2/25/07 - Andre, Beckah, Ororo
---
Rebecca Reed is dressed as nicely as she dresses. Her leather coat is in full effect, of course, and her dreadlocks are tied back neatly with a black bandana tied over them, in order to try to draw some shield of subtle over the intense red color her hair is died. She is seated across from Andre, her meatless Chinese food in front of her, and one of her boots currently engaged in playfully trying to stop on one of his shoes. The evening is relatively peaceful, for a weekend. By that, it is not standing room only and there are no screaming children.
Andre is dressed respectably as well, though he doesn't really own anything in the area between nice-casual and concert tux. So he's casual tonight, wearing black pants and a dark red sweater. And sneakers. He's more worried about the comfort of his feet than the appearance of them as long as he's still in the camp of the cane-users. The right foot, attached to the uninjured leg, dodges and taps at Beckah's boot, darting in and out to avoid being overtaken by the heavier shoe. The food in front of him contains meat, and also rather alarmingly red peppers. He pokes around these cautiously.
Ororo Munroe is very much in favor of the absence of screaming children. Her hair feathers loose and free and white around her face and neck, the sort of freedom that comes when hiding bears no reward and little point. Her makeup is understated, a subtle enhancement to the full curve of her lips, a sharpening of her eyes to draw attention to their vivid blue, which matches the oceanic ripple of her skirt. Trimmed in silver, it matches the silver-wrought white of her blouse, low-cut shimmer also relatively shameless about drawing the eye. Half-boots match in blue, very nearly seasonable, or as close as Storm feels it is necessary to get. Her food, light vegetarian and in a light sauce, is rapidly diminishing, no scrap left unpoked by chopsticks wielded with delicate care and practice, which includes, one must admit, things which are probably meant only to be garnish. Her smile is a crooked hook, her eyes amused. For the moment, she is not speaking, but then, her partner is one likely to do plenty of talking.
For instance. "--three dogs and a snake," he says, dropping his chopsticks with a guilty clatter across a bowl that once held rice. "Not like there was a hell of a lot we could do about it. Animal Control took the pets, but Christ. You should've heard the neighbors when they took that sucker out of there." Rossi grins across the table at his date. His suit today has none of the tired quality of work attire, still neat across the shoulders. Dark blue overlays pale, the dull grey of his tie emphasizing the green of bright eyes. "You guys in the market for a 14-foot python?"
Perhaps it is in the invocation of the phrase 14-foot python, or in the clatter of chopsticks, but something draws Beckah's attention to the table behind and a few away from the spot where herself and Andre flirt like teenagers. Hazel eyes blink in surprised recognition of the couple she sees seated there. Rossi, from her acquaintance with him, and Ororo from the picture she was shown. She is, after all, a distinctive woman. "Hey," Beckah tells Andre with a nod in that direction. "I know those two."
Andre is a little less subtle than Beckah, leaning sideways in his chair to look in the direction that she points. Rossi is seated closer to Andre than Storm is, but the cop is not a familiar face to the percussionist, nevermind that they /did/ meet once. His date, however, is a different story. Andre's eyes widen as his gaze crosses over Ororo's face, then turns back to Beckah. "I know her, at least! She...ah. I told you about the time that I almost got mugged during the blackout, right?"
"I don't suppose the Bronx Zoo was interested," Ororo says mildly, with an upquirk of an eyebrow. She finds the last scrap of carrot, the last shred of garnishly cabbage, combines them and transfers them neatly from plate to mouth. "I don't think we need a snake." With low humor, she admits, "I can ask if you'd like. One never knows."
"Most women would freak out," Rossi points out, serving chili out into his plate with willful disregard for the limitations of the tiny plastic spoon. "I ever mention what a find you are, Cadbury? Don't get how it is that you ended up dating me. Either no other guy had the balls to ask you out, or you're just feeling sorry for me. The zoo told us thanks, but no thanks." He slants a grin up. "They did mention if we happen to find any white tigers--"
With a nod of her dreadlocked head at Andre, Beckah says, "Yeah?" She wants to hear the rest of the story, but evidently, she cannot resist climbing up to her feet. She's careful, as she always is, in public, not to move her middle too much in the process. "C'mon. I've always wanted to walk over and be social at someone in the middle of a restaurant like in the movies. Beside, the chance to introduce you to Chris..."
"She's one of the people who helped save my sorry butt," Andre explains as he grabs his cane from where it rests against the table, steadying it to allow him a fairly smooth transition from sit to stand as he slides out of his chair. "Just so long as the waitstaff doesn't think we've left and clear off our food, let's be movie people!" Andre follows Beckah as she goes. "Good chance, I hope?"
"I might have offered to take the snake," Ororo says, widening her eyes at him slightly over chopsticks, their tips laid lightly against her lower lip. "There are women who dance with pythons, you know." Because she has no particular intention of learning to dance with a python, she leans back in her seat slightly and continues with redirection: "You've met my ex. -- I suppose I could ask him about a white tiger. He could probably provide. Although it might be made out of a slinky and some bits of napkin..."
"He locked me in a closet," Rossi replies with all-too-quick aplomb, the faint edge of remembered ire still stitching across the baritone. A small tightness around his eyes relaxes, distracted away by a passing waiter with tea. "If you're telling me he has tigers squirreled away on those grounds of you-- Hey. I know her." Beckah. A black eyebrow quirks up, acknowledging, before his attention skews back to Ororo. "Think we're about to be date-crashed."
Impact in five, four, three, two, "Hey Chris," Beckah's tone is far more gentle than she has become accustomed to accosting the detective with. This comes only after a glance at Andre and a "Small world," comment of the fact that he has that connection to Rossi's girl. "Pardon the interruption," she says with genuine manners, "I just couldn't help but come over and meet the woman I've heard such wonderful things about." She shines a smile on Ororo, one both pleasant and apologetic for the date-crash.
Andre trails a few feet behind Beckah, leaning on his cane when he catches up to her and stops. The hand not occupied with holding the cane lifts in a little wave directed generally between Rossi and Storm. He smiles brightly, but is so far content to let Beckah do the talking.
"Oh," Ororo says, with a play at cheerful horror. "I am sure the lies are all divine. Hello, good evening." She inclines her head to Beckah and to her date, the bright flash of red, the large coat, the friendly faces; it must be remarked that she does not recognize Andre. A superhero's lot is a hard one in life. Forge and whether or not he has white tigers are a matter presently set aside. She starts out of her seat to offer a hand in a shimmer of silvery and white over warm dark. "I'm Ororo."
Green eyes grin at Beckah as Rossi stands, the eyebrows hiking again at her display of civility. "Jesus," he replies, reciprocating in utterly unequal kind. "Someone get you a copy of Miss Manners? --Beckah," he provides towards Ororo, with a passing, quizzical glance at Andre. "Met her bar-hopping one night. She's not a complete waste of skin, even if she does look like one of those little plastic trolls with the hair." He offers a scarred hand in turn towards Andre. "Remember you. So you're the imaginary boyfriend?"
Beckah counteracts her manners completely by sticking her tongue out at Rossi. Then she turns her attention quickly back to Ororo, meeting the hand with one pale naturally, though still reddened in a few spots by mostly healed burns. "Rebecca Reed," she says. Then she gestures to the man with his cane, "And yeah, this is Andre. He's my imaginary boyfriend. The strain it's taking to project him is immense."
"But I have to commend her on the job she's doing. I feel like I'm real!" Andre grins, then gestures toward his cane. "Though I could have asked to be a little more of a perfected model." He sticks his own tongue out the corner of his mouth at Beckah, then extends his free hand to shake Rossi's offered one. "Andre Harrison."
"Were you giving lessons on mannered behavior?" Ororo inquires, glancing at her own boyfriend with tolerant humor. Project. She cocks an alert look at Beckah, too alert, before a second's breath passes and she realizes that sometimes there are jokes. She gives Andre a winning smile to make up for this lapse. "Very convincing."
"Don't look at me," Rossi says a little too late for effect. His hand grips strongly at Andre's, so very manly, and releases so he can gesture at the empty seats. "Sit down if you need to. That a permanent gimp leg? Or just the fashionable temporary kind? --I only talked about you a little bit, Cadbury. No worries. It was all good. Mostly."
The origin of that pet name she hears makes her curious enough that Beckah cannot help but take a glance between Ororo and Chris at hearing it. She is also patently oblivious to the intensely alert look she was given. "He didn't tell me a single thing about the incident with the carrot," she says in mock assurance to Rossi's date. She is banking on the fact that she dates Chris Rossi in venturing a joke like that. She pads her chances at not coming off as a complete ass by smiling pleasantly.
Andre's grip is also strong, though more from the fine-motor muscles whipped into shape from playing percussion. He applies that strength more easily than Rossi does, though, and when his hand his released, he rests it lightly on top of the one holding the cane. "Certainly hope it's temporary, but I think it's still a little early to tell for sure on that." He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage considering the subject. Beckah's carrot remark earns a raised eyebrow and a light snort.
"I should hope not," Ororo says mildly. "The carrots were not for public consumption. The story is not either." With the solemn gravity of a stern schoolteacher on a subject of which she knows nothing, she slants a sidelong look at Rossi that breaks her aplomb and twitches the corners of her full mouth towards a smirk. Appreciative.
Rossi's brow rises again, but it is a tolerant expression, turned towards Beckah with the heavy patience of a man accustomed to the mentally infirm. "Ignore her," he advises his girlfriend with evident regret. "She's a musician. You know how they are. Too much vibrating in the brain. Gets them all rattled. --So what happened?" he adds towards Andre, chin lifting to gesture towards his leg.
Beckah can't help herself. "Funny, I don't have that problem with the vibrating, really." She smiles angelically as she glances between Andre and Rossi, then turns back to Ororo. "I have to admit I heard a lot about how wonderful you are and how lucky a man he is, but I don't think I recall Chris telling me what you do?" Polite conversation. Don't involve the carrots. Steer toward manners.
"Heeey now," Andre protests, certain wordings taking precedent over the leg question. He lifts his free hand and points first at Rossi, then at himself. "I'm a musician too, and I get rattled and vibrated /far/ less than anyone else I know!" If Beckah's going to be subtle in the reference, he gets to be a little more blatant. He grins toothily after this remark, but the expression fades to something distinctly more bitter as he explains, "Big crazy guy in an alley snapped it."
Ororo considers all manner of outlandish and ridiculous things to say. She stalls for time as she wars with her sense of humor. "He didn't tell you? Well, I suppose it isn't that glamorous," she says. She eventually retreats to boring reality, which may be sad, but then, hers is a life of full of enough fictions. "I teach at a school for gifted children in Westchester."
"Story of my life," Rossi confides in an aside to Andre, glancing a sympathetic grimace down to his leg. And back to Beckah, pained, "More'n I ever need to know, princess. Don't feel obligated to share much else. --Or you," he adds back to Andre, dropping back into his chair. A passing waiter drops the bill and a pair of fortune cookies for the table. Chris stretches to retrieve the former and split the latter. "Don't knock it, Cadbury. You deserve hazard pay."
"I have a hard time imagining teaching being a boring job," Beckah says with a smile. At the arrival of the check, she glances to Andre before announcing, "We should stop hovering around your table like a pair of homeless vultures. Great seeing you Chris," she says to the cop. Then a smile to the milded-manned teacher, "And very nice meeting you, Ororo."
Andre squints at Rossi's remark, shoulders twitching slightly as he breathes in a pattern that approximates a laugh without proper sound. "Gaah, Becks. Promise that if I run into you two again, I won't talk physical pain or mental images that are /totally/ not what I intended!" He shakes his head, then laughs more openly. "Yeah, going to stop lurking now. Nice to meet you, Chris, and to, um, see you again, Ororo."
Ororo laughs in a soft puff of breath through her bright smile and inclines her head to them both again. "Boring -- I suppose is not really the word for my profession," she admits. "Well. It was running into you both. Beckah. Andre." Again? Her gaze centers on Andre, searching her memory for an encounter she has forgotten. "I wish you much better luck avoiding ... big crazy guys in alleys. There is too much of that sort of thing in this city."
"Stay out of alleys," Rossi suggests, crumpling the bill in a broad palm while his fingers snap his cookie in two. "And big crazy guys. Leave them to the professionals, like--" He gestures at Ororo with the slip of his fortune, gaze dropping to read. And blink. "Check it out. 'The man who leaps before he looks often lands with broken legs.' How's that for creepy?"
Beckah ticks a salute off of her forehead to Rossi. She stops at the reading of that fortune, "Ancient chinese secret. They know everything in those cookie factories." She turns, giving Andre a warm smile as she nods back toward their table. "Shall we? I believe we still have some noodles to end up throwing at each other before a date is complete, don't we?"
Andre would stand on his toes to peer over Rossi's shoulder and confirm the print on the cookie if his leg were in a shape to support such a thing, but this is simply not something he can do right now, so he suffices to just jawdrop a little. This expression changes into a smirk at Beckah's question, and he replies, "So long as it's just 'end up throwing' and not 'end throwing up,' we're golden."
"How romantic," Ororo labels the other evening, her voice low and warm, threaded with the deep tremors of unspilled mirth. She lifts her head with a slower smile and nods a further farewell. "That is a highly unsettling cookie," she says. "Anyway--" And her glance is sly beneath her lashes as she picks up her own cookie to draw fingertips along its sculpted shape, "--why leap when you can fly?"
Rossi laughs, a rich, free sound like the rip of black satin. "Now that you mention it," he says in his own, answering warmth, eyes alight. "You taking care of the commute back home, Cadbury? --Good seeing you, Beckah. Nice meeting you, Andre. Watch your good leg. You're dating a terror."
Rebecca Reed is dressed as nicely as she dresses. Her leather coat is in full effect, of course, and her dreadlocks are tied back neatly with a black bandana tied over them, in order to try to draw some shield of subtle over the intense red color her hair is died. She is seated across from Andre, her meatless Chinese food in front of her, and one of her boots currently engaged in playfully trying to stop on one of his shoes. The evening is relatively peaceful, for a weekend. By that, it is not standing room only and there are no screaming children.
Andre is dressed respectably as well, though he doesn't really own anything in the area between nice-casual and concert tux. So he's casual tonight, wearing black pants and a dark red sweater. And sneakers. He's more worried about the comfort of his feet than the appearance of them as long as he's still in the camp of the cane-users. The right foot, attached to the uninjured leg, dodges and taps at Beckah's boot, darting in and out to avoid being overtaken by the heavier shoe. The food in front of him contains meat, and also rather alarmingly red peppers. He pokes around these cautiously.
Ororo Munroe is very much in favor of the absence of screaming children. Her hair feathers loose and free and white around her face and neck, the sort of freedom that comes when hiding bears no reward and little point. Her makeup is understated, a subtle enhancement to the full curve of her lips, a sharpening of her eyes to draw attention to their vivid blue, which matches the oceanic ripple of her skirt. Trimmed in silver, it matches the silver-wrought white of her blouse, low-cut shimmer also relatively shameless about drawing the eye. Half-boots match in blue, very nearly seasonable, or as close as Storm feels it is necessary to get. Her food, light vegetarian and in a light sauce, is rapidly diminishing, no scrap left unpoked by chopsticks wielded with delicate care and practice, which includes, one must admit, things which are probably meant only to be garnish. Her smile is a crooked hook, her eyes amused. For the moment, she is not speaking, but then, her partner is one likely to do plenty of talking.
For instance. "--three dogs and a snake," he says, dropping his chopsticks with a guilty clatter across a bowl that once held rice. "Not like there was a hell of a lot we could do about it. Animal Control took the pets, but Christ. You should've heard the neighbors when they took that sucker out of there." Rossi grins across the table at his date. His suit today has none of the tired quality of work attire, still neat across the shoulders. Dark blue overlays pale, the dull grey of his tie emphasizing the green of bright eyes. "You guys in the market for a 14-foot python?"
Perhaps it is in the invocation of the phrase 14-foot python, or in the clatter of chopsticks, but something draws Beckah's attention to the table behind and a few away from the spot where herself and Andre flirt like teenagers. Hazel eyes blink in surprised recognition of the couple she sees seated there. Rossi, from her acquaintance with him, and Ororo from the picture she was shown. She is, after all, a distinctive woman. "Hey," Beckah tells Andre with a nod in that direction. "I know those two."
Andre is a little less subtle than Beckah, leaning sideways in his chair to look in the direction that she points. Rossi is seated closer to Andre than Storm is, but the cop is not a familiar face to the percussionist, nevermind that they /did/ meet once. His date, however, is a different story. Andre's eyes widen as his gaze crosses over Ororo's face, then turns back to Beckah. "I know her, at least! She...ah. I told you about the time that I almost got mugged during the blackout, right?"
"I don't suppose the Bronx Zoo was interested," Ororo says mildly, with an upquirk of an eyebrow. She finds the last scrap of carrot, the last shred of garnishly cabbage, combines them and transfers them neatly from plate to mouth. "I don't think we need a snake." With low humor, she admits, "I can ask if you'd like. One never knows."
"Most women would freak out," Rossi points out, serving chili out into his plate with willful disregard for the limitations of the tiny plastic spoon. "I ever mention what a find you are, Cadbury? Don't get how it is that you ended up dating me. Either no other guy had the balls to ask you out, or you're just feeling sorry for me. The zoo told us thanks, but no thanks." He slants a grin up. "They did mention if we happen to find any white tigers--"
With a nod of her dreadlocked head at Andre, Beckah says, "Yeah?" She wants to hear the rest of the story, but evidently, she cannot resist climbing up to her feet. She's careful, as she always is, in public, not to move her middle too much in the process. "C'mon. I've always wanted to walk over and be social at someone in the middle of a restaurant like in the movies. Beside, the chance to introduce you to Chris..."
"She's one of the people who helped save my sorry butt," Andre explains as he grabs his cane from where it rests against the table, steadying it to allow him a fairly smooth transition from sit to stand as he slides out of his chair. "Just so long as the waitstaff doesn't think we've left and clear off our food, let's be movie people!" Andre follows Beckah as she goes. "Good chance, I hope?"
"I might have offered to take the snake," Ororo says, widening her eyes at him slightly over chopsticks, their tips laid lightly against her lower lip. "There are women who dance with pythons, you know." Because she has no particular intention of learning to dance with a python, she leans back in her seat slightly and continues with redirection: "You've met my ex. -- I suppose I could ask him about a white tiger. He could probably provide. Although it might be made out of a slinky and some bits of napkin..."
"He locked me in a closet," Rossi replies with all-too-quick aplomb, the faint edge of remembered ire still stitching across the baritone. A small tightness around his eyes relaxes, distracted away by a passing waiter with tea. "If you're telling me he has tigers squirreled away on those grounds of you-- Hey. I know her." Beckah. A black eyebrow quirks up, acknowledging, before his attention skews back to Ororo. "Think we're about to be date-crashed."
Impact in five, four, three, two, "Hey Chris," Beckah's tone is far more gentle than she has become accustomed to accosting the detective with. This comes only after a glance at Andre and a "Small world," comment of the fact that he has that connection to Rossi's girl. "Pardon the interruption," she says with genuine manners, "I just couldn't help but come over and meet the woman I've heard such wonderful things about." She shines a smile on Ororo, one both pleasant and apologetic for the date-crash.
Andre trails a few feet behind Beckah, leaning on his cane when he catches up to her and stops. The hand not occupied with holding the cane lifts in a little wave directed generally between Rossi and Storm. He smiles brightly, but is so far content to let Beckah do the talking.
"Oh," Ororo says, with a play at cheerful horror. "I am sure the lies are all divine. Hello, good evening." She inclines her head to Beckah and to her date, the bright flash of red, the large coat, the friendly faces; it must be remarked that she does not recognize Andre. A superhero's lot is a hard one in life. Forge and whether or not he has white tigers are a matter presently set aside. She starts out of her seat to offer a hand in a shimmer of silvery and white over warm dark. "I'm Ororo."
Green eyes grin at Beckah as Rossi stands, the eyebrows hiking again at her display of civility. "Jesus," he replies, reciprocating in utterly unequal kind. "Someone get you a copy of Miss Manners? --Beckah," he provides towards Ororo, with a passing, quizzical glance at Andre. "Met her bar-hopping one night. She's not a complete waste of skin, even if she does look like one of those little plastic trolls with the hair." He offers a scarred hand in turn towards Andre. "Remember you. So you're the imaginary boyfriend?"
Beckah counteracts her manners completely by sticking her tongue out at Rossi. Then she turns her attention quickly back to Ororo, meeting the hand with one pale naturally, though still reddened in a few spots by mostly healed burns. "Rebecca Reed," she says. Then she gestures to the man with his cane, "And yeah, this is Andre. He's my imaginary boyfriend. The strain it's taking to project him is immense."
"But I have to commend her on the job she's doing. I feel like I'm real!" Andre grins, then gestures toward his cane. "Though I could have asked to be a little more of a perfected model." He sticks his own tongue out the corner of his mouth at Beckah, then extends his free hand to shake Rossi's offered one. "Andre Harrison."
"Were you giving lessons on mannered behavior?" Ororo inquires, glancing at her own boyfriend with tolerant humor. Project. She cocks an alert look at Beckah, too alert, before a second's breath passes and she realizes that sometimes there are jokes. She gives Andre a winning smile to make up for this lapse. "Very convincing."
"Don't look at me," Rossi says a little too late for effect. His hand grips strongly at Andre's, so very manly, and releases so he can gesture at the empty seats. "Sit down if you need to. That a permanent gimp leg? Or just the fashionable temporary kind? --I only talked about you a little bit, Cadbury. No worries. It was all good. Mostly."
The origin of that pet name she hears makes her curious enough that Beckah cannot help but take a glance between Ororo and Chris at hearing it. She is also patently oblivious to the intensely alert look she was given. "He didn't tell me a single thing about the incident with the carrot," she says in mock assurance to Rossi's date. She is banking on the fact that she dates Chris Rossi in venturing a joke like that. She pads her chances at not coming off as a complete ass by smiling pleasantly.
Andre's grip is also strong, though more from the fine-motor muscles whipped into shape from playing percussion. He applies that strength more easily than Rossi does, though, and when his hand his released, he rests it lightly on top of the one holding the cane. "Certainly hope it's temporary, but I think it's still a little early to tell for sure on that." He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage considering the subject. Beckah's carrot remark earns a raised eyebrow and a light snort.
"I should hope not," Ororo says mildly. "The carrots were not for public consumption. The story is not either." With the solemn gravity of a stern schoolteacher on a subject of which she knows nothing, she slants a sidelong look at Rossi that breaks her aplomb and twitches the corners of her full mouth towards a smirk. Appreciative.
Rossi's brow rises again, but it is a tolerant expression, turned towards Beckah with the heavy patience of a man accustomed to the mentally infirm. "Ignore her," he advises his girlfriend with evident regret. "She's a musician. You know how they are. Too much vibrating in the brain. Gets them all rattled. --So what happened?" he adds towards Andre, chin lifting to gesture towards his leg.
Beckah can't help herself. "Funny, I don't have that problem with the vibrating, really." She smiles angelically as she glances between Andre and Rossi, then turns back to Ororo. "I have to admit I heard a lot about how wonderful you are and how lucky a man he is, but I don't think I recall Chris telling me what you do?" Polite conversation. Don't involve the carrots. Steer toward manners.
"Heeey now," Andre protests, certain wordings taking precedent over the leg question. He lifts his free hand and points first at Rossi, then at himself. "I'm a musician too, and I get rattled and vibrated /far/ less than anyone else I know!" If Beckah's going to be subtle in the reference, he gets to be a little more blatant. He grins toothily after this remark, but the expression fades to something distinctly more bitter as he explains, "Big crazy guy in an alley snapped it."
Ororo considers all manner of outlandish and ridiculous things to say. She stalls for time as she wars with her sense of humor. "He didn't tell you? Well, I suppose it isn't that glamorous," she says. She eventually retreats to boring reality, which may be sad, but then, hers is a life of full of enough fictions. "I teach at a school for gifted children in Westchester."
"Story of my life," Rossi confides in an aside to Andre, glancing a sympathetic grimace down to his leg. And back to Beckah, pained, "More'n I ever need to know, princess. Don't feel obligated to share much else. --Or you," he adds back to Andre, dropping back into his chair. A passing waiter drops the bill and a pair of fortune cookies for the table. Chris stretches to retrieve the former and split the latter. "Don't knock it, Cadbury. You deserve hazard pay."
"I have a hard time imagining teaching being a boring job," Beckah says with a smile. At the arrival of the check, she glances to Andre before announcing, "We should stop hovering around your table like a pair of homeless vultures. Great seeing you Chris," she says to the cop. Then a smile to the milded-manned teacher, "And very nice meeting you, Ororo."
Andre squints at Rossi's remark, shoulders twitching slightly as he breathes in a pattern that approximates a laugh without proper sound. "Gaah, Becks. Promise that if I run into you two again, I won't talk physical pain or mental images that are /totally/ not what I intended!" He shakes his head, then laughs more openly. "Yeah, going to stop lurking now. Nice to meet you, Chris, and to, um, see you again, Ororo."
Ororo laughs in a soft puff of breath through her bright smile and inclines her head to them both again. "Boring -- I suppose is not really the word for my profession," she admits. "Well. It was running into you both. Beckah. Andre." Again? Her gaze centers on Andre, searching her memory for an encounter she has forgotten. "I wish you much better luck avoiding ... big crazy guys in alleys. There is too much of that sort of thing in this city."
"Stay out of alleys," Rossi suggests, crumpling the bill in a broad palm while his fingers snap his cookie in two. "And big crazy guys. Leave them to the professionals, like--" He gestures at Ororo with the slip of his fortune, gaze dropping to read. And blink. "Check it out. 'The man who leaps before he looks often lands with broken legs.' How's that for creepy?"
Beckah ticks a salute off of her forehead to Rossi. She stops at the reading of that fortune, "Ancient chinese secret. They know everything in those cookie factories." She turns, giving Andre a warm smile as she nods back toward their table. "Shall we? I believe we still have some noodles to end up throwing at each other before a date is complete, don't we?"
Andre would stand on his toes to peer over Rossi's shoulder and confirm the print on the cookie if his leg were in a shape to support such a thing, but this is simply not something he can do right now, so he suffices to just jawdrop a little. This expression changes into a smirk at Beckah's question, and he replies, "So long as it's just 'end up throwing' and not 'end throwing up,' we're golden."
"How romantic," Ororo labels the other evening, her voice low and warm, threaded with the deep tremors of unspilled mirth. She lifts her head with a slower smile and nods a further farewell. "That is a highly unsettling cookie," she says. "Anyway--" And her glance is sly beneath her lashes as she picks up her own cookie to draw fingertips along its sculpted shape, "--why leap when you can fly?"
Rossi laughs, a rich, free sound like the rip of black satin. "Now that you mention it," he says in his own, answering warmth, eyes alight. "You taking care of the commute back home, Cadbury? --Good seeing you, Beckah. Nice meeting you, Andre. Watch your good leg. You're dating a terror."