[ Geoffrey snorted out loud at that. The Ice Queen, that was good. A very fitting title for Ellen, he thought. And no, they didn't want her to hear anything about this. Preferably never hearing about it--that sounded prudent. He'd never hear the end of it otherwise. Ray must know him very well--more than he felt like he knew him, at least. Why couldn't he remember anything about this man? He should at least be able to remember his acting, right? If it was terrible, or magnificent, that was the kind of thing that ought to stick with him.
The Consulate, though. He was really staying at the Consulate? Maybe they'd made it after all. Which was honestly a weird thought, and not at all appropriate to muse over when he couldn't even remember what he'd eaten in the last twelve hours. But still...the Canadian Consulate. No wonder he had to get out of there.
(Weird, though, he had distant memories of a shoddy hotel room near the train station. Flashes of a dispirited looking man behind the desk. Maybe he was just imagining it.)
The passing streets around him meant very little to Geoffrey. He didn't know enough about Chicago to even know which direction they were going, nevermind if he recognised any of it. But he looked out the window over the dashboard and watched the streets rolling past, the lights flashing white-gold reflections off the waxed black hood of the GTO. He sat up just a little further, finally comfortable, and offered a hopeful smile toward the man beside him. ]
You really would, wouldn't you? Call in for me? I think I'd appreciate that, Ray, thank you.
[ What a nice man. In fact he was being very nice, and there was that whole 'back to mine' thing. He must be from Chicago. But this driving back to his place thing--it wasn't weird for him, was it? Was it? Like they were pals, or maybe something else. Huh. Weird. It was hard to tell, though; Ray didn't give much away.
He sat back to think about it, finally leaning all the way into the seat behind him. They were very comfortable seats, he had to give them that. He watched Ray drive with unbroken attention, watching the light flash across his face - in and out of shadow - studying the lines of his features and the lonely grayness of his eyes in the dull light, his hard, strong hands with the old scars across his knuckles.
Sleep it off. Hah. He lowered his voice to something conspiratorial, even though they were completely alone. ]
What if I told you I don't think I can sleep? Would you sit up all night and keep me company?
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The Consulate, though. He was really staying at the Consulate? Maybe they'd made it after all. Which was honestly a weird thought, and not at all appropriate to muse over when he couldn't even remember what he'd eaten in the last twelve hours. But still...the Canadian Consulate. No wonder he had to get out of there.
(Weird, though, he had distant memories of a shoddy hotel room near the train station. Flashes of a dispirited looking man behind the desk. Maybe he was just imagining it.)
The passing streets around him meant very little to Geoffrey. He didn't know enough about Chicago to even know which direction they were going, nevermind if he recognised any of it. But he looked out the window over the dashboard and watched the streets rolling past, the lights flashing white-gold reflections off the waxed black hood of the GTO. He sat up just a little further, finally comfortable, and offered a hopeful smile toward the man beside him. ]
You really would, wouldn't you? Call in for me? I think I'd appreciate that, Ray, thank you.
[ What a nice man. In fact he was being very nice, and there was that whole 'back to mine' thing. He must be from Chicago. But this driving back to his place thing--it wasn't weird for him, was it? Was it? Like they were pals, or maybe something else. Huh. Weird. It was hard to tell, though; Ray didn't give much away.
He sat back to think about it, finally leaning all the way into the seat behind him. They were very comfortable seats, he had to give them that. He watched Ray drive with unbroken attention, watching the light flash across his face - in and out of shadow - studying the lines of his features and the lonely grayness of his eyes in the dull light, his hard, strong hands with the old scars across his knuckles.
Sleep it off. Hah. He lowered his voice to something conspiratorial, even though they were completely alone. ]
What if I told you I don't think I can sleep? Would you sit up all night and keep me company?