[ Intimacy with strangers is easy when it constitutes at least a part of one's job description. At least it does around Ken, anyway. Joe wonders for a moment if Ken might have something to do with all of this, but the thought washes away when their heads clash.
His response to that is little more than a quick exhale, but it isn't so much out of shock or surprise as an instinctive reaction, evidenced by the 'little more' - tilting his head to meet her cheek, but stopping just short of the grazing kiss he was used to doing with Sara. Or... with Cam, the few times she'd ever let their thing go as far as an afterglow.
This isn't either of them. Nor is it real, but damned if it doesn't feel real. He's on his way to giving in and letting himself believe it.
Thankfully, the curtailed moment is easily smoothed over by the woman's pleasant ramble, and a detached side thought wonders where she's from. Her accent isn't like most of those he's heard in this sim/trip so far, and he swears he's heard something like it before. At CERN, maybe, or one of IBM's overseas offices a long while ago now. He likes the familiarity of it, even if it isn't American.
And despite his restraint, he can't help a sniff at the hair brushing over his face when he reconnects to the here-and-now conversation, grinning against a curl and revelling in how it tickles his lips. ]
Mmm. Yeah, I can imagine a snickerdoodle in that, like a secret exotic kind of variation of one. A Greek grandmother's secret Mediterranean snickerdoodle recipe, maybe.
[ After scratching his ear with a little agitation - the crew here assured him it wasn't a rash when he asked for ointment that clearly isn't working - he tucks his arm around her waist when asked. He hasn't yet picked up on a sense of altruism from her, but... oh, Angie. This is entirely the wrong person to want to accommodate. Spin doctors and trend chasers always are.
Fortunately for her at the moment, how to use her is the farthest thing from his mind. Sort of. Of course it strays around the edges of inappropriate imagery, but he's human and active back home, and there's no denying that she's attractive, especially when she bears a faint resemblance to someone already close to his heart (despite being far too agreeable to make a realistic comparison).
At least, being not too far ahead of her in age, tamping down any outward indication of that is easy enough. The arm his own head is resting on, though, can't resist bending a little to toy with a blond wave feathered over his nose. ]
So where are you from, Angela? I can guess European, but whatever strain of E I'm on is messing with my memory a little, so I hope you'll forgive me if I can't put my finger on it.
[ It's too bad charm is a warning sign only certain people would catch. Maybe she's one of them, if she's lucky. ]
(ALL OF THE ABOVE i mean cmon fam, joe can apply to both. but i'll be nice and say reversed :P)
His response to that is little more than a quick exhale, but it isn't so much out of shock or surprise as an instinctive reaction, evidenced by the 'little more' - tilting his head to meet her cheek, but stopping just short of the grazing kiss he was used to doing with Sara. Or... with Cam, the few times she'd ever let their thing go as far as an afterglow.
This isn't either of them. Nor is it real, but damned if it doesn't feel real. He's on his way to giving in and letting himself believe it.
Thankfully, the curtailed moment is easily smoothed over by the woman's pleasant ramble, and a detached side thought wonders where she's from. Her accent isn't like most of those he's heard in this sim/trip so far, and he swears he's heard something like it before. At CERN, maybe, or one of IBM's overseas offices a long while ago now. He likes the familiarity of it, even if it isn't American.
And despite his restraint, he can't help a sniff at the hair brushing over his face when he reconnects to the here-and-now conversation, grinning against a curl and revelling in how it tickles his lips. ]
Mmm. Yeah, I can imagine a snickerdoodle in that, like a secret exotic kind of variation of one. A Greek grandmother's secret Mediterranean snickerdoodle recipe, maybe.
[ After scratching his ear with a little agitation - the crew here assured him it wasn't a rash when he asked for ointment that clearly isn't working - he tucks his arm around her waist when asked. He hasn't yet picked up on a sense of altruism from her, but... oh, Angie. This is entirely the wrong person to want to accommodate. Spin doctors and trend chasers always are.
Fortunately for her at the moment, how to use her is the farthest thing from his mind. Sort of. Of course it strays around the edges of inappropriate imagery, but he's human and active back home, and there's no denying that she's attractive, especially when she bears a faint resemblance to someone already close to his heart (despite being far too agreeable to make a realistic comparison).
At least, being not too far ahead of her in age, tamping down any outward indication of that is easy enough. The arm his own head is resting on, though, can't resist bending a little to toy with a blond wave feathered over his nose. ]
So where are you from, Angela? I can guess European, but whatever strain of E I'm on is messing with my memory a little, so I hope you'll forgive me if I can't put my finger on it.
[ It's too bad charm is a warning sign only certain people would catch. Maybe she's one of them, if she's lucky. ]