[ He raises a finger just a little, cocks it haphazardly toward Alice. ]
Could be your apartment’s immaculate because you just gave it a deep clean. Had to after the last of your heinous deeds, huh?
Hey, guy.
[ He taps at… well, no, near is own temple deliberately, hand a little shaky, voice even, mock-dramatic. ]
Where. Are. The. Bodies?
[ And a grin as he drops his hand.
What Treavor assumes: If Alice isn’t going to kill Treavor for his desk, probably he’s gonna try outfoxing or sweet-talking Treavor into trading. Which, ha, no fuckin chance!
In fact, Treavor’s snorting at the thought, would shake his head if he wasn’t so intent on pressing against the cool damn cloth. ]
I’ve got news for you guy: I’m not switching desks, no matter how nice you ask.
Yours’s got Chauncey all over it.
[ …Wait, though.
Wait wait wait wait, though. Play what Alice said back through his mind. (Play what Alice said back through his mind as if Alice wasn’t a guy Treavor worked with and as if Treavor hasn’t been a mega-pest to Alice for weeks on end (and as if Treavor isn’t very obviously a hot goddamn mess) and as if maybe they’d just met for the first time last night.
Wait was Alice. Making a joke? Like a little bit of a lewd joke? (Or a not-a-joke? (He is pretty close, huh? (Pretty comforting.) (Pretty pretty.) ((Got a pretty nice voice.)) ((Feels pretty good to sit by.)) …Okay, no, not— Probably not not-a-joke. That wouldn’t make sense at all, right? Fuck, Treavor knows better than that.)
Could this guy be lewd if he tried?
(Does this guy know how to flirt? Is he flirt-compatible, even? He’s a guy who works too much and takes his job at the shitfirm way too seriously, work work all day, comes home and cleans his apartment apparently - and, ha ha, picks up drunks by the river, gives them a clean place to sleep - which doesn’t seem to leave a lot of space for flirting.
But also Alice looks like a guy who gets laid plenty. Also Treavor’s pretty sure there’s been some mention of Tindr or one of those let’s-get-fucking apps. Which maybe doesn’t require flirting so much as an open mind and convenience.
..In. Treavor’s experience. Anyway.)
((He doesn’t know the answer. Whether Alice could potentially flirt or not, though what matters is it… Uh. Nothing of that sort is happening here, and anyway, every thought in that direction’s falling into buzzing, into static. Just another question to move on from.))
(Something else. Flip it into something else.)
For a moment or two, Treavor’s been drawn back from the cloth, staring at Alice a little, confusion drawn clear in his expression. Trying to place these thoughts with the image of the Golden Intern, Golden Guy. Now he blinks, hitches a half-grin. ]
Ohhh, I see what’s happening.
[ He doesn't know where he's going with this, but he's absolutely plunging into it. ]
You want to push our desks together. Make a platform out of em. Stage a musical revue for spare coin, right? Hat out, voices strong. Entertainment for the masses.
no subject
Could be your apartment’s immaculate because you just gave it a deep clean. Had to after the last of your heinous deeds, huh?
Hey, guy.
[ He taps at… well, no, near is own temple deliberately, hand a little shaky, voice even, mock-dramatic. ]
Where. Are. The. Bodies?
[ And a grin as he drops his hand.
What Treavor assumes: If Alice isn’t going to kill Treavor for his desk, probably he’s gonna try outfoxing or sweet-talking Treavor into trading. Which, ha, no fuckin chance!
In fact, Treavor’s snorting at the thought, would shake his head if he wasn’t so intent on pressing against the cool damn cloth. ]
I’ve got news for you guy: I’m not switching desks, no matter how nice you ask.
Yours’s got Chauncey all over it.
[ …Wait, though.
Wait wait wait wait, though. Play what Alice said back through his mind. (Play what Alice said back through his mind as if Alice wasn’t a guy Treavor worked with and as if Treavor hasn’t been a mega-pest to Alice for weeks on end (and as if Treavor isn’t very obviously a hot goddamn mess) and as if maybe they’d just met for the first time last night.
Wait was Alice. Making a joke? Like a little bit of a lewd joke? (Or a not-a-joke? (He is pretty close, huh? (Pretty comforting.) (Pretty pretty.) ((Got a pretty nice voice.)) ((Feels pretty good to sit by.)) …Okay, no, not— Probably not not-a-joke. That wouldn’t make sense at all, right? Fuck, Treavor knows better than that.)
Could this guy be lewd if he tried?
(Does this guy know how to flirt? Is he flirt-compatible, even? He’s a guy who works too much and takes his job at the shitfirm way too seriously, work work all day, comes home and cleans his apartment apparently - and, ha ha, picks up drunks by the river, gives them a clean place to sleep - which doesn’t seem to leave a lot of space for flirting.
But also Alice looks like a guy who gets laid plenty. Also Treavor’s pretty sure there’s been some mention of Tindr or one of those let’s-get-fucking apps. Which maybe doesn’t require flirting so much as an open mind and convenience.
..In. Treavor’s experience. Anyway.)
((He doesn’t know the answer. Whether Alice could potentially flirt or not, though what matters is it… Uh. Nothing of that sort is happening here, and anyway, every thought in that direction’s falling into buzzing, into static. Just another question to move on from.))
(Something else. Flip it into something else.)
For a moment or two, Treavor’s been drawn back from the cloth, staring at Alice a little, confusion drawn clear in his expression. Trying to place these thoughts with the image of the Golden Intern, Golden Guy. Now he blinks, hitches a half-grin. ]
Ohhh, I see what’s happening.
[ He doesn't know where he's going with this, but he's absolutely plunging into it. ]
You want to push our desks together. Make a platform out of em. Stage a musical revue for spare coin, right? Hat out, voices strong. Entertainment for the masses.