[Oh, that's cute. Corry ducks his head and sips at his water to hide his own smile. He has an asshole reputation to uphold, Kyle, stop being cute.] I'm a convert to the pomelo kind, actually. Very sweet.
I do. I'm a brunch fan. [A pause, a careful glance.] I usually come alone.
Mmm, it's like an extra-large grapefruit. They make a good peach-pomelo caramel here. [What even is that, Corrigan.
He arches an eyebrow right back, as the waitress delivers the tray of delicate crystal glasses with various flavors of mimosa.] If they get brunch at all.
[Kyle thanks the waitress and places his food order when prompted. Then he studies the glasses and picks what he thinks is grapefruit, sipping it cautiously.]
They use it on the pancakes, so I guess it depends if you consider that a dessert.
[Corrigan doesn't order -- they know his regular, after all -- but picks up the pineapple mimosa and sips it. This last comment gets both eyebrows arched.]
[So many more. There's also a basket of biscuits and little porcelain cups of butter and jam because this place is Like That. Corry is going to tuck into the biscuits as they speak.] I see. How does it really work, then?
I was thinking farmer's daughter, but it's a similar vibe.
Well, then maybe that's my motivation. Maybe I sort of like you. [The jam is some kind of insufferable seasonal infused nonsense but it just tastes like jam. Good jam, but still.]
It was more than once and yes, it's burned into my memory forever. I have nightmares about it.
I have a voice-mail where you call me a "nasty pervy horny bitch" so there's nothing obvious about it. [But there's genuine amusement in Corrigan’s voice as he says it. He nudges his foot against Kyle's under the table.
And then he sighs, rolling his eyes as the waitress reappears to top off the mimosas and deliver their food.] Or you can rent a camper or a uhaul like a normal person.
Yet you like me anyways. What a conundrum you are, Kyle Broflovski.
[Corrigan says this with a toothy grin, pouring some of the aforementioned pomelo/peach caramel over his pancakes. It just looks like regular caramel.]
[He sounds like this is so far beyond the realm of possibility when it's...not. Remotely. And he'll point his fork threatening at Kyle.] You're lucky you're cute, that's all I'm saying. Eat your toast.
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Really? I didn't know they came in anything but orange.
[He sets his menu aside - he's already decided on an omelette with "artisanal toast."]
You come here a lot.
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I do. I'm a brunch fan. [A pause, a careful glance.] I usually come alone.
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[Kyle hoists an eyebrow. He doesn't believe that, but he's not precisely bothered by the idea.]
Uh huh. All the other guys get Denny's, huh? So I should be extra grateful?
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He arches an eyebrow right back, as the waitress delivers the tray of delicate crystal glasses with various flavors of mimosa.] If they get brunch at all.
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[Kyle thanks the waitress and places his food order when prompted. Then he studies the glasses and picks what he thinks is grapefruit, sipping it cautiously.]
This is good!
And I know what you're trying o do.
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[Corrigan doesn't order -- they know his regular, after all -- but picks up the pineapple mimosa and sips it. This last comment gets both eyebrows arched.]
What am I trying to do, then?
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[Kyle snorts.]
You're trying to make me feel special so I'll do things.
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[Corrigan hums softly, still eying Kyle over the rim of the glass.]
Is that how it works? I ply you with fancy food and you agree to try reverse cowgirl or something?
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[The mimosa is delicious and it's not going to last long. Thank goodness there's more!]
I think that's how YOU think this works, yes.
Why do you make me sound like a pastor's daughter or something?
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[So many more. There's also a basket of biscuits and little porcelain cups of butter and jam because this place is Like That. Corry is going to tuck into the biscuits as they speak.] I see. How does it really work, then?
I was thinking farmer's daughter, but it's a similar vibe.
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How it works is that I'll already do what we agreed because you're buying me brunch. You don't gotta butter me up.
[Kyle snorts.]
Just because I'm from a hick town doesn't make me all innocent.
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Is it so impossible to believe that I actually enjoy your company and want to be nice to you sometimes?
[Then he bites into the biscuit, smirking.] You still have your hick moments. I don't think you're very aware of them.
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I. No.
[He rolls his eyes and takes the jam.]
Is this because ONE TIME I said I'd buy a truck?
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It was more than once and yes, it's burned into my memory forever. I have nightmares about it.
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Oh come on, a truck is useful! You can haul stuff in it, and it's good for camping!
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And then he sighs, rolling his eyes as the waitress reappears to top off the mimosas and deliver their food.] Or you can rent a camper or a uhaul like a normal person.
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[Looking smug, Kyle sips his now refilled mimosa and smiles.]
Not my fault I'm butch.
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[Corrigan says this with a toothy grin, pouring some of the aforementioned pomelo/peach caramel over his pancakes. It just looks like regular caramel.]
You are not the butch in this situation.
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[Kyle tucks into the 'artisanal toast.' It's just sourdough.]
Uh, I kinda am, dude.
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[Have a look of the MOST indignation.] I'm butch.
[A statement that would be more convincing if he weren't using tiny sparkly silverware to eat his pancakes.]
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YOU? You're a princess!
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I am not.
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[Mimosas are great, Kyle has decided. He feels warm and happy.]
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[He sounds like this is so far beyond the realm of possibility when it's...not. Remotely. And he'll point his fork threatening at Kyle.] You're lucky you're cute, that's all I'm saying. Eat your toast.
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[He does. SMUGLY.]
I'll have you know in a boy band I would be the tough one. So there.
Can I try some of yours?
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the amount of cumface icons I have is absurd
absurd... or perfect?
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truly tragic html on my part wow
My swipe-texting typo filled ass will never judge.
bless ur light
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