2019-10-21 - May Your Five Year Old Neighbor Always Have Their Violin Lessons During Your Hangovers

Mid-afternoon Downtown is busy, but not unpleasantly so. It's a small town. There's no throngs or masses of the crowd, no rush hour traffic. There are Halloween decorations in store fronts, a few lines of seasonal bunting running from telephone pole to telephone pole, and a large street-crossing banner reminding folks of the upcoming Halloween events, including Run Like Hell.

That's not to say the street looks abandoned. Sure, there are people travelling here and there. Most of whom would be giving Raymond Martel a wide berth. Possibly because of the sunglasses. Might be because of the almost impeccable black suit, lined in a deep, deep purple with the shirt and tie to match. Possibly because of the heavyset walk he's got going on. Maybe because of the music coming from a set of inner-ear headphones that seems to be all about both funk and volume in equal measure. It could be because of the metal briefcase that hangs from his left hand, shiny, silver, and looking pretty weighty.

Or it could be because of the two dogs walking alongside him, leash slack with lack of tension as it hangs from the opposite hand of the suitcase. One of the dogs is a pure blue Pit Bull, well into adulthood and walking with all the casual chill of an animal that's just eaten its body mass in processed food, the other a pit-mastiff cross, young, alert, and trying to lick the hand of anyone who dare approach.

If Raymond is paying any attention to his companions activities, it doesn't show. The funk has taken him, turning that heavyset walk into a heavyset dance, to the point where he's even taking moments from time to time to stop moving forward at all, his arm (and briefcase) swinging precariously close to (and in to) the road.

The dogs don't seem to mind.

The sound of a vespa approaching is a low whine. The driver is distracted by the phone GPS on her dash, which seems to have gone wonky. There's a fresh scrape down the side of it, where it took a skid across some pavement the other day, and possibly earlier today. There's also a moderately huge pumpkin secured by bungie to within an inch of its life on the back, riding bitch. Seriously, that's a lot of bungees.

It's the dogs that catch her attention first. Mainly the beautiful blue pittie who seems like a very good boi, and the other one too, of course, the pittie-mastiff mix. OMG. O M G. This is what she's thinking when she drifts closer, her GPS pings YOU HAVE ARRIVED, and one wide swing of that case clips too close into the street.

Disaster is imminent, and Noelle Elodie Duchannes doesn't even have time to shout when her eyes come back up and there's just nothing but silver.

For all the security the salesman touted into the latches and locking mechanisms of that briefcase, he never once expected that 'being caught by the front wheelguard of a vespa that hits it just so on the corner' would be an event likely to happen.

Bonus for Noelle, as an arm roll took the case away from her face. Less of a bonus for Noelle, her silver-encompassed vision is replaced by a picture of Benjamin Franklin far closer than anyone ever needed to see that judgmental expression, the bank note that plants across her face one of many that are sent spewing across the street as the briefcase, flung open, is sent reeling from Martel's hand.

It's probably for the best he let it go. He doesn't spin, he isn't knocked down. He's not dragged in to the street, yanking two dogs with him as he goes. Instead, he's caught mid-dance, staring through those dark glasses at an empty hand that he could swear was holding $5800 just a second ago. The "Quoi?" is so very quiet. And so very confused. It hasn't set in yet.

The dogs don't seem to mind.

Noelle shrieks when an old dead guy platers to her vision and brakes, Vespa wobbling and glancing off the curb. She's blind! Ahhhh! "Ahhhhhh! FUDGE SAUCE!"

Mhm, she just yelled, for really reals, fudge sauce at the top of her tiny (actually quite powerful), lungs. "Scalded butt cheeks." Whatever she's muttering over there, she un-flails from her stopped Vespa, swiping a benjamin from her face. Don't think it doesn't get jammed down her top before she turns around to yell, "What the shit."

She throws her hands up into the air, whips off her helmet, aaaaaand her Vespa topples over because she neglected to engage the kick stand.

The pumpkin on the back doesn't even nudge. Flipping bungees.

Noelle throws her hands into the air. It might be more impressive were she not dressed in a deconstructed vintage Nirvana tee, shredded, vintage hip-hugging jeans (no knees), and a singed army jacket with her cross body bag strapped on. Hands still in the air, she yells, "I'm driving here!"

Martel's hand clenches. Opens flat. Clenches. All fingers: Attached and working. Excellent. He checks his other hand. Both dogs: Still attached and absolutely not working. In fact they're looking at him with a bemused look and hurried glances towards the yelling woman. The blue Pit even goes as far as to sit down. The mix? Not a chance. Full tongue, eager grin, wagging butt.

It takes him to the 'r' in 'here' for the man to realize he's still got his headphones in, and the somehow undamaged hand raises up to pluck the one nearest her free, dropping down to hang across his chest from the thin black cord before he's pulling the glasses down his nose to peer towards the source of the yelling. His eyes don't even narrow. They don't even glance towards the slight confetti fall of green notes in various denominations. He's probably one of the few that doesn't, in fact. A few passersby have already started scooping a few of the more sidewalk-adjacent ones with as much casual attitude as they can muster.

Well, apart from one guy in a hoodie. He's gone for the 'Oh I'm just tying my shoe and oh look is this a fifty dollar bill oh whoops it fell in to my palm' technique. Frankly? It's working for him.

"Are you oka-Did you just say 'Fudge Sauce'?" His voice is slightly accented. Canadian for sure. Confused for sure.

The dogs don't seem to mind.

Natalia wasn't supposed to be downtown. She had things to do, but someone paid her twenty bucks to go pick up food for them, and she's not turning down twenty bucks.

She winces as she hears Noelle shriek, because there is only one person she knows in life who makes a noise like that and that person shares a trailer with her. She tries to sidle by the pair with her hand shading her eyes. You can't see me! She slants a super quick look go make sure that she doesn't have broken bones or blood dripping from her.

All good, Noelle is just having a tantrum, and that's nothing new really, at least she hasn't launched herself at the guy with her fists yet.. She creeps toward the coffee shop, pausing for a moment to eye the dogs and the man who apparently caused the incident. When he stops to make sure that Noelle is alive, she briefly says a prayer for him and crosses herself.

It's about then that she notices the money. When people start to scoop up some of the money, she glances both ways, as if she is going to cross the street, and then kneels slightly to scoop up a bill that blew in her direction. She casually tucks it into her pocket, clearing her throat softly before she takes another step toward the shop.

Noelle peels out of her bag, which thumps to the ground, displacing a few fallen bills. Other bills are still settling to the ground, flittering here and there like it's raining cash, baybeeee.

She faces this suited dude and his glasses and his dogs, throwing down her backpack and her army coat, mainly so she can be sure everything's intact. Possibly also to cover her picking up some of the cash later. "Yes I just said fudge sauce. Are you fucking French?"

Like being French affects his comprehension or something. Or maybe she just noticed the accent. She's still riding high on that adrenal rush.

At some point, her gaze falls to the wiggle butt dog. She scowls at Martel. Scowls. And the takes a knee and says very seriously to his pup, "Who is a good boi? Are you a good boi?" The your daddy is a butthead is implied, ok.

"I CAN SEE YOU." She sees Natalia because of that sidle-maneuver. She may have been fine had she walked by normally. Probably, in fact. Noelle has a finely tuned meter for shenanigans.

"Okay. Just checking. No." It comes out like Martel is having to work through a mental checklist of what the fuck. Because he is. He's working through a mental checklist of what the fuck. "Did you just stick a hundred dollar bill down your to-oh, now you're talking my dog. Okay." His hand hasn't even moved. Not once.

Wiggle butt? Said dog totally minds being talked to. It doesn't help that his name was mentioned three times since the two collided. His butt may well be a propeller for how much it waggles as he lurches forward, driving the leash taut for a split second as the man holding it gets one syllable in to his name before accepting this is a losing battle and letting him loose. "Fud- Ah, Hell."

Noelle is not barreled in to. It looks as though she might be for a second or two, but the mix pulls up short from a sprint that's hampered by how much he can't control his hind legs, burying the side of his muzzle into her crooked knee before reaching up to eagerly sniff at her face. Ear. Hair. There's not a lick. Not a one. There is an absolutely ton of snorting, snuffling and chop-smacking.

Natalia and her stealth scoop? Might have been noticed. Might not. Judging by the apologetic shrug Martel throws her way, probably not.

The blue pit doesn't seem to mind.

Shit. She's been spotted.

Natalia turns to gaze at Noelle, sighing as she steps closer to her little sister. "Are you hurt?" She sounds resigned, her eyes shifting over to Martel when he speaks. Then there is a wiggly dog bounding toward her sister. If Noelle is about to be mauled, Natalia might step in to help, but there still is twenty dollars waiting for her back at the trailer park if she picks up this food.

She leans down to pick up the backpack and the army coat that got tossed on the ground, holding them out to her little sister. "I'm sure this was an accident or something, put your stuff on and apologize so we can scoot." She nods a hello at Martel. "Sorry about my sister, I swear she's not usually this.." She trails off, she can't complete the lie, her face gives her away.

There's another shriek from Noelle, and this one is a delighted shrill that sounds like it came right off of a playground. "You're the best boi!" And this is where the blonde loses any and all cool points she may have stored up by absolutely losing her mind over the dog's snuffles and snorts. She scritches the pup on the ears, down his jowls, and all along his neck. And then she faceplants into his face and smooches him at least five times right on the snoot. She's definitely drooling on that dog more than he is on her.

"What." Even with her face buried in dog scruff she can hear Nat tell her her to apologize. "Ohmigod, Nat." She slowly disengages from the doggo and takes her stuff back, jacket first, then bag. Each is slid back on. "This was not my fault, just because he's dressed nice." She flips a hand out and smacks it against her thigh on the return trip. "You can't just apologize for me." There's an edge of frustration borne of years of sisterly co-habitation.

"I'm not hurt." She shoots a look from Nat to Martel. At least $40 more ends up surreptitiously tucked down her exceptionally modest décolletage. What? It's free money and he took like 20 minutes off her life at least.

"Ugggh." Sound of ultimate sistering. No takes her bag and slides it over her head, dropping it across her chest where it belongs. The scent of lemongrass dumplings wafts out and eggdrop soup slowly leaks through the bottom of the canvas bag. No's got a hand on the doggo's head and is scritching him from her standing position, too. "I don't know what you mean." About the hundred dollar bill down her tits.

Martel seems more than happy to wait for the dog engagement moment to pass, taking a few steps and reaching down to scoop up the now mostly-empty and definitely never, ever closing again briefcase. He plucks what few notes remain from it, tucks them inside his jacket, and then dumps the thing into a nearby trashcan. By the time he's finished, Natalia's passing him an apology that's almost immediately waved off, the glasses being drawn away from his face, folded, and tucked up in his jacket pocket. "It was absolutely an accident. Vespas are magnetized to cash. Happens more often than you'd think."

He doesn't make mention of the trailing off. Which is convenient, because his dog is slowly being released. Sort of. There's a lazy look on the pup's eyes as his head continues to get those sweet, sweet addictive scratches. It takes a scant moment before wiggly butt is wiggling from a seated position, tilting his head up and around to guide the scritches where they need to go.

"His name is Fudge." Martel explains. To the both of them. Which... well, it actually explains the incredulity regarding Noelle's earlier shout. His hand brushes across the beard that lines his jaw before pointing down to the older blue that sits by his leg, having waddled a little closer to his shin and thrown up the occasional glance towards Martel's face as the conversation continued. "And Hadley. Who wants to charge you just as much as he did, but is far more polite about it."

He says no more about the disappearing bills.

Natalia huffs out a sigh when her sister starts to argue with her. She folds her arms over her chest and just rolls her eyes. "Well the way you drive that damn thing, and it's not because he's dressed nice." She gestures toward Martel, not looking over at him at first. She glances at him now, he is dressed pretty nice. "It's nice of you to say that, but she really should apologize."

She watches her sister shove money down her shirt, and for a second it might look like she's going to reach out and snatch them out, but they're in the middle of the road and the ensuing physical fight won't go well. She glares at Noelle and hisses under her breath, "Give the man back his money, what the hell are you doing?" Most of the money is still floating around, and she really wants to grab up something herself, but she's supposed to be an example for her sweet little sister.

"Hi Fudge." Nat holds a hand out so the dog can get a sniff of her, she'll happily offer some scritches of her own.

She might want to help Martel get his money back, if only so Noelle won't spend it on candy, spray paint or a tattoo.

And now someone's blaming her Vespa-baby for the accident. She shoots Martel a blue-eyed glare, which, as he's French, he probably mistakes easily enough for a regular look. Oh, sorry, Quebequois.

Fucking French.

No looks at Nat and presses her lips together at the not because he's dressed nice, and you can tell, just tell from her face that she thinks it's totally because he's dressed nice, and not at all because she drives like her Vespa's controlled by a hive of sentient bees controlled by a drunk wizard.

She huffs in a breath at the second mention of an apology. Oh, man, and the demand she give the money back. Oh, man.

Mmmmm. Noelle huffs out another breath, and shuffles forward. She does so under the watchful eye of her sister. She stops when she's approximately a foot from Martel, and she reaches a hand down her shirt. She shuffles around in there for the $40 she just crammed down her boobs, and comes up with it in her fist. Her nails are badly chipped red nail varnish. She holds up the cash. "I'm sorry your enormous case sucks and that it shattered all your money all over the place when its structural integrity shit the bed." She finally makes eye contact, but only briefly. Mainly she looks down to make eyes at the Frenchie's other dog.

"Take it. Takeittakeittakeit." If he doesn't take it, it's definitely going toward spray paint. Highly pigmented, non-toxic acrylic colors. The hundred she jammed down her bra a long time ago is going in the tattoo bank.

Martel's eyes glance from sister to sister. From apologetic to glare. From Fudge, whose tongue lolled out long ago and refuses to disappear, to Hadley, calm and composed and only ever-so-slightly vibrating against his leg in the urge to intercept Natalia's outreaching hand.

The click from his tongue behind his teeth is barely audible, but Hadley sure heard it. While Fudge had a serious case of the butt-wiggles, she's like a rocket, leash released to almost headbutt the hand right as Fudge is going to offer it a quick sniff. It's like a magic trick. There is no dog. There is dog. Blink and you'll miss it.

Hands free now, with the leashes trailing behind the attention-seeking pups, Martel brushes up the hem of his jacket to slip his thumbs into the pockets of his pants, watching the two debate behind rapidly thinning lips. He's trying to hide the smile. Or the laugh. And he's doing a fantastic job of it until Noelle offers her version of an apology. He actually has to look away as the slight snort escapes him, bringing up the back of a hand to cover his mouth before its waving away the painfully offered cash. "I am also sorry my enormous case sucks and that it shattered my money all over the place. But, it's money. Useful for me, better for others. Hoodie over there who thinks we didn't notice is going to have the biggest pizza he's had in years."

Said hoodie is rapidly departing, and totally misses the little uptilt of the head Martel throws his way. "Oooor OD on Heroin. But, eh. Who am I to judge?" By the shrug he gives? He certainly puts forward the notion that he'd be the last person qualified. "If it were Fudge or Hadley, Maybe I'd be trying to bludgeon you to death with a briefcase right now. But it wasn't."

Natalia's lips twitch, there is a small part of her that probably wanted Noelle to keep the money, but right now she's not paying much attention because there is a doggie.

She watches Noelle, her eyes shifting to Martel as if she's taking him in for the first time. She stands quietly to the side, letting Noelle humble herself, right up until Martel says he'd go John Wick on someone if it would have been the dog and not the case. She steps up closer, hands held up in apology. "She is very sorry, she's just not good at saying that she's sorry." She glances at the dogs again, and then offers in a quieter voice. "Is there anything we can do to make up for the damage?"

She slings an arm across her sister's shoulder, squeezing her so that she won't explode, because Noelle does get kind of riled up easily. "Cute dogs." She adds belatedly with a slight smile.

It's a character flaw. It is. Noelle likes cash. Cold hard cash. She rarely sees much of it as a delivery person in a small town with a lot of shitty tippers, but cash makes her very happy. Giving free cash back to its guardian does not. Still, Nat is right, and, more importantly, standing right there watching. No glances around Martel to the hoodie. "Heroin." She doesn't say how she knows, she just knows.

Her gaze flickers back to Martel when he says, casually, something about bludgeoning her to death with the briefcase. "... what the fff--fudge. I would never plow a doggo with my beloved Vespa. What is wrong with you." Offended. She is offended.

She gives Martel a look like we are not making up for the damage so don't you dare. Her looks are very versatile, but mainly they look pretty much the same. You'd really have to have known her your whole life to probably get 98 percent of them. Dang, good thing Nat can't see her whole face from this angle, right? Probs. Ahem. She reaches over to stuff the money into his jacket pocket. PERSONAL BUBBLE.

"You are not doing anything to make up for the damage." Martel's hands are up and out of his pockets, palms forward, minor act of surrender going on there as he recovers from the sheer offense that radiates off of the woman. The look he gives Natalia could well be an 'Is she always like this?' Or 'I'm sure she wouldn't ever hit a dog with her vespa' or the more likely 'You're carrying a taser, right? Right?!'

"I never said you would. I said but 'if.' I am more than certain you would rather take the slide even though you dressed for the ride than do such a thing. And you did not. No harm done." Well, $4967 harm done, but a few folks might find rent a little easier this month, and the takeout joints are going to be basking tonight.

When his personal bubble is encroached, there's a slight shift in the dogs. It's not much of one, but the scritchings have stopped and someone, even someone as... polite(?) as Noelle doing such a thing means the both of them stand. That's it. They don't retreat to him, nor approach Noelle any more than they already have. They just stand. And watch. Their owner's eyes glance over towards Natalia again as a hand slips inside his pocket to deposit the $40. "She's not even slightly sorry, and I'd not ask her to be. I'm not. Why should I ask it of others?"

She's flashed a little smile as the hand withdraws, his attention only back to Noelle when she's Shenanigan'd away a completely different bundle of notes that come to $40 from the same pocket.

Natalia just rolls her eyes and aims a 'I deal with this shit daily' look back at Martel. She has a gray hair or two in that wealth of dark hair to prove it.

Her gaze shifts from Noelle to Martel and back again, her lips pressed together. "I feel like I should insist on us making it up to you. Noelle can cook, we can make you dinner or something. Hey, we're having a bonfire in a few days." She is so tempted to yank her sister back by the arm when she storms Martel's personal space, but she doesn't. She isn't even watching her sister do whatever she's doing with the pocket. Plausible deniability.

Instead she turns to make sure everything that belongs to her sister is off of the ground and picks up the Vespa, engaging the kick stand so her sister has a ride home. "Please, think about the bonfire."

She watches the dogs get all still, and suddenly wonders if her sister has a taser and if it would do any good. Probably not, Noelle's luck wafts like underwear in the wind sometimes.

Noelle has a BEEF with the Headless Horseman, Martel. You just thwaped a briefcase full of money right in the middle, my frien'.

Does Noelle have anything in her hands? No she does not. See? Hands in her pockets, she brushes her shirt off like she fell, she did not, and she flips her hair back. Her much shorter hair, mind. She had to give herself a trailer park haircut earlier. Nat will probably fix it later now that she's seen it in the light of day, right? At the offer of cooking dinner, what, No's gaze flicks to Nat. Her mouth hangs open, "..." like dis. She stares for a couple of beats, then looks at Martel. "Right. Cupcakes." Is she saying that because he's the type to carry around what looks like roughly... six grand? And not flip out when it rains down all over the street? She's not a little con artist, is she? No, she isn't. Of course that isn't the reason. At all.

"Come to the bonfire with your dogs." Aha, thus the motives are revealed. She doesn't seem to have noticed all this dog behavior changing, or at least she makes no outward sign of it. "Both dogs." She waggles a finger between them. She eyes Martel like he's shifty, and then she turns around to collect her Vespa. "C'mon, sis." The pumpkin on the back of the pale blue monstrosity is still intact, with about 22 bungees hooked to it. "Squeeze in and I'll give you a ride."

"I'll do you both a favor." Martel watches the two for a moment. The offer. The dogs that slowly meander their way back to his side, but absolutely making sure to brush as hard as they can against any nearby legs on the way. "I'll bring all three dogs. How does that sound?"

That's right. Noelle can pull all the shenanigans she wants, but Martel always keeps the best stuff close to his chest.

"As long as I can see that seemingly decorative gourd you've decided to plant on the back there one more time. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume it was to add ramming power."

Martel doesn't know any better. He totally assumes it's to add ramming power.

Natalia inches toward the Vespa and her volatile sister, well aware that she's getting an incredulous and/or dirty look for offering food cooked by her sister. I mean, she would probably order take out, plate it, and say that Noelle cooked it so that Martel wouldn't die. She pauses and looks back toward the man when he speaks up, an amused smile showing when there is an offer to bring three dogs. "As long as they don't tear up the park and the people there for the bonfire, sure."

She glances at the pumpkin as she tries to swing a leg over to settle behind her sister. "If it isn't cracked or spray painted by the time you come around." She mutters, wrinkling her nose before she wraps two arms around Noelle's middle. "It was nice meeting you uh.. " She frowns toward Martel, leaning in to stage whisper to her sister. "What's his name, No?"

Oh and she totally forgot the take out. Woops?

"Pause." No glances over her shoulder. "Are you saying you have three doggos, Frenchie?" God help her, she's saying that word out loud. There's that glare at the man again. She'll have to go for the upper chest pocket next time. Meh heh heh. What.

She sniffs. "Don't talk about my gourd." The gourd which she cannot seem to remove from the back of her Vespa. The teenager who sold it to her is a mad evil genius. MAD EVIL GENIUS. She listens to her sister, of course, and a semblance of calm settles over her once more a she takes control of her vehicle. She clears her throat. Ahem.

She waits for Nat to settle on between her and the gourd, which isn't easy. "I don't know what his name is. We just had an altercation and I licks his doggo." She did not. "Hey, Frenchie. What's your name?"

"I have three 'doggos', yes, and I'm not a Frenchie. Neither's the third dog, come to think of it." Martel has to muse that for a second. By muse, we mean imagine that third dog AS a frenchie. My god, the snorting alone would be astounding.

Looking over to Natalia as she tries to settle on the back of the vespa, she's thrown a little nod, the man bending down to scoop up the strewn leads. It really seems a moot point, what with the fact the dogs have barely gone further than ten, fifteen feet ever since they were let loose. Better safe than sorry, though. Random alleyway cats can mean long, long walks. Or runs. Chases. Definitely chases. "You really think these two would tear up the park? They couldn't tear up a paper bag if you placed it over their head and told them to kill. Everything would suddenly go dark and they'd both have a nap."

And then is name is being asked for, and his mouth opens for a second to reply to them both. Then it closes. Oh, it's so very, very French. Thanks, Parents. "Raymond." He can't even say it without a slight accent. "Nice meeting the both of you." It sort of sounds like a question. "I will not talk about your gourd. It's very..." Nope. Not finishing that. He was probably going to go with 'Gourd-y.'

Natalia glances at Noelle and then she nudges her. "Thanks Raymond, for not killing my sister, even if she probably deserved it." Hopefully those words do not mean she's getting dumped off the Vespa and into a mud puddle on the way home. "If you come to the bonfire, with your doggos, they will be warmly welcomed." People like dogs, right?

She's squashed between a pumpkin and her sister, she's not comfortable. She just wants to go home and take a bath or something. "We're gonna have a talk when we get home, No." She warns, rolling her eyes as she squirms to settle in better on the seat. "What is this pumpkin for anyway?"

Noelle is delighted by the idea of a third dog. She's already half in love with Fudge. They had a moment. She glances from Nat to Martel, and then back to Martel one last time before she takes off. Raymond? Did he say Raymond? "..."

Her mouth open again could be because Nat just insinuated she deserved a beating for what was clearly her fault, except it was not. Frenchie didn't stay to his side of the line. She grunts an indignant sound and starts her Vespa up, the engine issuing that pleasant low whine. Actually it's probably a little clunky seeing as it's missing some higher speeds. "What did I do?" She's still muttering as they putter off, neither having introduced themselves, which neither of them will likely remember until it's far too late. It is, however, a very small town, and Frenchie knows where to find them if Frenchie needs to. Like if he notices shit in his pockets has moved around.

Noelle even uses her blinker to get back into the flow of traffic. She takes a corner a little wide, and then she, her Vespa, her sister, and her pumpkin vanish around the way.

Martel, for his part in this, looks down at Fudge.

Fudge looks back.

Hadley licks her own nose.

The notes have long since gone, scooped up by townsfolk, passers by, a few birds, and one financially savvy rat.

And like that the three of them stay for a moment, none of them entirely sure what just happened, or if it even happened at all. Very, very slowly, Martel begins to crouch down, his hands alighting on top of each dog's head to slowly scratch small circles that eventually migrate to the pup's cheeks as they start to get a little pressy and energetic by the situation. Him? He just stares off in the direction the departing vespa disappeared.

He doesn't even notice Fudge going for it and dragging a tongue up the side of his face. You can tell by the fact he doesn't lean away, and the only words that leave his mouth are an exceedingly confused "What. The fuck."