Get ready for some magic!

[minthemagician]

Who: Mostly Bret and Jemaine, but also Min
What: Dinner and a show
When: Friday evening, around dinnertime
Where: A tavern near the city center

Comments

[posinglikeaswan]

Resting a respectable sized slab of chocolate against his knees -- respectable in that Bret would probably have to hold it in two hands -- Jemaine plucked a small twig from the ground and began carving out an elaborate heart. It was intricate and detailed and reasonably romantic, brimming with stifled thought, but just as he finished a markedly striking swirl he scratched it out and, after a minute's effort, what was once a heart instead took the form of a particularly sad looking raincloud. Or a large collection of lint. Or a tumbleweed. Jemaine brushed the chocolate shavings from his thighs.

A heart was far too lady-like.

So instead he made it personal, carving out a B and an R and an E respectively, occasionally blowing on the slab, shavings catching in the crater Iggy had made with his or her teeth after making a triumphant return to the apartment. Which was decidedly better than his leg. And then, realising that time was probably not on his side, Jemaine made a quick job of the T and stood, brushing off his trousers and hooking

[weedyshyguy]

The note had been strange. Even for Jemaine's notes. It was like he couldn't spell two words without making a mistake. Not that that was the weird part-- not the only weird part, anyway. It was really weird that Jemaine wanted him to dress up to go out with him on a Friday (it was Friday, right? Time had been so strange lately) when he hadn't gone on his date yet.

If Jemaine was going to ask him to play wingman on his date, Bret would kick his arse.

He'd dressed quickly and then, almost immediately growing bored of killing time before the mysterious event, he'd left quite early, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He wasn't even really sure where to start about kicking someone's arse.

Ah, and there was the arse. Jemaine's arse. There was Jemaine. He gave a little wave. "Hey. What's up?"

[posinglikeaswan]

Jemaine jerked his head up and nearly lost his footing. "Bret," he whined in surprise. "You -- what are you -- I said two hours -- mnnwhat," he continued to stumble inarticulately over his words before his shoulders slumped and his lip curled uncertainly. "Hey, Bret."

He quickly began reordering the night, slowing zoning out bit by bit, his eyes unfocused and his eyebrows drawn. It was entirely possibly that Cho would allow them to eat at her apartment, exponential amounts of awkward conversation notwithstanding, but with Bret standing no more than a foot away there wasn't really any other option and walking the food back to their own apartment was about as romantic as Jim's knitted underwear.

So, rattled, Jemaine lowered the block of chocolate from the crook of his arm and into his hand, extending it to Bret. "Um, here."

[weedyshyguy]

Jemaine seemed upset-- apparently Bret had messed up his plans by being early, somehow. Which was kind of annoying because he'd always thought being early was better than being late. Not to mention he wasn't always positive what time it actually was, lately.

Bret took the brick, glancing at it puzzledly for a moment before realizing it was a brick of chocolate. "Bry? Bree?" The carving seemed recent. There was still shavings on it.

So, probably not a chef's signature. "Who's she?" he asked, tentatively, trying to decide which hand was better to throw a punch with.

[posinglikeaswan]

There was a moment in which Jemaine stared at Bret, clearly flustered. And then he lowered his gaze. "What? No," he let his still suspended arm fall, twisting into his cuff. "It says Bret, Bret." Jemaine began nervously fingering at the hem of his shirt, tugging at a loose thread as he scoured the ground purposefully for another twig, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"It says Bret." He repeated, borderline agitated with himself.