He pivots smoothly on his heel and glides back in the other direction almost without breaking stride, wrapping his arms around himself as they head down the stairs. The closer they get to outside the colder it gets, and apparently the temperature is finally starting to bother him (it hadn't when he'd been swimming in the pond, or standing dripping in the moonlight afterwards.)
Ray leads the way, which is good because Geoff wouldn't have picked the right car out even if he'd tried. It was a black Pontiac, only slightly younger than he was, and it looked decidedly out of place beside all the smooth, dull modern cars in the lot beside it. It would have taken him forever: which wouldn't have been fun, because between the asphalt, the temperature (in the low seventies) and his bare feet, he was already having a bad enough time of it. The flannel dressing gown was no good either. It was still a little damp, and the chill got straight in.
But the car? Honestly he wasn't really that impressed, but then he still drove the same old rustbucket he'd been petering around town in a decade before. An interest in flash cars like this one was outside his paygrade. He pursued hobbies he could afford. Like sitting in the park and occasionally drinking a beer.
He ran his hand across the roof, puzzling over the top of it at Ray for a moment longer. Just who or what was this guy? Early midlife crisis, was that it? He didn't look like he'd hit forty. But the leather jacket, the Gran Tourismo antique car, the spiked up hair? He was overcompensating for something.
Whoever he was, he'd apparently decided that Geoffrey was in the doghouse, though. So he ducked his head obediently for the time being and put himself in the passenger seat of the car, relieved to get his feet up off the floor, even if the inside of Ray's car wasn't much better than the outside. He shivered despite himself, and then tried a little harder to pretend there was absolutely nothing wrong. Discomfort? What was discomfort? ]
The ducks deserved it. [ Is how his explanation began, spoken down at his knees like a sullen child explaining why his homework was ruined. ] And I do realize that springing me is a thankless task. It's late, you were likely already sleeping. So thank you. I really do appreciate it.
[ He squinted at the man sidewards in the darkness, from under his own mess of curly hair. Okay, so he might as well get this out of the way: ]
This is going to sound...crazy, so please bear with me, but... I've completely forgotten your name.
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He pivots smoothly on his heel and glides back in the other direction almost without breaking stride, wrapping his arms around himself as they head down the stairs. The closer they get to outside the colder it gets, and apparently the temperature is finally starting to bother him (it hadn't when he'd been swimming in the pond, or standing dripping in the moonlight afterwards.)
Ray leads the way, which is good because Geoff wouldn't have picked the right car out even if he'd tried. It was a black Pontiac, only slightly younger than he was, and it looked decidedly out of place beside all the smooth, dull modern cars in the lot beside it. It would have taken him forever: which wouldn't have been fun, because between the asphalt, the temperature (in the low seventies) and his bare feet, he was already having a bad enough time of it. The flannel dressing gown was no good either. It was still a little damp, and the chill got straight in.
But the car? Honestly he wasn't really that impressed, but then he still drove the same old rustbucket he'd been petering around town in a decade before. An interest in flash cars like this one was outside his paygrade. He pursued hobbies he could afford. Like sitting in the park and occasionally drinking a beer.
He ran his hand across the roof, puzzling over the top of it at Ray for a moment longer. Just who or what was this guy? Early midlife crisis, was that it? He didn't look like he'd hit forty. But the leather jacket, the Gran Tourismo antique car, the spiked up hair? He was overcompensating for something.
Whoever he was, he'd apparently decided that Geoffrey was in the doghouse, though. So he ducked his head obediently for the time being and put himself in the passenger seat of the car, relieved to get his feet up off the floor, even if the inside of Ray's car wasn't much better than the outside. He shivered despite himself, and then tried a little harder to pretend there was absolutely nothing wrong. Discomfort? What was discomfort? ]
The ducks deserved it. [ Is how his explanation began, spoken down at his knees like a sullen child explaining why his homework was ruined. ] And I do realize that springing me is a thankless task. It's late, you were likely already sleeping. So thank you. I really do appreciate it.
[ He squinted at the man sidewards in the darkness, from under his own mess of curly hair. Okay, so he might as well get this out of the way: ]
This is going to sound...crazy, so please bear with me, but... I've completely forgotten your name.