Re: Near the ring of fire, later...: Cat C & Reece E
No, they weren't all that different, when it came down to summation, but he was still on this side of the bar, her on that, and her lush-lipped smile went absolutely wicked in a way Reece could never, ever approximate. Not by half. He frowned at her reflexively, that pout of his with its draw of brows down and his bottom lip puffed out some, like he really didn't like the way he knew that smile was hanging him out to dry. And, well, he didn't.—Hurriedly, he pushed fingers through his hair and shook his head, all at once, which was a slightly spastic movement.
"No!" He continued to frown, his gaze beading very insistently on the bartop. Though he did glare at her when she mentioned the scientist-types usually were animals in bed. He even huffed for her. "If he's your type, go for it. I just mean—well, I was here first." It was a stupid argument and it made no sense, but Reece held to it, even after Cat told him she had been alone in deciding his fate. (Though his eyeroll likely told her how he felt about that.)
His heart managed to pump the brake when she talked about the stranger with the strange arm, and Reece was trying to put together the pieces he had on Cat, as to what it meant that she had gaps in her memory—as to why she had some man dragging her across bars, to which her only reaction was to say she'd find out who he was. "O... kay. That's... very cryptic." He squinted. "If I see anyone with an arm like mine, I'll let you know." There wasn't much more he could do, after all.
Reece huffed again at the mention of ammunition and Sasha, because what was with all this insistence from each of them that he should be good to the other? Why did they keep pushing him back and forth? It was like he told Cat's kid sister, he really didn't like it. But, the beers and shots sloshed in his belly, so he just huffed a, "Shut up."—It was the rigid halt of the woman's fingers however that made him truly uncertain. On the stool, all stuffed in there, he looked at her, very confused. It was probably that image—that expression that had earned him the assessment of being not particularly bright, but he couldn't stop either—the look or the assessment.
He went very red.
"I--I--I need to get back anyway. Michael's waiting for me." He stood. Too fast. The stool stuttered backwards, tipped, crashed, and Reece just--okay, he looked at it, and he looked at Cat. And he did nothing else. He just—looked at her.