Is that an invitation? Next time I'll pick you up, then. Fair's fair.
[She breezes on in through the door that he holds for her, hands in the pockets of her coat, and pivots briefly to wait for him to fall into step next to her before starting to head for the bowling alley section of the complex.
The lanes, when they get there, prove to be pleasantly busy without being packed, and it's easy enough to secure a lane, which she takes care of efficiently. A bored-looking attendant points them toward their destination before asking for shoe sizes to supply them with pairs of bowling shoes, and then indicates the rack of house balls available for recreational bowlers to make use of during their visit.]
[That's not what he expected, but he just grins and laughs wryly again. His smile is something some might call unaffected at best, yet it remains friendly. Cloud may be standoffish, but it's never by choice; he will go out and bowl with what is basically a stranger he's only spoken to over text, as is proof of that right now. One merely needs to drag him out to do so, such as misfiring at him a call for a rescue.]
If you pick me up in the Stingray then I'm not going to complain.
[It doesn't take long for him to find a lane. He'll sit down first, kicking off his black, dirtied riding shoes, to be replaced a bit comically by something as mundane as bowling footwear. Then he moves on over to the bowling balls, choosing a more weightier one to be his companion for this game.]
[What's equally comical is the fact that, once she shucks off her own pumps, she ends up dropping a fair few inches in height as a result; though she's still tall for a woman without her shoes, her heels are as constant an aspect of her wardrobe as her habit of wearing red is, which adds the illusion of an extra few inches of height that the bowling shoes simply don't.
(They're also, quite frankly, hideous, and the way that they clash only gets worse when she sheds her coat and ends up standing around in a cocktail dress and her two-tone bowling flats, but from the way she's grinning, it's apparent that the juxtaposition is delighting her.)
Perhaps unsurprisingly, when she goes to find a ball, she picks a red one. Some things never change.]
I'm good enough to enjoy myself, but I'm not hiding a closetful of trophies anywhere, either. Why, what about you? Don't tell me you're secretly a ringer.
[This is definitely an odd sight. Not that Cloud will... complain seeing Carmen waltzing around in a cocktail dress, but honestly, he should be laughing at the absurdity of it all. What an odd pair they make, and he actually rubs at the back of his neck, wondering just how this night ended up the way it did.
While she's grinning, Cloud is doing the same, only reflected back in a milder manner.]
Nope. Not at all. I can throw it straight, but that's about it. Probably should work on my technique, but it's not like I find myself in a bowling alley all that often.
[So very rarely.
When they've all gotten everything settled, it's easy enough for him to get things set up on the little console. He types in their names (CARMEN on one line, and CLOD on the other because the "U" hilariously does not work on the dumb plastic keyboard) and their game begins officially. He goes second, so he waits his turn, sitting patiently in the meanwhile.]
Good, then we'll have an exciting game. It wouldn't be any fun if there weren't at least some challenge to the competition.
[Her first shot is admittedly inelegant, as much because she's not used to the weight and balance of the ball as from anything to do with her level of skill, but even with the way it veers off course and misses the front pin, she still manages to take a few of them on the edge out. Her second is a little better, this time overcorrected in the opposite direction, such that in the end she's managed to take out about four or five of the total ten pins in the frame.
She seems satisfied, though, as she comes back to the console to relinquish her turn, and it's satisfaction that quickly turns into a stifled giggle when she sees the way the players are identified on the board.]
You really shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure you're the epitome of talent and grace.
So you noticed that, huh? [Cloud, how could she not notice it? He doesn't appear all that embarrassed, though, only slightly amused; for twenty-four years, he's lived with the name Cloud, and all manner of ways people could potentially make fun of it. It's not the first time the "u" has been neglected by way of a joke, though this time it was by his own doing and definitely unintentional.] Thought you'd spare me my pride and not say anything, but... well, the "u" key was broken. I guess I should've put a "w" in there instead.
[Though would "Clowd" have been any less hilarious?
At any rate, it's his turn, and so Cloud stands and moves to retrieve his bowling ball, waiting for the pins to ready. He then moves forward and tosses the ball down the lane -- it isn't bad, and the form is there for an amateur, but it's like he said; the bowling ball rolls in a straight line, and hits exactly the middle of the pins.
This is problematic, because while he gets a good five pins down, the remaining are split on the left and right. He frowns a little.]
Hm.
[His second go, he aims for the right side. He knocks over two of the pins, leaving him with an okay score of 7.]
Far be it from me to affront your pride. I'm just observant — and the type to remark on the things I observe.
[Which ends up proving itself true as she watches him take his turn, silently taking stock of his form and the trajectory of his ball as it sails toward the pins. To her credit, it stays at observation; in another life, she might've found it irresistible to offer her two cents of commentary, but in this one she has enough tact and social awareness to avoid that habit of dictating the world around her every chance she gets.
What she offers instead, though, is casual praise, easy and genuine.]
Better than I did. For the moment, at least; we'll have to see if I rally and make a comeback.
[And she smiles, getting up and brushing imaginary lint off of her dress before heading to retrieve her ball.]
Well, I'm glad to hear that you're not the type to take a little teasing too cirrusly.
[So she remarks over her shoulder, just before taking her windup and pitching her first ball down the lane. This one is better still, veering only slightly to the left of the center this time, and takes out about half of the pins accordingly. Her second throw again goes a little awry, but still better than before, and she comes out of the frame with a respectable 8.]
You should save that line and use it on dates. "What a clod I'd be, without U" — who wouldn't be swayed?
Somehow I don't think anyone is going to ever fall for that one-liner.
[But he gets up to have his turn at the lane. He starts off with another straight toss down the middle, and the next one barely snags one, also rolling down the center. It's a frame of six, less than his previous turn.]
You'd be surprised by the things people will fall for, if they're said by the right person.
[She watches him go, politely holding back her commentary until he's finished with his frame, and only really picking up the thread of the conversation again once she's the one moving toward the lane.]
Somehow I suspect you'd be the right person for a lot of people, just from what I've seen of you tonight.
[And off go her bowls, one that results in a seven-ten split, and another that sails right through them like goalposts, leaving her with another 8 to show for it.]
[He's honestly not sure what to think of that comment. It's flattering, but he's not exactly certain how true it might lend itself to be; he's well aware of his own faults, which mainly circle around being aloof and mostly anti-social, and definitely a little awkward.]
I'm going to assume you mean the whole "bad boy with a motorcycle" image? That might work initially but afterwards? Not so much.
[When they realize just how much of an actual cinnamon roll he is......
In any case, it's his turn. He waits for the pins to reset before he goes, and in the end, he only has one straggler of a pin left standing, with a frame of 9.]
[She's taken a seat again while he goes and takes his turn, and this time she's not in any particular hurry to get up and resume position at the lane; she's got her knees together and her arms folded across them, leaving her leaning and half-slouched instead of upright and neatly poised. In practice, it has the effect of toning down some of the force of her personality, leaving her a little less like she's trying to command attention and more just accepting of it if and when it might come.]
That's not what I meant. I'm not saying the "bad boy with a motorcycle" act isn't appealing, but I was thinking more along the lines of the way that you're kind, and good-natured enough that you're not afraid to poke fun at yourself when the situation warrants it; you believe in things and want to see good in the world and try to spread it around where you can; you're fun to talk to, you're certainly not hard on the eyes, and you're genuine in the things you say and the way you think.
[She shrugs a little, a slight lift of her shoulders without letting her forearms leave her knees.]
I started this night out in the company of a man kept going out of his way to try to impress me. As it turns out, you've made much more of an impression on me, just by being yourself.
[Well, Cloud isn't quite sure how to reply to any of that. It's flattery that's appreciated, more sincere than probably what can truly be called flattery, but it's also a little embarrassing. He shuffles into a seat across from her, clearing his throat, eyes wandering to something Very Interesting on the ground.]
I... [He's not eloquent enough to think of a clever response in return. He hasn't enough practice at it, and his personality simply doesn't lend to it. Thus it's a relatively simplistic response that she gets, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.]
...Thanks. Though it's a little embarrassing to hear all of that at once. [He glances at her.] I'm just glad you're having fun, though.
I am. And I meant it when I said we should do this again sometime.
[In consideration of his moment of awkward, though, she takes that as her cue to neatly get up and head to the lane for her turn — which, all things considered, might have been part of her overall plan, anyway.
She bowls about as well as she has been, maintaining her average of hitting seven to nine pins on a turn, but takes her time between shots and in making her way back over to the console, just to leave him a little extra time to recover.]
He's silent as he watches, not that surprised that she's managed to keep her turns consistent. He's not good at this, what does he say?? How does he interpret that??
It's his turn now, but when Carmen comes back to sit, he just blurts out.]
Are you asking me out on a date?
i just spent a legitimately stupid portion of my life making this
[Very direct, then. Not that it needs to be handled in any other way with Cloud, since being subtle would just probably confuse this poor boy even more.
[The good news is, she's hardly one to be deterred by a little fumbling; quite the contrary, after the oblivious self-aggrandizing of her earlier evening companion, it's actually refreshing to just elicit straightforward, honest reactions — even ones that leave the reacter in question approximately somewhere between "deer in the headlights" and "just slapped with a fish".
But hey: at least he's yet to try to insist to her that Dallas is the capital of Texas.]
So, just to be clear — no, you don't mind, and therefore yes, you accept? The pitfalls of double negatives.
[He's trying, even if he does look like a bit like, yes, a fish has just hit him in the face. However, the good thing about being Cloud Strife is that it's awfully easy to fall back into his default state, which appears relatively the opposite of the "deer in headlights" look. He clears his throat, shifting back into this state, though there might be the smallest remnant of being caught off-guard still floating around in his expression somewhere.]
Sorry. Yeah. That's what I meant. I'll go on a date with you.
[He's flattered? Maybe a little embarrassed, but -- this is basically not how he expected the night to go, but he supposes it isn't exactly a bad thing either.]
[And that, probably, is an attempt at getting him to laugh; it certainly comes accompanied by a wink and a self-satisfied look, as she sits back in her chair and arranges her arms neatly folded across her lap.]
That doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you for the rest of the game, though.
[The game-- oh, right. It's his turn. He lifts himself out of his seat, moving to take it.]
You strike me as the kind of person that doesn't usually go easy on anyone. That's fine, I wouldn't want you to, anyway.
[A small grin, but there goes the ball and... the pins are knocked over, all ten of them. A lucky strike, which isn't out of the realm of possibility; he's not so below-average that they'll always escape him.]
[Never let it be said that she doesn't give credit where credit is due, either; that shot earns him a round of light applause from the bench, and a winning smile when he ends up turning back around to see it.
Also can you believe this is only the fifth frame, they are legitimately only halfway done at this point.]
You'll have to tell me more about the kind of person I strike you as, someday.
[She says, leaning just slightly more heavily on the word "strike" as she echoes his own phrasing, because puns are wonderful things and he sure did just hit one of his own.]
Going to do your due diligence until then, are you?
[Off she goes to take her turn, herself; though she's not yet at the point of hitting strikes, she's at least managing to consistently maintain sevens, eights, and nines on her frames now.]
All right. I can't honestly say I've ever had much of a problem with knowing I'm being watched. It's sort of fun, really.
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[She breezes on in through the door that he holds for her, hands in the pockets of her coat, and pivots briefly to wait for him to fall into step next to her before starting to head for the bowling alley section of the complex.
The lanes, when they get there, prove to be pleasantly busy without being packed, and it's easy enough to secure a lane, which she takes care of efficiently. A bored-looking attendant points them toward their destination before asking for shoe sizes to supply them with pairs of bowling shoes, and then indicates the rack of house balls available for recreational bowlers to make use of during their visit.]
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If you pick me up in the Stingray then I'm not going to complain.
[It doesn't take long for him to find a lane. He'll sit down first, kicking off his black, dirtied riding shoes, to be replaced a bit comically by something as mundane as bowling footwear. Then he moves on over to the bowling balls, choosing a more weightier one to be his companion for this game.]
So... are you good at this?
[Bowling, he means.]
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(They're also, quite frankly, hideous, and the way that they clash only gets worse when she sheds her coat and ends up standing around in a cocktail dress and her two-tone bowling flats, but from the way she's grinning, it's apparent that the juxtaposition is delighting her.)
Perhaps unsurprisingly, when she goes to find a ball, she picks a red one. Some things never change.]
I'm good enough to enjoy myself, but I'm not hiding a closetful of trophies anywhere, either. Why, what about you? Don't tell me you're secretly a ringer.
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While she's grinning, Cloud is doing the same, only reflected back in a milder manner.]
Nope. Not at all. I can throw it straight, but that's about it. Probably should work on my technique, but it's not like I find myself in a bowling alley all that often.
[So very rarely.
When they've all gotten everything settled, it's easy enough for him to get things set up on the little console. He types in their names (CARMEN on one line, and CLOD on the other because the "U" hilariously does not work on the dumb plastic keyboard) and their game begins officially. He goes second, so he waits his turn, sitting patiently in the meanwhile.]
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[Her first shot is admittedly inelegant, as much because she's not used to the weight and balance of the ball as from anything to do with her level of skill, but even with the way it veers off course and misses the front pin, she still manages to take a few of them on the edge out. Her second is a little better, this time overcorrected in the opposite direction, such that in the end she's managed to take out about four or five of the total ten pins in the frame.
She seems satisfied, though, as she comes back to the console to relinquish her turn, and it's satisfaction that quickly turns into a stifled giggle when she sees the way the players are identified on the board.]
You really shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure you're the epitome of talent and grace.
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[Though would "Clowd" have been any less hilarious?
At any rate, it's his turn, and so Cloud stands and moves to retrieve his bowling ball, waiting for the pins to ready. He then moves forward and tosses the ball down the lane -- it isn't bad, and the form is there for an amateur, but it's like he said; the bowling ball rolls in a straight line, and hits exactly the middle of the pins.
This is problematic, because while he gets a good five pins down, the remaining are split on the left and right. He frowns a little.]
Hm.
[His second go, he aims for the right side. He knocks over two of the pins, leaving him with an okay score of 7.]
Not bad, I guess.
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[Which ends up proving itself true as she watches him take his turn, silently taking stock of his form and the trajectory of his ball as it sails toward the pins. To her credit, it stays at observation; in another life, she might've found it irresistible to offer her two cents of commentary, but in this one she has enough tact and social awareness to avoid that habit of dictating the world around her every chance she gets.
What she offers instead, though, is casual praise, easy and genuine.]
Better than I did. For the moment, at least; we'll have to see if I rally and make a comeback.
[And she smiles, getting up and brushing imaginary lint off of her dress before heading to retrieve her ball.]
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[And that much is true, or at least easily assumed, with how stoic in general Cloud appears to be.
He watches as she gets up and prepares to start her turn.]
As long as you don't start calling me "Clod" for real.
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[So she remarks over her shoulder, just before taking her windup and pitching her first ball down the lane. This one is better still, veering only slightly to the left of the center this time, and takes out about half of the pins accordingly. Her second throw again goes a little awry, but still better than before, and she comes out of the frame with a respectable 8.]
You should save that line and use it on dates. "What a clod I'd be, without U" — who wouldn't be swayed?
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Somehow I don't think anyone is going to ever fall for that one-liner.
[But he gets up to have his turn at the lane. He starts off with another straight toss down the middle, and the next one barely snags one, also rolling down the center. It's a frame of six, less than his previous turn.]
Or my bowling skills, apparently.
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[She watches him go, politely holding back her commentary until he's finished with his frame, and only really picking up the thread of the conversation again once she's the one moving toward the lane.]
Somehow I suspect you'd be the right person for a lot of people, just from what I've seen of you tonight.
[And off go her bowls, one that results in a seven-ten split, and another that sails right through them like goalposts, leaving her with another 8 to show for it.]
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I'm going to assume you mean the whole "bad boy with a motorcycle" image? That might work initially but afterwards? Not so much.
[When they realize just how much of an actual cinnamon roll he is......
In any case, it's his turn. He waits for the pins to reset before he goes, and in the end, he only has one straggler of a pin left standing, with a frame of 9.]
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That's not what I meant. I'm not saying the "bad boy with a motorcycle" act isn't appealing, but I was thinking more along the lines of the way that you're kind, and good-natured enough that you're not afraid to poke fun at yourself when the situation warrants it; you believe in things and want to see good in the world and try to spread it around where you can; you're fun to talk to, you're certainly not hard on the eyes, and you're genuine in the things you say and the way you think.
[She shrugs a little, a slight lift of her shoulders without letting her forearms leave her knees.]
I started this night out in the company of a man kept going out of his way to try to impress me. As it turns out, you've made much more of an impression on me, just by being yourself.
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I... [He's not eloquent enough to think of a clever response in return. He hasn't enough practice at it, and his personality simply doesn't lend to it. Thus it's a relatively simplistic response that she gets, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.]
...Thanks. Though it's a little embarrassing to hear all of that at once. [He glances at her.] I'm just glad you're having fun, though.
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[In consideration of his moment of awkward, though, she takes that as her cue to neatly get up and head to the lane for her turn — which, all things considered, might have been part of her overall plan, anyway.
She bowls about as well as she has been, maintaining her average of hitting seven to nine pins on a turn, but takes her time between shots and in making her way back over to the console, just to leave him a little extra time to recover.]
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He's silent as he watches, not that surprised that she's managed to keep her turns consistent. He's not good at this, what does he say?? How does he interpret that??
It's his turn now, but when Carmen comes back to sit, he just blurts out.]
Are you asking me out on a date?
i just spent a legitimately stupid portion of my life making this
Yes.
[Never let it be said that she is one to beat around the bush.]
It doesn't have to be one, if you'd rather not. But I'm not opposed to calling it one, either.
THIS WAS AMAZING i laughed so hard and i'm saving it to use forever
He blinks, looking at her for a moment.]
...Oh.
[Oh, he says. But then:]
I mean... no. I don't think I'd mind it.
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But hey: at least he's yet to try to insist to her that Dallas is the capital of Texas.]
So, just to be clear — no, you don't mind, and therefore yes, you accept? The pitfalls of double negatives.
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Sorry. Yeah. That's what I meant. I'll go on a date with you.
[He's flattered? Maybe a little embarrassed, but -- this is basically not how he expected the night to go, but he supposes it isn't exactly a bad thing either.]
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[And that, probably, is an attempt at getting him to laugh; it certainly comes accompanied by a wink and a self-satisfied look, as she sits back in her chair and arranges her arms neatly folded across her lap.]
That doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you for the rest of the game, though.
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You strike me as the kind of person that doesn't usually go easy on anyone. That's fine, I wouldn't want you to, anyway.
[A small grin, but there goes the ball and... the pins are knocked over, all ten of them. A lucky strike, which isn't out of the realm of possibility; he's not so below-average that they'll always escape him.]
That's more like it.
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Also can you believe this is only the fifth frame, they are legitimately only halfway done at this point.]
You'll have to tell me more about the kind of person I strike you as, someday.
[She says, leaning just slightly more heavily on the word "strike" as she echoes his own phrasing, because puns are wonderful things and he sure did just hit one of his own.]
Fair's fair.
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When he turns around, his grin is there too. Her applause makes him a little self-conscious, but it's still pleased nonetheless.
The pun doesn't escape him as he moves to take his seat again.]
Sure. Give me until our... uh, date, and then I'll give you my full opinion of you.
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[Off she goes to take her turn, herself; though she's not yet at the point of hitting strikes, she's at least managing to consistently maintain sevens, eights, and nines on her frames now.]
All right. I can't honestly say I've ever had much of a problem with knowing I'm being watched. It's sort of fun, really.
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