Re: Log, Ocean's Eleven: Neil D & Lin A
Lin, obviously, had no idea about the Hindenburg of double dates that lay, wreckage, ruins, duralumin cross brace scorched and poking from silver cellulose nitrate covering like ribs from the gray, dead skin of an elephant in her grave, spindle neurons silent, long gone to ground. He didn't know about Meredith or quiet car rides. Okay, he def knew about Louis, but that one wasn't a new thing, so it was nothing to poke a finger into, um, figuratively speaking. It wasn't exactly, 100%, positively true that Lin wouldn't push, if pushing became a point. He liked providing distractions, for himself and others, but he wasn't exactly known for keeping boundaries, as much as he (um, sometimes...) tried to.
So, no, he didn't try all the time. But, for Neil, he would. He liked the dude, he knew he was stressed, and it wasn't like he was just going to put his arm around him and be like, hey, tell me all your secrets. :) If pushing did happen, Lin would be a little bit more subtle. You wouldn't guess it from looking at him, but he could be subtle when he had to be.
But, no, he wouldn't judge.—He was standing, thinking quite hard on a series of Elvis puns (Kingpuns), fingers twining in black hair, when he glanced up to see Neil. He grinned a little at the dude, but he wasn't recognized, and Neil was too polite to give the girl in the dress anything more than a cursory smile, properly, of course. Lin had grown used to casually sexist comments tossed his way, to leering. Not that he thought Neil would ever have been one of those gross dudes. He wasn't like that. But, usually, he got a little more than a wan slice of watered down smile.
He laughed when Neil's gaze came back and he fluttered fingers under his chin at the man in the (pretty nice, for a professed heterosexual man) vest.
"Hi, girl." His voice was distinctly feminine, came with a giggle (not that he hadn't giggled before. Of course he fucking had. He was a man, damnit!), and Lin came over, making a show of looking Neil up and down, before looping his arm through the man's, whether it was offered or not. (He was like Sam that way—always a little too open with affection and a little too lax with personal space, crowding in blue.) He didn't hesitate to lean his weight against Neil's, gesturing to the chapel before them with a flourish of palm. "Are you and your fancy-ass, totally straight waistcoat ready for this jelly?"