Veronica Mars (
watching_you) wrote2009-04-22 11:23 pm
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OOM: Suite 130
Veronica leads Mills through the labyrinthine corridors of the Milliways guest area until, eventually, they reach the right hallway.
"This place can be a bit confusing at times," she offers apologetically. "Things have a tendency to move. But I'm right up here --"
She cuts off, stopping short. This hallway's not empty.
Super.
"This place can be a bit confusing at times," she offers apologetically. "Things have a tendency to move. But I'm right up here --"
She cuts off, stopping short. This hallway's not empty.
Super.
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A pause.
"And I hope that goes both ways."
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"It does. Damn you," he teases.
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Her feathers de-ruffle.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
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He gestures to an empty table.
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A glance to the table, then back to him, and she takes a seat.
"So. What shall we do next?"
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She ticks off her fingers as she recites, not counting to anything in particular.
"And then, we, ah..."
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"Not that I'd want to," he adds quickly.
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She's blushing, just a little.
"Point is, I think we've covered all the bases, really."
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He looks at his hands, and then back at her.
"Walk you home?" There's a hopeful look in his eyes.
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She can't blame him.
"That would be nice."
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"We should do this again," he says. "Sooner rather than later."
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She grins, looking thoughtful as they make their way to the stairs.
"Part of me wants to suggest paintball in our future, just for the trouble I know we'd cause."
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He holds the door for her.
"Or you mentioned something about karaoke."
He manages to keep a straight face for all of three paces.
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"Yes!" It's enthused, at first, then insistent. "Yes. We'll do that. Good idea."
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It's a very expressive look.
"You want to try that again? Do you? Punk?"
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"I could turn you over my knee. If you'd prefer."
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"Yeah, my daddy issues don't run that way. Sorry, Old Man."
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He wonders if she'll see his next move coming as clearly as he does.
His shoulder drops and he bends forward, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder. "Which way was your room again?"
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She would squirm if not for the horrifying prospect of being dropped face-first down the stairs; instead she squeezes her eyes shut and digs her fingers into the back of his jacket like a panicked cat.
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"Hang on, hang on," he soothes. "Agent Mars, the sooner you tell me which way your room is, the sooner I can deliver you there."
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It doesn't stop him from carrying her up another flight of steps and down the hall to her room, mindful of her person as he passes through the doorways.
When they arrive at her door, he sets her down carefully on her feet, intensely aware of her proximity and her training.
"Better?"
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"You. Are. So lucky I don't have my taser on me," she fumes, still mildly amused underneath it all.
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