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Library, Sunday

Despite the fact he way or may not have gotten fired on Wednesday, though he pretty sure it'd been a case of not, Face was back behind the desk today. Though in between checking and stacking books, he made a point of scrubbing out the coffee pot.

Just because Barry hadn't been responsible for the island going weird, it didn't mean that the pot was safe.

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...himself, basically. More through lack of opportunity than willingness on his part.

"I'm flattered that my caf might reach the dizzying heights of 'will do'," he said, grinning. "Though you'd have to visit back home to get the really good stuff."

Cassandra let out a little snort. "I have a hard enough time finding my way to my own home," she said. She watched him, for a moment at least. "Were you aware that the local communication devices occasionally behave strangely? I should not have been surprised by it. The technology appears unreliable."

"Mine's easy enough to get to," he said. "I'm just supposed to be dead there."

Face shrugged. "I figured something was up when I started getting a bunch of strange messages, then radio confirmed it the next day." Beat. "Did you get the reply about the gourds? Because I don't actually have a gourd trick."

"No, you were contacting someone about something more private than that," Cassandra said.

As she picked up a book for the express purpose of hiding any trace of any blushing. Pre-emptively, that is, if being sardonic failed her.

"Oh, you got my message to Mara." He'd wondered where that one went. Oops. "That was only half serious."

"Mara?" Cassandra echoed. "She is the redhead, is she not?"

Face nodded. "I'd think you'd like her," he said, pulling his phone out, and flicking to his voice messages. "I'm not sure who she thought she was sending it to, but here's the message I got from her."

He pressed play.

Cassandra tilted her head. "So you were... making a joke? Or propositioning her?"

It was hard to tell.

"Not that this is any of my affair."

"If that message made you uncomfortable you had the right to bring it up," Face said and shrugged. "We're friends, friends talk to each other about this kind of thing."

Another shrug. "It was mostly a joke, I have enough reasons to think she'd find it funny. Though I wouldn't be heartbroken if she wanted to take me up on it."

"I am not uncomfortable," Cassandra specified, as she realized that she was, in part. "I was merely hoping to have the matter clarified. Thank you."

"Now I'm kind of curious what sort of reply someone else got instead of me," Face said. Because going there would surely end well.

Oh, look, that book was climbing up as she studied the synopsis on the back. "Mockery, of course," Cassandra said. "Your message was rather ridiculous."

Face clapped his hand dramatically over his chest. "A shot right to the heart."

"I am sure you will never survive this grave wound," Cassandra said dryly.

"Yeah, I'd say I'm done for," Face assured her.

"And you haven't even heard the full phrasing," Cassandra said, putting the book back down. "Your constitution is poor."

"I'm a former actor," Face said. "We're sensitive sorts."

Cassandra huffed out a laugh. "Sensitive. Yes. Of course."

Face nodded. "Also delicate."

"Like a tender flower," Cassandra said dryly. "One almost wonders why you would chance such a risky pursuit like flirting."

"Because I have poetry in my soul." Also a marked lack of self-preservation.

"I am fairly certain that is not what true poetry sounds like," Cassandra said.

"It's blank verse," Face deadpanned.

"Beautiful and terrifying maiden,
Do not turn your anger on me,
I am not a deer."

"It is not only your messages that are ridiculous," Cassandra said firmly, "But you aspire to that title in its entirety."

Not that she didn't look charmed.

Face just grinned at her. Because he had no shame. "If you'd prefer non-ridiculous poetry, I'm pretty sure we have some of that here."

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