let's go explore some celestial bodies [ rogue ]

He wasn't sure just how he was supposed to get her back from that brilliant prank, but one thing was certain: he was going to have to make it awesome. Until then, he was quite sure that he would want to at least blast the Ghostbusters theme at top volume on loop on the way to wherever they were going to and get food. She could suffer like he had. It was an evil, diabolical plan, and he was going to relish every moment of it.

"I still can't believe I let you do that to me."

Cal chuckled as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunching slightly so he was closer to her level. He'd lost. It had been awesome. Her prank had been brilliantly orchestrated, and something he wouldn't have expected from her. But then again, this was only what. The third time that they had met up? Their fourth? Yeah, their fourth, if you counted their first encounter at the party where he'd never gotten their name. But they seemed to cross each other with far too many coincidences to count. It was almost as though there was a thread of fate linking them together, ensuring that they ran into each other time and time again.

It was uncanny, but he was most definitely not complaining.

"Okay," he said as Allison handed the cloth over, the edge of his lips curling up in a small, sincere smile. That didn't stop him from throwing the cloth on top of him, though, and sticking his hands out. And even if she couldn't see him underneath it, he rolled his eyes upwards, trying to do his best zombie impression.

"Wooooo, I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost as well," he boomed. "Blood. Give me your blood," he continued, waiting for a response of some sort before throwing the cloth off himself once more, catching it as it fell.

"Sure thing. Let me lay it on the floor." Cal bent over, spreading the cloth out as Allison moseyed away at the back of her car. What he didn't expect, however, was for her to bring out a mini-feast. The stench of rice and nachos wafted through the fresh air, and his face immediately lit up once again.

"You are the food goddess. Has anybody ever told you that?"

He had to laugh at her statement. The words sounded strange, coming from her; "ass whooped" was the kind of thing he would have expected from someone like him. But then again, he had learned more about Allison with each and every day. He was starting to find her increasingly complex and intriguing, every intricacy a lead-in into what could have been something more. Cal resisted the urge to point out her accidental innuendo, instead smirking a little in response. He wasn't about to start making jokes like that just yet-- he could save those for later, if there ever came a date where this was appropriate.

He had a sense that he was coming too close for comfort, that he was feeling something familiar yet not, a red-hot warmth that seemed reminiscent yet distant, perhaps like a holiday destination he'd ventured to as a young child. But then again, it still stood that he barely knew her. He wasn't going to get too attached. Not so soon, anyway.

Though it seemed like it was going to be inevitable.

They'd hung out. What. How many times since meeting each other just more than a week ago? He wasn't even about to count, man. "Hey. Don't get me started about screaming." He would have waggled his eyebrows, but decided against it. (Since when did he care so much what people thought?) "And I hear you on the being constantly hungry thing," he said as he took a whiff of the fresh air mingling with the smell of food. "I don't know about you, but I'm ravished."

And then he dug in.

(Insert yet another inevitably long description of how orgasmic the food was, because Cal seems to have one once every thread, and it's starting to get a little redundant. That, and there are only so many ways that I can describe it in Cal's words without it starting to get beyond PG-13.)

"Mmmbuhhthdgverygood," he managed to mumble between mouthfuls as he looked back up at Allison. He swallowed what he had in his mouth, before adding, "That sure made being scared off by a playboy-hating ghost worth it." He leaned backwards on the mat, resting his hands by his sides.

"Almost made me believe in ghosts again for a minute. Not that I'm really that much of a player." Wait. What had he just said? Cal pinked slightly, a flush on his cheeks that would have been obvious to anyone in as close a proximity as Allison was.

"Uh. I. Uh."

What was he supposed to say? He got around, but he hadn't had a girlfriend (or boyfriend, for that matter) since high school? No, wait, telling her that he got around would be a bad thing. And in that moment, Cal, normally polished and shiny Cal, seemed almost like a lost kid with his glasses, loose shirt, and somewhat confused demeanor. (God she was cute.)

For what was probably the first time in his life, Cal found himself wishing that he was black. Not that there was anything wrong with being a white male with all the privilege oozing out his ass, but black people blushing would be significantly less obvious, right? Because hell if he wasn't at least a little pink right now, the very picture of a blushing maiden as Allison mentioned his sex life. God, no. He went around blabbing about it to everyone and their mother, so why the heck did he actually care?

"Yeah. Sex. It's fun. Uh." He gulped nervously. Maybe he could go and crawl under one of the nearby bushes. "You should-- you should try it sometime."

Now he'd gone and done it.

"Oh my god that totally came out the wrong way."

If he was a blushing maiden before, he was now quite the good imitation of a tomato. Cal actually palmed his face. Nothing seemed to be going the right way today. Perhaps he should have stayed at home and continued his television marathon, but then again, that meant that he wouldn't be out here, with Allison, talking to her. "I'm sorry," he apologized. What else was he supposed to say?

"I just-- I never quite know what to say around you. I don't want to offend you. Or anything." Commence epic verbal diarrhea. If Julie ever found out about this, she would be laughing at him for the next million years. Hell no. "This is what happens when I forget to bring my filter along. Probably left it somewhere in the house when I didn't get up in time," he said with a sheepish smile.

Hopefully that would constitute some sort of a nice save.

"Moral of the story, kids? Don't spend too long on Netflix. When your computer's volume is louder than your alarm, bad things happen."

After that slip, Cal foresaw one of two things: Allison was going to give him a sideways glance and raise one of those perfectly sculpted eyebrows, or go screaming and running in the other direction. Granted, the former was far more likely to happen than the latter, but one thing he had learned from experience was to expect the unexpected, especially when you were hoping for a positive result. Besides, you never knew with ninjas. And all Cal could do was lie there slackjawed as he practically gaped, watching his life flash before his eyes before he died of embarrassment.

What he hadn't expected was for her answer to be so, so much worse than either of those results.

"Oh."

Suave. Good job. So smooth. Wow. His blush from earlier faded into a rather fetching pink. Okay, maybe it wasn't worse. Or well, it definitely wasn't worse, but allow him his moment of melodrama, wouldn't you? (In before you argue that Cal leads a life of melodrama, not just a moment.) Maybe it was probably the logical thing to say for a virgin, unless she'd sworn celibacy until marriage or something. Not that there was anything wrong with that, though he would have been slightly disappoint-- okay, no, enough with that. Enough with everything. Cal practically shoveled a handful of nachos into his mouth, raising a brow as she asked the next question.

Talk about a change of pace.

"Yeah. I used to believe in them. A spirit. Until I sold my soul to science, I guess?" He chuckled nervously. "You know, that something will linger after you die." Wait, no. She wasn't stupid. Why the hell was he trying to define what a spirit was to her? If anything, he was the stupid one between the two of them. He was definitely acting like it, that was for sure.

"I stopped believing in them after my brother died. I thought-- I thought if they existed, he'd send us a sign."

It wouldn't have been inappropriate to hug him, not at all. But the touch never came and the thought only lingered; so he sat there in silence for a while, allowing the gravity of what he had just done to sink in. He'd told her about himself, shared a part of his life that he had kept silent about for so long save to mention in jokes and offhand statements. Julie had known him for years before he'd even breathed a word about his family history. Yet as he shared, she too did the same, mentioning that her father was dead. So he responded with an, "Ow," and a furrowing of his brow. And then,

"I'm sorry."

Why were people required to say that when they heard of tales of other peoples' loss, even when the fault was not theirs? It had never made much sense to him, but it was a societal convention, and something that was supposed to make others feel better. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder whether it really would. If sorry worked, there would be no need for cops and robbers. Maybe if sorry worked, a lot of innocents wouldn't have to die. But he inched closer towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He could hear it in her voice: this was still affecting her.

Then again, it probably always would. One year, two years, ten years, and she would still hear his voice haunting her in her memories, the ghost of his smell lingering in their family pictures and albums. Why else had his mother hidden all pictures of Allen in their family home? It hurt too much to look at him and realize that he had once been there. No, people never died, not as long as there were others in the world who could remember them. Or perhaps he could rephrase that. The act of death was easy: all it took was a little push. But dying, fading out, that was a different story altogether.

"Good job us. Dead relatives unite club. Hell yeah," he said, lifting his hand and balling it into a fist so it could bump against hers. "As for necromancy, you know, I've never been the best at smart decisions. You're going to have to rein me in."