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Fourth Floor Common Room, Wednesday Evening

There were things to think about and plans to make after some conversations last night and Hannibal felt a little cooped up and restless in his own room so he grabbed a pillow and headed down to the common room.

There wasn't any made up games tonight. Just a boy, a pillow, a movie that he wasn't really watching, a notepad of scribbled notes (that he can't believe he's actually taking) and a pizza on the floor in front of him.

He just hoped he could read his notes (silly and unnecessary as they were) since he was staining the paper with pizza from his fingers.

[Open CR is open!]

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"I warned you," she said, standing up and heading towards him, none too slowly either.

"NoooooOOOOoooo!" Cal ~~paid Anakin~~ braced himself for impact.

And then thought of how awkward it would be if someone like Claire were to come in at that moment. But like he could honestly say no to having Amber sitting on his lap, even if they were just friends now.

Brace himself he should because she totally went to pounce down on him, full weight, flannel pajamas, slippers and all. And she was laughing.

Which was all of, what, 110 pounds? Still, Cal grunted and acted like he was being squished for Amber's benefit, and maybe, just maybe, out of sheer habit or he didn't even know what, his arms went around her waist as if to pull her in a little more and hold her there.

Which made her wiggle, and even lean in against him just a little because it might have been just a bit nice. It was almost like a hug. Hugs were nice and friendly, even if jokingly forced.

"Am I crushing you yet?"

Oh, God, the wiggling. The wiggling would always be a weakness, but it was one of those small pleasures in life that too many people probably took for granted.

Cal just groaned in response, tilted his head back against the chair; his tongue rolled out, a clear indication of his unfortunate, albeit happy, demise.

Amber giggled at him and then bounced, once. "Guess you'll think twice about making fun of my ass again." So he didn't actually make fun of her ass; this put on show was entirely worth the engaging dorkiness.

Cal didn't respond; he was too busy being dead and trying to not think about bouncing.

She leaned forward, staring at his face, and lifted her hand to smack lightly at his cheek. "I would offer mouth to mouth, but not sure if you've brushed your teeth today," she teased lightly. Plus, that might just push the awkward a little.

Cal was still pretty dead, but his brow still furrowed in a slight attempt to glare at her, because of course he brushed his teeth.

He couldn't help wonder, just a little, what it would be like if it was Claire doing this instead of Amber. And, sometimes, Cal did have enough imagination to compensate for the fact that he didn't exactly think Claire would do something like this...

...he didn't exactly imagine she'd try to hold his hand, either, but that happened in just about this spot only last night...

Cal made an extra dying sound to emphasize that he was, indeed, a dead man.

And Amber bounced extra hard. Then again. Then she got ready to do it again, because dead was dead, right? What good is mouth to mouth if the person was dead? She might as well use Cal as a bean bag or something.

"...If you treat all dead men like this," Cal observed after a moment, "no wonder you liked your morgue job so much."

"I liked my morgue job so much because dead men can't talk back," she pointed out.

"Or complain, you mean."

Just notice how much Cal was complaining, oh yes.

"Uh-huh," she said quietly. "Exactly. Not that I would hear much complaining..."

"You stopped bouncing," Cal observed. "Should I go back to being dead?"

"Oops, my bad," she said and bounced again. Then she wiggled and one slipper flopped to the floor. "Ahhh, man." Trying to keep her place, Amber leaned over to try and reach it. "Just stay dead, Cal. Dead men don't care what's going on around them."

Cal responded smartly, by being as dead as his very alive body being bounced upon would allow him to be.

Even if now it was kind of bordering on some weird sort of necrophiliac psuedo-role play, but, then again he was suddenly the guy who liked chicks who worked with dead people.

Tucking her foot back into her slipper, which was made a little more difficult with his hold on her, Amber bounced again when she was upright, commenting, "Your skinny thighs are beginning to hurt my butt."

Bounce bounce wiggle. Wiggling was easier. She wiggled a little more.

"Clearly you just need a fatter ass."

Dead men didn't talk, but Cal couldn't help it.

Amber snorted and shifted, shoving her hands under her butt and on his lap. Which made her realize she should have thought before she did that. "Clearly you need thicker thighs."

There were hands on his thighs and he was thinking about how the Obscure Object had thighs that were a little on the thick side, and he loved that detail, for so many reasons.

"I'll push you off," he warned, knowing the threat had absolutely no bearing.

She grinned, knowing that he wouldn't. Or at least thinking that he wouldn't.

"My hands are cold." Which was true, actually.

"By warming them up on my skinny thighs?"

Not a complaint. So not a complaint.

"One does what one must when one is limited," she pointed out, chin in air.

Then she squeezed, you know, just to test his tickle factor.

Fourth Floor Common Room, Wednesday Evening

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