Re: [At the Carnival]
You think I'll let you steal my socks? [Oliver actually seemed really amused by that thought, being something of a little, retired thief, himself. He knew that Misha didn't mean abscond like gone in the night with a whistle and fingerprints in the dust. He thought, just briefly, that he'd like to see Crazy try to lift something off of him. Not something as complicated as socks. Even for Oliver, it would take a lot of liquor or methodical distraction to get away with somebody's socks.
Then, his grin was almost a challenge.] I'd like you to try sometime.
[With Jude playing the (not-so)straight and narrow arrow, Oliver didn't get much opportunity to flex old talents of thievery. Back in the day(not so long ago), they'd been a lot more about con and sleight of hand than any legitimate heisting, but Oliver, he'd had dreams once. Once, he'd thought that was the end game. Guggenheim. Louvre. The be all and end all.
Now? He didn't have those kinds of dream anymore, probably because of who inspired them being good and dead. But he still got a thrill out of the little things; tips lifted off of tables at Ruby Tuesdays, bunk scratch-off tickets conned for ATM cash. Maybe, for Oliver, it was that same pleasant nostalgia that had people rewatching old cartoons, eating vintage candy, reflecting on good old days in between games of Candyland.
Oliver and Jude's old days? They hadn't really been good, but they'd been childhood, and childhood was gone now. So, maybe, in a weird way, he missed the small stuff despite the big stuff.]
It was okay... [He said of the show when their shoes bumped. Oliver thought that Misha's playing had been beyond good, and he had some sense of what 'good' was considering the house of artists and thieves that he'd grown up in. But, having grown up there, he was also rare to develop a compliment. They weren't productive.]
Just tell him I like you? And don't tell him you're crazy?
[Oliver took the offered hand, and he looked up without complete certainty when Misha told him that he looked pretty. Something crossed Oliver's face then, a flicker. Brows knit, and he seemed simultaneously compelled and scared. Uncertain, but Misha's smile was delicate and nothing dangerous, so he tugged the other boy through the backstage area and out toward the stairs.]
He's up at the top, he's really smart, you'll like him... [Everybody liked Jude, but Oliver loved him, and there was a difference.]