( Things, once again, do not go quite how Frank would've expected them to. If he had to guess, he'd have put money on a follow me, a quick, private chat over in some out-of-the-way-but-still-public corner of the room, an uncomfortable and maybe slightly frightened conversation about morality and, ultimately, the final request being please leave and also don't be where I am anymore. Not that showing up at her work was anything remotely resembling an intentional move.
What he gets instead is hot wings. Hot wings and a thanks.
Sure is a shame all his murder doesn't come with positive reinforcement like this.
It isn't exactly the sexiest, trendiest personality trait these days, but the fact is: Frank's a pretty traditionally masculine man. He likes a lot of traditionally-masculine-man things. These things include Bruce Springsteen, Hockey, and hot wings. He scoots the basket over toward himself without a scrap of reservation, even though the fleeting thought that she might've dosed them with something does briefly pass through his mind. Seems unlikely. He's willing to gamble on this one.
An appreciative mutter shakes loose of its own accord: )
Ho-lee shit.
( Just as he's about to bring one to his mouth, treasure number two shows up courtesy of Kara, and he can't help but flit his eyes up toward the stage to seek her out. It's automatic, despite the fact that there's virtually no reality where he'd make any kinda move. Not here. Not now.
But hey, he appreciates the gesture. Appreciates knowing he's still passable enough for this kinda thing, so he raises the beer in a quiet salute Kara's direction; thanks. She smiles coyly at him, but he peels his eyes away before anything else can come of it.
She starts eating. For about a minute, he doesn't. He spends it studying her, debating on whether or not he should question what the hell's going on here — and then ultimately decides not to. She asked for this, this is her one meal break all shift — or so he assumes. If she wants to spend it eating in silence with the guy who got her keys back, hell, she must not be too broken up about the whole thing.
Sure. Fine, kid. This is what they're doing, then.
He tucks in and starts eating the damn wings. They're not half bad. Not as good as you can get 'em in New York, but not bad. )
no subject
What he gets instead is hot wings. Hot wings and a thanks.
Sure is a shame all his murder doesn't come with positive reinforcement like this.
It isn't exactly the sexiest, trendiest personality trait these days, but the fact is: Frank's a pretty traditionally masculine man. He likes a lot of traditionally-masculine-man things. These things include Bruce Springsteen, Hockey, and hot wings. He scoots the basket over toward himself without a scrap of reservation, even though the fleeting thought that she might've dosed them with something does briefly pass through his mind. Seems unlikely. He's willing to gamble on this one.
An appreciative mutter shakes loose of its own accord: )
Ho-lee shit.
( Just as he's about to bring one to his mouth, treasure number two shows up courtesy of Kara, and he can't help but flit his eyes up toward the stage to seek her out. It's automatic, despite the fact that there's virtually no reality where he'd make any kinda move. Not here. Not now.
But hey, he appreciates the gesture. Appreciates knowing he's still passable enough for this kinda thing, so he raises the beer in a quiet salute Kara's direction; thanks. She smiles coyly at him, but he peels his eyes away before anything else can come of it.
She starts eating. For about a minute, he doesn't. He spends it studying her, debating on whether or not he should question what the hell's going on here — and then ultimately decides not to. She asked for this, this is her one meal break all shift — or so he assumes. If she wants to spend it eating in silence with the guy who got her keys back, hell, she must not be too broken up about the whole thing.
Sure. Fine, kid. This is what they're doing, then.
He tucks in and starts eating the damn wings. They're not half bad. Not as good as you can get 'em in New York, but not bad. )