Continuation from fagsona thread

[bleedingeffect]

The other patrons seemed to be just as drunk to notice or care, which Desmond noted with a small feeling of relief. It's not like it was uncommon, anyway, and he had no one to prove himself to as it was. (Except maybe the waitress, who constantly teased him that he he needed a girlfriend.)

"So, eleven," he reminded Shaun. "And don't forget your tab before we go, pal."

Though Desmond had half a mind to make the asshole who ruined his wingman plan pay for Shaun's tab, it'd probably get him fired. He could pay for the girls' drinks, though...

Comments

[bleedingeffect]

With a nod, Desmond warily took the helmet back, examining it before he put it on. (He even gave it a cautious sniff.)

"Good," he said, adjusting the helmet to be snug. "Well, uh. It was nice meeting you, Shaun."

[shaunhastings]

"Yes, I wouldn't normally say the same for someone as simple as yourself," Shaun replied in dismissal. "But I suppose you were helpful. Thanks."

[bleedingeffect]

Simple? What was that supposed to mean?

With a frown, Desmond reassembled himself on his bike, turning the key and getting a clunky noise in return. He stared down at it, turned the key again, and got the same fruitless whir of the machinery before it silenced again. He leaned over, looking at the small dash of his motorcycle. The gas needle pointed mockingly at E. Great. I forgot to fill up.

"Shit," he groaned. "I can't believe this."

[shaunhastings]

Shaun, who was mid-way to the apartments doorstep before he heard an awful grinding noise airing off of Desmond's bike, turned to look.

"Is there a problem?"

[bleedingeffect]

"Um," Desmond began to call out, "No. I'll just drag it to the nearest gas station."

[shaunhastings]

"You're out of gas?" Shaun said in disbelief. "Good God, you really are simple."

[bleedingeffect]

"You're simple," he said back, indignant despite not paying attention to the argument at hand as he steered his bike around. It was easy now, but a mile down the round, this would probably get tiring.

[shaunhastings]

For awhile, Shaun just watched Desmond lug his bike down the street. Not until Desmond had almost reached the end of the block did he decide to intervene. Shaun, quite hesitantly, has decided to extend an invitation to Desmond. It was the only decent thing to do, after all (though Shaun was half hoping Desmond wouldn't take him up on it).

"The station is a ways from here, isn't it?" Shaun called out. "I can have Rebecca bring you a tank when she comes back."

[bleedingeffect]

Desmond hesitated, and Shaun would probably be pleased to see that he was leaning towards 'no', but after he heaved a sigh he said, "Sure."

He wheeled it back around, giving it a glare as he did for the trouble. Well, good to see Shaun was a good person after all, offering help in return. (How little he knows, though.)

"I can just wait out here," he said when he finally pulled back up to the hotel.

[shaunhastings]

"You're sure?" Shaun asked. "She's going to be a bit."

[bleedingeffect]

That's right. They were ahead of this Rebecca's schedule by quite a bit, weren't they? She'd be almost an hour, if he remembered right.

"That an invitation, then?"

[shaunhastings]

"Well, she shouldn't be gone long enough for you to break anything," Shaun sighed out, turning towards the apartment. "Come on, then. Just don't touch anything once you're inside. We have some sensitive equipment set up."

[bleedingeffect]

Equipment? Desmond nodded, just shrugging his shoulders. He pulled his bike up to the building, tucking it in the shadows, propping it up before following.

"I'm not the one bumbling around drunk, just so you know," Desmond reminded him.

[shaunhastings]

"I'm feeling much better now that I've puked my guts out, thank you very much," Shaun shot back from over his shoulder.

After shuffling around in his pockets for a pair of keys, Shaun led Desmond to a red doorway towards the back end of the hotel's lower floors. He opened it, allowing Desmond entry. The main room was mostly bare. There were wires strewn across the floor, most of them hooked up to a machine that resembled a reclining chair and a bunch of servers. In the opposing corner, there was only a card table and few chairs, a few papers and laptop computer sitting up on the table's surface.

[bleedingeffect]

"Oh. Well. Good."

Desmond entered the room after Shaun, awkwardly sidling through the door. This was... new, to say the least. (Getting invited into some guy's hotel room is totally normal, right?) It was foreign territory in more ways than one. Shaun was still a stranger, and quite honestly, Desmond never visited anyone. He didn't go out with friends. He only went out for work, groceries, or rides on his bike in the city, purely for the sake of freedom.

The first thing Desmond touched in the room was simply a chair - none of Shaun's 'sensitive equipment' if you know what I mean. He slowly sat down, lagged by the unfamiliarity of it all. He took in more details of the room than he usually would, awareness heightened; an old habit he was taught into but hardly ever used.

"Nice place," he finally said.

[shaunhastings]

"It is what it is," Shaun replied, ducking back into the kitchen to search under the sink for mouthwash. "I can't say much for the decor, but it should do for our stay in New York."

[bleedingeffect]

"That's New York for you."

Desmond could only sit still for half a minute before curiosity made him get to his feet again, following all the wires to a bunch of clunky electronics. He didn't recognize any of them; he was hardly a computer person. Only thing he ever signed up for was an e-mail address for employers, which he only checked about twice a month at internet cafes.

He lifted a wire cautiously, studying its path to that mysterious chair. It looked like some of the modern furniture designs that were so popular these days. Maybe Rebecca designed that stuff - but then why all the computers? Why did the arm of the chair have a control panel? A little fancy, wasn't it?

"What is this thing?"

Without asking, Desmond plopped himself right into the recliner.

[shaunhastings]

Shaun, caught with his mouth full of Listerine, promptly spit it out as soon as he saw Desmond plop himself down in the recliner. "Are you completely daft?! I told you not to touch anything! That's not for sitting!"

[bleedingeffect]

"Well, it's a chair, isn't it? You didn't say don't sit on chairs," Desmond huffed, quite childishly, ignoring the fact that it very much looked like it could be sensitive equipment. But hey, a chair's a chair, and this one looked a lot comfier than those flimsy wooden hotel ones.

He relented a little, sitting upright at the very least. The thing felt secure; he didn't get why Shaun was getting so panicked.

[shaunhastings]

"It is not just a chair," Shaun said flatly. "That chair, Desmond, has ten times the processing power of your tiny brain."

[bleedingeffect]

"You mean this thing?" Desmond pointed at the panel that hovered over the arm, finger inches away from touches it.

[shaunhastings]

"Exactly what part of don't touch anything can you not get through your head?" Shaun pressed accusingly, immediately catching up to Desmond in his seat and snatching his wrist away.

foreshadowing alert

[bleedingeffect]

Desmond rolled his eyes, but he got to his feet, hands a safe distance from the chair.

"Come on, it's just a chair. What harm could it do?"

[shaunhastings]

"Why don't you have a seat at the table?" Shaun suggested, ushering Desmond away from the device. "Yes, I think you're much less likely to be a clumsy-handed buffoon over there."

[bleedingeffect]

"Fine, fine," he gave in, taking a seat on a normal, boring ol' wooden chair. He couldn't help looking at the electronic seat, though. What was Shaun hiding about it?

Desmond sighed and waved the thought off. The guy was drunk. He probably didn't know what he was saying. Bet it's just some kind of massage chair or something, and he wants it all to himself.