Wars.

[She laughs without looking up from the paper, but yet it seems like she manages to pull a pencil out of thin air. Hodgins would never hear that comment anyway. Wishful thinking.]

You like comic books?

[He has to put the bourbon down because what? What? Does he like comic books?]

I--[Wait. Freddy does a quick look over of the clientele just to make sure there's no superhero he recognizes remotely. He's sensitive to not breaking the fourth wall. Then, with a lowered volum:] I love comic books.

[Angela's eying that bourbon snitching, Freddy. Don't think she didn't notice.]

Marvel or DC? Or a smaller press?

[Fff. Fff. That's the sound he makes when she poses a question that requires he pick one.] All of it.

[But he's a Marvel boy at heart. She doesn't need to know that, don't ask don't tell. Yep.]

[Rolling her eyes, Angela signs her doodle the same way she did the last time he saw her, but this time, she slides the napkin towards him.]

Should have told me this earlier. Now I have to return your Christmas present for something useful.

[Yeah, Freddy, you were getting one. All her friends were. Deal with it.]

What? I mean you don't have to do that.

[Cause if it's Marvel related and made prior to '92 he might already have it or something. No really Freddy likes surprises, even non-comic ones. He reaches out for McGruff, giving the dog a look. Freddy can't draw or script for crap. It's one of those talents involved in a medium he loves he knows he'll never have.]

Thanks.

Yeah, shut up. You'll like it anyway.

[Well, she was going to get him the latest big Marvel encyclopedia instead of the jacket, but she'll just do both. It's no skin off her nose.]

Nothing doin'. Or whatever.

[A handshake from Silver Surfer himself would be ideal but that's cool too. Freddy raises the bourbon glass now, giving the last bit of it a swirl.]

Well I ain't the only one getting a gift, lucky you.

[He's not gonna tell her what it is though because surprises are cool and the suspense even better.]

I hope it's another bourbon or at least a soda since you stole my drinks, you bastard.

phone post

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION

→ ACTION