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

[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."

[heyeresque]

"Sometimes," Bellamy says, as if he is imparting great wisdom, "the smartest thing that you can do is let go. That's a kind of being careful, too- it's psychologically unhealthy to force yourself into something unnatural. I think you're more creative than that, aren't you? You can't think it's entirely mutually exclusive."

Note: he has not answered the initial question.

[norea]

Hasibe doesn't say anything, but the knowing, bright light in her eyes is probably expressive enough. She sets her fork down and looks at him, chin in her hand, eyebrows raised.

Yeah, he didn't answer the question, she's noticing.

[heyeresque]

"Well," he says, considering her, "maybe you can. That's unfortunate, though."

Bellamy.

[norea]

Hasibe is less provoked than she is entertained (her eyebrows lift just the slightest bit more). She stays right where she is, though, like come on, dude, give me a little more credit than this line.

[heyeresque]

"I don't know careful of what," he says, politely, "if that's what you're waiting on."

[norea]

"You know," she says, tossing her hair and turning back to her half-eaten pancakes, "I'd appreciate it a lot more if you just said 'I don't want to answer the question' instead of giving me some bullshit line which is so extravagant a dance away from the point you're basically Mikhail Baryshnikov. I'm just saying- I bet you get away with that a lot, but not with me."

Is there any man that Bellamy is less like than Mikhail Baryshnikov. Maybe George Bush.

[heyeresque]

There's a pause, like Bellamy is folding something away, and he says, "I meant that."

(He could've presented it less like a line, though, except he's so fucking out of the habit of saying things he means that he might actually not have been able to.)

[norea]

She tilts her head to the side, processing that, and then nods.

"All right, then." It's not the first time he's done it, but before there was a murder investigation, so that necessitated some vagueness. Now, though, the case being wrapped and everything, her standards have changed. If they are, in fact, to be friends (or whatever the hell is going on here in her kitchen at noon with them half-dressed). She indicates one of the champagne flutes.

"You want one?"

[heyeresque]

"I really do," he says, with one of those fleeting smiles that slides right past whatever that moment there was. "I'm enjoying my freedom from the tyranny of carkeys while it lasts." He quite enjoys the tyranny of carkeys, actually, but it does tend to mean he can go months without touching alcohol.

[norea]

She pours him some, obligingly, and taps ash from her cigarette into the glass-blown tray nearby appointed for just such a thing.

"That should take the edge off, if you're feeling a little out of it, too. Aren't you glad you woke up here with me to take care of you and make you things?"

[heyeresque]

"Mmm, I much prefer it to reproachful silence." He could mean his father or his cat, realistically. "Thank you."

[norea]

"No problem," she says, snagging herself another grape, "at least now my tendency to wear lingerie all around the house isn't entirely wasted."

Madam, he is not drunk now, you can't get away with saying things like that all the time--no, nevermind, she doesn't care.

[heyeresque]

"I'm positive I'm not the best you can do," he says gallantly, without blinking; the coffee has definitely helped.

[norea]

"I guess that depends on how well-appreciated I am," she says, exhaling smoke and grinning at him.

[heyeresque]

"That's a trap," he says, lightly, flicking a grape at her.

[norea]

She only barely dodges the grape's path, giving him a terribly indignant look. "It is not, it's flirting."

[heyeresque]

Bellamy makes a skeptical sound and drinks his champagne, trying not to smile. "I beg your pardon; my mistake."

[norea]

"Unless you think my flirting with you is a trap," she says, thoughtfully, "afraid I might use my wiles on you, Bellamy? I'm sure you could withstand me."

[heyeresque]

"I'm sure I don't need to. What horrible end could you possibly have in mind for me?" Well, apparently Bellamy actually thinks being in love with someone is terrifying- but let's not go there.

[norea]

"You might have actual fun that's not related to soccer," she tells him, as though it is a terrible threat, and she nudges him with her knee again. "It wouldn't be horrible, I am very nice to you. Downright sweet and obliging and even eager to please--"

This is a) such ridiculous trollery and b) innuendo so overtly, playfully faux-coy as to be a joke, but it's still innuendo and she's still using it.

[heyeresque]

In a truly beautiful strategy to completely sidestep her innuendo, Bellamy puts his glass down as if much struck and says, in a tone of greatly injured pride, "Football, Hasi. It's called football."

...Englishmen.

[norea]

Hasibe grins, lifts her chin in mock defiance and says, quite clearly, "Soccer. You'll never get me to change my mind. Never."

[heyeresque]

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it? I can't flirt with a woman who doesn't understand something so intrinsic." Bellamy affects mild regret.