orangetoughguy | phone post

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.]

Not here. And I work with one cop. Who isn't here. My job is to find the identity of murder victims, not arrest people. What did you do?

[Angela is asking, but she doesn't want to know. But maybe she should know. Her morals have never been black or white and this shade of gray is unpredictable. She can guess, though, that somebody got hurt a lot worse than Freddy did and he's at fault. If she hasn't run from the diner yet, she probably won't at all.]

[He's giving her a look that says he wants to tell somebody. Someone who ain't in the business so to speak, someone who's not stuck in that kind of 'world' simply because he associates with those who'd put a bullet between his eyes if they knew what he really was. The doctor that left not too long ago put it pretty well; he's dangerous and kinda dumb for keeping it that way. Better than getting anyone's ear cut off followed by being burned alive.]

I want you to keep it to yourself.

[Freddy's reaching over for her hand, to give it a firm squeeze if he can. He doesn't tell her she has to keep it to herself, that's the risk he's gonna take for telling her.]

[She nods, slowly, leaning in so he doesn't have to speak any louder than he is now. What is it that he's going to tell her? He's a serial rapist? He collects dead bodies of kids? He shot a man in Reno just to watch him die? All these potential confessions running through Angela's mind and coming out in the smallest of trembles that he could probably feel through her hand.]

[...After all that he'll probably disappoint her with his confession.]

I was on a job lookin' up dealers. [Freddy refrains from revealing dealers of what.] These guys come and shoot the place up, don't ask me why cause I don't know. Wrong time, wrong place. I don't make a habit of taggin' guys and I sure as fuck don't make a habit of taggin' and runnin' okay?

[If he feels her trembling she might feel his hand grow a little clammier from anxiety.]

[Angela isn't stupid. She may come from a privileged background, but Angela knows more about the streets and the life on it than any of the Squints back at the lab with the exception of probably Booth. She knows what dealers are and do. She's probably dated a few too, but that's neither here nor there. Shootouts at dealing spots are a common event and one that doesn't actually shock her as much as Orange telling her that he 'tagged' somebody.]

Self-defense.

[She's asking more than stating a fact. Things like this are easier to swallow when there's a self-defense clause attached to them.]

[He makes a face at the sound of that. Self-defense. Sure that's what it is, people do it all the time. Shit they train cops to deal with it, to know when to use it. When Freddy defaulted to self-defense he shot a woman in the chest. He's not sure if self-defense is the right term for this incident either even if at the time it was us or them. This isn't the face of a cold hard criminal or a stone cold cop.]

Yeah. Self-defense. Almost got me in the head.

[Freddy lets go of Angela's hand to point at his ridiculous looking bandaid. Just because death doesn't seem to keep people down in this world doesn't mean he'd be okay with that headwound being just the half-inch deeper to make all the difference.]

And the guys? Are they...?

[She doesn't want to say the word, but it's obviously 'dead'. Angela can't see him as a murderer. She can't stamp him on the forehead with that title even though that's exactly what he is, full stop. But when the day ends, he's still her friend and that's all that matters to her.

But she still needs to satisfy her curiosity on that last bit.]

They're not comin' back.

[Because he can't say the d-word in a public place like this. Hell he probably couldn't say it so comfortably in private either. He's itching for a smoke but this looks like a non-smoking diner. Shit.]

[Well, that says everything Angela needs to know and her response to is it to bite at her lower lip as she sits back into her seat. If she can forgive Zack and Justin, she can forgive Orange. She'll say nothing; if she's stubborn enough, she might even forget it.

No. That's not happening, but grey morals, remember? Angela colors outside the lines of this one. They'll both be breaking a law. Him, murder. She, witholding information on a crime. If he doesn't tell, she won't.]

He's a sponge.

[They've seen each other without their clothes before, has she ever asked where those scars--the one on his belly and another near his shoulder--came from? Because he wouldn't have told her, especially about the one on his belly. Maybe now Angela's got a better idea.]

What?

[That catches him off guard. Plus...sponges. He has no clue what she means.]

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