kobrakidd (kobrakidd) wrote in amalgaversehigh, @ 2010-11-01 00:15:00 |
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She will most definitely take that arm, since he's such a gentleman. The door opening move is pretty awesome too, and Dakota makes a show of fanning herself at the gesture, overexaggerating her movements. "So where are you kidnapping me to?" Dakota asks idly, following his lead, since she really has no idea what's going to go down other than the fact that he's just asked her out for dinner.
Aww yeah, arm accepted. Success! Carmichael grins at the whole fanning display, then starts to head down the sidewalk outside the bar. "Well, I was hoping you had an idea. I, uh, don't know where anything is quite yet..." A pause. "Unless you want to go really classy, I think I passed a Burger King when I rode down here." Try not to swoon to much over that one, Dakota.
"Ooh, greasy fast food. You sure know how to treat a lady," Dakota replies. "I can go for Burger King. But I have to have a crown. It's required." You know, because she's a princess and Carmichael is her... knight, or something. Dakota lives in unicorn land, don't mind her.
"What can I say, I'm a big spender." Dollar menu, holla! "And we can /totally/ get you a crown." Carmichael comes to a stop for a second, and nods down the sidewalk a bit. "So, we can walk, or I have a bike. Er, not a ten speed, but that thing." Point to the red and silver Yamaha r6 down the way. Is he serious? Yes, yes he is. "I dunno if you're adverse to being seen in public on a crotch rocket, because I wouldn't blame you."
Yay, crown! Dakota follows his point to the bike, and then looks back at him. "I have no idea what a crotch rocket is. As long as it's not an STD, I really don't care. Walking is the bane of my existence, though. Just a warning." Seriously, if she has the choice between spending twenty bucks on a cab ride or walking to her destination, she'll spend that twenty bucks. "Try not to spin wildly out of control and kill us while driving. It'd put a damper on the evening." Ya think?
Carmichael laughs and shakes his head. "Duly noted," he says, and starts to walk down towards the less than badass looking motorcycle down the way, "Yeah, I kinda enjoy living myself, so I'll be extra careful." He digs his keys out of his jacket pocket, and once they're next to the bike, he picks up a primary color explosion that upon closer inspection turns out to be a helmet, and hands it to Dakota. "Put that on. I only have one, and if you don't wear it, I'll be terribly offended." In other words, his chivalry is extending to 'in case we do crash you're more likely not to get your neck snapped this way'. Aw, how thoughtful. "And you're gonna have to, uh... essentially hug me the entire time, so you have that to look forward to." Then, onto the bike he goes, waiting for Dakota to get on before he starts it.
Dakota pauses when he hands her the helmet, and proceeds to stare at it skeptically. So not attractive. But then again, this is Dakota we're talking about, queen of the super baggy pants and oversized t-shirts (or Levi's worst nightmare, in other words) so it's not that she's too concerned about it. Shrugging, she puts it on. "Wouldn't want to offend the almighty bike rider." Also, like she /minds/ hugging you the entire time, Carmichael. She climbs on, looking vaguely, vaguely nervous underneath her usual blank expression-- what, motorcycles are dangerous, she's not a moron-- and wraps her arms around his torso, comfortable enough. "I'm serious about the not dying part," Dakota says, that nervous undertone creeping into her voice. This is not something she has control over, and she doesn't like not having control. It's a thing.
Carmichael derp smiles when Dakota links her arms around him- he can't help it, she's cute and he's a teenage boy- then glances over his shoulder. "I know. I've done this a million times, we won't crash." His tone is a little more serious than before, as he's trying to reassure Dakota. "Alright, ready?" And with that, he turns the key and the bike kicks to life, all rumbly and vibratey and loud. Then, he kicks off, pauses to check for traffic, and zip, off they go. Normally he'd try and drive a teensy bit recklessly to impress a girl, but he can tell that sort of thing probably wouldn't impress Dakota, and he promised to be cautious.
Dakota does not physically have the capability to derp smile, but she does have her genuine tiny smile moments, and this is one of them. Not that she's letting Carmichael see, not at all. Still, it's... somewhat reassuring to hear him say he's done this a million times before. Not a lot, because there's still that whole lack of control aspect, but she'll keep it under control. Or that's what she tells herself; she can't stop her arms from tightening around Carmichael's waist when they take off, because holy crap motorcycle. It's actually kind of fun, but she's totally terrified and she'd probably knee Carmichael in the groin if he tried to do any fancy shmancy tricks with his bike. She'll just... cling ridiculously until the ride is over.
The arms squeezing around him are a wee bit distracting, but Carmichael manages to keep his mind from wandering, focusing on the task at hand. That being driving like a little old man. On a motorcycle. Anyhow, he sticks to the speed limit even though it's a million times more fun to tear ass down the road, and just as he promised, they make it to the restaurant in one piece. He turns the bike off once it's parked, then looks over his shoulder with a grin. "See? I got this." Or, had it. Whatever. He hops off the bike and offers Dakota his hand, because goodness knows it's extremely difficult to get off a motorcycle by oneself. It's totally not a ploy to hold her hand, though. Not at /all/.
You have just earned points in Dakota-land, Carmichael. When he parks and looks back at her, she manages to roll her eyes through her freaking out. Right, okay, the fast, loud, zoom-y death machine is now off, and everything is good. And she still would've preferred that over walking. And then he reaches over to help her off the bike, to which she says, /yes/, thank you. Here, have that same little smile from Dakota, rather than her usual blank or vaguely bemused expression. She takes the hand and slips off the bike, kind of wobbling slightly but keeping herself up because she refuses to be the damsel in distress. Then, she curtsies again and offers her arm. "Alright, Motorbike. Show me your moves."
Aww yeah, points! Carmichael's not sure what to do with those just yet, but he'll totally be hoarding them just in case. He grins at the curtsy- Dakota is kinda off-the-wall and he's totally digging it- then links his arm with hers, quirking an eyebrow. Motorbike? ...Well played. "Show you my moves? Are we playing DDR up in here?" He hopes she gets that reference or he's gonna look like a massive nerd. Or, more massive, he's not sure how he's coming across to her after all. Carmichael debates for a second, then grabs Dakota's free hand with his own, and sticks his arm out, dragging poor Dakota towards the door in what can only be described as a half-assed attempt at a tango. Once they reach it, he dips her backwards, then straightens up and lets her hand go. "That's about the extent of my moves. You can pretend-fake again if you feel so inclined." Okay, definitely a massive nerd.
She is totally off the wall, and she doesn't mind if people think that way, and she definitely doesn't mind if people find that to be in any way dig-able. She manages to get out a, "No, I'd kick your ass at DDR," before Carmichael is dragging her into that half-assed tango thing, and okay, she can't help it, she actually laughs. It's a short, quiet sort of thing, because she has a carefully constructed persona to keep. She wobbles a bit when he lets go, but when he speaks up again, she looks amused. "I'm impressed. The classiest of food places and an elegant tango across the parking lot. Not many boys can say they've treated girls in such gentlemanly fashion." And with that, she'll open the door and slip inside, holding the door open for him with a cheeky little smirk.
Aw yeah, he made her laugh. Boy's on a roll! Carmichael grins and shrugs, putting his hands up in front of his chest, palms facing up. "What can I say? I got mad skills." Oh, please. He follows after Dakota, bowing as he walks past her- "Why thank you."- then comes to a stop in front of the front counter. The girl behind the register looks bored senseless, and grudgingly stands up when they enter, lifting an eyebrow versus asking them what they want. Carmichael glances over at Dakota, then nods at the menu. "Alright, how's this for gentlemanly? You can get /whatever you want/." He stresses that last part like it's some sort of magical, unheard of offer. "No joke. The sky's the limit. Supersize the hell out of your order, I'm not gonna stop you." Feel free to openly swoon, Dakota, it's okay.
On the best roll-- it's hard to make Dakota laugh. She follows after him as he walks up to the counter, hands in her pockets again. That generous offer? Dakota brings one hand up out of her pocket and places it on her chest, as if she was incredibly surprised and touched by his offer. Which she's... not, really. Of course, she appreciates it, but she's so not against taking up boys on their offers to buy her stuff. She's terrible that way. "Aren't you a charmer," Dakota drawls, staring up at the menu. And then she'll rattle off an order to the employee chick, which pretty much amounts to a chicken sandwich, fries and a drink. She doesn't get a large out of /some/ politeness (even though she could totally eat all of it; the girl's a black hole), gets a small instead, and waits for Carmichael to get his. She'll stare idly at the wall until then.
"I like to think so, yes." Grin. The girl behind the counter jams her finger against the buttons of her register like they've personally wronged her when Dakota places her order, then looks at Carmichael expectantly and more than a little impatiently. He orders a veggie burger, fries, and a drink, then pays for everything before the girl slams their cups on the counter and trudges off to the back. "She seems like a /peach/," Carmichael comments, handing Dakota her cup and wandering over to fill his up. "Wanna take bets on what horrible things she's gonna do to our food?"
Dakota takes her cup and immediately puts it over her hand like it's some kind of pirate hook. Even she doesn't know why, it's just a thing she's done since she was little and never grew out of. Fully embracing this weirdness, she brandishes her arm around in a sort of lazy and absent way as she follows Carmichael to the soda machines. When he speaks up, she looks at him, hair flopping in her face. "I'm willing to bet she's the terribly unoriginal and just goes for the spitting," Dakota replies, blowing her hair out of her face and frowning at it when it flops right back into her eyes. "I would go for something much more diabolical. Like quietly overcharging us. Most customers don't pay enough attention to correct the mistake."
Your quirkiness in endearing you to Carmichael, Dakota. And that whole hair in the face fiasco is all kinds of cute. Focus, dude. "Yeah, she seems like a spitter." He nods and points a finger at Dakota. "I like the way you think, very sneaky." Oh Carmichael, you have no idea. He shoves his cup under the Dr. Pepper spout and watches it full up, and midway through the girl slams the tray that has their food on it against the counter and sulks off. "Thank you! You have a good night too!" he says, loud enough for the girl to hear, but she doesn't turn acknowledge him. Ah, well. He'll go grab the food, then nod at the dining room area. "I dunno where you want to sit, the picking, they are slim." They're literally the only people in the building, he's just being ridiculous.
Good, because there's plenty more where that came from. Hopefully he won't run in terror when he finds out what she does for a living. Sneaky indeed. Dakota takes the cup off her hand and puts it under the Mountain Dew option-- along with being a black hole, she practically lives off of Mountain Dew-- and fills it to the very brim, drinks some, then fills it up again. She glances over mildly to watch the girl slam the tray down, and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Dakota has no time for cranky employees. At least, not right now. Possibly later she'll come back to offer the girl some like... marijuana or something. Relaxing, this girl needs it. In any case, Dakota follows after Carmichael, and then glances around at all the empty seats. "I have no idea. It's so crowded in here, I wouldn't even know where to start," Dakota drawls, and she'll pick the closest table to them to settle down at. "I guess this'll do."
"Mmm, good eye. I barely noticed this one amidst the crowd." Carmichael sets the tray down and takes a seat across from Dakota, taking a sip from his drink versus digging in right away. Because, ladies first and all that. But once Dakota grabs her food, he'll start in on his fries, eating them sans ketchup. "So," he says after a moment. "Tell me more about cow tipping. Is it like a full contact sport? Do you run into them or just kinda walk up and shove?"
Dakota goes for her sandwich first, because she eats like a teenage boy, and then pulls her legs up into her chair, sitting on one and pulling the other up against her chest. Her hair is safely out of the way, but she looks smaller this way, defenseless. Which is how she likes it, because she loves having people underestimate her. Easier to find weaknesses when somebody's guard is down. Not that she's going to do that with Carmichael (yet, at least), because she likes him. "It depends on how big you are," Dakota replies after swallowing, taking this very seriously. Or seeming to, anyway. "For instance, you could shove one. I'd have to construct a very complex pulley and lever system to knock one over." Is she kidding? Yes, but it's hard to tell.
So much sneakiness going on. But Carmichael is oblivious, or at least he seems to be, snerking at Dakota's explanation of the finer points of cow tipping. "You sound like you've undertaken such efforts in the past." He noms on a few more fries, then grabs his faux-meat burger and takes a bite. Mmm, slightly burnt, delicious. "Now I kinda wanna see if I could knock a Holstein over. They seem girthy." So you'll mercilessly shove a cow to the ground and wear a leather jacket, but you won't eat one. Carmichael, you quasi-hypocrite.
"I have. It was a thrilling tale, full of incredible heroics and convoluted mechanics. Unfortunately, the aliens arrived before I had a chance to succeed in my goal." Is that said in a completely deadpan tone, with a side of a mild expression? Yep, totally. She takes a few of her own fries, and then drinks from her soda before returning to her sandwich. "I think you could manage it. You're macho enough to knock it over by looking at it, I'm sure."
Carmichael stares at Dakota, a fry midway to his mouth, then busts up laughing. He grins and shakes his head, then points at her before replying with, "Pics, or it didn't happen." Oh yeah, he's down with the interwebz. Well, enough, anyhow. Carmichael eats that neglected fry and shrugs as he takes a sip of his pop. "Macho, huh?" Cue a smirk. "Well, I do run on pure machismo and raw testosterone." Lies, all of it. "But I think exuding my manliness would give me an unfair advantage against said bovine. It quite literally wouldn't know what hit it."
Dakota is pleased that Carmichael laughs at that. As much as she loves hanging out with Evan, a lot of the time he doesn't get her jokes. It's nice to have someone respond that way, she will admit privately. "It's a little hard to take pictures while locked in an epic sword duel with an alien, Motorbike," Dakota says, waving a fry at him. "But I assure you, I have many, none of which are photoshopped in the least." And then she munches on that fry, smiling a little down at her food. Shhh, she's not supposed to admit she's having a good time. "It's true, your pure machismo and raw testosterone would most likely cause the cow to keel over from the sheer overload," Dakota replies, this time more teasing than anything. "With great power comes great responsibility. Don't abuse your powers, or we'll end up with some version of the Green Goblin on our hands."
"Oh, I bet it is, I bet it is." More grinning. Carmichael is less concerned about anybody finding out he's having fun, and he catches that little smile Dakota tries to hide, but doesn't comment on it. That's enough confirmation for him that she's not inwardly rolling her eyes at the proceedings, at any rate. He takes another bite of his sandwich before setting it down and going for his drink. "Did you just make a Spiderman reference?" Yes, yes she did. Be still, his heart. Carmichael waves a hand and raises his eyebrows. "You just sealed the deal; we have to be friends now." A pause. "And I'm really hoping I'm coming off as ruggedly-handsome-James-Franco-Green-Gob
Oh yes, she totally did. Dakota is comic book nerd, Carmichael may be pleased to find. She has to spend her money on /something/. Plus, she really is enjoying all of this-- Dakota doesn't do anything she doesn't think she'll enjoy. She would've given Carmichael a flat out no if she wasn't at least somewhat intrigued. "Friends it is. I'm debating on Spiderman as a possible replacement for
Motorbike. We'll see." A beat, and then she snorts, taking another bite of her sandwich. "But then I'd associate you with Toby Maguire. Never mind. That's a no." And as for his question? "Oh, James Franco for sure. Machismo, testosterone, remember?"
Carmichael is indeed pleased to find this tidbit of info out. Especially since Dakota is a /cute/ female comic book nerd. It's a rare find to be sure. "Oh, god, thank you for not." Toby Maguire is a cringe-worthy thing to be associated with. Dead behind the eyes, that one. "Ah, right, right, how soon I forget." James Franco, however, he'll take. Carmichael finishes off his fries, then hmms. "So does that make you Mary Jane or Gwen Stacey? I was always partial to Gwen, but the red hair's working against you on that one, I can't lie."
She's like an endangered species. And yes, Dakota would also take James Franco. To her bunk. "True enough. I can do with Mary Jane. But don't go around trying to kidnap me, I have things to do and it'd be terribly inconvenient." You liar, you'd so let him kidnap you. "I could also be Gwen and Mary Jane's lovechild. I'm sure there's fanfiction of it out there somewhere."
Who wouldn't take James Franco to their bunk? No one, that's who. Okay, maybe not Carmichael, because /dude/, but there'd be a moment or two of debate for sure. In any event, he smirks and takes another sip of his drink. "Well, it's either kidnapping or forcing you into being my partner in crime. We could run around and chuck pumpkin shaped bombs at the unsuspecting masses." A pause. "Ooo, or at cows." And he brings it full circle. Carmichael chuckles and nods a few times at Dakota's last statement. "If there's not sordid fanfiction, I will be disappointed in the internet as a whole."
"That's one way to knock them over," Dakota remarks, reaching for her own drink. "If we're being honest here, I'm pretty sure I'd make a better villain than a hero, anyway. Your stunning good looks and manly, awe-inspiring stunts match my diabolical plots and cunning, sharp-tongued wit." Dakota has absolutely no problem with admitting she thinks Carmichael is hot, apparently. "We'd make a dynamic duo for the ages. Front page headlines." Nom nom fries.
If Carmichael were a bigger asshole, he would get up and strut about the room at hearing Dakota thinks he's got it going on. But thankfully he isn't, so instead he sort of derp smiles and runs a hand through his haphazardly styled hair. Play it cool, Killjoy, you got this. "We can be like some sort of more attractive, slightly less insane Joker and Harley Quinn." Pause, drink, continue. "Though I bet you'd be just all kinds of ~adorable~ in a jester outfit." He emphasizes that last part with a smirk, then hmms. "Can you juggle? I think that would really help sell it."
Carmichael doesn't really need to worry. He's provided enough witty banter and interesting conversation to earn Dakota's interest. She may not /trust/ him (she rarely trusts anybody) but she's definitely ready to put some effort into this, /without/ thinking about trying to sell him something. "I learn quickly," Dakota says, waving a fry again. "I'm not sure if juggling sends the right sort of image, Motorbike. Juggling is not a form of intimidation unless you're It." Gross, clowns.
"Not even if you're juggling, say, knives? Or maybe... well, anything that's on fire, really." Carmichael grabs his sandwich and takes another bite before eyeing what's left of it. Angry girl must have put it together with extra hate, because he finds himself with a whole lot of bun left and not enough fake burger. So he tosses what's left back onto it's wrapper and wads it up before wrinkling his nose. "Oh hell no, not It. That movie scared the ever living crap out of me when I was a kid." If evil clowns aren't nightmare fuel, he'd like to know just what is. "I mean, I like cheesy horror movies, but that one? I still avoid walking past those open sewer grates on the side of the road."
"I'd like you to know that if I have nightmares about It juggling flaming knives, it's entirely your fault," Dakota informs him, finishing off her own sandwich and washing it down with her Mountain Dew. She shifts slightly in her seat, grabbing at her wrapper and carefully folding it in half, then in fourths, then in eighths, and then setting it on the table. Another one of those things she always does, like wearing a cup like a pirate hook. She blows her hair out of her face again, and this time it actually stays out of the way. "Ask just about anybody, and they'll say The Exorcist is the scariest movie ever created. I disagree. Clowns are servants of Satan." She's almost not even joking there.
Carmichael watches Dakota fold the wrapper into a tiny square with an amused expression on his face, then down the rest of his drink, nodding as he sets his cup back on the table. "I agree completely. Give me a head that rotates 360 degrees and spews out green vomit. Whatever. I'll deal. But seven foot tall sadistic clowns? Pardon my French, but /fuck/ that." So not gentlemanly, but seriously, fuck clowns. He leans back in his seat, eyeing the table for a second, then glances up at Dakota. "Ready to roll? Or do you want to make little origami cranes out of the fry containers?" He's kidding, of course, and smirks to help show it.
Dakota raises an eyebrow at Carmichael, and then proceeds to pick up the wrapper, hold it vertically on the table with her pointer finger, and then flick it at him like it's one of those paper footballs high school boys are so fond of playing with. "Don't underestimate the power of the origami cranes. They're explosive." Make less sense there, I dare you. "I'm ready. But I have a question." And she will proceed to ask that question without even waiting for him to speak. "If we were to walk out into the parking lot and It attacked us, would you run in terror or stay to protect my virtue?" Not that she needs protection. Also, not that she would blame him for running. Fuck clowns. "It's an important question. For science."
Pffft! Carmichael swats at the wrapper, but misses, and the tiny square bounces harmlessly off his chest. "Well, thank god that thing wasn't explosive too." OR WAS- no. He sits up a little straighter when Dakota asks her question, then grins and shakes his head, laughing once. "Oh man... well, if it's for science I guess I'd better answer." He taps a finger against his chin, a look of mock concentration on his face. "Since we're officially friends now, I'd have to stick around and defend your honor, cause I'd feel pretty guilty if I left you to face off against a psychotic killer clown on your own." He waves a hand, and adds, "But if it transforms into that nightmare inducing spider thing from the end of the movie, sorry, all bets, they are off."
Well, that's an acceptable answer. Here, have some more points to hoard, Carmichael. "I can handle spiders. They cower before me." Weirdo. "Don't worry. I'll protect your manly honor from the spiders if you protect me from the clown." And with that, she'll slip out of her chair and carry her tray over to the trash. She's also going to be even more of an annoyance to that lovely employee. Dakota heads over to the counter, leans forward on it, chin in her palm. "I want a crown." Dakota tells the girl, very, very seriously. The chick gives her a glare, but Dakota is not leaving until the girl gives her a crown. After about a thirty second staring contest, the girl snatches at a paper crown, slams it down on the counter, and then settles in her chair. Victory! Dakota takes her crown, puts it on, and then proceeds to act like it is completely normal for an eighteen year old girl to be wearing a Burger King crown. "Now I'm ready."
Hoard them he will, until he can figure out what the hell to do with them. Carmichael snerks and stands up, grabbing his tray as well and walking it over to the trash. "Deal." He starts to head for the door, but then Dakota's having a face off with the angriest girl to ever anger, and he pauses to watch this epic battle with a half-smile on his face. That turns into a full blown smile once Dakota claims her prize, and Carmichael salutes the girl behind the counter before heading over towards the door, being all chivalrous and holding it open. "After your, your highness," he says, bowing slightly and pointing his hand towards the parking lot with a flourish.