Julie and the warlord

snewman's version from 2015-04-21 19:11


she laughed after three complicated cocktails. He finished his bite of sauce-soaked broccolini and answered, but she didn't hear him clearly. Julie said, stroke-poking the side of his face with her finger. He laughed politely. She could tell he was laughing just to be nice—and she liked that more than if he had laughed from finding her funny. A nice guy: now that would be a real change of pace for her. she asked with an old-timey "what's the big idea" accent. God, she was a bit tipsy, wasn't she? Julie asked, her chin now resting playfully on a V of two upturned palms. She was exaggerating he said, pointing to an imaginary map in the air between them. Julie nodded Julie said, trying to stall for time so that she could object properly and intelligently, which was going to take a second, because she had had a couple of drinks already and had not anticipated having to debate a hot-button topic like this at the top of her intelligence—especially not with someone who did it for a living. He went on and on. The words "rape" and "limbs" came up more than on any other date she could remember. Julie asked hoping this was a smart question. Usually this was something she was good at on dates, but tonight she was having more trouble. Julie asked downing the last sip of her cocktail as she felt a premature ripple of seriousness returning, "Just in case you're thinking about dessert They both scanned the menus, each pair of eyes starting in the unhelpful middle of the dessert menu for some no-reason, then tipsily circling around and around until most of the important words had been absorbed. "Great!" "Flourless chocolate cake," "Can I get you anything else? Another drink?"