lush ✘ and if the man can't dance he gets no second chance

[heyeresque]

Bellamy is not sure at what point the night began to slide sideways out of his control, but he's confident that when he reassesses in the cold, sober light of day it'll absolutely not be his fault.

Case in point, he leans against the front door of his Chelsea flat and pats himself down with one hand for his keys...which aren't there, meaning they're still in the inner pocket of Nic's jacket. Nic, who was meant to be the designated driver this evening and instead is the reason that he had to call Hasi from a hotel in London and request a rescue; Cypra would either be busy or laugh too hard, he explained. Nic, who decided to go ambling off with other friends after Bellamy turned in and will be all the more difficult to get a hold of until probably late tomorrow afternoon.

"Hasi," he says, admirably clearly for his inebriation, "I have a small problem."

Comments

[norea]

"It's no trouble, Bellamy, I'm a night-owl, anyway." She smiles at him briefly and heads for the door to her bedroom.

"I sleep naked," Hasibe tells him, sweetly (because she's terrible and can't resist just before ducking into the master bedroom), "so if you need anything...you may want to knock first."

[heyeresque]

The alcohol can presumably be blamed for why Bellamy pauses, his hands on his shirt buttons, and says, "Maybe," very mildly. ...and then adds, with a skewed grin, "Your virtue is safe with me; I can't see a damn thing a foot in front of me. Goodnight, Hasi- thanks, again."

[norea]

"Oh, Bellamy, I mean this nicely, but I'm not sure you'd know what to do with me even if you had your contacts in," Hasi teases, or...really, 'provokes'; she expects nothing to come of it, but there is certainly a note of prove me wrong in her voice. She's stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to her bedroom, observing him from under her eyelashes, aware he probably can't make out her expression perfectly well.

"But you're very welcome. Good night."

...and now she's going up the stairs.

[heyeresque]

Bellamy doesn't need to be able to make out her expression for her to pick up on his - he has an ego and it can be provoked, just like anyone else - but he ... smiles, rueful, like he's letting it go and playing harmless and useless, and then she's turned away and he sits down to get his shoes off instead of saying anything at all. He judges this the wiser course of action, through his pleasant haze, and finishes the water before he shucks his pants and goes to sleep.

He'll sleep pretty late, left to his own devices.

[norea]

When he does stir, Hasibe is in the kitchen making herself breakfast (and him, too, if he wakes up in time) -- she cooks maybe once a day, as a rule, and generally it's her morning meal, although this is edging closer toward lunch-masquerading-as-breakfast. Like most things she does, it's incredibly over the top- pancakes, tea, a couple of champagne flutes out if she feels like it, red caviar, grapes. Why not, really?

She has her cigarettes, too; she doesn't think Bellamy strikes her as much of a clove man, but presumably he's got his own if he needs 'em. She's dressed in a short white robe, presently untied, loose over the deep-red babydoll she's pretending is appropriate hanging-out lingerie. She leans over her kitchen counter, stealing herself a grape, barefoot and without amke-up (not that it makes much of a difference).

[heyeresque]

The first thing that Bellamy does when he wakes up - after lying there on the sofa and staring pointlessly and hatefully up at the ceiling, regretting at least three of the drinks he had last night - is go and put his contacts back in before meandering naturally in the direction of the kitchen. (More accurately: in the direction of what smells like food.)

His hair looks severely slept-on and he hasn't showered or put a shirt on yet, but he looks less bleary than he would've if he'd had less water and no aspirin. "Good morning."

[norea]

She looks over her shoulder with a small smile, pleased to see he's up. Hasibe abandons her grapes for wandering toward Bellamy. She rests one hand on the side of his neck (hi, personal space), tipping his chin so she can get a good look at him, and then slides it upward to mess up his hair, which makes it look less slept-on and more 'like the crazy girl whose apartment he's in has no boundaries'. And because she's so tall she doesn't even have to reach up that much! (Only a four inch height difference.)

"Good morning," Hasi says, lightly, and steps back, after that...interestingly flirtatious greeting, "hungry?"

[heyeresque]

"A little," he concedes, rubbing the side of his shoulder with one hand and endeavoring to look sleepy and abashed instead of suddenly alert. (It almost works, too, but one thing that does run in the family is the ability to carry an inappropriate intensity just in the eyes.) "I think I remember most of last night, so I'm feeling very optimistic about the parts I don't recall."

[norea]

"I promise, you said nothing terribly incriminating- at least, not to me. Do you want coffee or tea?" She leans over the counter top again, unwilling to go all the way around it to get the caviar jar on the other side, so she just...leans further. To such a degree that she bends one leg at the knee and balances on the toes of the other.

It's easier, okay.

[heyeresque]

"Coffee, please," he says, ambling past her and around the counter to nudge the jar, helpfully, closer to her. "It was a good night for football."

[norea]

"Are you a hooligan?" Hasi inquires, playful, as she turns to press buttons setting the coffee machine into useful motion. "Do you run in the streets and shout whenever your team scores?"

[heyeresque]

"Not for years; it's hard on the knees," he says, earnestly. "But let's not talk about my team, I really hate crying in front of people."

Look, England is not exactly a football super-power.

[norea]

"Who are the ones that have done well unexpectedly- Slovenia? Let's root for Slovenia. Also, tell me how many pancakes you want and if you want caviar with them," Hasibe requests, moving efficiently through the kitchen with her robe swishing loosely around her thighs; she could probably do with tying it, due to the babydoll's neckline and the fact that it doesn't always completely cover her underwear, but not yet. She kind of likes this waking up to company thing, even if it reminds her of other things she keeps trying to put away from herself- but it's been a year, and this is a different sort of situation.

[heyeresque]

"Italy tied one all with New Zealand- it's historic for the little team, you have to understand that Italy are defending champions and this came out of no where, it's a public humiliation-" and Hasi probably doesn't care about his earnest explanation of why this warranted a booze up with his cousin, although it's sort of interesting how positively vindictive his good mood is. It's not the win that pleased him so much as who was losing, and really, Bellamy, get a life. He cuts off, laughing quietly at himself, and holds up three fingers for the pancakes. "Caviar would be great."

[norea]

"You'll have to figure out how you want to take your coffee yourself," she tells him, "cream and sugar's just there."

She stacks three pancakes onto a plate, and two for herself, each neatly topped with caviar; there is syrup, both raspberry and maple, but what she does with a bit of the raspberry is stir it into her tea.

"How Dostoevsky took it," is her explanation of the combination, "Tea purists hate me for this."

[heyeresque]

"I know a few," he says, taking his coffee black and without anything added to it at all, "but I won't tell. I know it makes me a terrible Englishman, but I don't really like tea."

[norea]

"Well, I'm a terrible American, because I don't really like coffee, so." She sits on one of the stools lined up by the kitchen island, having acquired tea, grapes, pancakes with caviar, and champagne because she fucking feels like it, that's why. (She figures if he wants any he'll ask, but maybe he's had enough liquor. All things considered.)

[heyeresque]

The champagne can wait until after the first cup of coffee; Bellamy never feels quite human until he's caffeinated, and one glass'll be fine since it'll be a while until he can get his own car back. (Nic may not have got in yet, being arguably more hard-partying than his baby cousin Bel.)

"Ah, so we break even." He sits down by her with his breakfast, drinking coffee a little bit like his life may actually depend on it, and gives her a thin smile. "Symmetry or something."

[norea]

"I can see that coffee is essentially your lifeblood now, so yes, clearly- symmetry." She nudges his knee gently with her own bare one, smiling in return, and then she refocuses on her breakfast.

[heyeresque]

"I think I still have some blood left in my caffeine system, but probably a few more years on the force will fix that." Look, that was very nearly personal; well done, Bellamy. Breakfast is probably a better bet than actually pursuing with seriousness anything about mild workaholic tendencies ('mild'), though, so he does that.

[norea]

"Considering your recreational habits seem to be 'driving fast,' 'poetry,' and 'drinking yourself into a state of hilarity', probably." Does this mean she thinks he needs more hobbies? Different ones? Who knows. Hasi finds herself a cigarette, because with it this triad of ridiculousness is complete: girl in lingerie, drinking champagne and eating caviar on pancakes for breakfast, smoking ridiculous black cigarettes.

[heyeresque]

"I don't thnk there's anything wrong with my hobbies," he says, with dignity. "I wouldn't call drinking a hobby, though, Dad gets annoyed about things like that." A crossuniversal shout-out for you there. "Besides which, I don't get the opportunity very often."

[norea]

"I think you're very deliberately a bit repressed," Hasi tells him, and maybe it's her delivery (wry, a little fond all over again, not too accusing) that keeps it from being too rude, who knows. "You keep hanging out with me and that won't last, though."

[heyeresque]

"Mmm. My sister told me I should be careful." He's very midl and unconvinced about this, sounding more than anything ruefully fond of said sister. They're close. "As you can see, I'm always careful."

Except when hurling himself in front of moving vehicles.

[norea]

"Careful of what?" Hasi asks, eyebrows raised, cigarette held aloft. "Anyway, it can't be fun to always be careful. You must want to let go and follow your instincts sometimes."