ben-cavanagh

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

“Isn’t that what this is?” She raised her brows in question but her tone was still mostly taunting, joking. Knowing that she would have to choose a nickname for him as he had for her, Eloise pursed her lips in question. He certainly didn’t feel like a Benjamin, that sounded especially too formal and the last thing she was looking for was to have a formal type of relationship with him. Benji, however, also seemed like something that wouldn’t suit him. “…Benny.” The word, although it felt final, came out sounding like a bit of a question. “Ellie and Benny, Benny and Ellie…I feel like that has some sort of a ring to it.” She shrugged as if her attempt at explaining it had fallen flat, which she partially felt that it had. At his following words, she couldn’t say she was fully surprised but the compliment was definitely delivered as such; a compliment. “So, you think that I’m a nerd?” Her voice was a bit challenging but she grinned to let him know that she was teasing him. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that you think I’m super smart.” Her job required her to be a slightly different kind of smart than solely book smart but it was something that she wasn’t yet prepared to talk about. Eloise watched him curiously as he began looking for the answer to their question, already sure that she was going to be off by some ridiculous number. “Wow.” The word didn’t sound as excited as she had wanted it to, entirely a direct result of the fact that she was surprised. “I should go on a game show or something, now I feel like I’d totally kill it.” The girl entertained the thought for a moment, picturing herself on the stage with all sorts of giant games to be played and questions to be answered. His following question brought her back, she was taken aback for only a second before a sly grin spread across her face. “I think that that can certainly be arranged.” 

                   “Benny and Ellie...” He picked up where she was trailing, energized and renewed, his brows slightly furrowed, his light eyes, momentarily narrowed in consideration, and he leaned back in his chair crossing his arms: the crescendo to his reflection, and he turned his head to face her, “I hope by��‘has some sort of ring to it’ you don’t mean like, I don't know, Bonnie and Clyde,” He smiled, a hand straightening his tie as he leaned back, placing his elbows on the table–– bad table manners, he acknowledged, but Ohioans were not known for being mannered they were known for being plain, “Because death, unfortunately, kind of isn’t in the big picture for me, I mean, I don’t know,” He began, shrugging, matching her gesture, his top row of teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he glanced off, holding his deadpan, “I’m just not gonna do it, you know what I mean? I have too many places to go and too many people to meet and too many things to do, and I’m just not ever gonna die–” He broke out, a smile widening his lips, his words and his caper, obviously very tongue and cheek, but there was something subliminal about it; something that could be taken apart, “Now, a good duo we could model ourselves after would be Han Solo and my none other than my guy, Chewy,” Ben stated, lifting a hand to his own chest, “–– me, of course, being Chewy,” He added, nodding, head sinking lower onto his shoulders, “or even Jay-Z and Beyonce,” The spoke, boldly, realizing he'd planted a seed that needed to be abated, “except I don’t lose your trust, but you’re still making billions and inspiring people everywhere and ruining Lion King, of course–” He smiled a little wider, and he could’ve gone on, but he decided his tangent had been hauled for far too long. 

                    He smiled, nodding, “I think you’re a huge nerd.” The male admitted, proud and sweet, “But not the kind you’re probably thinking of, the ‘nerd’ I’m talking about the candy that looks like bath salts, so, I don’t know if that changes anything–” He capered, his grin widening as he shifted in his seat, exposing two amused dimples, and as he ran his hand through his hair his gaze scanned her expression, pausing on her lips for a moment too long. Her flat surprise only made him smile; perhaps she’d known, perhaps she hadn’t, he didn’t care, and he leaned in slightly on his shoulders, “Well, if you happen to find your way onto The Price is Right, please tell Drew that Coneheads is one of the best movies ever made. The man deserves to hear it.” Ben japed, merely smirking now, matching her own, the slight confirmation in her sly grin; her big green eyes on him–– that was the only confirmation he needed. 

[ben-cavanagh]

LENNON.

Lennox gave a dry snort and shrugged their shoulders. “Yeah, toss Jake Gyllenhaal or some other Wonder Bread actor in there and you’re good to go,” they said. They grinned at him and shrugged again. “Fortunately I’m not Catholic,” they said. “Or anything remotely close to Catholic. I’m pretty sure they’d have a problem with me.” They weren’t entirely sure what the stance was on non binary folks, but they could guess. They took a sip of their drink. “My dad is from New York, I think,” they sad. “At least that’s where I grew up. But my mom and her whole side of the family are from Honduras.”

                    “And why would they have a problem with you?” He queried, “Besides, you know,” And he gestured toward the people who had seemed to simmer but were still visibly upset with each other, “from where you defame and gossip about people just for the hell of it,” He smiled, capering, displaying the same level of playfulness that he had been all along, though he was certainly the type to accept and respect being shot down when it came to questions like his previous. There was a line; some questions crossed it, and he saw it only fit that the other person who was being asked could push him back on his side. The male was interested; he wanted to know more, and he figured the other enjoyed talking about it, “You ‘think’?” He asked again, pausing, “–– Stop me, by the way, if I am being way too nosy, I mean seriously, feel free to knock me back in place,” His smile widened, boyish but earnest, continuing, his expression of self-indemnity acting only as a brief intermission, “–Honduras is beautiful though,” He sat up once more, “I mean, I haven’t been, but Google Images hasn’t let me down and I’ve been to Mexico a few times, so I can at least imagine.” Ben elaborated, “What about you, have you been?”

[ben-cavanagh]

GRAY.

  No other response could have struck more fear in Grayson than the one he received. As much as he could wish himself to be someone who was just, well, more - Gray always felt he came up short. Though having Winnie as a roommate, he was familiar with this type of chaotic energy. Unfortunately, Gray knew two shots of any hard liquor, much less 5, would knock him on his ass quicker than you could see it coming. “I-… I guess I can’t lose, then, huh?” He offered up, showing no sign of his inner panic on his calm face, but definitely referred to the game board with a specific, renewed sort of desperation to win. For the sake of his liver and his pride, it would now seem. “You’d probably be thrilled knowing I literally live ‘round here, right down the way, actually,” He lamented, wondering if his opponent could be some faraway stranger, more keen on public humiliation when he could escape it on the freeway right after. 

                    If he hadn’t drunk what he’d drank he’d probably be more aware of the subtle discomfort he’d caused, or perhaps even cared, but he was past sensing social cues–– nerves fried, common sense diminished even more than it already was. He dodged back and forth, wavering from knee to knee, bent, dramatically, as if he were actually preparing for a dire activity, and as he extended his hands in front of his chest, interlacing his fingers and lightly popping them, he stood straight and laughed. He was still as personal as ever, perhaps even more vulnerable than usual, and when he spoke he smiled, keeping his same jovial demeanor “Oh, buddy, neither can I–” He admitted, “I have to work tomorrow, and I’m convinced that when they handed me my diploma two years ago they took away my immunity to hangovers, but,” He emphasized the last word, “I can’t avoid a good competition.” The male continued spinning the mallet like a top now continuously and mindlessly on the hockey table. As the conversation changed Ben followed it, devoutly; he was the kind of drunk that became over-active, blatantly curious and scattered, “Oh, really?” He asked, turning as if to look, missing the point, “–Off of what road? Can’t say I know it, but hell, try me.”

[ben-cavanagh]

[ben-cavanagh]

RILEY.

“Yeah that place…you know, the happiest place on earth?” She knew the slogan was misplaced, but she still maintained a serious tone. In ways, Riley was surprised that Ben didn’t have an anecdote from doing his time at Chuck E. Cheese. From her limited time spent with him, it seemed as though the male had dipped his toes in every field of work imaginable. Aside from hers, of course. The adjusting of his band-aid drew in her attention briefly, before her gaze returned to meet his green hues. “Kiss ass.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his response, shoving him lightly before returning her attention to him. “Alright…first of all, what’d you do to your hand?” Pausing, she reached into her purse and ruffled around for a few moments before handing him a band-aid decorated with Anna and Elsa. “And come on…don’t tell me you don’t have things you do when you’re not chasing after my kids and feeding them ice cream.”

                    "Maybe to you, Miss Otis,” He smiled, exposing a pair of dimples on either cheek, “–– Mine’s Waffle House at two in the morning after a bender,” The male capered, enough mirth in his tone to draw his own head to the side, tilted and playful, his eyes scanned her appearance. Her shove, surely enough took him mildly off guard, and he set a foot back behind him to find his place, wobbling back up to his full seventy-four inches, “Woah there,” He quipped, “Let’s not say things we can’t take back,” And though with any other woman in the same circumstance he would’ve not nearly been as loose, there was an unspoken dynamic between the two; the kinetic energy that could’ve only been put in motion after a moment of vulnerability. Or perhaps a few in this case. He stopped medaling with the band-aid as she mentioned it, looking over at her to make sure she was earnest in asking, “I pried open a can of soup last night after a heated attempt at using a can-opener,” He told her, smiling, taking the purple and blue child’s band-aid from her now, “The chicken-noodle decided to fight back, I guess.” The brunette then clearly capered, starting to peel apart the decorated mend, and as she spoke he found his chance to bring up what had happened the week before, though his next words clearly carried a tone of good-humor, “Apart from pouring you a glass of water, then helping you up your own stairs? I have a few–”

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

There was a slight blush on her cheeks which she could tell by the sudden heat she felt on her face at his words. Her eyes drifted between looking at the menu and back up at him, admittedly she was incredibly starving since she’d been waiting longer than she knew she was going to be and everything that she read about sounded mouth watering at that point. Her momentary distraction was cut short once again when he repeated her name out loud back to her. It made her feel some sort of way but she couldn’t exactly put a name on that quite yet, she just knew there was something about it that made her want to hear him say it again and again. With the same tone and manner, she repeated his name as well when it was provided. “Benjamin.” Then proceeded, “Ben. Benny. Benji.” A small laugh fell from her lips. She could see people calling him Benny when he was a child, maybe chasing after him when he’d done something he was not supposed to. It was a strange image to conjure up considering he was almost a complete stranger but definitely a sweet one regardless. As soon as she’d been done toying around with nicknames for him, a nickname for her rang through with his voice and her smile widened ever so slightly in an effortless response. “Yeah, yeah — that’s fine. I like that.” She nodded as if to reinforce her point. “I don’t hate Miss Einstein, though, by the way. It makes me sound a lot brighter than I probably am.” 

                    As she looked away, he seemed to watch even more adamantly, and though her lack of response would've usually been a bad sign, he concurred that here, at this splendid table-top for two, it was nothing but good. He leaned forward as she repeated his own name, his head slightly tilting to the side, and he lightly carried an enthralled smile on his lips as he listened to her list his various and plausible nicknames off. A blessing and a curse, and as she laughed, he too broke his gaze, letting one leave his own mouth, “I feel like I’m being interrogated,” He capered, sliding his own menu to the side, not feeling the need to look, “You’re gonna have to pick one, and I’m not just talking about what you see on the menu,” The male mildly challenged, all in good fun, and as he had picked ‘Ellie’ for her, he was curious as to what she saw in him. Was he a ‘Benji’ in her eyes? Perhaps a full and sturdy ‘Benjamin’–– or would she blind-side him and cheekily call him ‘Jam’. The brunette finally sat back in his chair, mildly leaned he appeared to be subtly stretching, listening as he lifted a hand to pull at his own Carolina-blue tie. He smiled, already beginning to shake his head, “I disagree.” He protested though it felt more like a compliment with the grin he boasted and the radiance of his light eyes, “I think you’re very bright,” He insisted, “And I don’t know what you do yet, but I just know it’s some kind of bookish, smart-as-a-whip kind of job, I can just tell,” And though he couldn’t actually tell what her career was just by merely and physically looking at her he was calling upon instinct and impression. He slid his phone in from of him instead, now, continuing his google search, and upon finding his answer, he turned the phone to face her, “... You win, Miss Einstein,” And on the glow of his device noted the, in fact, the correct year was five years after her guess, leaving his margin wide and in a complacent second place, “–– Now don’t get used to this, I don’t make a habit of losing, but in this instance, I’ll happily accept the silver.” He japed, cocking his jaw to the side he began to smirk, “–As long as I can maybe get your number by the end of this.”

[ben-cavanagh]

[ben-cavanagh]

GRAY.

   Something about the way his opponent acted, maybe it was just his casual confidence or the nearby cluster of other friends, reminded Grayson of his old friend group in nursing school - they were much more bookish than jock, and Grayson found himself smiling in his new company, feeling a rush of confidence by association. “Hell yeah,” Gray encouraged with a definitive nod, hands clapping together once before one moved to the top of his paddle. He was ready for his newfound friend to serve the puck to his end of the table. 

   “Ohh…” Grayson, tone curious, tilted his head, tentative but willing to hear what the other man had to offer. By nature, he wasn’t what could be considered daring or particularly adventurous, despite the 6′2″ frame and currently sunny disposition, but Gray had been making a habit of doing the unusual this year. Why stop now? “Alright. We throwin’ money on it, or somethin’ more?”

                    “Money? Oh, no–” He responded, “Money, you see,” The male began, “–you can make money again, money is temporary, but embarrassment is unfortunately not,” Ben was testing the waters now, and he knew he was being crazy but fun was crazy and fun would be remembered in the end, and as he stood up straight he lifted his pointer finger, not even considering yet that he’d be tasting what he was about to serve, “Loser’s gotta take five shots of Goose then strip down to his socks and tighty-whities,” He tapped his mallet down, plastic against plastic, “Right here, for everyone to see.”

[ben-cavanagh]

LENNON.

Lennox wrinkled their nose as he spoke and shrugged. Most men’s body spray or cologne or whatever you wanted to call it smelled the same to them, but they weren’t the market, they guessed. They snorted softly. “I don’t know how selfless it is if they’re basically attacking you like you’re in an art house Dawn of the Dead remake.” A smirk touched their lips and they shrugged. They personally believed they were appealing already. They shrugged. “It looks good on me,” they said, flashing him a grin to show they were (at least partially) kidding. Purple did look good on them, at any rate. “I think I learned in some elementary school history class that purple was the color of royalty, and that stuck with me. Plus my abuela’s favorite flower is hyacinth.”

                    “–– A movie that I’m sure would win many, many Oscars and continue to have a cult following decades later.” The male capered, his smile widening; his hand had lifted to his chest, palm flat as if he were saying something actually heartfelt. In all honesty, he couldn’t see there being different definitions of selfless, but a difference in how much one should give. Giving yourself up as literal shark bait, yes, an extremity, but in the metaphorical sense, it was selfless to him. Without oneself. He watched the other smirk, and he was once again reminded that there was nothing a person liked better than being asked about themselves. But that wasn’t the game here, in fact, there was no game, and Ben wasn’t serious about getting the other to like him. He was never a guy to go looney about what others thought of him, truly, he didn’t give a damn. He was interested now though; people naturally interested him, as did talking, and as they divulged in explanation, “And in Catholicism, it means pain and suffering,” He added, his extensive anthropology courses shining through, “–adds a whole new layer to the saying ‘a royal pain’,” The male smiled, all puns intended, and he leaned a bit more onto the table, shoulders narrowing, and though he didn’t know too much Spanish he could understand what was said, “Oh?” He noted, shifting gears, “Where’s your family from? Originally.”

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

“Of course.” She nodded in agreement with him, knowing she herself would probably remember the date once they found out about it simply because it would remind her of the situation that they currently found themselves in. Regardless of if they were to see each other after tonight or not, though she did hope however briefly that it was the former. For whatever reason, she had been holding her breath slightly in case he found her offer of dessert to be too much although there was no indication of their conversation so far that would have her offer of dessert seem ‘too much’. Her eyes looked down at their hands as he took hers in his own, a firm shake following briefly before her gaze met his once more. Maybe not the bluest of baby blues but they were certainly delightful to gaze into. “Eighteen-o-three.” The blonde repeated as if that would help her remember it. “I’ll say eighteen-twenty-five.” There was no method to the date that she herself had chosen, no need to think it over since she certainly did not know the answer but she figured it was a sound enough number. Not too early, not too late. The flow of their conversation was briefly interrupted by the realization that they were next in line and the hostess was with a couple of seconds showing them to their table. Eloise walked behind her and ahead of him, all too aware for a moment of the situation she found herself in. It was something she could see a younger version of herself doing, college Eloise, but it’d been a while since she had taken a decision which seemed so irrational yet so fulfilling. As they took their seats across from one another she realized for suddenly the first time that she did not actually know his name. “Before we begin our meal and before I definitely win our bet, I assume we should actually introduce ourselves?” The soft grin that had decorated her face from the start remained there. “As much as I’d love for you to continue to call me Miss Einsten I suppose I should let you know that my birth name is Eloise.” 

                    He committed her prediction to temporary memory, along with what he would need to order to-go and where he parked and what he himself wanted to order, as well as literally everyone around him. Except her. Something about the situation refused to be transient, and he was going to let it. He was due back to his office complex in forty-five minutes, but they’d have to wait, pondering the excuse of packed traffic, and like a transitory magnet to a fridge, he let it stick for now. He wanted to see the result of their bet more than anything, competition, after all, was perpetual in him, and he would’ve been honest if asked: it had taken him twenty years to know how to lose. In this case, it felt he required it, and he hoped his guess had not come off as too specific; as if he knew and he was setting it up, because he didn’t, and now he found himself over-thinking. There were quite a few instances where defeat was mellisonant. Losing to a pretty girl was one, as was a train of thought. Let it crash and burn. Before he could fully venture onto looking up what surely was to be a Wikipedia article, he noticed they were being led. He followed, delayed, now behind her again, his eyes briefly scanned her frame, sticking to the back over her head as they were led to the table for two that she’d mentioned initially when they first spoke. It wasn’t the oddest situation he’d ever ended up in. A man who spent weekends at bars was used to getting friendly with strangers was bound to encounter the bizarre. 

                    They sat; she began speaking, and as she did he smiled, laughing and glancing to the side, “Oh, so you wanna be bold now,” He interlaced his fingers on the table, leaning in, amused by how easily and confidently she called her win, “–– I like it.” And his confession was the first thing he’d said that concretely sounded like dalliance, his eyes falling to her softened grin, and for some reason, the declaration of her name was the last thing he had expected, “Eloise...” He repeated, and it felt saccharine on his lips, “Well, my very own  ‘birth name’ is actually Benjamin,” He mocked, playfully and as he said it he began to think of all the jokes you could make with such a name; he wouldn’t mind hearing them all if they were coming from her, “But I’ve convinced enough people to call me Ben, so really it's just Ben.” He added, resolutely, and as though on beat he widened his smile and sighed, his sardonic nature cavalierly finding him again, “It’s okay, by the way, you don’t have to lie to me, you can tell me you hate Miss Einstein– tell me you despise it, Ellie, I can handle the heat,” And there it was, already a new nickname in the works, the bet they’d made, though not urgent was to be momentarily neglected as long as she was sitting face-to-face with him with that smile. He paused, as if sincerely and languidly giving it a second thought, “...–– If I may call you Ellie, that is–” 

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

“Then I guess we’re both good at reading subtle queues.” Eloise laughed once again, soft and almost audible as if she didn’t want anyone else around them to be able to share in their conversation. His comparison of himself to a golden retriever might have been something that heard by another would’ve appeared strange but if anything it reminded her a bit of being back home. “That’ll be useful information, I’m sure.” The blonde grinned, a genuinely smile that had seemed to decorate her face since they had began talking. It was not what she had been expecting when she’d gone out that night or even when she had first started talking to him but it was a pleasant surprise. Eloise had tried and been successful thus far since being in Wilmington to not think about her past and everything she thought she missed. She was trying to start a new life. This was a good place to begin. “I’m always up for doing some research during dinner.” Naturally, whenever she was alone in her home it was her going over her patient’s notes and not even tasting the food that she was putting in her mouth. This situation was definitely different. “I’ll take that bet. If I lose then…” She pursed her lips to think. “I’ll take you out for dessert afterwards.” Reaching her hand out towards him, trying her best to keep her face looking serious but still the hint of a smile stayed there. “Deal?” 

                    Her statement ensnared him on the moment; visible just for a few seconds with the brief, melting admiration in his light eyes and the smile that minutely and boyishly curved as he looked over at her. But as soon as he looked away it was gone; faded but left with the residual of the feeling. He wondered what else they had in common if anything, and if it was something would it float–– would either of them be speaking to each other after tonight? He was a hopeful man, but he liked to think he wasn’t too much so, and as she smiled wide he couldn’t help but mimic his new dinner companion. They were close to the register now, he noticed as he looked straight on, also noting his feet had mindlessly carried him, drifting like the tide, “Perfect,” He agreed, his next set of words layered on with his own personal sarcastic and laconic humor, “–Solely for barbeque-enjoyment purposes, of course, we’re not actually looking to retain any of this information, you know,” The male assured, as if it were more of a nod to the belief that he didn't feel he was capable of retaining it, nor did he expect her to either, and in looking over at her, watching her sweetly idle as she picked a punishment for herself, he finally let out a slight laugh. As she said it something told him they’d be going out for ice cream regardless of the outcome, and his midwestern semi-traditional roots would push for himself to offer to pay for both. He smiled, looking at her, and then down at her hand, the loom of the florescent kitchen lights closer than ever, and he took it, lithe and soft against his own and shook it, “You’ve struck yourself a deal, Miss Einstein,” And his left hand reached for his phone, it now coming down to a numbers game, and quickly he screw-balled a number. He took a history class freshman year, not that it would help but he liked to think it would and he ended up, in a matter of seconds, mashing his century of choice and his jersey number, “Alright, alright, I’m picking the year eighteen-o-three, final answer, I’m locking it in–” He released her hand as he spoke, a smile on his lips, boyish, “And what is your guess?”

[ben-cavanagh]

LENNON.

Lennox propped their chin on their hand and waited for his attempt at cleverness to peter out. Maybe he’d just been to a Dick’s Sporting Goods and was really excited about all the types of canoes he’d seen, they didn’t know. Although he did actually manage to make them laugh with the Old Spice comment. “Oh, excuse me,” they said. “Old Spice is marginally less heinous. At least the commercials aren’t disturbing. Have you seen that Axe commercial where the guy is turned into chocolate and women on the train eat him? That sounds like an American Horror Story episode.” They snorted softly as he spoke. “Purple,” they said. “Yours?”

                    Unruffled, he plainly and accordingly responded, “Now that’s just where we’re gonna have to agree to disagree––” He smiled, stating it sternly, but in a faux manner, more so mocking the people who did implement that dastardly avoidant phrase, and as he continued to listen to them, he smiled wider, “No, I–” He was half-at a loss for words, half-setting up how he wanted to say what he wanted to say next, “I hear what you’re saying, but see, that doesn’t really seem like such bad way to go out of all the bad ways to go. I mean, you’re giving yourself to people, selflessly, that’s number one,” Ben explained, emphatically, “Two you’re surrounded by women, and three, as in probably the least relevant on this list of reasons, they actually find you appealing.” He shrugged as if resting his case, his blasé reaction to her color selection coming with an ardently burning question on his mind, “Why though? Why purple, out of all the colors?” He asked, a small smile on his lips as he adjusted, bringing his elbows to rest on the tabletop, playful and curious and relaxed, “You gotta explain why, that’s important, okay, this is double jeopardy here, and I want a real answer, not, you know...” He trailed, looking for a word but came up with none, so he bore his natural confidence instead, looping into redundancy, “–A not real answer.” He’d answer their own reverse on him in a second, but he wanted to hear them speak first.

[ben-cavanagh]

GRAY.

Tagging: @wilmingtonstarters​ Open: To All Location: Johnnie Mercer’s Pier, Wrightsville Beach

    It was the first nice day out in Wilmington in awhile - or maybe, more likely, Grayson was just in a pleasant mood for once. The sun peeked through the clouds, shining a couple of bright rays down to the Earth, and he’d decided to make the most of it. His roommates had been gone for an extended trip, and had recently come home again, so his quiet beach home had become full of noise again. Gray didn’t mind, he never did, but it gave him enough of a reason to throw on a jacket and head out for fresh air. 

   After grabbing some goodies at the snack bar, Grayson had wandered over to the air hockey table located in the game area on the pier. Even though he’d bought his house in January, he’d had yet to come and explore the little social section of the scenic ocean route. Digging out a couple of quarters, Gray popped them in, and watched the lights come on to indicate a game was ready to begin. “Best two outta three?” He offered, holding out one of the paddles to hit the puck with. “Winner buys drinks?”

                  He merely at the arcade only for convenience, not that he didn’t like acting up like a kid and trying to agitate the claw machine into giving him a prize, but that would require much more drinking. He’d been thrown out of a Dave and Busters before and he’d own up to it. He had been day drinking though, after meeting a few of his teammates out to eat, and though they were sound none of them were going to drive. Two others beside Ben had joined in on the fun of the pier-arcade, but one was busy trying to ‘Guns Akimbo’ it at the Sharp Shooter machine and the other was already trying to show his arm off to a lady at Down the Clown.

                   That left Ben a third-wheel in either situation so he wandered off seeing a guy at the hockey table who appeared too appeared to be alone and scoping out an opponent. The male approached, buzzed and already friendly, and getting the green light that came equitably as ‘best two out of three?’, he took the puck, and made for his side, “Damn straight we are, my dude,” He finally greeted, but once the competition-factor was added something sparked in the brunette and the hand that held the puck extended a pointer finger as a wide smile grew on his expression; he was in his element, “–I like how you think,” A brief pause, “But I say we raise the stakes even higher.”

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

Her eyes remained on him as he spoke again, moving closer to her so that they were now standing together in the line. “No, that would have definitely been a lot more cliche. I wouldn’t have appreciated that as much.” She didn’t laugh but the small grin on her face was indication enough that she was teasing him. Eloise looked around for a brief moment once again, this time not due to a dramatic antic but simply as a forced habit, her eyes falling easily on him once more. “Evidently, I’m smart. I got you to agree to sit with me without even really asking.” Not that it had intentionally been her plan, rather she’d just wanted someone to be able to complain to and he had seemed harmless enough. His next question took her only briefly by surprise and she looked at him with curiosity for perhaps the second time in the few minutes that they had been speaking to each other. “No, I’m afraid my smarts don’t reach that far. I’m guessing that you do, though.” 

                    “And maybe, just maybe, it was my intention to get you to tempt me into sitting down with you,” A pause, a widening smile, splitting now, into a small laugh, “–– But no it, uh– it wouldn’t have been hard to convince me,” He began to reel himself back in; not sure of her circumstance, but now interested, he glanced down to see if there was a band on her ring finger, but he couldn't tell with how she was standing,  “I have been told I’m the human-form of a Golden Retriever,” He picked up after a moment, “so, if you wanna look at it in that sense, I am kind-of programmed to sit at your command.” The male capered, stepping up in line, pulling his hands from his pockets that now rested at his sides, complacent, and in all his eccentric-ness; in all his tangents and in all his chatty-nature, if there was one thing he remained it was contented. He smiled down at her, his expression was unwavering as he honestly and mirthfully flipped, “Oh, God no, I don’t have a clue either. I was kind of hoping you’d Einstein out on me, but,” He raised his hand lifting only his pointer finger, “this is a good thing. This is a very good thing, because now we can do some investigating while we eat.” Ben assured her, “I mean, what better way to the history of something than while you're eating it?” His smile became crooked as he scanned her profile, "... We should make a bet, actually,” He suggested, turning his head forward, “To guess what year. If I lose, your meal is on me.”

[ben-cavanagh]

[ben-cavanagh]

ELOISE.

His initial response painted a mental picture in her mind, she wouldn’t lie and deny the fact that she’d indeed eaten take out barbecue in her car one more than one occasion. It had never resulted that great, her steering wheel was inevitably greasy and the pile of napkins stashed into her cup holders had never been enough to save her. He did not need to know those details about her, however, not yet at least. “Not to mention sad.” She added, although there were plenty of people who wouldn’t judge her for eating in her car, there were also plenty who most likely would and that certainly wasn’t the impression she wanted to leave on people having only been in Wilmington a couple of months. As he continued speaking she began to look around the place, tapping her chin with her index finger as she did so, the stereotypical way of feigning being deep in thought. “I don’t —- I don’t see anyone, oh, wait. That is supposed to be you?” Eloise asked, turning back to look at him with a sly grin. “You’re the one with the bluest baby blues.” Her tone was joking and ever so slightly dramatic, as if she had just realized he was speaking about himself. “That definitely sounds better than sitting in my car and getting permanent oil stains on my seats.”

                    “Not to mention sad,” He repeated, assuringly and affirmingly, “You can’t forget about the sad.” The male added, impassive if only merely speaking about the weather forecast, though a small and growing smile on his lips disclosed the truth. And bloom it did as he watched her, in faux confusion himself too, look around briefly before her dial correctly and obviously landed on him, “Bingo,” He responded, now finally stepping up next to her in line, a personal move, but the appropriate one, “I didn’t know if you were gonna get it, I mean, I was gonna describe myself as ‘the talking idiot in a monkey suit’, and, while that would’ve been much more obvious it didn’t seem as appealing," He continued, "so I’ll just have to save that one for another time.” The brunette capered, looking down at her with a dimpled smile, his hands remaining in his pockets, hiding from the cold that still lingered, “No, no– but seriously, I can tell you’re smart,” He turned the conversation, pivoting; he wanted to make it about her, conscious that he’d domineered most the conversation, “–– very smart,” The brunette added, eyes still on her, earnest: a brief moment of verity and flattery, his next question sounding half-austere, half-as if he was to reveal the answer soon after as he stepped forward in line, the pair nearing the register, “Do you know what year the first ever barbeque place opened?”  

[ben-cavanagh]

LENNON.

Lennox made a small gagging noise – not loud enough to go beyond the table, but enough to get their point across. “God, the only thing worse than the carbs in bread are the carbs wrapped up in the nastiness of beer,” they said. They shrugged as the male spoke, arching an eyebrow as they looked him over. “It’s not really reading people if they’re broadcasting their business for everyone to hear, is it? But alright. I’m guessing you think you’re hot shit – charming, cute, and clever. And I feel like you wore a lot of Axe Body Spray in high school, but that’s just a straight-up supposition based on the fact that you remind me of the douchecanoes in high school who literally doused themselves in it. Your hair looks like a model they base CW love interests’ coifs off of. That’s not really a read, just a fact. That one perfectly strand of touseled hair is driving me up the fucking wall.” 

                    It became very clear very fast that Ben was dealing with a very bitter, insecure person. But he was smart enough, at least, to know not to agitate or God forbid–– call them out on it. He wasn’t bothered that his caper was met with a proud and sober antipathy, but instead, he was entertained. A smile sat on his expression, relaxed and inebriated, “‘Douche-canoe’.” He repeated eyes narrowed, almost testingly, mockingly, more so under his breath, letting the word saturate his mouth as if it were something earnest to try and wrap his head around, “I have to say I’ve heard of racing canoes, whitewater canoes, and even tandem canoes, but I have yet to be familiarized with the capabilities of douche-canoes–” He maintained a blasé and amused composure, though a laugh was released as he sat up, “You know, though,” He began, looking side to side before he leaned in, “Fair points were made, and I appreciate the constructive criticism on my hair and everything, but I would like to clear my name on the Axe-accusation because I’ve been using Old Spice for years now.” He informed the other, like trade-secrets, “You kind of screwed yourself here though, because now I just feel inclined to clean up my first impression while I sit here waiting for my check, so,” Playful, his words swept out; like a string of shiny ornaments, he let them hang in the air, “... What’s your favorite color?”