How do you do? The name's Lamont. Lamont Toucey.
If you're wondering, I'm a deliveryman. The type that can get you what you want, and do it discreetly on top of that.
So what are you waiting for? Let's talk a little business! I'm sure we can come to an agreement as long as you can pay...
...You can pay, right?
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
She built such tension between them… He had no idea how she did it. What he did know what the way his skin seemed to prickle at her touch, and for a moment words died in his throat.
“…Maybe,” he repeated quietly. An intelligent, eloquent response, for sure. He was stubborn, too.
Her grin widened a fraction, and she had to hold back the little giggle that tried to bubble free in her throat. Here he was, across oceans and reduced to just a mere ‘maybe’.
“Maybe…..you never had business at all,” She muses to herself, keeping her eyes on his, “Or maybe this is your business…”
Snapping himself out of his starstruck trance, Lamont cleared his throat a bit louder than necessary.
“And what makes you think that…?” he asked, trying to seem dismissive. “I was under the impression you had no interest for me.”
via notyouraveragesecretary
Dead daisies and pie ((Lamont/Ned))
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
Sure. Hang on. Did you want any…you know, sugar or creamer or anything like that?
The piemaker filled a mug to almost-the-top with black, fresh coffee. It was placed on a smallish dish and placed in front of the deliveryman.
Great. Uh. I’ll. We. You. I can help you unload. I’ll just put them in the back for now. Then I can set you up with a slice.
Two sugars. Please. *he pulls the mug closer by the saucer*
I’d appreciate the help, but don’t feel obligated. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do with your own job without having to help me in mine, heh.
The piemaker stole a few sugar packets from a ceramic container on a nearby table and put them on Lamont’s plate.
Well, I don’t really expect people until about 11:30. Pie isn’t a breakfast food for most people. It’s. It’s no trouble.
*Nodding his head in thanks, Lamont began tearing open the sugars and pouring them into his coffee*
Alright then, if you insist.
They’re not too heavy, if it helps. *His coffee cup clinks as he stirs it, before setting the spoon down and lifting it to his lips*
…Kudos on the coffee, by the way~ Now I have even higher hopes that your pie measures up.
Oh, the coffee is. Well, it’s coffee. It was the part I was mostly worried about.
The piemaker did not sweat the pies. Rather, he baked them and knew them to be delicious. The coffee came from a machine. A very fine, expensive machine, but it was mostly automatic in the end.
Do you mind if I go ahead…? You finish that cup.
No no, trust me, not all coffee is created equal.
And yours definitely ranks pretty high up… Is that a hint of cinnamon I taste? *Chuckling, he drew out his car keys and gently tossed them at Ned*
Knock yourself out. But no joy rides, capiche?
via thepiemakerstouch
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
Lamont doesn’t step back as Anthea draws closer, but he does straighten up a little more, eyebrows raising slightly farther up his forehead as he considers the winged woman in front of him.
She calls him out, but its so soft the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“…Maybe,” he relents, fidgeting and running his tongue over his lips.
Underneath her gaze he fidgets, he’s not a very good liar. She flashes him the tiniest of smiles, rocking back on her heels just a little. Her fingers brush over the backs of his hands, lightly bathing each hair in her fingerpad.
“You were here to see me, Lamont,” she says, this time just a hint of wonderlust in her tone.
She built such tension between them… He had no idea how she did it. What he did know what the way his skin seemed to prickle at her touch, and for a moment words died in his throat.
“…Maybe,” he repeated quietly. An intelligent, eloquent response, for sure. He was stubborn, too.
via notyouraveragesecretary
Dead daisies and pie ((Lamont/Ned))
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
Sure. Hang on. Did you want any…you know, sugar or creamer or anything like that?
The piemaker filled a mug to almost-the-top with black, fresh coffee. It was placed on a smallish dish and placed in front of the deliveryman.
Great. Uh. I’ll. We. You. I can help you unload. I’ll just put them in the back for now. Then I can set you up with a slice.
Two sugars. Please. *he pulls the mug closer by the saucer*
I’d appreciate the help, but don’t feel obligated. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do with your own job without having to help me in mine, heh.
The piemaker stole a few sugar packets from a ceramic container on a nearby table and put them on Lamont’s plate.
Well, I don’t really expect people until about 11:30. Pie isn’t a breakfast food for most people. It’s. It’s no trouble.
*Nodding his head in thanks, Lamont began tearing open the sugars and pouring them into his coffee*
Alright then, if you insist.
They’re not too heavy, if it helps. *His coffee cup clinks as he stirs it, before setting the spoon down and lifting it to his lips*
…Kudos on the coffee, by the way~ Now I have even higher hopes that your pie measures up.
via thepiemakerstouch
(Source: jesskuhhhlynn)
via dontstepinmypuddle
Dead daisies and pie ((Lamont/Ned))
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
Uh, the same. Exactly. Exactly the same. Uh, yourself?
Do you want some coffee? We just got the machine fixed.
I’ve been… Hanging in there. Coffee would be great~
I’ve got your flowers out in the car.
Sure. Hang on. Did you want any…you know, sugar or creamer or anything like that?
The piemaker filled a mug to almost-the-top with black, fresh coffee. It was placed on a smallish dish and placed in front of the deliveryman.
Great. Uh. I’ll. We. You. I can help you unload. I’ll just put them in the back for now. Then I can set you up with a slice.
Two sugars. Please. *he pulls the mug closer by the saucer*
I’d appreciate the help, but don’t feel obligated. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do with your own job without having to help me in mine, heh.
via thepiemakerstouch
friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:
That… Seems to be the general jist of bars, yea.
How many did you enter here in London for someone to smile at your hehs or fuck you? Pardon the tongue, I presume The Count is wishing to press myself to speak as it is now. All for a wager we hold together, if I should last such time, he will…let us say it will be a great reward.
…That’s a very forward question.
Er.
None…? I’m not here for, uh, pleasure so to speak.
via theoriginalbloodcountess
((*smacks dat*))
ooc; -Smacks- There, remembering smacks.
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((geT OUTT))
