The Most Interesting Man In The World is back again and by now he appears to be "through keen powers of observation and cunning wit, I just realized your last name is also a city in California" drunk.
[He shouldn't laugh at that, but it's hard not to.]
well if he's the most interesting man in the world then this shouldn't be a problem right i mean obviously you didn't already know that fact about your last name.
[He has a feeling that he may not... fit in completely with the social circles she may be surrounding herself with right now. He got off of work not that long ago and while it could be worse, he kind of looks like a grease monkey.]
I'm told it used to be (she said, defeating the point of the joke by explaining it).
Theoretically, all you'd have to do is conceal your identity and pause for a few moments out in front of my venue. Just long enough for me to run out the front door and make a magnificent gazelle leap onto the back of your motorcycle.
It's a different one this time, unfortunately. A little further out of the way — the country club outside of town, near the boardwalk.
If it helps to persuade you, I could arrange to lose one of my shoes somewhere between the door and the escape. Add a little je ne sais quoi to the whole affair.
i thought they were ruby slippers? but i think i'll stick with being the carriage instead of footwear
on my way
[And so he is. And he'll arrive just a little over fifteen minutes, donned in a leather jacket and wearing a helmet with a dark visor, like something out of a spy action movie. As expected, he's on his Harley, and the engine thrums and purrs he comes to a stop at the entrance of the country club -- just at the bottom of what appears to be a long set of stairs.
He's pretty sure this is the right place, at least. Seems fancy enough. Cloud glances around, looking for anyone who might be hurriedly approaching in his direction.]
[You're a thief at heart, Carmen, she remembers the man in her memories saying, sounding altogether too smug and too triumphant as he challenged what seemed to be her entire worldview in a single sentence. You're a thief at heart; who knows what you'll crave next?
It's a memory she's been trying her best to suppress and ignore for the past few days. Throwing herself into her work has been one way of doing that; it's easy enough to get engrossed in a project and simply never slow down long enough to dwell on anything she doesn't want to dwell on. But in moments like this, somehow, the thought tends to reemerge — and clings with her even as she surreptitiously gets her things together and positions herself in a place where she'll be able to see the arrival of her impromptu getaway driver when he arrives.
It's a wholly absurd impulse, to just...leave. And yet, there's something about that moment when she hears the faint purr of the Harley in the distance and knows she's on the cusp of an escape — something that just feels right, in a way that she can't seem to pin down.
So she doesn't. She simply times her moment perfectly, and one minute her unwelcome evening companion is talking her ear off about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the next moment he's talking to dead air because she's pulled a disappearing act that Houdini would be proud of.
She steps into the night, and then she's off and running, and a cocktail dress with red pumps isn't exactly optimal for an endeavor like this, but it doesn't seem to affect her in the slightest; she closes the distance, with the open ends of her bright red coat blown back from the momentum, and as she gets close enough to make good on her promise to leap on board and facilitate her escape, it's immediately apparent that she's laughing.]
[It's the clicking of heels and the flash of red that grabs hold of his attentions, but it's really the sound of her laughter, as she leaps on the Harley and settles behind him, that heralds her presence. Cloud has no reason to believe that it's indicative of nothing more than enjoyment or relief at having escaped the Most Interesting Man in the World. Maybe there's that spike of adrenaline surging through her, he thinks, for doing something she shouldn't be doing -- mounting an escape, when obligation should keep her there.]
Hold on tight. [-he says, showing no inclination to talk her out of it. He's already here, after all, and he wouldn't have offered to help if he wasn't willing to enable escapism in the form of roaring away on a motorcycle.
And so the bike's engine thunders loudly, drowning out all other sound, as he tears off immediately, making a tight turn to return to the street proper.
He has no direction for now. His intent is to just speed away from the country club, as if something was actually chasing them, though there's nothing at their tails at all.]
[It's a strange sensation, the way it feels to be holding on tight with her knees together and her legs sidesaddle while the Harley takes off through the night. Cloud's intent somehow manages to be perfectly in line with her own without even realizing it — the game of pretending to be chased even when there's no one there, the fun of doing something she probably isn't supposed to be and yet getting away with it, anyway.
But the strangest part is that notion, that supposed to be. Objectively, she's supposed to be back at the club, mingling and currying favor and being the very model of brilliance, poise, and charm.
And yet, here in the moment with the roar of the engine and the wind in her hair and the thrill of the escape, it almost feels like this is where she's always been meant to be, and she can't explain why.
There'll be excuses she has to make later. There'll be inquiries she has to parry, concessions and deflections she'll have to offer. But those can wait until later.
Right now, she just leans a little closer and holds on a little tighter, and spares a moment to shout over the noise of the wind and the engine when she has the chance: ]
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MISFIRE
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what do you need rescuing from?
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[Guess who doesn't realize she's misfired yet.]
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no.
you'll have to explain
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well
if he's the most interesting man in the world then this shouldn't be a problem right
i mean obviously you didn't already know that fact about your last name.
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Honestly, it wouldn't be SO intolerable except that every time I think I've gotten rid of him, he comes back for another round.
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is this a sincere cry for help or were you just wanting to vent your woes?
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[So no.]
and i mean if you really need me to i will. not to imply you can't handle it on your own. though i wouldn't know what story to make up
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[...]
Who is this?
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[...]
guessing your text went to the wrong person.
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Do you really want to help me make a daring escape?
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[He has a feeling that he may not... fit in completely with the social circles she may be surrounding herself with right now. He got off of work not that long ago and while it could be worse, he kind of looks like a grease monkey.]
what should i say? and where are you?
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is the sky blue?
wait nvm
you know what i mean
yes. i do have those things
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Theoretically, all you'd have to do is conceal your identity and pause for a few moments out in front of my venue. Just long enough for me to run out the front door and make a magnificent gazelle leap onto the back of your motorcycle.
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but ok. that's easy enough. if this is the same address that you sent me before, i can be there in ten.
if you can survive that long
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If it helps to persuade you, I could arrange to lose one of my shoes somewhere between the door and the escape. Add a little je ne sais quoi to the whole affair.
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and does that make me the pumpkin carriage? real flattering.
i'll be there. sit tight and keep your eyes peeled
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but i think i'll stick with being the carriage instead of footwear
on my way
[And so he is. And he'll arrive just a little over fifteen minutes, donned in a leather jacket and wearing a helmet with a dark visor, like something out of a spy action movie. As expected, he's on his Harley, and the engine thrums and purrs he comes to a stop at the entrance of the country club -- just at the bottom of what appears to be a long set of stairs.
He's pretty sure this is the right place, at least. Seems fancy enough. Cloud glances around, looking for anyone who might be hurriedly approaching in his direction.]
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It's a memory she's been trying her best to suppress and ignore for the past few days. Throwing herself into her work has been one way of doing that; it's easy enough to get engrossed in a project and simply never slow down long enough to dwell on anything she doesn't want to dwell on. But in moments like this, somehow, the thought tends to reemerge — and clings with her even as she surreptitiously gets her things together and positions herself in a place where she'll be able to see the arrival of her impromptu getaway driver when he arrives.
It's a wholly absurd impulse, to just...leave. And yet, there's something about that moment when she hears the faint purr of the Harley in the distance and knows she's on the cusp of an escape — something that just feels right, in a way that she can't seem to pin down.
So she doesn't. She simply times her moment perfectly, and one minute her unwelcome evening companion is talking her ear off about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the next moment he's talking to dead air because she's pulled a disappearing act that Houdini would be proud of.
She steps into the night, and then she's off and running, and a cocktail dress with red pumps isn't exactly optimal for an endeavor like this, but it doesn't seem to affect her in the slightest; she closes the distance, with the open ends of her bright red coat blown back from the momentum, and as she gets close enough to make good on her promise to leap on board and facilitate her escape, it's immediately apparent that she's laughing.]
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Hold on tight. [-he says, showing no inclination to talk her out of it. He's already here, after all, and he wouldn't have offered to help if he wasn't willing to enable escapism in the form of roaring away on a motorcycle.
And so the bike's engine thunders loudly, drowning out all other sound, as he tears off immediately, making a tight turn to return to the street proper.
He has no direction for now. His intent is to just speed away from the country club, as if something was actually chasing them, though there's nothing at their tails at all.]
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But the strangest part is that notion, that supposed to be. Objectively, she's supposed to be back at the club, mingling and currying favor and being the very model of brilliance, poise, and charm.
And yet, here in the moment with the roar of the engine and the wind in her hair and the thrill of the escape, it almost feels like this is where she's always been meant to be, and she can't explain why.
There'll be excuses she has to make later. There'll be inquiries she has to parry, concessions and deflections she'll have to offer. But those can wait until later.
Right now, she just leans a little closer and holds on a little tighter, and spares a moment to shout over the noise of the wind and the engine when she has the chance: ]
She's beautiful!
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i just spent a legitimately stupid portion of my life making this
THIS WAS AMAZING i laughed so hard and i'm saving it to use forever
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