[ What the hell is happening. Are they going on a date? Or fucking? Does he want to fuck mainly or fuck around? Lottie doesn't want to lay out all her cards on the table since that would mean he'd know she's actually confused, so rather than be normal and communicate, she just goes: ]
..No? [ A beat. ] I mean, if you can make a mimosa then we can call it that?? A date?
[ It's unthinkable to walk anything back, askβ were you joking? Am I joking? ]
Didn't see any oranges when that minstrel came around. [ His nose wrinkles when he thinks, makes a little crease appear at his brow. Clearly he didn't think past the roguish flirting and its dubious success rate. ]
Back home... back home I had this great car. I would have taken you for a ride in it. [ How 80's of him. ] Best I can do here is a horse. And he's a fucking asshole.
The fact he's actually making an effort to think this through gives her some confidence that if this does happen, it won't be so bad. And that she also fooled him into thinking she absolutely knows what's going on! Yay!! The fact his first romantic default is a car ride though.. Um! Hm. ]
Horses are so scary. [ She nods in agreement, leans against the bookshelf (delicately, because she doesn't want to like, trip and die or something). ] Did you try riding it?
[ Fortunately for Lottie, he's not from the stone age. Unfortunately for Lottie, the Camaro was his idea of a romantic night, even if it was just him and the car. He didn't really date. It might be part of the problem. ]
I'm not scared of it, it's just an asshole. [ It's important she understand that. He's not scared of a giant, dumb animal that could kick his face in. ] I'm not really an animal guy, but yeah I can ride it. [ Sort of. ]
Me too.. [ Measured, interested, because that's the last thing she'd expect: something in common besides hair. ] Everyone gets so offended when you say that you aren't big on them.
[ Also, she will duly note that he is not scared of it (the animal that could kill him), he just thinks it's an asshole (is this some masculinity thing?). ]
[ When Billy was a kid, he thought he wanted a dog. Maybe he did want a dog. Maybe he would still want a dog if he were alive and home and on his own. Animals weren't Neil's thing. Billy doesn't really get animals because of it. ]
I don't know. I thought they were supposed to be nice. It tries to eat my shirt.
[ He runs a hand through his hair, fingers bunching into the semi-natural curl. ]
[ Eat his shirt? Okay.. Liar. She doesn't believe that but, she's also never met a horse from here. Has never met one outside of the ones she had to take lessons with as a kid, anyway. ]
Oh.
[ Back to earth, she pushes herself off the bookshelf. Takes a look at it over her shoulder before shrugging. ]
Yeah, sure. I mean, you did the thing. [ She rolls up her sleeves and walks over to her nightstand, grabs a notebook and pencil. ] So what were you mainly looking for with your hair?
[ He brightens, a surprisingly honest look. He'd much rather talk about his hair than Tuzik the bitch horse who wants to throw him off or kick his head or shit on his boot. He comes closer, looking at her nightstand. No aquanet in sight. ]
I had a whole routine. Shower, scrunch it, some heat, hair spray. Aquanet, not final net. Moose depending on the day. [ It looked good. And he has no doubts he looked good, 80's good; the confidence is apparent. ]
I can't figure this shit out here. Aersol isn't fucking invented β any ideas on how to invent aerosol? I've had a little bit of luck with beeswax but it feels heavy. Mix it with an oil? What do you use? You've got fucking volume.
[ Aquanet? Yikes. If she had any doubts before now they are squashedβ definitely 80's boy. ]
I can ask around? I know a guy who helped me invent pepper spray. [ She sits down on her mattress (it is held up by a few bins, not at all comfy but absolutely getting the job done as far as sleep is concerned), writing at the very top of the page with flowery script (π±πͺπ²π»). ] If anyone would know, he would definitely know.
[ Maybe. Marc's hair kind of looks alright on a good day. ]
I basically use like a lot of socks and a lot of hair ties. I use a mixture of like, rosewater and some stuff I got from one of the artist guys when I want something more permanent. What helps though is like, if you want volume you're gonna wanna do everything with your head down. Like at the base of your hair!
Socks? [ You've lost him, Lottie. Those are for feet. ] No heat? I miss my fucking... hairdryer. [ A big part of Billy feels a little self-conscious at that. Like the admissions going to summon up his fucking dad into the room. ]
I've got some natural curl, can I try the rosewater shit? [ And, waitβ ] What do you need pepper spray for?
Ugh! Yeah, me too, but you got to do what you got to do. [ A glance off into the sky that is her ceiling. ] You would've lost your shit if you had what I have. There's this like blowdryer straightener curler combo that makes your hair so shiny and bouncy. I miss it so much.
[ She'll actually be getting some of her materials out for him as she commiserates about the lack of styling tools, spreading it out over her blanket. Some socks, a ribbon or two, a classic Olden Times Hairtie, and said solution. It's in an ornate, gorgeous little bottle. Clearly whoever gave her it is interested in winning her favorβ ]
Also, for pepper spray reasons. There's thisβ [ She rolls her eyes. ] guy who is like crazy and insane and almost.. I just need something on hand in case he tries anything with me again, so!
[ He can't really picture The New Technology; straightner-curler combo? But she has him at shiny and bouncy. Had he lived, surely he would still have had his glorious curls in 20-whatever. Surely.
He eyes what she brings out, picks up her bottle to uncork and smell. It is a pretty design. He misses his cologne, the weight of the bottles, some stolen when the price was high.
Regarding the creep, he assumes Rubean: ] Jesus Christ. The price of being hot. Do you need someone to shake him up? [ He sits on her bed casually, picks up a slip of fabric and rubs it under his fingers. ]
[ She looks at him like she's finally seen him for the first time. The price of being hot. She says that all the time. He just gets it. What's his name again? She should ask around so she'll remember. ]
No..
[ But it makes her smile, though. The thought of Billy having been there when Felipe barged into her room, makes her smile. He looks like he can hold his own. She scratches at her cheek, the scent of something vaguely sweet wafting in the air when he uncorks that bottle. If he puts it in his hands it's warm, only a little sticky (courtesy of the water). ]
He'd just get a kick out of it. Like, oh she's thinking about me or something.
Jesus Christ. [ Billy's not a peach, and he broke a lot of hearts when he'd take a girl out once, twice, but never go steady, never entertain a dance, never go home to meet dear old mom and dad. But he'd also never been so desperate for a girl that he pulled any of that shit.
He doesn't know her well enough to pry into details. ] What a loser. If he's not just bark and no-bite... you know. Say something.
[ Jesus. Anyway, he does put a small dab of the product on his finger tips, rubbing it and feeling it, noting how it smells. It's very floral and he likes it, but: ] I used to wear Rabanne. Or Aramis. You don't think this is too... fruity? For me? [ He waits to be chastised for being insensitive, but he can't help it! It's a work in progress! ]
[ Her smile is soft, appreciative. She's not sure if she will, but the offer is nice. She'll keep it as a nice little memento in the back of her mind as he sniffs her product. She snorts, raises her brows as she tries to puzzle out what he means. Fruity? ]
Like.. Gay? [ She Can Say this as a Bi Woman who is Still Sexually Repressed. ] Are you asking if it's gay to smell good?
[ Not the knowing pause. He pauses too, sitting on her bed, eyes flicking up to the ceiling as he thinks, manages to come up with: ] Yeah. Gay.
Which is whatever, but I also like pusβ girls. [ That 'also' is doing a surprising amount of work. ] What you smell like, your signature scent, should mean something, right? Say something?
[ In his Rubean drought of Rabanne and Aramis, Billy typically smells like: the clean soap from the banya, sweat, and glassworking scents, beeswax and burning warmth. ]
[ The wildest thing about this is that even as she's cajoling Billy into saying what she wants him to say, it's making her realize thatβ she hasn't really ever talked about her sexuality ever. Pre-being abducted through time and space, and even post-being abducted through time and space. Luckily for both of them she is semi-present enough to answer his questionβ ]
I think this'll say you smell good. Or like smelling good. Like you care about how you look. Something sweet and nice, like a warm blanket or something. [ Comforting, she means. ] It doesn't say I like to smash but it says a lot more, at least to me, you know?
[ He has thoughts around style and scent, knows that how you wear your earrings or the jean cut you choose says something. If you asked him before, he'd want to look... well, badass. And yeah, like he fucks. Lottie talks and his shoulders loosen; he looks comfortable where he sits, perched on her bed.
At his core, he's the antithesis to comforting, isn't he? Butβ maybeβ ]
Yeah? [ His head tilts, eyes half-lidded as he considers her. He knows she's telling him something important, because it's equally important for him. ] Back home we thought it was hot if it was girls. [ He laughs, a little wooden. ] Sorry.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rubilykskoye π²π·π«πΈπ π¬
no subject
We likeβ we just met?
no subject
no subject
no subject
[ If he had the car, well, thatβd be something. ]
no subject
..No? [ A beat. ] I mean, if you can make a mimosa then we can call it that?? A date?
no subject
Didn't see any oranges when that minstrel came around. [ His nose wrinkles when he thinks, makes a little crease appear at his brow. Clearly he didn't think past the roguish flirting and its dubious success rate. ]
Back home... back home I had this great car. I would have taken you for a ride in it. [ How 80's of him. ] Best I can do here is a horse. And he's a fucking asshole.
no subject
(Lottie, he's from the 80's, not thestone ages.)
The fact he's actually making an effort to think this through gives her some confidence that if this does happen, it won't be so bad. And that she also fooled him into thinking she absolutely knows what's going on! Yay!! The fact his first romantic default is a car ride though.. Um! Hm. ]
Horses are so scary. [ She nods in agreement, leans against the bookshelf (delicately, because she doesn't want to like, trip and die or something). ] Did you try riding it?
no subject
I'm not scared of it, it's just an asshole. [ It's important she understand that. He's not scared of a giant, dumb animal that could kick his face in. ] I'm not really an animal guy, but yeah I can ride it. [ Sort of. ]
no subject
[ Also, she will duly note that he is not scared of it (the animal that could kill him), he just thinks it's an asshole (is this some masculinity thing?). ]
So why's it an asshole?
no subject
I don't know. I thought they were supposed to be nice. It tries to eat my shirt.
[ He runs a hand through his hair, fingers bunching into the semi-natural curl. ]
I earn those tips yet?
no subject
Oh.
[ Back to earth, she pushes herself off the bookshelf. Takes a look at it over her shoulder before shrugging. ]
Yeah, sure. I mean, you did the thing. [ She rolls up her sleeves and walks over to her nightstand, grabs a notebook and pencil. ] So what were you mainly looking for with your hair?
no subject
I had a whole routine. Shower, scrunch it, some heat, hair spray. Aquanet, not final net. Moose depending on the day. [ It looked good. And he has no doubts he looked good, 80's good; the confidence is apparent. ]
I can't figure this shit out here. Aersol isn't fucking invented β any ideas on how to invent aerosol? I've had a little bit of luck with beeswax but it feels heavy. Mix it with an oil? What do you use? You've got fucking volume.
no subject
I can ask around? I know a guy who helped me invent pepper spray. [ She sits down on her mattress (it is held up by a few bins, not at all comfy but absolutely getting the job done as far as sleep is concerned), writing at the very top of the page with flowery script (π±πͺπ²π»). ] If anyone would know, he would definitely know.
[ Maybe. Marc's hair kind of looks alright on a good day. ]
I basically use like a lot of socks and a lot of hair ties. I use a mixture of like, rosewater and some stuff I got from one of the artist guys when I want something more permanent. What helps though is like, if you want volume you're gonna wanna do everything with your head down. Like at the base of your hair!
no subject
I've got some natural curl, can I try the rosewater shit? [ And, waitβ ] What do you need pepper spray for?
no subject
[ She'll actually be getting some of her materials out for him as she commiserates about the lack of styling tools, spreading it out over her blanket. Some socks, a ribbon or two, a classic Olden Times Hairtie, and said solution. It's in an ornate, gorgeous little bottle. Clearly whoever gave her it is interested in winning her favorβ ]
Also, for pepper spray reasons. There's thisβ [ She rolls her eyes. ] guy who is like crazy and insane and almost.. I just need something on hand in case he tries anything with me again, so!
no subject
He eyes what she brings out, picks up her bottle to uncork and smell. It is a pretty design. He misses his cologne, the weight of the bottles, some stolen when the price was high.
Regarding the creep, he assumes Rubean: ] Jesus Christ. The price of being hot. Do you need someone to shake him up? [ He sits on her bed casually, picks up a slip of fabric and rubs it under his fingers. ]
no subject
No..
[ But it makes her smile, though. The thought of Billy having been there when Felipe barged into her room, makes her smile. He looks like he can hold his own. She scratches at her cheek, the scent of something vaguely sweet wafting in the air when he uncorks that bottle. If he puts it in his hands it's warm, only a little sticky (courtesy of the water). ]
He'd just get a kick out of it. Like, oh she's thinking about me or something.
cw: internalized homophobia
He doesn't know her well enough to pry into details. ] What a loser. If he's not just bark and no-bite... you know. Say something.
[ Jesus. Anyway, he does put a small dab of the product on his finger tips, rubbing it and feeling it, noting how it smells. It's very floral and he likes it, but: ] I used to wear Rabanne. Or Aramis. You don't think this is too... fruity? For me? [ He waits to be chastised for being insensitive, but he can't help it! It's a work in progress! ]
no subject
Like.. Gay? [ She Can Say this as a Bi Woman who is Still Sexually Repressed. ] Are you asking if it's gay to smell good?
no subject
No. Iβm askingβ itβs flowery. Like rosy.
Is that. You know?
no subject
Hmmm.. Like, what?
no subject
Which is whatever, but I also like pusβ girls. [ That 'also' is doing a surprising amount of work. ] What you smell like, your signature scent, should mean something, right? Say something?
[ In his Rubean drought of Rabanne and Aramis, Billy typically smells like: the clean soap from the banya, sweat, and glassworking scents, beeswax and burning warmth. ]
1/2
I think this'll say you smell good. Or like smelling good. Like you care about how you look. Something sweet and nice, like a warm blanket or something. [ Comforting, she means. ] It doesn't say I like to smash but it says a lot more, at least to me, you know?
no subject
I like girls, too, by the way.. [ A beat. ] A girl. I haven't met another girl I like liked. Just so you know!
no subject
At his core, he's the antithesis to comforting, isn't he? Butβ maybeβ ]
Yeah? [ His head tilts, eyes half-lidded as he considers her. He knows she's telling him something important, because it's equally important for him. ] Back home we thought it was hot if it was girls. [ He laughs, a little wooden. ] Sorry.
Was it back home?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw: homophobic language
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
i'm so sorry.
SOBBING LITERALLY
(no subject)
(no subject)