2019-04-09 - Operation: Monkey Freedom

There's a single window in the loft apartment that happens to be right next to the bed. On the rare occasion when the sun isn't obscured by rain clouds, the light filters through the glass panes and settles a comforting blanket of warmth onto the mattress. This was one of those mornings, and but the heat isn't the only reason why Violet finds it difficult to rise and shine. She was unaccustomed to waking up with someone else in her bed. Sure, there was the cat whom Alex met last night while they ate fish sticks in bed and who was currently curled up by their feet, but waking up next to another body was altogether very different.

She feels him as she begins to stir, the curl of her toes pushing up against his calf, and it briefly startles her before the memories of last night rush through the sleep fog of her brain. It leaves her with a quickened heart rate and a red face, a tiny nervous giggle bubbling up out of her which she hides with a duck of her head into the collar of the shirt she was wearing. His shirt, the one with the broken button at the bottom; it still smells like him, like her. Like them. That realization only serves to widen her smile and darken the flush of her face. She waits for the quiet laughter to subside before she turns onto her side towards him, blue eyes peeking open to take stock of this man sleeping beside her. He was a sight to behold, and she lets her eyes wander before her fingers lift to graze the very tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw, hesitant at first in fear he may be just a dream. But when he (hopefully) doesn't disappear, she lays her hand against his cheek, idly stroking her fingers against his skin. She didn't want to wake him yet, so she says nothing at all, and just enjoys this rare moment with the sun and the bed and the man in it.

With untroubled dreams, Alex is not a terrible person to sleep with. He tends to steal blankets, and he shoves at the cat with his foot every time it starts kneading the bed, but otherwise... For much of the night, he stayed snuggled comfortably up against Violet, all cozily intertwined, only rolling away sometime in the wee hours - and only then because, waking dimly around three in the morning, he remembered that an alarm was going to go off around six, and he definitely didn't want that. So that's when he crept from the bed, found his phone, turned that alarm off, and dropped back into a dreamless sleep at Violet's side.

A sleep that he's reluctant to quit. There's a long time, with her fingers on his cheek, when he just keeps right on snoozing. Even when his breath changes, one inhale through his nose different from all the ones before it, he doesn't really open his eyes. They're staying firmly shut, but he squirms his hand out from under the blankets, folding his fingers around hers and shifting her hand from his cheek to his lips, there to kiss them with the warm drowsiness of the morning-after. Against the backs of those fingers, he reports, "Morning."

Violet doesn't encourage any sort of stirring. She props her cheek up onto her pillow and admires with blue eyes and soft fingers, sweeping a touch through his hair and curving around his ear before she trails back down his jaw to the square of his chin. It's a touch meant to soothe as much as it was meant to explore, though she focuses on the former when she hears the change in his breathing. She could've spent hours just like this and been perfectly content, but there was a flutter in her heart when she feels his hand around hers, and the warmth of his breath on the fingers that he kisses.

"Good morning," she murmurs back, shifting her hand off to the side of his mouth so that she can fit her lips to his instead. It's nothing more than a peck, but at a far slower pace, breathing out a sigh as her lips touch to his own. "Did you sleep okay? No bad dreams?"

He probably could've been content just sleeping for a while, but circadian rhythms, man. They're for real. It's not six in the morning, true, but Alex would have woken up even all by himself, even without someone fussing over him, but it's much nicer to wake up with soft fingers and soft kisses. There's the back half of an mhm, just the, "Hm," audible against her kiss, followed by a slower inhale through his nose afterward. Briefly, comfortably, he contemplates just lulling right back to sleep... But he clears his throat a few seconds later, finally peeling his eyes open and rolling onto his side facing Violet, loosing her hand so he can tuck his under his pillow, the other sliding across her stomach and then over her waist, settling at her back. "This is mine." He means the shirt (probably), since that's what his fingers are pulling on at the back. Also, he goes on to add, "It looks better on you."

"Mm," she gives him the front half of that sound easily, lips quirking into something of a softened smile as she tucks her nose into his cheek and closes her eyes. She breathes him in while he contemplates sleep, not eager to rouse him or rush him through the day; she wasn't sure what time it was, really, or even if he had to work, but those sounded like questions that might get him out of bed so she keeps her mouth shut. When he starts to move, she puts her cheek back on her pillow and peeks her eyes open again to watch, comfortably fitting against him when he slips his arm around her and murmur those few words. There was a long enough pause between one statement and the next that it makes her heart swell and her breath stutter, but of course he meant the shirt. God, Violet, don't be crazy. "I don't know, it looks pretty good on you, too," she murmurs back. "I'm going to fix the button," it's a quiet promise. "Can I make you breakfast?"

Alex got up and turned off his alarm. If he is supposed to be at work but is not, that's on him. He's not worried about it, obviously, evidenced by the fact that he continues cuddling up to Violet and not, like, falling out of bed to put on his pants. While he doesn't argue about the shirt looking good on him, too, he does counter, "There's no rush. I have a lot of shirts." With just a little stress on the lot there. His fingers walk up her spine over the shirt, land against her cheek, do soft things to her hair, tucking it against her ear, all the little touches he got earlier finding their way back to her. "Eventually," she can make him breakfast. Assuming she can make breakfast. He's not going to ask. "Stay here a while." So he can do the touch-thing, and the looking at her admiringly-thing, and the small kisses-thing. "How did you sleep?"

"You do?" Have lots of shirts, she means, pale gold brows rising. "Maybe I will just keep this one, then," she decides, a coy smile accompanying the words. Though, this is Violet, so coy falls away to a subtle frown of concern over her own presumptions. "I mean, if that's okay. I don't want to steal your things." There might have been more rambling, indeed her lips remain parted as though she had more to say - but the walk of his fingers up his spine proves distracting, and she melts a little against him. She opts to put her lips to better use and kiss him instead, soft kisses to go along with his soft touches. "Mm," she hums again while she was near, an agreement to his lack of a rush, and slips her hand beneath the quilts so that she can trace her fingers along his stomach. How did she sleep? "Dreamless," it brings a smile to her lips. "The best sleep I've had in a very long time. Thank you."

So gravely, Alex assures, "I do," have lots of shirts. He drops his finger off her ear, curls it around the front of the shirt in question, thumb brushing over the spot where the missing button is meant to live, and manages to get a word in before she starts rambling terribly or kissing him delightfully. "This one should be yours now." It's fortunate that she's already scooting in for that kiss, so he doesn't have to pull too much on the shirt whose ownership is currently in play. Between the touches to his stomach and her gratitude, he smiles right back at her, pleased with himself. And with the way this touchy morning is going. "Any time. I," with a soft nip to her lower lip there, "would much rather be the one biting you." On the lip, on the cheek, on the jaw, on the neck, there's lots of them to follow, with muffled nomnom noises, too.

It's true, the shirt should be hers. She agrees, too, tilting her chin in a quick nod that's followed directly thereafter with the kiss. "It should be," she murmurs. "I think you'll have a hard time getting it off me anyway." But here's a spoiler: it won't be a very difficult thing at all, especially not after he starts om-nom-noming on her, laughter quickly spilling into breathy sounds and playful bites of her own. Hopefully one of them thought ahead to dump the remaining contents of his jacket pocket out onto the nearby table else there was going to be an awkward walk to the closet in their future.

Eventually though, Violet finds her new shirt again and even more eventually she gets out of bed to get with the breakfast making. She's no fish-sticks master chef, but she can scramble a mean egg and pop bread in the toaster. As she cooks, she hums under her breath, that same song she played for him on the piano - not Billy Joel, but the Spanish one. It's light and pleasant. "I got you a gift, you know," she mentions over her shoulder, directing attention to that metallic blue bag that's been on the coffee table since last night. It wasn't just a McGuffin. "You can open it now if you want. Do you like ketchup with your eggs?"

Less an awkward walk than an awkward scurry, which Alex makes without complaint, because it's considerably less awkward than knocking someone up the first morning you spend together. 😃

After the eventualities, he collects himself enough to find his boxers and his under-shirt, but that's all the more clothes he plans to put on for a while, winds up sitting down on the edge of the bed while Violet is doing things in the kitchen. He checks the messages on his phone, like grown-ups do, but eventually tosses it into the middle of the messed-up bed - not at the cat, but it's close enough that the cat is probably going to get offended and recoil - and then winds up just watching her. She's making him breakfast and wearing his shirt and humming songs he likes; it's sexy, he has no intentions of being embarrassed about this watching he's doing. "Oh, I know, I'm enjoying it immensely." He's obviously not talking about Chekhov's bag over there, not with the way he's looking at her right then.

Ketchup on his eggs? "Why would you ruin such a wonderful morning with such a terrible question, Violet?" He goes and gets the present, rattling the bag noisily at the cat.

Of course, that awkward scurry is just yet another example of what a terrible Catholic he is. But worry not, Violet tells God all about how awesome Alex is in spite of it all, loudly and often!

Now the blasphemy has passed and Violet's turning in the kitchen to pass a questioning glance his way when she tells him about the gift. He knows? How? She squints at him from behind the glasses that she retrieved off the piano before the cooking started, questions answered before they are even asked when she catches the way that he's staring at her. Oh, she was blushing again, laughing in a flustered sort of manner as she turns back to the stove and fans her blotchy red face while her back is to him. "That's not what I meant, it's an actual present!" she insists, biting down on her bottom lip as she plates the eggs. To his comment on condiments: "So no ketchup then?" It's okay that he's wrong.

Blue Bell the cat is genuinely unimpressed with Alex and his bag rattling. She looks down her nose at him, flattens her ears, and gets up just long enough to lay back down on his phone. "She'll warm up to you," Violet promises as she walks the eggs over, laying the plates down where the bag was and perching after to watch him as he opens the gift. Within is a modest-sized box, which contains a small Tiffany desk lamp not unlike the one that sits on her counter downstairs. But there is also a book at the bottom, an old paperback about the history of Gray Harbor.

Alex says, "Ohhhh," like he had no idea that isn't what she meant, and now he's enlightened and will never make that mistake again except every time the opportunity presents itself. They can get into the condiment conversation some other time, when he's not distracted with opening actual presents and not just eye-candy. Leaning on the arm of one of those armchairs, resting his hips there to dig through the bag - which he sits down next to his feet quietly, giving the cat one last side-eye as if to warn her that he's still armed - and then the box.

Obviously, Alex is quite touched by the contents of the box. It replaces his 'enjoying bothering the cat' smile with a softer one, and he takes the lamp all the way out of the box, holding it in both hands to admire it, turning it this way and that. He sets it aside carefully, having failed to notice the book yet. She can let him know it's in there after he kisses her lengthily, nose-nuzzles, and says, "Thank you, Violet. For saving me from a life of crime."

The cat remains very unimpressed at Alex's side-eyeing, but it may give a purposeful kneading of its back claws to the phone that she's currently sitting on. But Violet pays no attention to the cat; her focus is entirely on Alex, watching with keen interest as he unpacks the box to reveal the lamp. There's a hesitant twitch of a smile to the corners of her mouth in the silence that passes while he admires the gift, blossoming into a full-fledged dimpled grin when he comes to nuzzle into her. "I was very concerned," that he'd turn into a criminal. "The nearest prison is still quite a long drive away, and I'm fairly certain we wouldn't be able to kiss through the glass," she jokes, reaching to cup his cheeks and kiss him fondly again.

Then: "There's something else in the bag. Just a book, they sell them at the museum," she explains once the kissing is well and truly over. "It's sort of a.. glossy overview of Gray Harbor, but there's a few interesting chapters. And you should know the history of the place you've come to live in. At least, if you mean to stay." Pause. "For awhile." Was there a not of hope in her voice? Maybe.

She was very concerned, "That I would steal your lamps? Hmm, I guess that's fair. So this is really more about self-preservation," lamp-preservation? One last kiss to the end of her nose, and he retreats to find the book that he'd overlooked, adding, "I'm going to put it in my office. Next time you bring me coffee at work, we can drink it by lamplight." Surely, if he meant to recall the other thing they almost did in his office, there'd be some indication of it? Not just him turning the book over to look at the back-cover, brows climbing with interest while his eyes skim the summary printed there. "Is there a chapter about the ferris wheel?"

Pausing in his thumb-perusal, he looks up from the book at Violet and her note* of hope. "I mean to stay for a while. This town is strange?" Not the right word, but it'll do. "But it has its beautiful and endearing qualities, too." He means Violet. Just FYI.

"Mm, very fair considering you mentioned it at least a half a dozen times," Violet teases of the lamp-napping, pulling the plate of eggs closer to her as he talks of drinking coffee by lamplight. She manages not to choke on her food when she recalls the other things they almost did in his office, but the blush paints her cheeks bright red as she swallows. "Hmm," she borrows his sound, rolling it over her lips. "We'll be very prepared. For next time." And that's all she says about that, since even saying that much makes her feel all fluttery.

As to the Ferris wheel, a nod. "Well, more or less a chapter on the boardwalk itself. They mention how the first one fell, but .. Well. Like I said. It's very glossy. I can tell you more if there's anything that piques your interest," she offers, focusing briefly on the way his thumb flips through the pages, before she lifts her gaze higher up to his eyes. "Good," she decides, her smile bright. "And I agree with you," though probably not about herself. "Some of the strange can be beautiful, too. I don't think it's all very bad."

"So no mention of - " Alex needs to pause, to put some language to recent developments. " - the things that go bump in the night?" Then he squints, head tilting askew while that question lingers with the duality of context. "That is, not the things that went bump last night." He ahems, closes the book, sets it next to the lamp. "The bad dreams, I mean." He also eats some eggs, since she went to all the trouble of making them, and he could probably use the sustenance. "This is from the museum - the big, out-of-place house on Bayside? Speaking of strange but beautiful. The woman buying furniture for me said the house is haunted." He dithers, pushing eggs around with his toast. "But I don't think she knows what haunted really means."

Oh dear, Violet was probably going to die. He mentions things going bump last night and her cheeks flame red all over again, Violet briefly hiding he face in her hands as she muffles a squeak. She was going to have to get over this eventually, but eventually was not right now, even if she was only wearing his shirt and underwear and nothing else. A fact that was suddenly very apparent, so when she drops her hands? She tugs at the hem of his shirt, perhaps hoping she could make her naked legs magically disappear. "Mm, no," no mention of the bad dreams, she can focus on this conversation. "But I think you can read between the lines? There's a couple of chapters on the abandoned sawmill in the forest," she says after a bite of toast.

There's a quirk to her brows when he mentions the woman buying him furniture, but all she says is: "That must be the Addington House. It's... unsettling, to say the least. I don't know about it being haunted," though she'll give consideration to the idea, "But I do think old places just.. are very adapt at holding onto memories."

It's okay. Probably Alex sticks things into conversations that don't really have to be there, just to make her blush. Like, he coulda just left the whole clarification out, but that's less fun. He just watches Violet blush as if impassively, then watches her tug the shirt down less impassively, brows a-climb. Oh, but they're having a conversation over breakfast, that's right. He finishes his toast, commenting, "You would think that a town this off would have come to someone's attention by now." Clueless Alex casts a glance to the book, hmming to himself briefly.

"She has a lot of opinions." The woman buying the furniture and telling him about the haunted museum, he means. "Mostly, I think she just doesn't like the house because it doesn't really fit the landscape, so. Clearly. It must be haunted." He shrugs, putting aside his plate. "The sawmill? Is it haunted?" He's perfectly willing to accept that places can be haunted. Fucking religious people.

"It's certainly come to some*thing*'s attention," mumble-replies Violet, scraping the remainder of her eggs onto the corner of her toast so she can finish up. She returns the now empty plate to the coffee table and leans back into the sofa; she'll do the dishes later. "But people tend to explain away what they've seen or felt. I hear it a lot, you know people gossip so much in this town. But there's always an explanation," she frowns to herself, idly playing with the edges of his shirt, where the missing button should be. It's just to keep her hands busy.

When he mentions the sawmill though, her frown deepens. "You should stay away from that place. It's... I don't know," she gives her head a vigorous shake, a subtle tremor running through her. "Dangerous," that's the only word that feels right. "Every yer, there are kids who go out there to look around or make out or whatever, and bad things happen. I don't know why they don't put a better fence around it, or just tear it down completely."

With a low sound of agreement while he drops off the arm of the chair and settles into it properly, Alex comments, "People always say Philly's a horrible city, the people are the worst," et cetera. "But you know what never happened to be in Philly?" He holds up the thumb that had a bite taken out of it a few days ago, till Violet was nice enough to fix it for him. And the memory of both of those events leaves him scrubbing his knuckle with the pad of his other thumb, then folding the digit into the curl of his fingers for safe-keeping.

Dangerous sounds intriguing. (He should really stop thinking of things as intriguing. It's going to get him in trouble.) "When has a fence ever kept kids away from places to make out, Violet? Teenagers see a wall, and it's not a deterrent, it's a challenge. But you could take up a collection, a fund to Tear Down This Sawmill," Mr. Gorbachev.

"Do they really say that?" This is news to Violet, who probably has not done a lot of research into what people say about Philadelphia. "I thought it was the city of brotherly love. That's not really a bad thing to say about an entire city.." But. She wavers, steadying a look at his thumb, her brow wrinkling at the recent memory. She shifts closer to him, stealing his hand into hers if he'll let her and encouraging his fingers apart again, because she has every intention of laying a kiss on his thumb if he'll let her. "But I suppose you don't know. Maybe these things are happening in Philadelphia and you never heard of them. There are.. other places, where bad things have happened," she considers this.

The talk of the sawmill earns him a crinkle of her nose. "Hello, have you met me yet? Violet Whitehouse, despised by nearly all non-sparkly people in Gray Harbor. And some of the sparkly ones," she reintroduces, just in case he's forgotten. "I don't think my taking up a collection would do much good. But promise me you won't go there."

Just a serious nod about what they say about his hometown, no further clarification. It's all the way across the country, and he's all the way over here. But Alex does add, "Maybe," these things are happening and he's never heard of them. "But. I never woke up bleeding from a dream-bite." So he's pretty sure that Philly and Gray Harbor are on opposite ends of the dangerous spectrum. Her reintroduction earns a small laugh, one mostly exhaled through his nose and tied to a wry smile - maybe not entirely appropriate, given the subject-matter, but it's a little funny in a sad sort of way. "Fuck it, I will take up a collection, then. I'll put construction paper around an empty coffee can and sit it on the," terrifying, "receptionist's desk. Do you have some of those glittery glue-pens?" She seems like the sort of person to have an arts-and-crafts stash around here somewhere.

"I've never been to Philly, so I'm not really sure," Violet says as to the two cities being on opposite ends. "But you didn't live here when you figured out what you can do. So maybe the place itself doesn't necessarily matter." It's something to consider. Violet's not a veil expert, even if she knows of the things that go bump in the night that aren't Alex's penis. His laughter earns a tip of her head, lips curving into a ghost of a smirk that widens into a grin when he talks of construction paper and glitter pens. Then she was laughing, too. "I do have a basket of craft supplies in the closet," she admits. "I'll be very impressed if you manage to get any money donated." She plays with his fingers as they talk, assuming he's still letting her hold his hand. "Does all your family live in Philly?"

Alex makes this coffee can. Starts putting bunches of money in it. Very impresses Violet. Best get laid for his efforts.

Moving on, Alex shakes his head to confirm the whole 'where he lived' thing. "No, but I didn't live in Philadelphia when I could do things, either. I did think, hmm." He dithers, because it sounds insane, but then he glances at Violet, who has definitely put herself out there in terms of sounding insane, and so he breathes out through his nose ans presses on. "I couldn't do anything, but I could occasionally almost believe that I could? Like if I just believed enough and prayed enough," he trails off around a shrug, before the zealot starts coming out in force. And they must be holding hands, 'cause he gives hers a little squeeze, then concludes, "But I was in college before anything ever happened." So that's the end of that story.

"Mostly. One of my sisters lives in Florida, and one in Phoenix," which baffles him, "but mostly."

Alex doesn't need a coffee can to get laid. Trust me.

Moving right along, there's a thoughtful purse to her lips as she listens, no judgment whatsoever when he tells her the things he once thought he could do. "I understand that. The feeling, I mean, the belief." There's a small pause before she adds, "It's nice, you know. Your ... connection, with God, I mean. I admire that in you." It's very quiet, those words, but sincerely spoken, the squeeze to her fingers returned in kind. There's a nibble to the corner of her mouth as she grows quiet, contemplative, perhaps thinking of how to approach the next subject of conversation.

It comes out, eventually. "You said, you know.. before.. when I asked you if you wanted more children. That it was complicated. And not something you wanted to discuss in text," a slow approach, she's choosing her words carefully. "Is it.. because of all this? This.. whatever we're dealing with."

Alex smiles through what she admires there, because what's he gonna say, really? Thanks for appreciating his ability to drink the Catholic Kool Aid? He just notes, "It's different than when I was a kid. I remember that unquestioning faith, just the absolute surety that God was always looking out for me." He looks off into the middle-distance for a moment, then brings his attention back around to Violet, smiling, shrugging. "I can't not believe there's something," he really wants a word that doesn't invite the comparison but fails to find one so, "bigger than I am." And halfway rolls his eyes, [insert short joke here].

Then those rolled eyes widen beneath raised brows, even while Violet is tapdancing around some weighty fucking subject matter. So he hmms, buying some time, and it's his turn to choose his words carefully, thumb tapping against the side of her hand. Finally, "No. I wanted," past tense, "more children. But I'm thirty-six, and I've been down that road already. Plus, I'm very picky, and I like things the way I like them, and children," he exhales heavily, "tend to upend all of that." He says to the childless twenty-nine-year-old woman he spent the night with. This is where he should lob the question back at her but will just not do that and instead just look at her expectantly.

"That must have been very comforting," the idea that something was looking out for him, she means. It is obvious that the feeling was not mutual, but well, it should be a surprise to no one that Violet's childhood wasn't exactly idyllic. But despite the fact that he opens himself wide for jokes about his height, she doesn't take the bait. Instead, there's a simple nod. "I agree that it's difficult not to assume there's something else out there. Or.. up there, as the case may be." Way up there. Way too high for Alex to reach. 'Cause he's short. Shortie.

She shifts on the sofa to lean into him as the conversation changes, tucking her feet underneath her and maneuvering his hand to lay his arm over his shoulder. There, she's able to fit perfectly against his side, quite like a puzzle piece that simply clicks into place. "You're only thirty-six," she turns her face up to look at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "It's not like you're sixty." And though he doesn't lob the question back to her, she shares anyway. "I've never really given it much thought. I guess there's a big part of me that worries.." her brows twitch into a furrow. "That maybe I wouldn't a.. suitable mother," she nips at her bottom lip as she thinks that one through, shrugging her shoulders after. "Besides, I am almost thirty, and according to Mary at the Pharmacy, I'm well past my prime and am headed straight into old maid territory. Which is why I got the cat," it's mostly a joke, she even manages to say it with a smile.

Before he tucks her right on in there properly, Alex pauses to fix the collar of his shirt that she's wearing, folding it down properly in the back. It's show-not-tell: he likes shit to be just so. Then he settles his arm around her shoulders, curling his hand around her bicep to give her arm a little squeeze, a little pull into him. While she's looking up, stressing that adverb, he leans down and further fits everything together, tapping her lips with his for a quick kiss. "Mhm," is all he'll say about the difference between thirty-six and sixty (or, really, only thirty-six and his version of thirty-six).

Really, he should just leave this subject alone, but he makes a face about Violet being well passed her prime. "Remind me to give Mary at the Pharmacy a lesson on how wrong she is about everything you just said." He looks over the back of the sofa toward where the cat has completely conquered his phone and is now napping atop her defeated foe. "Except the cat, I can't really speak to that. But I assure you," with a kiss into the top of her head, "that you are not passed your prime. Not even getting into the fact that you're warm and lovely and look ridiculously sexy. Just based on medical fact, here. Twenty-nine is still in considered 'peak fertility.'" One-handed air-quotes, sage nod, fuck that nosy pharmacist.

Violet doesn't seem to mind the fuss to her collar, mostly because of what comes after - those comforting squeezes, the perfect fit of her to him, and not to mention the soft kisses which she was so ready for again. In spite of the conversation, she was happy and content; a pleased sort of feeling practically vibrates off of her, even as her face goes red from his talk about her being the S word. "I'm not so sure about that," she mutters, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt to pull it down a little further.

Thankfully she doesn't faint when he mentions her 'peak fertility' status, though a good bit of nervous laughter spills from her. "Oh, oh no. You don't need to give her the what for, she's never said it to me. People just .. talk. And they aren't ever as quiet as they think they are. But honestly, I never really even thought that hard about having children until very recently because I never thought there'd be anybody I'd want to have them with." She rambles on, sailing right on past that 'very recently' mention as though it didn't even happen at all! "Besides, I like my cat," she's moving this conversation right along. "Are you more of a dog person? Or, maybe no pets at all, considering you like things the way you like them. Pets tend to be messy."

Man, Violet. Talking about the pharmacist would've been the easiest freaking segue into SO, DID YOU KNOW THERE ARE PILLS THAT PREVENT BABIES?! YOU SHOULD TRY THEM. But then 'until very recently' falls out of her mouth and Alex just files that away for some other time. You know, maybe when they've slept together more than once. Anyway, she's definitely weaseled her way into a conversational freebie, though her shoulder's gonna get a squeeze right then: he heard that, don't think he didn't. "I like other people's dogs? I mean, I like dogs in general, but not so much the idea of owning one." He's looking over the top of her head at the cat again, deciding, "I could live with a cat. They seem very, hmm, independent? Or." Bright idea here. He tips her chin up and, looking very seriously down into her eyes, suggests, "We could liberate the monkeys. At the zoo. It's not the same as owning a pet, but it might still be a fulfilling experience."

See, here's the thing about assumptions. Alex assumes Violet doesn't know there are pills that prevent babies and therefore requires a segue into said conversation. But just MAYBE he should assume his way into her bathroom, where he'll find the birth control pack sitting right there on the fucking sink.

Anyway.

Violet takes her get out of jail free card on the conversation. Pet talk was far easier, though he does get an upward lift of her eyebrows when he says he could live with a cat. "Mm. Blue Bell is pretty low maintenance, as long as you feed her," she says, as though that was a generalization of all cats. Or perhaps suggesting he could live with BB. Who knows! She certainly doesn't dwell, because he's suggesting they free the monkeys at the zoo and her eyes widen. Remember way back when, when she said she'd be very impressed with him if he got money for the wall? Well, scratch that. She's very very impressed with him now. "You'd do that? With me?" Color her surprised.

Alex assumes someone that's like 'yo haven't banged anyone in 7 years' don't be taking banging-safety pills every day so maybe Violet should just get over herself and tell him so he can stop running back-and-forth to the coat closet and this whole meta argument can be over.

"She seems to be doing a very good job of incubating my phone for me," Alex contributes approvingly, an oblique nod to the whole issue of fertility. There might have been more, like how he's afraid of taking Blue Bell's new iPhone-baby away from her, but then she's looking very very impressed, and he's looking a little surprised at the reaction his idle prattling managed to elicit. "What? Let the monkeys out of their cages?" (Which, btw, is half the plot of 12 Monkeys.) He thinks about it for about a half-second before nodding. "Yes. It's not a federal crime, is it? And we'd probably have to think about some way to make sure they had somewhere else to go..." Not just bouncing around the park, throwing feces at the carousel, "I guess the pharmacy wouldn't be the best place. The pills." Hmm.

Alex should just claim he has to go pee so he can root around in her medicine cabinets. You know, like normal people do when they're in somebody's house for the first time.

Violet lifts her gaze to peek over his shoulder to Blue Bell, her smile softening for the kitty. "She's a good cat," she agrees, "Once she gets to know you, she'll lay on your chest and purr the day away. But she's a ragdoll, so you can pick her right up and she'll go limp. It's adorable." It must be clear that she loves her kitty almost as much as he loves hers, BWAHAHAHA. Anyway. Back to the discussion of freeing the monkeys: "I always just figured they could go live in the forest," she thinks, wrinkling her nose. "Maybe we could get them in a cage and spirit them off to a real zoo." It'd be sort of like leaving a baby at a firehouse, right? Still, the fact that he wants to help her clearly touches her, and she leans to peck a light kiss to his cheek. "You're very sweet, Alex. I like you very much," she murmurs.

Alex's been in her bathroom, he's been here like 14 hours, but THAT'S NOT THE POINT.

Ignoring the whole issue of how awesome Violet's... cat... is, Alex says thoughtfully, "I'm pretty sure monkeys wouldn't do very well in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. I think - " Yes, that. The whole thing about taking them to a real zoo. "We'll have to rent a van," as though he's seriously thinking through these logistics, 'cause there's no way he's putting a bunch of monkeys, EVEN IN A CAGE, in his perfect freaking car. "And take them somewhere in-state, because transporting stolen monkeys across state lines definitely sounds like a federal crime." Oh, but she thinks he's very sweet (for contemplating monkey-napping; Violet's really weird), and he thinks she's sweet for saying that.

So this is when he does the one-step-further thing, 'cause a cheek-kiss is fine and dandy, but they're right here on the sofa, and the cat has clearly laid claim to the bed, so they're absolutely going to bang here now. Just as soon as he gets back from the coat closet, SERIOUSLY VIOLET YOU SHOULD SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS.