Who cares what a stupid fag does?
It was a rather pleasant date, all told. They talked a lot about the Mustard Seed and their hopes for James's project there, then branched out to discover other things they had in common. James had seemed fascinated to learn that he'd been the former super-villain the Pied Piper and asked endless questions about how he'd fought the Flash.
"Do you still play?"
"Oh yes. Not like that, of course. But yes, I still play. Not very good at it though."
"Listen to you, you're so humble. I bet you're marvellous."
"I didn't bring my flute," Piper smiled.
"Pity. You have such a nice voice... Do you sing, too?"
"Nah... My voice is even worse than my playing."
"Everybody thinks that though. Your voice is so rich and smooth. You're too hard on yourself."
Piper chuckled and shook his head. The evening was crisp and pleasant, though a light fog was settling in. A nice night for a walk.
James gave him a coquettish look. "My place?"
"Do you still play?"
"Oh yes. Not like that, of course. But yes, I still play. Not very good at it though."
"Listen to you, you're so humble. I bet you're marvellous."
"I didn't bring my flute," Piper smiled.
"Pity. You have such a nice voice... Do you sing, too?"
"Nah... My voice is even worse than my playing."
"Everybody thinks that though. Your voice is so rich and smooth. You're too hard on yourself."
Piper chuckled and shook his head. The evening was crisp and pleasant, though a light fog was settling in. A nice night for a walk.
James gave him a coquettish look. "My place?"