InsaneJournal

mark. Mark could count the times he'd invited a girl to his room with no intention of making a more, ahem, serious move on one hand. It was in his nature, really. He saw a pretty girl, he flirted and showered her with compliments, and things eventually escalated to a level where said girls' clothes were on his floor. It was just how things worked.

Bea, though, Bea was different, and while the horizontal tango wasn't exactly the furthest thing from his mind when he extended the invite, it certainly wasn't the reason he was inviting her over. She was different from than the usual girls he chased. After all, she was also incredibly intelligent, and Mark had a feeling she could kill him in a matter of seconds. And as scary as that thought should have been, Mark found it a little attractive. He wasn't much of a fighter, but that didn't mean he didn't like his women on the scrappy side of things.

He was laughing as he unlocked his door, swinging it open with a little flourish in Bea's direction. "After you," he said brightly, biting the urge to tack 'milady' onto that sentence -- funny, but maybe a little too much after the week they'd had. Flicking a light switch on, he smiled; he was really proud of his room. There were posters and pictures of all his favorite artists covering the wall, framed records, and a number of instruments lined up on the wall. Mixing and mastering equipment, blank cds, and a record player, too. It was Mark's personal heaven.

"I haven't restored it to its former glory yet," he added after a moment of silence, folding his arms across his chest. "But I guess you didn't time for a tour last time."

bea. Bea wasn't going to kill him, at least not tonight. Maybe it was because she was in a relatively good mood or the fact that she had been kind of messing with him all night. She had remembered what happened in their dream almost perfectly (there were some fuzzy spots) but had inferred otherwise with him. She wasn't completely sure why she had done it, if she didn't want to admit she had a good time in the dream -- or tonight. She tried to tell herself she only accepted his invite to eat because she wanted to hear his recollection but also because she wanted food -- a week being asleep left her craving stuff she normally wouldn't eat, outside of her normal peanut butter and jelly.

She didn't think twice about being invited over to Mark's room, figuring he knew she could hurt him if he tried anything she wasn't okay with. She glanced over at him before she entered his room, her eyes running over the walls and his belongings. Compared to her room, his seemed more welcoming, more lived-in. It fit his personality just as much as Bea's fit her, spartan and filled with books. "Yeah, I was kinda busy last time," she smirked, stepping toward the center of his room as she studied the posters.

mark. "But now you have all the time in the world," he replied. He sounded incredibly pleased -- probably because he was incredibly pleased. This was going better than he had expected, and he stepped forward to identify some of the posters she was looking at. "That's Jimi -- Hendrix," he added, in case she was just as naive about the Jimi Henxrix Experience as she was The Beatles. "Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Coltrane, Davis, Satchmo, Sinatra, The Who, and that is the Mahavishnu Orchestra." Not that he expected her to know who they were -- anyone who didn't know about Abbey Road wasn't exactly cultured when it came to music. Jazz fusion was probably a foreign concept to her.

"And I can introduce you to my instruments, if you'd like."

bea. She nodded as he explained the posters on the wall. Some of the names were familiar while she recognized some of the others. She nodded, glancing back over at him. It was like she was at a museum and observing pieces of artwork she knew nothing about. She could nod appreciatively, consider them, but then she'd go home. Pictures on a wall weren't particularly special to her since she couldn't appreciate the music associated with the faces.

She cracked a small grin. "Introduce me to your instruments. Isn't it a little early for that?" She teased, folding her arms in front of her chest as she raised an eyebrow in his direction.

mark. He laughed, then; only Mark could have laughter that sounded the least bit musical. "You should get your mind out of the gutter, Bea," he shot back with a smirk, shaking his head at her innuendo. "My virgin ears can't handle that kind of talk."

bea. Hey, it wasn't her innuendo. He brought it up. And she liked his laugh, she decided. "Right. Virgin ears. Then maybe I should take my conversation elsewhere."

mark. Mark snickered as he walked over to pick up the ukulele sitting on his desk. "That's out of the question, gorgeous," he replied with a mischievous smile. "No leaving until I show you at least three instruments. We can start with this one," he added, gesturing toward her with the instrument. He strummed a few chords before he played the opening to Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours." Looking down at the floor while he played, he grinned to himself. "I'm assuming you know what a ukulele is."

bea. Bea wavered in the middle of the room, watching him play. It was impressive to Bea that someone could play music rather than tote guns and drive getaway cars. It was impressive in that she never thought of it as an option for herself. Sure, maybe she could've picked up music in the church but she was more interested in books. She took a few steps toward him as he strummed away, maybe nothing important to him but those chords were more than Bea could play. "Yeah, isn't it that brass instrument you blow through?" Okay, now she was just messing with him. Even if she didn't know what a ukulele was, she could infer that was what he was holding.

mark. He raised a brow. "I hope that was a joke, gorgeous." He played a few more notes before putting the ukulele back on his desk, only to grab a black case resting underneath it. Of all the instruments Mark played, he was most proficient with the three he had started playing before he hit the age of six: piano, guitar, and trumpet. He was about to show Bea the latter; a trumpet his mother had given him for his thirteenth birthday. To say it was his prized possession putting it lightly. "I think you're talking about one of these," he said quietly, unfastening the case and pulling out the instrument and mouthpiece.

He inserted the mouthpiece in the trumpet, wet his lips, and played Taps -- the funeral song. When he was done, he pulled the mouthpiece and grinned. "That was for any and all hopes I had about you secretly hiding some music knowledge away, Bea. Those dreams are dead."

bea. She had totally been joking earlier but she didn't stop him when he pulled out the trumpet. She slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as she listened to him play, a grin on her face. Yeah, listening to him play music was definitely better than listening to some tracks off his mp3 player. Instruments were infinitely more interesting and she was even beginning to think it was sexy.

"It's not like I've been holding out on you," she said, even though that last one sounded familiar. Not that she would know where to place it. "...well okay, at least about the music thing." She had been holding out information on him regarding another topic, such as the reason they went out tonight. So she could hear how he recounted the dream stuff.

mark. "Oh?" Mark's eyebrow shot up again as he lowered the trumpet, shooting her a very quizzical look. "Do tell, gorgeous. What secrets have you been keeping from your favorite musician?"

bea. She took a few steps to some of the stuff around his room, looking over one of the framed records. "Yeah, I totally remembered that whole medieval dream stuff." And yet, she had pretended otherwise and even went out to eat with him to hear his account.

mark. "Oh." Well, that was confusing. Pulling the mouthpiece out of the trumpet, he crossed over to the bed and sat down. Mark couldn't think of very many reasons for Bea to lie -- well, very many reasons that made sense, anyway. Running a hand through his hair, he gave her a bewildered smile. "Why did you say you didn't remember anything, gorgeous?"

bea. She hovered for a second, before shrugging and taking a seat next to him on the edge of his bed. "Don't know, just came out. Maybe I wanted to see what you'd say about it if you thought I didn't remember a thing, if you'd leave stuff out or embellish." She leaned forward, her hands on the edge of the bed next to her legs as she looked over at him. "Does that bother you?"

mark. There was no response on Mark's end for a second. Did it bother him? He wasn't really sure. Sure, she had lied, but that lie had resulted in the two of them having the chance to spend time together. All's well that ends well -- that was Mark's philosophy about everything. Well, almost everything. Finally, he shrugged, turning his head to look at her. "Not really. After all, beautiful, you probably wouldn't be here right now if you'd been completely forthcoming. And I can't think of a more distressing thought."

bea. Bea had similar thoughts, that if she hadn't lied, they wouldn't have gone out tonight and then she wouldn't have been having a good time. Which she did have a good time, and she wasn't sure if she had become less resistant (or accustomed) to Mark's charms or even enjoyed them over dinner. She opened her mouth to say that she had a good time or he did a good job recounting the events of that dream but stopped. What he just said struck a chord with her, her expression barely flinching before she reacted. She gave into the urge to just kiss him, bumping his shoulder with hers as she leaned in.

mark. Well, hello. For all of Mark's self-proclaimed knowledge of girls (he had the art of figuring girls out to a 'T', he said), that particular reaction caught him completely off-guard. Not that he was complaining. He raised his hand, but Bea pulled away before he can press it against her cheek. Attempting to not look as bewildered as he feels, he smiled, dropping his hand back onto his lap. "Uh, hi."

bea. Just as she had to learn to trust her gut in the heat of the action, relying on her flexes and good luck to get her through, she had to follow her instincts here. Which, of course, led to her kissing him in a brief moment. She also knew when to pull away before the kiss got too involved. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted at the moment, so why rush anything and ruin a perfectly good evening. Bea's own experience could be summarized briefly, because she wasn't about to get involved with anyone when she didn't know where she would be the following week; similarly, she wasn't looking for anything because who knew how long she was going to stick around?

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she said one of the first things that came to mind. "I just... wanted to see what that'd be like." She didn't seem (or feel) awkward, just matter-of-fact. She let out a small laugh, shaking her head before looking back over at him. "I had fun tonight."

mark. His grin widened when she said she'd had fun. Bea was one of the few -- okay, one of the many -- girls that didn't seem to find his never ending flattery and flirting the least bit charming. The compliment, coupled with the kiss, meant that even there was hope yet. Nodding, his grin turned into a mischievous smirk. "It wasn't a terrible first date, all things considered." It had never been explicitly stated that this was, in fact, a date, but hey, Bea kissed him. That was a This is Definitely a Date Seal of Approval in Mark's mind.

"We should do it more often, gorgeous."

bea. She didn't correct him when he said it was a date; by any technical definition and by an outside observer, that's what it would look like -- even if it was impromptu. "Yeah, well, guess we'll see," she looks around his room, fighting a grin herself.

After a moment, she pushed herself up and took a few steps toward the door before she turned back toward him. "Besides, you still gotta show me that third instrument you promised me. But I think that can wait till later." She'd rather leave when she still had control of the situation, when things were good and not possibly awkward or rushed. She then showed herself out, resisting from looking back as she slipped out the door.