Just hanging out

[Charles Carmichael] After work! Long, boring day, and the 'berry's plugged into the car. "Call Emily," Chuck says, and the phone dials - ring, ring goes her cell.

[Emily Littleton] If she hadn't run into Chuck earlier, Emilly's Valentine's Day was likely to be just another Sunday, riddled through with work, studying, some variety of goofing off, and maybe even a little rest (none for the wicked). Her phone rings once, twice, thrice, and then she picks up, slightly breathless (as if he'd caught her in the middle of something) with an "Emily!"

[Charles Carmichael] "Hey, it's Chuck. From Best Buy," he says, a little geekish-sheepish - not quite shy, but just a touch of awkward. "Was wondering if you might have been serious about the possibility of drinks this evening."

[Emily Littleton] "Hello, Chuck from Best Buy," she says, with a light note to her voice. Whatever had her momentarily breathless has passed, and the playful smirk has returned to her tone. Pleased, as well. "I'm never anything less than serious about drinks," she says, which sounds a lot like a yes.

"Is your evening still free, then? Because I'm just as up for rescuing princesses from castles, or coffee -- if the mood strikes." There are small sounds in the background of where she is. Sounds that might give it away as home, not work, not out.

[Charles Carmichael] "Actually, I far prefer rescuing princesses from castles to hanging out in a bar. Have a location of preference? I can pick up beer or wine or other on my way, along with some snacks. And some good coffee, 'cause if it's my house, I'm out. And some hot dogs, if you're hungry, unless you want take-out." There's a grin in his voice. "Who says we can't have our cake and eat it too?"

[Emily Littleton] There is a little pause, and an amused sound, and then Emily asks, carefully, "Did you just posit a lovely meal of beer, coffee and hot dogs, Chuck from Best Buy?"

There is a note of caution in her tone, wrapped all aroudn the bemusement. In the way she uses his employment as a Title of sorts.

"I have no place to suggest, alas, as the housemates are not..." a pause, a carefully considered turn of phrase "Exactly 'leet." Oh, she hated to use the term, but it kept her from having to explain to the roommate looking her way what the roomate, exactly, wasn't.

"But if you've got a kitchen, I'd be happy to make us a slightly more balanced meal." She was inviting herself over, and Emily was wary of that but ... not too anxious. "And it would give you home field advantage." Because he'd need it, her tone said.

[Charles Carmichael] "I . . . oh god, I did, didn't I? That was hardly the brightest of moves I could have made." He's mortified, obviously; if he'd thought of it as a date date, it hadn't been consciously. "I . . . you don't have to cook. I can pick something up on the way, if you have a preference? And oh, Em. I hope you have as much game as you think you do."

And whatever the decision is, home cooked or carryout, he stops on the way, after giving her his address - a condo complex in a primarily hispanic neighborhood - not the best, but far from the worst. Graffiti and gang activity are minimal, and the liquor stores don't outnumber the churches (yet).

[Emily Littleton] She laughs again, and it's a warm thing. A pleased thing. Perhaps in how quickly he back-pedaled and changed direction. Perhaps because he called her "Em." When he gives her an address, she tells him a good Chinese place in the area, but cautions him to call ahead because they'll be busy for new years.

When she arrives at his house, it's not in jeans and a witty tee this time. Her coat is tightly closed against the cold, but the edge of a green skirt just peeks out around her knees, and her legs are bare down to the simple flats she's chosen. Her hair is a tumble of loose dark curls, and while they frame her face prettily, they could be pulled back with a pencil, or rubber band, if she needed to get serious about her game. She has her messenger bag, and with its heft it likely has her laptop and other tech toys hidden in its pocketses.

She knocks, just twice, then waits for him to open the door. Emily has brought a small box with some home-made brownies in it, to share... because they go well with a nice stout or a dark cup of coffee, both of which had chance of showing up on the menu tonight.

[Charles Carmichael] When she arrives at his house, it's just a moment before he answers the door. The place smells of coffee and good Chinese food, and his small table is set - he's scrambled to tidy, to stuff bachelor mess into closets. There are no candles, but there are flowers; how he'd managed to find a bouquet of peonies, red no less, on the Chinese new year is anyone's guess. He is wearing jeans, but they're very nice ones - name brand, no doubt - and above that, a black and white striped top, to heavy to be a t-shirt, too light to be a sweater. There's a bottle of wine, opened to breathe, on the table, and he smiles.

"Hey, come on in. Can I take your coat? Everything's ready."

[Emily Littleton] "Please," she said, with a smile that reached up and touched her eyes, made them dance a little.

Emily slid her messenger bag's strap up and over her head, leaving it near the door. She handed the box that smelled of dark, rich chocolate, and unbuttoned her coat to expose a gradient-dyed dress that started snow white at her shoulders and faded down to a mossy green by her knees. She was slight, and her figure was almost tomboyish, but the dress hung nicely on her (girl next door).

"It smells wonderful," she said, complimenting his hastily redesigned dinner plans. Emily stepped out of her flats out of habit, leaving them next to her bag near the door. When she saw the flowers, her smile softened fondly and she looked up to him with a bit of amazement. "However did you find peonies in Chicago in February?" she asked, delighted but not quite letting that show in her voice. Not yet.

[Charles Carmichael] "Oh, you'd be amazed what I can do with google," he says with a grin - he'd cheated, of course. He'd had to have, in some way, and even then goodness only knows what it cost him. "You look . . . wow. That's a pretty dress." He doesn't ogle or otherwise stare, but his glance is clearly appreciative - especially when he sees that bit of bare back.

It's a thing for him, that is. But no touchy! Not on the first . . . hanging out. Date. Whatever this is.

"I slaved for ages, I'll have you know. Pots and pans everywhere. I do hope you appreciate it." But he's teasing, and obviously he hadn't - he'd already copped to not really knowing how to cook, and isn't saying he's suddenly learned, or anything. "I got smaller portions of a few different things - figured we could have a sample-fest."

[Emily Littleton] The expression says oh? Do tell... but Emily just keeps smiling. It's been too long since she's felt this unburdened, comfortable. And while it wasn't her perfect Chinese New Year, this one was shaping up to be unexpectedly pleasant. And Chuck of Best Buy was a welcome surprise addition to her ever-widening social network here in Chicago.

"Why thank you," she says, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress, and resisting the urge to give a little twirl. "It's not quite warm enough for it yet, but as long as we don't take any midnight strolls through the park, I think I'll be alright." Pragmatic, this one. Or subtly saying she'd rather stay in. "You look quite nice yourself," she adds, with an appreciative look that elevates the quite nice to a compliment in its own right.

"Sounds delightful," she says, as she settles in at the table. She's looking, of course, for some of her favorites or new delights just waiting to be discovered. And Emily will not say anything if the table is arrayed with variations on Orange-Flavoured Anything, though it's more likely that the array of dumplings and specialties for New Years would have caught the dynamic V-dept's interest just as keenly as yours. "I brought brownies for dessert," she said, then added, "I hope you like chocolate."


[Charles Carmichael] It is, in fact, an array of New Year's themed goodness - when he'd called, he'd said that he had a friend who was homesick and asked for what they would want were they at home, rather than the standard they were feeding everyone else. There'd been some hemming and hawing, but in the end? Chuck had gotten his way, he's good at that. So, not only is it New Year's themed goodness, it's truly authentic New Year's themed goodness, or at least as close thereto as one is likely to get in Chicago.

She says that he looks nice as well, and there's a bit of blushing stammer to get to, "Thank you." Here, the geek is more evident than it had been in the store - there, there were scripts to follow, things to do. Regardless, he pulls a chair out for her so she can sit, and gives the tray in the middle of the table a spin - it's a lazy susan, the better to nip up whatever catches one's eye. (That, he'd already had - he'd just had to pull it out of a box, dust it off, and put it on the table.) "I love chocolate. It'll go nicely with both the coffee and the beer - I got a vanilla-java porter, out of Detroit."

[Emily Littleton] She was, in fact, a little homesick. But not for a native land, or anywhere she'd been long enough to properly consider home. Perhaps he'd be quietly amused to know that, one day, when he figured out how far flung her roots truly were. Instead, Emily took up the pair of chopsticks with practiced ease and gave the assortment a careful looking over. Once, maybe twice, he'd notice an impressed or pleasantly surprised note to her appraisal. Traditional fare was a lot of little dumplings (purses), a steamed fish with its head still on, long noodles, and assortment of other yummies.

When he'd settled, she said: Gung Hey Fat Choy! And it sounded a lot like a celebratory thing. "It means Happy New Year, but I probably butchered it," she added, with a light blush gracing her otherwise pale complexion. She was Other, very much so, even in her homesickness. "This is lovely. Really. I'm surprised you found all this in between the Americanized everything." How he could have known what she'd miss, or want, was a bit beyond her, but Chuck had done something precisely right. Perhaps without intending to. And so she was significantly less guarded than she might have been, on a first date (whatever this is) with a new guy.
[Emily Littleton] he's so getting at least a kiss on the cheek tonight. probably more

[Charles Carmichael] "You did better than I would have," he says with a grin, then tries to mimic - he can't, not really, though he comes reasonably close. "I only speak English. Well, and Spanish. Which is handy living here, and keeps me from being Another Stupid American, I suppose."

The compliment to the food gets a pleased, somewhat sheepish grin. "I asked for what they were feeding the staff instead of what they were feeding customers, and said I had a homesick friend who was dying for traditional New Year's fare. So I got this. I don't even know what most of it is, but it tastes good, so win all around, yeah?" He pauses, and the grin gets a little bigger. "I'm glad you're enjoying it, anyway. Way better than hot dogs."

[Emily Littleton] "I only speak English, truly," she said, beginning to serve herself from the assembled dishes. Rice first, always, and then other things arranged over it, pulled from the communal plates with the braod end of her chopsticks. It was an old habit, and one not terribly American. He'd recognize that immediately. "Well, Queen's and American English, if you want to get particular. I suppose that might count as two..." She was being cheeky, and offered him a sylphish smile.

"You weren't far from the truth, with the homesick friend bit," she added, as an aside. Something he could mistake the meaning of, if he wasn't too quick on the uptake. She segued right into pointing out the names of a few of the dishes, when she knew the English words. "Where's home for you?" she asked, curious about him.


[Charles Carmichael] "Really? I was just trying to get something other than Orange Flavored Everything," he says, again pleased. "And I came from Aurora. So not so far, really." There's a subtle difference in symantics there - he's fond enough of Aurora, sure, but he'd come from there. It's not home. "Home's where ever I decide to stay for a while, but I like the midwest, crazy as it sounds."

He nibbles something, but avoids fish with heads still on - for much the same reason he doesn't eat whole lobsters or crabs or such things. Food that looks at him is strange and creepy, however good it might taste, so he doesn't eat it.

"Oh! Wine." It's a white, not too dry but certainly not sweet, a bit oaky. A very, very nice chardonnay - not the most expensive, but then, it needn't be to be good. "You've lived a lot of places, haven't you? I used to room with a guy who was minoring in linguistics. He could pinpoint anything, I tell you, but all I get is generalities. Brit and . . . Something Else."

[Emily Littleton] "The Midwest certainly has its charms," she remarks, but not with the same fondness that he holds for the place. It is becoming home, to her. Not yet seated in her memory as a forever fond place. That, though, often comes later, after years of separation. Chuck is easy to talk to, and doesn't seem to pry as much as others. It is easier for her to tell him, "Here and there," with a quixotic lift of the corner of her mouth, and then segue into, "Mostly Europe and East Asia. Though home is elusive at best, and I'm usually happy to settle for the place I sleep or wherever I'm living right now."

She shrugs a bit, and gestures with her chopsticks as she talks. It's terrible manners, but Chuck doesn't seem to know much about Chinese table customs. "I've lived in Chicago for an exceptionally long time now. Two and a half years. It'sstarting to drive me stir crazy," she teases, lightly. Emily, who is barely into her legal drinking age (on this side of the pond) seems to approve the wine, and the balance it lends the savory meal. A discerning palette she has, and likely for more than food.

[Charles Carmichael] Chuck has actually been struggling with his chopsticks, mostly to put on a good show; he very carefully hadn't put a fork on the table so he couldn't fall back on it. However, he's making a mess - he'll blush if she notices, and shrug, and clean it up later.

"You should travel, then. Not that I have, much." She knows he has a degree but he hasn't said from where, or how high a degree. She doesn't know a lot, much as he doesn't know a lot about her. "I was thinking of pointing at a regional map at random and just going, next time I have a couple days off in a row. It's fun to do that."

[Emily Littleton] "Oh, I do," she says, and it comes quickly. "I was in Taipei for New Years--the solar new year--and I've been to San Francisco already this year. I was hoping to spend Spring Break in Majorca--you should go if you haven't been, it is great fun and you speak Spanish!" A little pause here, a broader grin. Majorca was a notorious party island. "Though it seems I'll most likely be back in England instead for the holiday break." She means Easter. Emily doesn't seem to think of her lifestyle as all that odd, but she's named four countries without even thinking and most people are lucky see as many states in a given year.

He's struggling, with the chopsticks, and so she slips out of her chair to move around to his side of the table. So that she can stand behind him, lean over his shoulder, and help him with the learning curve. "Here...." she says, and her breath is terribly close to his ear, her skin close enough to smell. "Like this," her hand helps shape his, moving the sticks to another set of fingers, easier to control until he mastered the dexterity. "See?" And it's then that she pulls away a little, and he has the opportunity to miss the warmth of her nearness, the faint scent of orange and vanilla and clove that clung to her skin. "It took me awhile too," she confided, but that was likely a little white lie. Emily picked up on things fairly quickly.

[Charles Carmichael] She comes in close to help and the only reason Chuck's chopsticks aren't fumbled immediately is that she's holding onto them as well. She smells of citrus and clove and he breathes in deeper than is strictly necessary to draw that in, and resists the urge to reach up with his free hand to touch her hair. (No, Chuck, bad. That would be creepy and wierd. You're . . . hanging out, right? Having dinner and wine. And she's cute, and it's sort of a date, but it's just for video games. Don't think of that bit of her back! Oh god, now you're thinking about that bit of her back. You're hopeless.) He schools himself as best as he can, and lets her teach him - he gets somewhat better, under this tutelege - and further resists the urge to reach up to stop her when she steps away.

"I, uh . . . usually just use a fork, is all. It's quicker. Thanks." Yes, he's blushing, and geekboy flustered This will likely last for a bit. He casts about and then comes up with, "Majorca, huh? Maybe I will try it. Though . . . I think you've listed more places that you'll have gone in Q1 than I've been in my life."

[Emily Littleton] She slid back into her seat with her eyes lowered demurely, so she didn't immediately notice the flustered geekboy vibe. It took a moment for her to pick up on it, and then the expression in her eyes softened a little (compassionate) and she politely let him have a few quiet moments to himself. Emily's feet and legs were bare under the table, but she didn't stretch them out to be too near his. She kept to her side, now, after that intial ingress beyond the common spaces. And dinner was a sharing of seemingly innocuous places to visit (she knew so many so well), interspersed with the usual getting to know you questions. She was easy to talk to, because she wasn't supposed to be around more than a few weeks. Strangers were always easier to talk to than friends, than people one hoped to build something with.

"So what was your degreee in?" she asked, as she finished up the helping she'd had on her plate and set her chopsticks aside. Emily was talking to him, looking at him again with those terribly intelligent eyes, even as she reached out to gingerly finger the peony nearest her. It was a fond, careful thing. Perhaps even an alluring thing, depending on where his mind was at the moment. The moment passed, though, and she drew her hand back toward her side of the table. Back to rest just out of site in her lap.

[Charles Carmichael] "I have Bachelor's in Computer Science and Theoretical Mathematics. And I have a Master's in Artificial Intelligence." He's not bragging - it's stated simply, clearly, just a thing he's done. Like work at Best Buy. Or move to Chicago from Aurora. "Are you working on Bachelor's or Master's?" He assumes she must be doing one or the other - she'd said Northwestern, after all.

He is decidedly not thinking about video games any more; instead, he is looking at this in a different light. His perceptions of this evening have changed about fifteen times since he called her to ask if she was still up for drinks. He's certainly not complaining - it makes things more interesting. And who on earth is he to complain about any of it?

[Emily Littleton] "Bachelors in Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, though I'm applying to the graduate department at the moment," she's a third year, but terribly advanace. This Chuck does not know yet, but he can guess. She's driven, and a little perfectionistic. And she keeps him on his toes. "I've an interview with the admissions committee soon, so I'll have to get my labwork prepared before then," a little shrug, and Emily takes a sip of her wine. She doesn't seem too surprised that he's got more schooling on her. She's also not as worried as she should be about interviewing with the graduate admissions group at Northwestern. (Or she is exceptional at hiding it from him.)

"AI? Really?" She grinned. "Very nice. Did you do any cognitive science work before that? Or was it a new pursuit?" Because the fields of pyschology, neurobiology and computer science found a neat little nexus in his master's field.

Emily stretched her legs out a little under the table, since they were getting closer to comfortable topics. If her foot brushed the cuff of his pants, it was entirely incidental. "We're working in miniturization of common components, and the novel electrical effects observed at the micro-scale threshholds. Physics isn't quite the same in the very, very tiny places," she smirked a bit, but with his background he'd know that would mean countless hours of recording in painstaking detail the tiniest deviations. And she was the undergraduate (bitch) lab assistant, at best.

[Charles Carmichael] "It was a new pursuit, actually. I've considered going back for some cogsci, but mostly? I make fun little bots to do nice and nasty things online. Test people's security, shake it where it needs shaking, that sort of thing. Better than getting in there and doing it myself - fewer finger prints, harder to track. You know."

He speaks matter of factly, and any of it could be magical or mundane - he's not specifying, but sort of, almost testing. And so. very. carefully ignoring that foot as it brushes the cuff of his jeans. His leg adjusts just slightly, and it's certainly not to move away; he's a geekboy, but not too far gone to flirt with the pretty girl across from him

"Sounds interesting. I would love to hear more, if you'd like to talk about it." His wine, emptied, is refilled and he nods the bottle her way with a raised eyebrow. More? "Or another time, maybe. I did promise FPS, after all." Not that he's thinking of that at all, right now.

[Emily Littleton] "Showing is a lot more fun than talking," she said, with a grin. "And we share space --and sometimes staff-- with the automation group. So there's plenty of bots," different meaning of course, "Around the lab to play with too. You should come by sometimed; you'd like it." Emily didn't invite people into her geek space, and if she were really low man on the totem pole, she wouldn't be allowed to. So it said something. Like her holding out her glass for more, although her cheeks were already lightly pinked, said she wasn't planning on going anywhere for awhile.

"I see how this works," she said, teasingly. "More boozeahol, and then you have reason to excuse or extoll the outcome of this FPS match," she said, wrily. Wily, she was. But she was still grinning. "Where you white hat?" she asked, about the hacking, just testing of course. "Or a little further off the grid?"

[Charles Carmichael] "Depends on the needs of the time," he says with a grin. "I eat script kiddies for breakfast, though, and pwn n00bs. And if we're playing, it's co-op - should always go co-op on the first try, at least. It's not nice to own someone's face before knowing so much as a last name. But more boozeahol, within reason, is rarely a bad thing in my experience. Not going to get loaded or anything, but . . . why not a little buzz?"

He shrugs - he doesn't have to drive anywhere, and goodness knows he'll make sure she's alright before he lets her do so. The place isn't huge, but it's not tiny either - she can see three doors in the little hallway, so obviously there are two bedrooms.

"I have both console and computer games. So, you've got plenty to choose from."

[Emily Littleton] Goodness knows that Emily is better at looking like she's holding her liquor than actually doing it. Hopefully he'll be able to tell, otherwise she'll have fun playing the late night public transport game. No way she'd drive, but it'd be rude to imbibe too much and overstay her welcome.

"Usually I'd say you're hosting, so your choice, but I didn't bring my rig..." A likely excuse. "And the laptop's more for work than play," a likely half-truth. Console games were a bit more friendly. They could sit next to each other on the couch. The loading screens left time for smack talk and flirting and trips to the fridge for another beer. Computer was more serious, and she was feeling flirty and light-hearted for the night. Emily started clearing plates from the table, bringing them into the kitchen to clean up a bit. He'd have to get in her way or otherwise stop her to keep Emily from being helpful.

Eventually they'd end up near the couch, settling in to play, and Emily would be twisting her hair back in her hands to form a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She'd be close enough to touch, but not without a little effort, not close enough that it would be entirely incidental if they bumped into each other or brushed against one another. She was, after all, the polite little British girl.

[Charles Carmichael] And there's only so much resisting that the poor geekboy can do, after all - effort or not, easily covered or not, he reaches out to brush a hand over the bit of bare skin between his shoulderblades. Clearly, it needs to be touched. But that's it - a warm hand over bare skin, and then it's back to setting everything up. They'll be playing Halo 3 - everyone knows it, and it's not terrible as these things go.

And so the playing goes - for quite a while, interspersed with breaks for another beer, for some coffee, for one of those brownies (which he praises). They sit close, and occasionally nudge shoulders, and there comes a time when a nudge just stays, and Chuck stops paying attention to the game completely. He's quite good up until then, though - there's no doubt that, were they playing competetively, it would be serious.

"You, uh . . ." He clears her throat, takes in her flushed cheeks and everything. "You wanna just hang out? We can keep playing, or whatever, and then I won't have to worry about you trying to get home. 'cause I don't think I'd let you drive until you've slept, anyway. And, um." He pauses - again an awkward geekboy - and leans over to impulsively kiss her cheek, just at the corner of her mouth, and then to move back, half expecting to get in trouble for it. But he, too, has been drinking, so maybe he'll be forgiven. "I'd . . . you know. It'd be cool if you stayed."

[Emily Littleton] She's playful with him, because there's nothing at stake. She nudges him gently, pulls faces when the unfortunate happens and she gets herself kakked. She's good at the games, too, but not quite up to his level. He's had an additional six years (at least) to study beyond her practice, though, so it can be forgiven. And they're playing cooperatively, so it doesn't take long for her to fall in step beside him and fill in around his strengths. By now her hair has fallen out of its loose spiral, and it brushes gently against his fingers when his hand finds that spare spot of bared skin.

She turned into it, slightly, when he kissed the corner of her mouth. Closed her eyes. Let her breath catch between them in that heady moment. She looked up at him through her lashes, and didn't seem at all upset with him for kissing her. If anything, she was blushing lightly. "I..." Either the alcohol or the flirting was making her a little light-headed, a little less guarded. Emily heard herself say, "I think I'd like that." Felt herself smile, shyly all of a sudden, and then gently nudge him with her shoulder to break the tension in the moment. Even if all she could think about, for a long moment, was kissing him back. And then, for another long moment, about how complicated that might get.

[Charles Carmichael] She doesn't get mad. In fact, she says she thinks she'd like to stay, and the smile that comes to his lips is wide, pleased, and boyish. Never mind that he's nearly thirty and has two distinct (not dual!) bachelors and a masters. Never mind a lot of things. She's still looking at him, and he hesitates for just a moment before leaning in to kiss her again, more fully on the lips this time. His left hand, the one not holding his controller, comes up to run through silky hair; it's sweet, and doesn't push, though there's clear interest.

It lasts for a while and ends with just the smallest of nips at her lower lip when he pulls away, smiling. "Good, I'm glad." He watches her, studies reactions - curious. He's a . . . well, not quite a gentleman, but he's (mostly) a Nice Guy.

[Emily Littleton] There's interest on her part as well, and a little timidity. At least at first. At least until she's given herself over to kissing him for awhile, to the feel of his fingers in her hair. Emily's hand rests on his knee and the thoughts of video games and chinese food recede in a warming collection of sensations. She's quieter, now, when he pulls away. A little less boastful, a little less proud. For a moment it's possible that the years between them are more evident, but she's not your average co-ed. She's not your average anything.

Emily is (was) a nice girl. Things had happened between then and now that changed that, subtly, but she was still a nice girl underneath it. Caught up in more than she meant to be, sure, but not out to get anyone hurt or mistreated. She caught the edge of her lower lip in her teeth, pulling it back into her mouth a little as she looked away, smiling. And then up at him, seekingly. Her eyes caught his for a moment, some unansked question lingering in them. Instead of asking, she gently slides her hand off his knee, but just happens to drag her nails against his pantleg as she does it.

"So, um," she starts, a little embarassed, or simply a little shy. "Happy New Year..." It's said softly, but lightly. Because she isn't sure how to fill the space here, and she's already agree not to leave (just yet) so she isn't sure where things might go.

[Charles Carmichael] "Happy New Year," he answers, amused, and sets his controller aside. "We don't need these any more, do we? Not tonight, anyway." He reaches out for hers, but doesn't take it - the moment she indicates even the smallest of boundaries has been crossed, he'll be back to friendly!Chuck.

Not that she could know that about him, yet. They have limited experience with each other, after all.

This is the part where Chuck is awkward. This is also the part where he powers through it by kissing her one more time, sort and sweet. "Another beer and just sitting? I've got my computer hooked up to my speakers and quite the extensive library." They're both interested, but Chuck is a geekboy - he doubts and second guesses before finally grinning.

"Or we could dispense with that, and I could kiss you some more. That was nice." And if kissing becomes more than that? Well, they're both adults. Sometimes these things happen.

[Emily Littleton] Emily, who is so often the master of how she is percieved by the world, faulters. Fumbles. And any attempt she made to make this seem just casual, just easy going and friendly... failed. She is utterly unable to hide that she is interested, and that on some level she very much wants to set everything aside and lose herself in an evening of conversation and closeness. It's also painful, unbearably clear, that she is not good at this moment. That she is not quite okay with forming attachments, however nascent, and there is a wariness in her eyes that is too deep to hide from him. She's been easy going with him, free spirited and friendly... but only becasuse there was nothing at stake. And then he kissed her. And then she kissed him back.

Emily fingers touched his as he took the controller away from her, and she looked down at their hands, then back up at him. "I...." Emily looked away again, but then back to him. "I'm not very good at this," she said, softly. Warningly. In case he wanted to change his course of action before he truly committed to it. And then she tried to cover it up with a smile. Squeeze his leg gently with one hand. "I'm... going to get a glass of water," she says, and sways a little as she stands. It must be the alcohol that's making her so transparent, she reasons, making her way to the kitchen -- unless he stops her.

[Charles Carmichael] He doesn't stop her, no - just gets the bag of lots of fortune cookies and turns music on low to give her a moment, then heads into the kitchen to grab another beer. She is worse off than he, of course - she's smaller, and younger for all her apparent sophistication. They can talk, and see what happens from there; he knows she's interested as surely as he knows she is (he hasn't tried to hide it), but sees no need to push her into something she's not ready for.

"There are fortune cookies," he says, though he finds himself again unable to avoid touching her back where the dress vees to bare a lovely bit of skin. "And I turned on the music. "We don't need to rush anything."

Oh, yes - he may well be one of the nicest men on the planet. And he may be putting himself in the friend zone. But that's better than taking advantage when she's not at her best, or so he figures.

[Emily Littleton] He's given her a moment, and Emily's had a little water to thin out the wine in her system. So when he touches that small bit of bared skin, it's her turn to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Gently. "Thank you," she says, into his ear, and just for good measure she kisses the corner of his jaw. Her fingers gently find and touch his side for a moment. There is wanting there, true, but also reservations. And gratitude. They could curl up on the couch, talk a bit, be friendly until she was sober enough to go home or fell asleep at his place. But Emily was not ready to push any boundaries, not just yet. That wouldn't keep her from being affectionate (even a little more), but it might keep them both out of trouble for one night.