ArchivedLogs:Batter Up

Batter Up
Dramatis Personae Alison, Cage	2013-08-15 '
Location <NYC> Various Locales
It was a great game for once. The Mets were creamed by the Dodgers yesterday, but rallied for a narrow win in the 10th inning. Very exciting! Cage's box seating is big enough to host a party of 8 with walls on either side, placed on the balcony level looking over the first base line. It has two rows of four seats behind a low railing. Further back in the box are a couple of cushy chairs, and side tables, as well as a TV mounted on the wall so you can watch the game even when you're having snacks. Vendors were stopping by the key-carded door every so often with various offerings. Sitting down front, Cage cheers just as heartily as the rest of the crowd when the Mets seal the deal in the 10th, and throws his cap out onto the field when it finally closed. He grins, and looks back at Alison, just as pleased as punch. "Well how about that? You don't see that every day!" Alison has enjoyed the game immensely, jumping and cheering as loudly as anyone in the crowd when the game is won. She waves the ridiculous foam finger she bought on impulse wildly before she frisbees it out after Cage's hat and cups her fingers around her mouth to amplify her cheer. Light from the field catches in her hair, shining brightly in the slightly dimmer light of the box. As the crowd roars, she closes her eyes, briefly, and inhales deeply. When she opens them again to find Cage looking at her, she laughs. "That was /amazing/. I hope my dad was watching that." Cage laughs, looking at his phone briefly before slipping it back in his pocket. "Well, I know my momma was. She texted me three times already." Then, unable to contain himself any further, or second guess himself, he scoops Alison up in a hug. "Maybe this is their big turn around..." It's every loser-team-fan's motto - this win, /THIS WIN/ is when the whole season's going to turn around. Alison squeaks as she's caught up, but her body remains relaxed as she's pulled into the hug. "This will /totally/ be the one," she agrees, smiling as she pulls back to look at Cage with a twinkle in her eyes. "We're /totally/ taking the pennant, this year." Because she /is/ a die-hard Mets fan, and knows the mantra well. "Thank you for inviting me. I would have hated to miss this." Cage turns and sets Alison down again, looking her hard in the eye. He raises a finger to point at her, but the spark in his eye, and the tug at the corner of his mouth give away the joke before he speaks. "Did you..." He waggles his fingers at her, and then points at home plate. "There's /no way/ their guy could have missed our last pitch - he'd have to be /blind/. And you still haven't told me what you can do." He give up the serious pretend, and just smiles broad. "Everyone starts to flag at the bottom of the 10th," Alison says, her expression innocent. "Lots of greats have blown it earlier." She reaches up to run fingers through her hair, shaking it out loosely and letting it catch in the light. "What I can do?" she echoes, her smile turning sly. "Oh, Mister Cage. There is so /much/ that I can do." She flutters her lashes as she slips away, and looks out over the field. "You have /no/ idea." Cage grins, and then winds up a little tongue-tied at the end of Alison's comments. His eyebrows go up, and then he clears his throat, and glances up at their private snacks table, with the bucket of untouched beers. The game was engrossing! He sighs, and turns back to face Alison. "Well, you're right. No idea. I wonder... how I could wheedle this information out of you." Alison makes a tsking noise, and lifts her chin. "I thought you were a detective," she says, drifting away from the window, and back into the room. "Surely you've got your..." she pauses for a half-breath, looking over her shoulder. "...technique worked out, by now." Then she's perching on the arm of one of the cushy chairs, draping herself over the back of it slightly and offering another small smile. "But if you don't, trial-and-error is generally effective, one way or the other." Luke steps up into the lounge area, and pulls a couple bud lights from the bucket. He pushes the bottle caps off with each thumb, and hands one to Alison. "You want?" Too late to ask, really, but now they both have one. "Well, interrogation technique's vary, of course. You've got arm twisting... knee capping... Threats! Threats are always popular." He grins, and continues, "Then again, some prefer the less conventional approach..." Cage moves slyly, and then drops a hand to run a finger up Alison's exposed instep, with a surprisingly light touch for such a big guy. Anyone prone to ticklishness could be in trouble. Alison raises slightly to accept the beer with a grateful smile, and tips it delicately to her lips as she listens. "Mmm. None of those seem very appealing," she says, watching Cage through her lashes with the slightest tilt to her head. "I've never responded well to threats. Or knee capping." When his finger lands on her instep, she jerks her foot instinctively without withdrawing it, giggling just a tiny bit. "/That/ might be more effective," she admits, taking another sip of her beer and watching over the end of the bottle. "It's on the right path, anyway." This time, only one eyebrow goes up. "See? I'm gathering clues now." Luke perches on the arm of Alison's chair, looking down at the woman. Again, surprisingly gentle, Luke pulls Alison's foot into his lap, and runs his fingertips up the back of her calf, to pause behind her knee. "You'll have to be patient with me. Haven't had a case in a while. My investigative skills might be a little rusty." Luke blinks, and then actually laughs. "Wow, I really lost the innuendo thread there, didn't I?" "I find that hard to believe," Alison says, stretching her leg languidly for easy access. "A fine detective like yourself? I imagine you have a new case every other week." She grins. "Like Magnum P.I." The trace of finger along her calf evokes a shiver, and she closes her eyes briefly. When Cage laughs, she opens them halfway to look up at the man. "I think you're doing all right," she says, tipping her head back. "It was better than the dialogue from the bar scene in 'The Killers Who Crept.'" She wrinkles her nose in a tease. "Which isn't saying /much/, but it's something." A guilty look crosses Luke's face at the 'Killers' title. He smiles at her teasing, but turns a little, trying to hide the look in his eye. He takes a sip of his beer, and then sighs. "So look," Luke's hand rests idly on her knee. "I looked you up on IMDB. Killers was the only one of your movies on Netflicks. I'm sorry, I /had/ to. Couldn't resist. And I'm a terrible liar, so I figured I better just come clean now." He shrugs and grins. Alison's brow knits slightly at the guilty look, which isn't hidden as quickly as Cage might hope. But before she can voice her question, he's explaining. So she listens to his confession, her smile slipping wider. She's clearly amused by his awkwardness. "Oh, gosh," she says, scrunching her nose. "'Killers' is the /worst/. But it was fun to do. We shot it on location in Krakoa, and it was so beautiful." She frowns a bit, jutting out her lower lip. "That's weird that it was the only one you could find," she says. "I'll get you DVDs of the others, if you want to watch them." "Wow, that sounds amazing, going to a place like that." Luke's fingertips begin to brush idly, drawing little circles in the general vicinity of Alison's knee. Up a little, down a little, on the side. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention to what he's doing, but for a big man with his reputation, the skin of his hands is surprisingly soft. "You know, I've never even left the States? Always dreamed of going to Fiji. Just... laying on a beach somewhere." "It was beautiful," Alison repeats, dropping her gaze to watch the slow circle of Cage's finger on her skin. "You'd like it there. We had huts right on the beach, with the jungle at our backs." She lifts her eyebrows. "Well, you saw it. It was where we shot the final scenes, with the bonfire, and that weird dance." She seems to be babbling a bit; distracted, perhaps, by that idle finger. She drops her own hand to dance her fingertips along the back of the man's strong hand. "You should definitely do something like that," she says. "Fiji is something everyone should try and see at some point. The beaches are phenomenal." "Yeah, you know, I've never left the States?" Luke shrugs, winks and adds, "The exercise yard didn't reach very far. It's funny though. I've been out for almost four months, and I still haven't been anywhere." He turns the hand hers is resting on, and takes her hand in both of his. Sitting up on the arm of the two-seater, or 'love-seat' as it's sometimes called, he holds her hand palm up in one huge hand, and in the other, is apparently practicing palm reading. He traces light lines along the creases of her palm, up to her wrist, and forearm. "Didn't really wanna go by myself, I guess." "I imagine you've just been glad to be home," Alison offers, taking another sip of her beer before she sets it on the nearby table. Which leaves her hand open for claiming, and she surrenders it easily, eyes tracking from the dark skin of Cage's fingers to his warm gaze. Her skin pebbles under the gentle stroke of his fingers, and there's the faintest catch in her breath before she smiles wanly. "Maybe you'll find the right girl to take, one day," she murmurs, her fingers flexing once before going slack. "When you're finally feeling the need to wander." Cage nods, and looks around the room for a moment, briefly smiling up at the muted post-game coverage on the flatscreen. "Eat it, Dodgers. Every, last, bite." He grins down at Alison then, and without fan fair, gently picks up her feet so he can slide down next to her on the seat before draping her legs across his lap again. One hand on a shin, the other still holding her hand. He's not physically big enough to weigh as much as he does, nor is he really /giant/ height, but the man has an aura of mass about him. He stretches his back and sinks in the seat a little further. "These seats.. are actually not bad. I've never just sat around in here before. I'm usually out front, screaming my stupid head off." He smirks and tips his head toward the stadium side of the box. Alison follows Cage's gaze to the television, and daintily raises her unclaimed hand to offer a well-manicured bird to the screen. "They should have never left Brooklyn," she says, adopting a yenta-like accent. "The bums." She giggles a bit as her feet are moved, and when the big man has re-settled himself, she shifts her weight around to snug up against him a bit. The former bird hand is slid to curl in the crook of Cage's elbow, resting there familiarly. "They're nice like this," she says, nodding at Cage. "They're less charming when you're stuck in one with a bunch of top-floor executive types trying to look down your blouse." Luke nods in mock enthusiastic empathy. "Oh, /tell/ me about it," he pulls the front of his Darryl Strawberry vintage jersey open to peer down at his own chest. "Men are such pigs, right?" He picks up his beer from the side table, takes a sip, and puts a suddenly colder hand back on Alison's knee. "It /is/ nice to have the space to ourselves though-" And then as if on cue, there's a knock on the door of the suite, and the distinctive call of a stadium vendor's voice, "SoDAS, canDIES, POPcorn..." Luke raises an eyebrow and chuckles when he glances at Alison, "Not so private after all. You want anything?" Alison nods solemnly, her eyes slipping a bit wider -- maybe too wide. "They are. You can't trust them for a second." She squeals when that cold hand lands on her knee, and scoots closer to Cage in an attempt to get away from the chill. It puts her up closer to the heat of his chest, and she stills a bit awkwardly. It's not helped with the interruption of the vendor, and she pinkens, the air coloring around her face and glowing for a moment. "Oh, I -- " The pink turns a bit crimson. "I think I'm good." "Oh sorry!" Luke says quietly, about the cold hand. And then he turns toward the closed door and calls loud enough to be heard through it, "Nah, we're good!" He grins back down at Alison and reaches out to reach through the pink air. He almost brushes his fingers against her cheek, but just says, "You did it again. With the light." He smiles softly. The pink/red light doesn't seem to be fading, particularly when Cage reaches through it. Alison's smile is slow and chagrined. "Yes, I guess I did," she says, scrunching her nose. "And now you know my big secret. We have more in common than a favorite team." She takes a deep breath, and looks at the large window carefully before she extends a hand, palm up. Slowly, a ball of blue-white light begins to form there, hovering and bobbing lightly in time with her breathing. "My body converts sound into light, which I can generate." She smiles, and lets the light fade. "I'm sorry I was being coy about it, but it's not the sort of thing I'm really comfortable being public with, yet." Luke lifts his hand from her knee to hold it up to the light. He turns his hand slowly, and when the light goes out, he finds his palm pressed against hers, and just lets his fingers twine with hers. "Hey, I'm not gonna bust you. It's fuckin /dangerous/ to come out, if you don't have to." He smiles and adds, "But the effect is gorgeous. Like you. So it makes sense I guess. Where I sort of /look/ like a truck, so my ability makes sense too." He motored right through the compliment, either out of his own nervous, or he was just talking faster than he could register his own words. He does that sometimes. The perils of being earnest. Alison nods solemnly at the assurance of her privacy, and her fingers curl over the back of Luke's warmly. She opens her mouth to respond, but the barreled over compliment catches her off-guard, and she blinks at the big man, the air coloring again just a bit. "I don't think you look like a truck," she murmurs, tracing her thumb along Luke's thoughtfully. "More like..." she wrinkles her nose, and laughs. "You know, I don't know vehicles well enough to make a better comparison, so I guess we can stick with truck." She tugs on their entwined hands lightly. "Just don't run me over." "Wouldn't dream of it," Luke says quietly. He keeps her hand in his, and then tries to adjust the both of them, with her snugged up close to him. It's kind of an awkward set up. Then, he sighs seems to come to a decision. "Hey um, do you wanna get outta here? Before the beer guy comes by?" He smirks and lifts his chin at the door. Alison is easily adjusted, even if she does end up halfway in Luke's lap. She doesn't seem to mind, leaning up against his chest comfortably in spite of the awkward. When he makes his suggestion, she looks up with a crinkle of her eyes. "You know," she murmurs. "That is an /excellent/ idea." Luke nods and squirms to fish his phone out of his pocket, from under Alison's legs. Finally he just stands, /scooping/ her up in a one-armed cradle, and gets his phone with his free hand before settling them both down again, pretty much how they were. He dials the driver who brought them here, and says into the phone, "Yes, Ms. Blaire is ready to leave. Text me when you're out front. Heroes for Hire takes this account /very/ seriously, understand? ... Alright." He winks at Alison and grins. "Janice said I should tell the car service I was working for you, so they wouldn't blab to the media. About our date." Alison CLINGS when she's lifted, although she doesn't show any outward signs of being alarmed. It's more of a securing than panic, and when they resettle, she leans back into his warmth and listens to the phone call. She's clearly amused by Luke's professonal demeanor, and when he ends the conversation, she giggles. "Wow. So, technically, I'm your boss tonight?" Her look turns mischevious, and she flutters the fingers of one hand. "I must remember to thank Janice for her foresight." "Well.. that all depends on whether I'm getting paid. Bosses generally pay their employees. Hell, even /I/ pay my employees." Luke chuckles and sits back, essentially just putting Alison in his lap. He can take up most of two-seater on his own, after all. "Wait, have you met Janice face-to-face? Or just over the phone? You haven't been by the office, right? Or are you stalking me? I get that a /lot/." He grins. Alison laughs, resettling herself when Luke adjusts her, and curling her legs around his thigh, a bit. "If I pay you, this takes on a whole different sort of atmosphere." Her tone is light, and teasing, and she shakes her head at the question. "Oh, I've never met her. I think Mel spoke to her on the phone, but I haven't met her yet. But if she's putting you under my thumb, she deserves at least some flowers." She reaches, then, to re-claim Luke's hand and entwine their fingers again. "Maybe chocolates." "Actually," Cage says, pausing as he's momentarily distracted by the squeezing at his thigh. "Speaking of chocolate, there was this place I read about. Thought you might want to try it out with me. It's called the Chocolate Lounge. Drinks, chocolate, and... I guess some other stuff, but who cares about that?" He shrugs, totally genuine in his bafflement. "Oh, I've heard about that place," Alison says, sliding her thumb over the back of Luke's slowly. "One of my crew took his girlfriend there to propose. He said it was great." She smiles, and drops her head back to look at Luke through her lashes. "I'd love to go with you. Do you mean, from here?" she verifies suddenly, her eyes widening just a bit before they narrow. "Don't they require a reservation?" If Luke /could/ blush, this would be the right moment. But then he just grins through it, holding her gaze a long moment with the deep wells of his brown eyes before holding up his phone as evidence. "I... had made reservations for 9. I texted them when we went into extra innings, so they moved it for us." He shrugs, "I hope you don't mind." Alison smiles. "Well, if they're holding the reservation for us, we should definitely go," she says, keeping her gaze locked with Luke's. Then she sniffs, adopting a mock-haughty look. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Luke just keeps grinning, not really able to hide how proud of himself he is. He stands, picking Alison up with him again, but setting her gently on her feet this time. "Well, I don't seem it, but I'm actually just /organized/. With a little help, of course. But I figured, a cancellation fee isn't as bad as /not/ having the rez if we wanted it." He checks his pockets to make sure he has everything, just as his phone buzzes a short staccato. He takes a step toward the door and says, "That's the driver. Are you ready to depart, Ms. Blaire?" He stands up straight, as if on guard duty. Alison is swung around and lands on her feet like a dancer, toes lighting easily in the pile of the carpet before her heels rock back down. "Wow. Organization is such a turn-on." She says this with all seriousness. "I would have pegged you for one of those Oscar Madison-types, with stuff scattered everywhere." That's a tease, and she poke a finger at Luke's taut belly. When his phone buzzes, she moves to claim her purse and returns to Luke's side with a bright smile. Threading her hand into the crook of his elbow, she nods. "I am ready, Mister Cage," she says loftily. "Shall we go, then?" They had been so discreet, traveled in all the right channels, taken every precaution. But when Luke opens the door for Alison, one lucky TMZ bastard's hunch pays off. He immediately starts walking in front of the pair, backpedaling, and filming them as they go. He's not even trying to ask them questions, but he's certainly praying for an outburst. Luke tenses visibly, but quickly falls into his cover story's position, putting himself between the camera guy, and 'Ms. Blaire'. He forces a smile onto his face, and says, "C'mon buddy, just let the lady go home in peace." Alison is unbothered by the sudden attention from the paparazzo, and she runs fingers through her hair as Luke tries to deal with him. "Who is that?" she asks, suddenly stepping around Luke to stare at the cameraman. She doesn't blink at all in the sudden pops of light from the flash. "Tony Benedezzo, is that you? What have I told you about following me to /Mets/ games?" She sounds like she's scolding a child, and the paparazzo actually lowers his camera to begin asking questions, only to be cut off by the blonde's raised hand. "Save it," she says, frowning tightly. "The agreement is, you guys don't follow me to the private boxes," she reminds the man. "In the stands, or at the concession, /only/. Mets games are for /me/." She holds out her hand, eyebrows lifted. "Now give me the memory card, and Mel will get it back to you tomorrow." Tony is chagrined. Alison's tone, bearing and manner have all converged on this one lone sleaze bag, and it's too much for him to bear without the cadre of fellow sleaze bags to back him up. He deflates, and lets the camera drop. Then he opens the back and pops the little card out. Inching past Cage's 6'4" glare, he drops the card in Alison's hand a mumbles a, "Sorry, Ms. Blaire, my bad..." Then he just backs away, and starts walking fast in the opposite direction from where they were headed. When Tony is out of sight, Luke turns an impressed look on Alison. "Holy shit, you /handled/ that guy. I'm impressed. I mean, not like I thought you couldn't, but those people just put me in a... mood." He cycled through a lot of words before settling on mood. It was probably the best choice. "Maybe you should be guarding /me/?" Alison takes the memory card with a nod of thanks, and drops it in her purse. She watches until Tony is gone, and then smiles up at Luke. "Oh, when they're one-on-one like that, it's easy," she says. "I know most of the regulars by name. They're generally very sweet guys, but they can be a bit much." She pats Luke's arm comfortingly. "Come on," she says. "There'll be a slew of them in the fifteen feet between the door and the car, but I'll protect you." She flexes a bicep. "With my awesome /shaming/ powers." "Hey, that's good," Luke says, pinching gently at her bicep. "The knock-out throws knock-outs. I like it." Luke grins all the way to the exit tunnel. At least here, the stadium sets up ropes for VIPs to reach their cars. They'll be lined with cameras of course, but at least there's a barricade. Luke ducks his head and leads the way like a good body guard, and the pair approach the car amid a hail of shouted questions. They get questions about why she would hire Luke, why a mutant, questions about her show, and her personal life. And then, out of the crowd, a real voice of hate bubbles to the surface. Luke seems to hear a split second before Alison does, and puts himself between her and the voice. "Fuck you, you fucking filthy mutant lovers!" Then, sailing out from behind the crowd of photogs comes a mostly full, stadium-large soda cup. Cage throws up an arm instinctively, but the cup just crashes against him, soaking the front of his favorite jersey with sticky cola. "Go go go," Cage says quietly, and maintains his screen for Alison to scoot into the car behind him. Then he hops in, and pulls the door shut. "Go ahead, driver." Cage palms his face, wiping soda from his eyes as the car pulls away. Alison handles the barrage like a champ, offering smiles for the flashing cameras and ignoring the questions. When the anti-mutant individual pushes forward, she frowns at the vitriol, and steps behind Luke just as the cup collides with him. She can't quite mask her outraged gasp, and she GLARES at the assailant even as she's ushered into the car. Once inside the vehicle, she opens her purse and pulls out an honest-to-god handkerchief that she begins to use as a chamois, wiping at the soda on Luke's jersey. "Oh, gosh," she says, staring at the material with a rueful expression. "I'm so sorry about that. We should have had them pick us up in the tunnels." Luke just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. He looks down at the handkerchief and smiles, "Thanks, but it's ok. Mind if we swing by the office? It's just over the bridge from here, and... sort of on our way." He shrugs and smiles. "Really, I'm ok. I've taken way worse." He gently takes her handkerchief hand in his so she doesn't feel obliged to keep dabbing at him. "Besides, I kind of like it. Sort of... a new cologne, right?" "I don't mind," Alison says with a shake of her head. "You can't go to the restaurant in a sticky shirt." She smiles, and wrinkles her nose, refusing to release the handkerchief. "Although, I can think of better colognes I'd want to smell on you. I'm not a /bee/, after all." It's almost 10 when they reach Luke's office, just a little uptown from Times Square. The driver will wait, of course, so Luke leads the way upstairs. Inside, the office is empty. The motion sensor clicks and the lights flicker into life when the door opens on the front room, with Janice's desk. "Well, now you've met Janice's desk. Maybe you can stop by for a real visit sometime." Luke says this on his way to his back office. "You might as well come in and take a look around. You want a drink or anything?" He squats and opens the cabinet to the tiny wet bar, find the towel and soda water he was looking for. Alison drifts into the office slowly, taking in the furniture and Janice's neatly-organized desk with a small smile before she follows Luke into his office. Inside, she does the same kind of drifting, allowing her fingers to stroke along the surface of his desk, and along the back of one chair. "This is a pretty nice office, for someone just starting out," she notes playfully. "Aren't most of you detectives supposed to work out of a one-room office with bad lighting and a whiskey bottle on the desk?" Luke chuckles and nods. "The state settlement was generous, and I like to have some elbow room." He puts an empty ice bucket on top of the little wet bar, pours in the soda water, and drops the towel into it. Without a hint of modesty, Cage unbuttons and peels off his jersey before draping it over the back of a metal chair. "If my cleaner can fix that, I'll buy him a case. Of whatever." He grins again and just shakes his head ruefully. Then he's back at the bucket, squeezing out soda water, and giving himself a quick once over. The sparse chest hair does little to hide his almost-inhumanly cut physique. It's the kind of body most body-builders would kill for. Too bulky for some, certainly, but not the biggest guy ever, either. He drops the towel into the bucket, and heads for the little armoire in the other corner, drawing out a button up yellow dress shirt. He pulls it on, and starts buttoning it while he walks back to Alison at his desk. "Glad you like the place though." He smiles broadly. "Oh." It's a soft sound, Alison's breath catching as Luke peels off his shirt, and she blinks a couple of times before she swallows. "I-if he can't," she offers distractedly, eyes raking over the big man's torso before latching onto his eyes. "I have a cleaner who's a marvel at getting stains out. Even old ones." There's color in her face, and in the air around her as she moves to the sofa and drops into it like her legs will no longer support her weight. "It's a good office," she says in a faraway voice, her expression thoughtful. "Nice view." Luke leaves the top button undone, and the shirt untucked, when all is said and done. When she mentions the view, he glances up from the buttons and out the window toward Times Square in the distance. "Oh yeah, it's great here! We haven't been here that long, but I'm hoping we get a decent view of the New Year's thing." He shrugs and smiles. No need to mention it'll be his first New Year's eve on the outside in a long, long time. He eases onto the couch next to her, while rolling his cuffs up a little. Alison seems a bit confused when Luke starts talking about New Year's, and it takes a minute for her to catch up. She glances at the window, and nods. "Oh, yes. It should be a great view," she says. "Although, there'll be people /everywhere/. It's always terrible, trying to get around the city on that night." She smiles, and reaches out to fix Luke's collar, tweaking it into place gently. "You look good in yellow," she notes. "I noticed that the other day." "Oh thanks," Luke says, looking down at his shirt. "I like bright colors... but I'm a little sick of orange." He grins, and winks. He reaches up and gently catches her hand in his when she's done fixing his collar. He stands, holding her hand, and bows low with one leg in front, like some Ren Faire geek. "My lady - shall we away?" "Very few people can pull off orange," Alison says, wrinkling her nose playfully. "So you're probably better off without it." She giggles at the bow, and pulls her free hand to her chest with a flutter of her lashes. "Why, sir, I believe we shall." She rises, then, as if she's wearing a full skirt instead of shorts, and offers a curtsey. "I /do/ hope the queen will forgive our tardiness." She can't keep up the act for long, though, and she steps up to poke a finger against the steel band of his abdomen. "Dorky is as big a turn-on as organized," she says with a twinkling smile. "I'll give you /that/ piece of information for free, flatfoot." Luke's eyebrows go up with the awarded piece of information. "Is that right? I ain't much of a 'dork'... I just don't mind embarrassing myself." Maybe that's the same thing! "So, I'm two for two then. I'll have to figure out how to make the hat trick." He grins, and seems to have forgotten the part where he should release her hand. Instead, he leads the way out of the office, and back down to the waiting car. "Who says that was just number two?" Alison teases as she skips forward to loop her arm in Cage's, leaning into his bicep and waggling her eyebrows up at him. "You might be doing better than you think." Luke laughs like he thinks she's joking, and then isn't so sure when he looks down at her expression. He looks up, with an absent grin on his face. Back in the car, he takes a deep breath and says, "Ok, we can try this again." He opens a panel in front of them in the back seat, revealing a chilled champagne bottle, and two small glasses. "Can I offer you a drink?" Alison has her own laughter for Luke's uncertain expression, although it's warm and comes with a small squeeze of his arm. Once in the car, she eases back into the seat, and reaches up to run her fingers through her hair. When Luke opens the panel, her eyebrows lift in surprise. Then they lower again as she regards the big man for a long, thoughtful moment. "From beer to champagne," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth curling upward. "You are certainly a multifaceted sort of man, aren't you?" "Well," Luke begins, "I didn't know if you liked beer, so I figured if beers struck out at the game," He waggles his eyebrows at his /terrible/ pun. "We'd have a champagne relief pitcher. But to be fair, I dunno the first thing about champagne. I hope it's not total crap." He grins and shrugs apologetically. "I'm a Long Island girl," Alison says. "Beer and wine coolers are kind of a team anchor for us. But I do like champagne, as well." She leans forward to look at the label, and nods. "That's a good one," she says, and smiles at Luke playfully. "Should I thank Janice again?" Luke smiles and looks relieved. "Actually, the car service only had a few options. I just flipped a coin." He grins, looking guilty, and then leans forward. He picks up the bottle and just twists the top off without much theater. It gives a satisfying pop, only a little spills over, but the car service has to plan for that to some extent. Then he pours a glass, hands it to Alison, and pours his own. Once the bottle is put back, and his glass is in hand, he sits back and offers his glass for clinking. "Cheers." Alison laughs. "Well, that's not a bad thing," she says encouragingly. "The better car services don't really skimp on those kind of things. Return business, and all that." She takes the glass, and settles herself as Luke fill his glass, and clinks when it's offered. "Cheers," she says, and sips at the champagne carefully, making a delighted hum as the liquid hits her tongue. "Oh, that's wonderful," she says, running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. "Sweet. I hate it when champagne is too dry." She grimaces as she realizes that Luke might not be familiar with that term, so she offers a sheepish explanation. "Dry wines are kind of sharp and don't taste as sweet." Sipping at his drink, Luke makes a thoughtful face, and is then openly confused at Alison's explanation. "Wait, really? Why would anyone /want/ it to be less sweet? This is... like a treat." He holds his glass up and ponders this mystery of the universe for a moment. He takes a second, longer sip and says, "Ok, I think we should prepare ourselves mentally. We. Are going to a lounge. With drinks AND chocolate dessert specialties. Should we... stretch, or warm up or something? I'm not sure I'm prepared." "Dry wines are actually good with sweet things, like chocolate," Alison says, smiling brightly. "Have you ever seen in the movies when people eat champagne and strawberries? The sharpness of the wine offsets the sweetness of the berries, making for a nice balance." She blinks, suddenly, as if aware that she's lecturing on /wine/, for God's sake. Luke's suggestion of preparations gets a giggle, and she shifts to lean into his side, resting her head on the swell of his chest. "I don't think you can actually prepare for that much amazing," she notes wryly. "I think you've just got to let it /happen/ to you." Luke listens with interest while she explains, either not aware, or not bothered by a lesson on something he knows exactly diddly and squat about. Then he hms softly when Alison leans against him. The deep thrum in his chest sounding something like a ship's distant engines as he sighs his contentment. He maneuvers to put his arm around her shoulders and give her a happy squeeze. But, just as they're settling in, and possibly thinking about a second pour, the car is pulling up in front of the restaurant. Oh right - they were going somewhere! Luke gives Alison a gentle squeeze, and scoots out of the car so he can hold the door open for her. "Your chocolate awaits, m'lady."