Of course. Why do you think I want to repeat the experience with a motorcycle? :)
[bury her here, he's so awkward and cute]
...I had wondered if that's why things slowed down when they did, you know. Not because of anything to do with the number of riders on the bird, but because you weren't alone anymore once I made it over to you.
[He isn't sure how to respond to that. Cloud isn't even certain he put that much thought into the dream itself, minus the part where he thought about the very end of it on loop for a while there. But was that the case? Had he felt so out of control, so alone on his impossibly fast trek on his chocobo, that having Carmen there was something... grounding? That someone else's presence was comforting, so that he didn't need to move forward alone and uncertain?
His mind can come up with no argument against it, at any rate.]
so it was a metaphor for my life in general you mean that wouldn't be too far off the mark, after retrospec entered my life so maybe you're right
[Not to change the subject, but now he really wants to ask-]
so when do you think would be a good time for me to stop by so we can talk about the bike? just to exchange ideas and talk details
[She's sitting there, watching these texts roll in one after another with no apparent end in sight, and for a second all she can manage to think of is, no wonder Prompto is so adamant about protecting him.
But look at this. Look at it. Look at the way he reflects and corrects and ultimately just lays down his thoughts, a little clunky but all the more refreshingly genuine for it. Ask Cloud what he thinks and he says what he thinks — no politics, no hidden designs. That's rare, and it's charming, and it leaves her thinking about how a trait like that is worth more than all the cars and corporations and couture that sometimes saturate the day-to-day business of her life. How valuable that is, someone who just...talks to her. Gets a little flustered by her. Always seems to default back to that same natural habit of being who he is, without trying to make pretenses toward being someone he's not.
Look at that. It's her habit to give people excuses to be around her, ways to justify seeing her and spending time with her, and he offers up something like this. It'd be nice to see you for no reason at all.
She's never going to get any work done ever again, at this rate.]
Do you want to come over right now?
[is it 3 am at this point we just don't know but like BALLS if she's going to see that as a problem at the moment]
[Even if it is some ungodly hour (it probably is), who's even keeping track? This conversation has Cloud wide awake, feeling strangely light. He's not sure he'll be sleeping any time soon, and that's before he reads what her response is.
(He had been not only mentally facepalming, but physically facepalming too. And when he peers through his fingers to see that question staring up at him, he nearly drops his phone.)
That being said, his response comes without much delay. This is something that he doesn't have to deliberate over for too long, though he does count to five first so he doesn't sound oddly overeager.]
as long as it's not an imposition because i know it's late but yes, i'd like that
[And so he will, once she sends him her address proper. The gate is indeed open whenever he arrives on his motorcycle, engine purring with life. And while Cloud shouldn't be surprised that it's quite a large house, to say that he's not even the slightest bit flabbergasted would be an understatement. Where does he leave his bike, even? Just out here on this long, long driveway?
Eventually, though, he leaves it. He'd rather see Carmen than spend hours deliberating on what to do, where to go. He supposes the front door is just as good of a starting point as any.
[It doesn't take her long to get to the door once the bell rings, in part because one of the benefits of the absurdly long driveway is that it gives her plenty of notice when visitors are making their way up toward her door, and in part because ever since she'd gotten the text confirming that Cloud was on his way, she'd basically bolted downstairs and started hovering near the door in anticipation, regardless.
Bustopher Jones, generally oblivious but at least somewhat conscious of his owner's moods, comes ambling down after her at a leisurely pace, managing to only trip over his own feet once before wandering over to rub up against her legs. Odd, to think that having him there with her means every occupant of this house is now idling in the same three-foot space. Ojisan had done that on purpose, though, hadn't he? Big rooms, high ceilings. Maybe that had been his way of surreptitiously taking care of her, even from far away.
Still. Eventually, the bell rings, and she lightly nudges her cat out of the way with her toe, causing him to flop over bewildered on his side as she heads for the door and gets it open — a few inches shorter than usual because she's in house slippers instead of her red pumps, but still with red on, courtesy of the soft red sweater dress she'd tossed on after she'd gotten home from work and settled in for the night.]
You made it.
[She's smiling already, peering around the half-cracked door at him before stepping back to open it properly all the way.]
Come on inside — and don't mind Bus. He's sort of forgotten how his feet work, again.
[He feels a wave of something dizzying when she opens the door to greet him, and it feels a little like... excitement mixed with nausea. God, when did he become this useless in front of someone before? It's simultaneously uncomfortable and the best thing ever, and Cloud honestly doesn't know how to sort through it all to sound even vaguely coherent.
Bus grabs his attentions, though, while his mind tries to toss words together. He steps in, then decides to crouch down to give the cat a pet on the head if he'll receive it.]
Just means he gets to laze around as much as he likes. I don't see a problem with that.
[He grins, vaguely, then stands up to look at Carmen again.]
[He will absolutely receive that petting, and push insistently against Cloud's hand to solicit more of it as well, because Bustopher Jones knows what he's about, and soaking up some pettings is a big part of it.
Once Cloud is inside, she closes the door behind him with a soft click, facing him and resisting the urge to toy with a lock of her hair while he plays with the cat and then eventually turns his attention back to her. It's somewhere around that point that it occurs to her that her forethought in terms of planning out this visit basically ended at the point of greeting him at the front door, but at the same time, casting around for a suggestion of what to do next seems to defeat the whole point of seeing each other without the pretense of having a reason for it.
In short, she's inwardly a little bit of a disaster at the moment, herself. But that's fine. It's not as though she's any sort of stranger to making things up as she goes along, after all.]
It wasn't my idea, believe me. My surrogate father picked it out.
[She laughs a little, tipping her head back idly to glance up at the high, expansive ceilings before bringing her attention back down to the sight of his smile.]
I never really know what to call him, when it comes to explaining what he is to me. Second father, surrogate father, adoptive father, uncle-but-not-really-my-uncle. "Mentor" usually works, too, but it misses that element of family. Really, he was a friend and associate of my mother's, so he's been a part of my life since I was young.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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don't let it bother you?
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But all right, I won't worry about it.
...So, then. Now that we've got that settled, can I persuade you to build me a motorcycle?
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you want me to *build* you one?
[um??? hell yes???]
you don't even have to ask
i just finished with prompto's scooter so i need another project to keep my hands busy anyway
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if you don't mind seeing me in my grease monkey form for most of the time
which isn't all that flattering
you'll have to let me know what kind of bike you want too
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I was toying with the idea of a superbike painted gold and dubbed "the Chocobo", actually.
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really?
[Or is she joking?]
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Either way — yes, really.
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that shared dream really left an impression on you, didn't it
[oh noooo the doki feelings escalate, help he's so useless when this happens]
i'm glad it did
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I'm glad I got to see it.
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[an attempt at a joke... lord help him]
but i'm glad you were there
to help calm everything down
calm me down, i guess, since it was my dream
i don't remember if i ever told you thank you for that, so
thank you
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[bury her here, he's so awkward and cute]
...I had wondered if that's why things slowed down when they did, you know. Not because of anything to do with the number of riders on the bird, but because you weren't alone anymore once I made it over to you.
1/??? idk let him live
His mind can come up with no argument against it, at any rate.]
so it was a metaphor for my life in general you mean
that wouldn't be too far off the mark, after retrospec entered my life
so maybe you're right
[Not to change the subject, but now he really wants to ask-]
so when do you think would be a good time for me to stop by so we can talk about the bike?
just to exchange ideas and talk details
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see you for a reason that isn't necessarily attached to having something to do
if you want
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but i just
uh
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i don't know, if you have some free time just let me know
it'd be nice to see you when it's not just in a dream
done...
or something like that
you know what i mean right?
[he wants to dIE]
not here
[ROMANTIC SENSES ARE TINGLING... BUT WHO..........]
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But look at this. Look at it. Look at the way he reflects and corrects and ultimately just lays down his thoughts, a little clunky but all the more refreshingly genuine for it. Ask Cloud what he thinks and he says what he thinks — no politics, no hidden designs. That's rare, and it's charming, and it leaves her thinking about how a trait like that is worth more than all the cars and corporations and couture that sometimes saturate the day-to-day business of her life. How valuable that is, someone who just...talks to her. Gets a little flustered by her. Always seems to default back to that same natural habit of being who he is, without trying to make pretenses toward being someone he's not.
Look at that. It's her habit to give people excuses to be around her, ways to justify seeing her and spending time with her, and he offers up something like this. It'd be nice to see you for no reason at all.
She's never going to get any work done ever again, at this rate.]
Do you want to come over right now?
[is it 3 am at this point we just don't know but like BALLS if she's going to see that as a problem at the moment]
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(He had been not only mentally facepalming, but physically facepalming too. And when he peers through his fingers to see that question staring up at him, he nearly drops his phone.)
That being said, his response comes without much delay. This is something that he doesn't have to deliberate over for too long, though he does count to five first so he doesn't sound oddly overeager.]
as long as it's not an imposition because i know it's late
but yes, i'd like that
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[Odd. Her face feels a little strange, and it occurs to her after a minute that it's because she'd started smiling without really realizing it.]
Come over. I'll make sure the gate is open.
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i can be there pretty soon
[And so he will, once she sends him her address proper. The gate is indeed open whenever he arrives on his motorcycle, engine purring with life. And while Cloud shouldn't be surprised that it's quite a large house, to say that he's not even the slightest bit flabbergasted would be an understatement. Where does he leave his bike, even? Just out here on this long, long driveway?
Eventually, though, he leaves it. He'd rather see Carmen than spend hours deliberating on what to do, where to go. He supposes the front door is just as good of a starting point as any.
So... ringing that doorbell, right about now.]
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Bustopher Jones, generally oblivious but at least somewhat conscious of his owner's moods, comes ambling down after her at a leisurely pace, managing to only trip over his own feet once before wandering over to rub up against her legs. Odd, to think that having him there with her means every occupant of this house is now idling in the same three-foot space. Ojisan had done that on purpose, though, hadn't he? Big rooms, high ceilings. Maybe that had been his way of surreptitiously taking care of her, even from far away.
Still. Eventually, the bell rings, and she lightly nudges her cat out of the way with her toe, causing him to flop over bewildered on his side as she heads for the door and gets it open — a few inches shorter than usual because she's in house slippers instead of her red pumps, but still with red on, courtesy of the soft red sweater dress she'd tossed on after she'd gotten home from work and settled in for the night.]
You made it.
[She's smiling already, peering around the half-cracked door at him before stepping back to open it properly all the way.]
Come on inside — and don't mind Bus. He's sort of forgotten how his feet work, again.
[her cat is so dumb, she loves him]
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Bus grabs his attentions, though, while his mind tries to toss words together. He steps in, then decides to crouch down to give the cat a pet on the head if he'll receive it.]
Just means he gets to laze around as much as he likes. I don't see a problem with that.
[He grins, vaguely, then stands up to look at Carmen again.]
...Youour house is really... [BIG.] ...nice.
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Once Cloud is inside, she closes the door behind him with a soft click, facing him and resisting the urge to toy with a lock of her hair while he plays with the cat and then eventually turns his attention back to her. It's somewhere around that point that it occurs to her that her forethought in terms of planning out this visit basically ended at the point of greeting him at the front door, but at the same time, casting around for a suggestion of what to do next seems to defeat the whole point of seeing each other without the pretense of having a reason for it.
In short, she's inwardly a little bit of a disaster at the moment, herself. But that's fine. It's not as though she's any sort of stranger to making things up as she goes along, after all.]
It wasn't my idea, believe me. My surrogate father picked it out.
[She laughs a little, tipping her head back idly to glance up at the high, expansive ceilings before bringing her attention back down to the sight of his smile.]
I never really know what to call him, when it comes to explaining what he is to me. Second father, surrogate father, adoptive father, uncle-but-not-really-my-uncle. "Mentor" usually works, too, but it misses that element of family. Really, he was a friend and associate of my mother's, so he's been a part of my life since I was young.
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