Stopping to Smell the Roses

by Mortal Anonymous

Neal the Eel and Mime Bomb had an entire day to spend before their heist that night in Venice. Spending it together might have ended up being more fun than it had any right to be.

3. Chapter 3

With the rest of the boring, stuffy paperwork out of the way, Mime Bomb was officially a free man, Neal would announce with a casual stretch of his arms overhead as they exited an office building. It had only taken three tries to find the right one. Now, the taller man would suggest, how about they take a stop to celebrate?

This did bring a thoughtful smile to Mime's face as he put a finger to his chin and glanced to the side. Looking to the man beside him, he placed a hand on his stomach.

That was how they ended up seated in the quaint booth of a restaurant only a short walk away. The small table between them was packed so full of food there was no surface to be seen, and most of it was Mime's.

Elbows on the table and fingers laced under his chin, Neal watched slightly transfixed as his companion stuffed quiche, pasta, salad and bread into his mouth at an incredible rate. "Do they not feed you in prison..?" he had to wonder. He'd never been. He had no idea what the grub was like on the inside.

Mime looked up from the small mountain he was devouring and cleared his mouth with a thick swallow before turning to the side, opening his jaw and bending, sticking one finger inside in a universal indicator of throwing up. Even if he'd been fed, prison food was disgustingly bland, mass-produced swill. By comparison, even this average restaurant quality was Ambrosia, full of variety, and he wanted to indulge. His meager breakfast had hardly been enough to fill his belly.

This made perfect sense to Neal, but it was still interesting to note how greedy the other could be with food. They'd shared a couple of meals prior, but Mime Bomb had not eaten to nearly this excess. "Fair. Still, scrawny thing like you, Oi had no idea you could pack it away like that." A tut. "Guess you're just full of surprising secrets, eh?"

Amiably, Mime gave a coy little shrug and reached across the table to help himself to a hearty bite of Neal's tartiflette.

"Oi! Cheeky..!" The outburst held more of a tone of mirth than anything. Gaze dropping to another of his dishes, Neal poked one of the items on the end of a long fork and waggled it in offer. "How about a snail then, sticky fingers? Just about the only thing left you haven't touched. They go down slow and savory~."

At this, Mime's face exhibited some genuine disgust as he leaned away. That was one cultural barrier that was too much for him to cross, and the fact that Neal so readily wallowed in all things slimy was almost enough to damage his appetite. Neal was himself clean and good company...but he was also still gross.

Knowing Mime Bomb was somewhat reserved when it came to slime and filth, Neal's lop-sided smile widened in amusement at the reaction. It was also a reason he was glad the other could look past a preference like that for him. It made him feel like Mime Bomb did value him on a personal level. "You're right. You've got plenty," the jokester shrugged, satisfied with his squeamish revenge, and turned the fork for his own mouth, happily munching the slick, buttery morsel of meat.

Mime's lips wavered as he watched how easily it had vanished, and shuddered. Don't think about when it had been alive, he told himself. Pushing any thoughts of snail ooze away, he shot back at Neal by picking up his own fork and flicking a speck of sauced noodle at him.

It struck Neal's cheek as the man took his turn flinching away from the assault, but he turned back with a playful smirk, thumbing the sauce stain away. "Oh, Oi see. You'd rather feed me. Well, let it never be said Oi'm not an equal opportunist in this relationship." Slowly, he placed his thumb to his lips and suckled the dab of sauce off.

Now Mime's brow went up as he felt his cheeks warm slightly under a suggestive gaze. Damn Neal and his effective sporadic flirting. Stubbornly, however, he refused to make the mistake of indulging the man again and turned up his nose in insistent refusal to acknowledge the action.

Ah, that took Neal back. Just like old times. Mime Bomb's side of the game had been very grounded in taunting resistance. Taking the snub to mean the redhead was actually accepting his advance in this case, the Kiwi pressed, "You already kissed me, luv. Gonna be hard to say you're not interested this time around." He watched in smug amusement as the other darted his eyes around and half-started to make a few excuses with his hands before simply letting his face fall flat and signaling a zipping motion across his mouth. Referencing that wasn't allowed. Temporary insanity, he would claim.

Neal chuckled. "Are we callin' this the date yet, then?" If the fun had begun, he would say so, but it was Mime's call.

Mime's eyes shifted in contemplation. Did he want this to be the date? He would have expected it to be more planned, but he had to agree that just now had been a ripple of nostalgia hearkening back to the banter they'd shared so many months ago. It was fun. It took Mime Bomb's mind off of worrying about the future, and he'd already decided he'd wanted to unwind before tackling anything else.

Oh, very well. Figuring he could grant Neal that much, he gave a reserved nod and motioned his wrist in breezy carelessness, saying he supposed so. As he did, though, he felt an unexpected flurry in his gut. Calling it an official date was a little nerve-wracking, it seemed. And a little exciting.

Across the table, Neal's expression perked, and then softened fondly. "In that case," he quipped, "Oi got a little somethin' for ya. Voila!" Reaching behind him, he then pulled out nothing, but presented his arms forward like holding a sizable object. "A lovely bouquet of invisible roses~. Oi seem to recall you being the flowery type."

Now Mime perked with a blink. The pretend flower was in fact one of his favorite bits, and he'd used it on Neal to test his willingness to play in pantomime. The fact that Neal remembered that moment that had started their back-and-forth, and was turning it around with his own spin, was more thoughtful than he might even realize. It certainly confirmed that he was still more than willing to speak Mime's language.

Unable to prevent his face from expressing some warmth, the bereted man reached to take the invisible bouquet, admiring it in his own arms before turning to place it in an invisible vase. There he fluffed them and leaned forward to take a whiff of the imaginary roses.

"Glad you like 'em," Neal beamed. He'd almost been worried his idea might be considered some sort of slight, but he knew Mime appreciated when he was played along with, and wanted to show he remembered.

Turning a bit more reflective, Neal admitted, "Y'know, Oi'm glad we got the chance to meet up when we did. Any later and we'd have been out of work without ever getting the proper chance to get to know each other." They'd known of each other, but they were four years apart in graduating and had not had a mission together until Venice. Rather lucky, considering how that day had gone was solely responsible for leading them to this moment. "Pretty ironic, though, that Oi'm the one who got arrested, and yet you're the one who got sent to the hoosegow in the end." A tut. "Funny old world, eh?"

Funny was not exactly the word Mime would have used, but he understood the meaning and had to pause in reflection for a moment himself. It was true. If they had not had that day to form such an unexpected connection, things would be very different now. He supposed all it took really was just one little coincidence to make all the difference. Quite honestly, he was glad Neal remembered him. He was touched Neal thought enough of that day to pick up where they'd left it. If it had been him, he wasn't sure he'd have been as ready to spring the other man on a whim and invite him along on his post-V.I.L.E. plans. He was much less impulsive, and really, not very thoughtful of others. That was another reason Neal ended up standing out. He had a way of making Mime want to bother engaging with him.

He remembered being bummed that they never got the chance to stand in the same room on their second shared mission, though. So maybe he would have missed Neal enough to look for him in the end. Remembering this also reminded him of some more questions he had, and he decided to take the opportunity since they both wanted to catch up. Facing Neal, he pointed at him, then placed his fingertips to his temples and pretended to be shocked by a jolt of electricity. Then he opened his palms forward and shrugged with an inquiring expression.

A more reflective chuckle there. "Ah, yes, that was a rather unusual circumstance, wasn't it? Oi hardly expected to be sent out again myself. They sure tried to sap my synapses, but turns out it didn't take. Little did they know, Oi'd already taken precautions on the ride over and swiped my temples with some jolt-dampening goo, but little did Oi know how Oi was supposed to react after the whole thing. Guess Oi said the wrong thing, 'cause the Good Doctor was rather shocked herself, and turns around and says the whole darn machine's gone screwy regardless. Wouldn't ya know, Oi coulda relaxed either way. Well, Oi was relaxed, but that's beside the point."

A light shrug here, and Mime was surprised at how easily the other could discuss being hauled away to have his mind altered. It was like he was talking about curious weather patterns. "Oi just went with the flow of the room, really. Wasn't hard. Maelstrom was feeling unusually generous and giving the latest faculty failure another shot at sticking around, and Oi thought hopping onboard sounded better than being locked in a holding cell. Oi'm sure you can relate."

Mime let his lips shift in a hint of unimpress, but let that one go. It wasn't the worst, and might have actually been a genuine attempt to relate. It was hard to say. But if it wasn't, he refused to let Neal continue to get a rise out of him with references to incarceration. One thing he did have to grant was that he could no longer judge Neal for having been arrested, for not only had Neal had a plan and succeeded in escaping his punishment, but Mime himself had failed to slide through the law's fingers.

"Being out and about was the right call, too," Neal noted, "Since, as you know, Carmen Sandiego put the kibosh on our caper in China. Made it a lot easier to slip away. Oi knew Oi wasn't gonna get out of trouble again - don't think Oi've ever seen Maelstrom go for a third strike - man'd be terrible at baseball. But Oi'm loyal, not stupid. And Oi don't have trouble turning my back when someone's already betrayed me. Not too keen on the way V.I.L.E. had changed their tune about me, that's when Oi figured Oi'd do best on the opposite side of the globe for a bit."

Mime Bomb was starting to understand how the other man could seem so carefree about V.I.L.E.'s downfall. He'd already had no love left for them, finding it easy to drop a soured relationship. The ginger clown was almost envious, for he was unable to see the organization in the same light.

Neal smiled gently. "Happy thing to realize: having no memory of V.I.L.E. would mean no memory of you, either. Just another thing to count myself lucky on." He watched Mime put his hands on his lap and turn his face bashfully, then opted to keep from getting too sappy. "So what about you, then? How did you end up behind bars? You're such a wily one, hearing about that was almost as much of a shock as hearing about the collapse in the first place."

Here the silent man made a regretful expression, tightening his lips grimly. Then he shifted posture and formed a small set of action poses before picking up a pretend smartphone and poking away at it, bringing it to his ear.

A sympathetic brow pinched across the table. "You were mid-mission when it happened," Neal understood, "Oh, bruv, that's gotta smart." Active operatives had been targeted fast and hard from what he'd found out. Mime Bomb had likely had no chance to even try and duck away.

Mime Bomb nodded and elaborated. That call he'd been on had actually been to the V.I.L.E. faculty room, for a report, and it had been just in time to see A.C.M.E., the agency dedicated to stopping international crime rings like theirs, storming right through. They'd unavoidably seen him on the giant screen the cavernous room held, and despite immediately seeing something was wrong, hanging up and throwing away his V.I.L.E. phone, he had been compromised and his position was triangulated. He had not run far before he'd been caught up to and carted off to A.C.M.E.'s nearest station in France. From there he'd simply been placed into the proper legal channels.

Seeing the way Mime Bomb's arms lost their enthusiasm as they carried on their motions, ending in a slightly shameful slump, Neal hastened to cheer the other up. "It's alright, mate. Could've happened to anyone." Black-rimmed eyes looked back up to him and he offered a consoling smile. "So you got unlucky. Oi'd say that's all been undone now. Now you're on a date, and all you've got to concern yourself with is having a good time. Right?"

He was guessing some of this was what had been bothering Mime Bomb in the car. He must have not felt the best about how things had gone. In light of that, it was easy to see why perhaps being teased about his capture was not taken so well. Neal should make an effort to avoid so many jabs at a sore area. At least for this man.

Grateful that the taller man sympathized with his plight at the very least, Mime Bomb did return the encouragement with a small smile. It brought another flutter to his gut to hear the date officially recognized. And yes. He didn't want to ruin his own enjoyment of what was supposed to be a celebration of leaving prison.

Trying to move the tone back to something lighter, he did put a finger up in note, recalling a point of interest. Lifting his hat so he could smooth the other hand over his scalp in an attempt to illustrate a receding hairline and hair itself that plastered to the skull, he next lined the lapels of an invisible rigid jacket before hunching and rubbing his hands together in an overly seedy way.

"Oh? What about Maelstrom?" Neal's head tipped curiously. His brow rose when Mime Bomb mimicked gripping jail bars, pointed across the table, and then performed the same action to indicate mirrored cells. "No way. Really? He was your neighbor..!" A quick incredulous laugh. "And how did that go, then?"

With a smirk, Mime Bomb flipped his wrists palms down and spread his hands in a negative motion.

Neal's smile only spread eagerly. "Oh yeah? You and old Cryptkeeper don't get along very well?"

Mime Bomb shook his head in long sways. Never had. He found Neal's choice of nickname amusing, too. Maelstrom really did resemble such a character.

Attaching to this topic, the silent clown then decided to share some stories of his time in Maelstrom's classes. He told of how Maelstrom had found him particularly frustrating because his mind games simply didn't...work on Mime. Not like most. Their fair-haired professor had little patience, much less for pantomime puzzles, and did not enjoy the flippant, sometimes taunting way Mime Bomb gave his playful dialogue. As well, he was irritated to find Mime Bomb drawing on his inkblot cards to give answers and perturbed that his traditional methods of creating insecurity with words seemed to go in one ear and out the other with the silent one. Mime Bomb was simply unimpressed with his methods, and thought Maelstrom was trying way too hard, focused far too much on simply being creepy. He was not bothered by a sly tone or doubts about who he was. He was very opinionated and enjoyed the odd dabble in the disturbing himself. The pair were simply too alike and too different in all the wrong areas to get along. Mime actually started to like pushing Maelstrom, making a game out of annoying him. Even when Maelstrom discovered that the slimy creatures he stored were a good counter-measure, it only strengthened Mime's resolve not to lose.

And, for as much grief as Maelstrom got, he could not even dock Mime Bomb's grades, for the muted man was incredibly bright and his performance was always excellent. It was even more deliciously frustrating.

Being in glass boxes with only themselves, Mime had had the upper hand in being at odds with his former instructor, and had made the most of his old game all over again.

Neal was greatly entertained, and had his own experience he could not help but share. He'd found it quite the opposite in the slime department. Maelstrom seemed quite disappointed that he would gladly stick his hands in a bowl of grubs for a closer look. But Neal could relate to confidence causing some failures in the mind game department. Neal agreed that their old professor tried a bit too hard there. However, he didn't go out of his way to harass the man. He preferred getting along with his fellow evildoers, and tried his best to remain friendly. That wasn't to say he didn't still give Maelstrom a hard time, as such teasing was hardwired into his personality, but he didn't think there was quite as much animosity between himself and their creepy teacher as there was with him and Mime Bomb.

This of course also didn't mean he didn't love hearing about the brilliant ways Mime Bomb had made life difficult for Maelstrom. He was more than happy to sit back and watch the other mime out scenarios before moving onto other areas to reminisce about until the food at their table had disappeared.

From there, Neal asked what his companion would like to do next, but Mime did not have a real plan, so the two simply opted to walk some of their meal off and sight-see a bit, looking for anything that struck their fancy. This was a bit nostalgic too, walking together around a country foreign to the both of them.

"Ah, Fleury-Mérogis," Neal sighed in mock wistfulness as they meandered through lightly-trafficked streets, "That most well-known French city of love. Gotta say, Oi'm lovin' the whole...regular city vibe they're goin' for. Very much downplaying the grandeur. Very modest of them." This did get an appreciative silent snort from the other as Neal gestured towards a fire hydrant that had been graffitied. There really wasn't much to look at besides, well, the prison, which was the largest in the country.

Still, Mime Bomb found it a privilege to be able to walk anywhere he wanted, and was quite content with the lackluster scenery for now. Neal seemed to be too despite his quips, but then those just seemed to be inevitable from him.

"Good thing Oi'm not picky," the slippery man carried on lightly, "Oi'll admit Oi might fall prey to more than just the odd tourist trap, but fun's where ya find it, and Oi can find fun just about anywhere. Just to keep in mind, though, how's your finances? We on a budget, or are we more in the vein of anything goes?" He wouldn't necessarily mind paying both their ways, but he got the sense Mime preferred to be an independent. He'd insisted on covering his own meal.

Mime flipped his wrist with a slight roll of his eyes. He wasn't broke. Or useless. In fact, spying a woman sitting on a bench they were about to pass, he held up a finger and smiled, telling Neal to watch.

As they did pass, Neal turned and rested his hands casually on his hips as he watched Mime perform an exaggerated stop, grabbing a pretend pole and double-taking as though the woman had caught his eye. She turned her head, and he tipped his beret before promptly beginning a descent down an invisible flight of stairs.

As he disappeared behind the back of the bench, the woman turned further to see where he'd gone, but he'd already vanished, and turning back around, she would jump to find him popping up next to the armrest, offering out a single invisible flower.

Putting a confused but charmed hand to her collar, the woman chuckled awkwardly and took the flower, and Mime Bomb bent his knees to sit on an invisible second bench. He pretended to note something troublesome, and reached behind her ear, only to pull his fingers back like a magician might hold a coin. He pretended to be surprised, and then let his face fall, his palm falling open as well, showing that he was saddened it was merely an invisible coin. This time he took his beret off and offered it inside up with a hopeful beam.

A tad flustered, but forming a pitiable smile, the woman reached for a purse beside her to dig for some change. That she dropped into the hat with a short "c'est bon", and the painted clown closed his eyes in a gracious smile before standing and taking his leave with a small bow.

Rejoining Neal, the pair continued walking, and before Neal could say anything, Mime Bomb held up his other hand, around the forefinger and thumb of which draped the gold necklace with a jewel pendant the woman had been wearing. A smug lop-sided smile went Neal's way as Mime dumped the chump change into his palm, put his hat back on, and stuffed all of his earnings into his pants pocket. Even if there had been nothing leftover in his bank accounts, he knew how to earn on the go.

Neal had to admit the impromptu performance had been effective. "Slick," he complimented genuinely, "But that better not have been one-a my roses." A teasing chuckle, which earned him a jostle from Mime's elbow, and then he brought up a more legitimate note. "Just remember, you do have a few statute of limitations to run out. Might wanna wait until you're out of the country you were caged in before you start doing that sort of thing willy-nilly. Although of course Oi'm quite sure Carmen won't be watching for every petty little crime in the world. Only the big stuff." There was simply no way she could watch out for all of it. Still, it was going to be better to make sure she wasn't specifically watching them before trying anything too bold, and she was likely to hear that one of V.I.L.E.'s best had been released without ever facing trial in any of the countries he'd committed crimes in.

Having already realized this, Mime Bomb's shoulders sagged, having to relent to Neal's points. It was better to be safe than sorry. He wasn't going to want to risk even raising the attention of regular law enforcement. Not for a while.

His posture straightened again as he felt Neal take his thinly-gloved hand. He quickly looked at the other man, down to where he had indeed slid his hand around Mime's, and back up to his eyes.

"Oi'm not tellin' you not to do it," Neal assured, "Oi'm just sayin' to watch out is all. Hold off for a bit. Oi'll even help you get back in the game when the time comes, if you want. But the last thing Oi want is havin' our date cut short by another pesky arrest to undo."

Warmth poured into Mime Bomb's chest at how clearly Neal cared for his well-being. That, and such easily-offered support, was not something he was used to. But he appreciated it. And kind of liked how it made him feel to know it was there.

In thanks, he softly squeezed Neal's hand back. It was a date, after all. Such things were generally appropriate.

Very happy with the thankful smile he received, as well as how his hand was accepted, Neal was content to leave the heavy conversation at that and turned his attention back towards the buildings the pair passed, hunting for anything that looked fun. There were a lot of escape room type attractions in this city, he noticed. No doubt capitilizing on the prison aspect. Normally Neal would be all for such a thing, saying that he and Mime Bomb could waltz through something like that in no time since they both thrived on brain puzzles, but right now he was quite sure any closed room was not something the redhead wanted to be in, even if it was one meant to be escaped.

Luckily, those weren't the only recreational options, and at last Neal spotted one that made his face light up. It was an activity center that offered a variety of indoor things to do. "Oh! Look! They've got bowling!" he announced as he pointed to it, "You wanna try there?"

Mime Bomb leaned to look at the place Neal was indicating, and considered. Well, there was a nice list of activities on the sign. Why not? The two were likely to find something they could enjoy together. Bowling didn't sound bad.

Inside certainly boasted a variety. It resembled a huge warehouse with different areas marked off for designated use. There was of course an entire bowling alley along one side, but then there were also a few sports fields for ball games and badminton, an area for arcade games, darts, air hockey and the like, an arena for flying drones and using other electronic vehicles, a trampoline section, a ball pit, and perhaps most notably, a large section of climbing walls and other structures meant to be scaled.

These Neal was fast to point towards as he nudged Mime in amusement. "Hey, speaking of our old instructors, those givin' you flashbacks to Coach Brunt's training exercises too? Whaddya think, wanna have a race for old time's sake?"

Here the smaller man had to take a step back, putting his hands up in a defensive negative. Then he lifted his arms in a body builder pose and frowned at each stick-like specimen of svelte weightlessness he possessed. Coach Brunt's classes were the area he had been least successful in. He was not a fighter or tough at all. What he lacked in those areas he made up for in foresight, deftness and elusiveness, for not being hit was just as useful as hitting back.

Neal laughed in good nature at this adamant display. "Was only a suggestion, mate. Oi agree, you definitely don't look the type for sporting activity. Gonna say though, it might be more fair than you think. Oi was never much good at Coach's class either. Slippy fingers." Here he held both of his own hands up and waggled his digits playfully. Getting ahold of crevices in the walls had not been the easiest for him, and in weapons training, dropping a staff or having a tool knocked out of his hands had been a little too easy, even if he was fairly strong in combat. It was one reason he'd been so grateful when Professor Bellum had fashioned him a suit that not only aided his strengths, but included such incredibly gripping palms. Alas, that was not something he could wear much in public right now, at least not without standing out a little too much.

Mime could easily picture Neal struggling this way when he'd been at the academy. He'd noticed Neal's hand was incredibly warm to hold, and now that he'd pulled away, he could feel a damp residue ever so slightly lingering on his glove. It was mildly unpleasant, actually, but forgivable. And he still didn't want to climb anything, which he affirmed with another small shake of his head before pointing to the bowling alley and walking towards it. Hadn't that been what Neal was excited about in the first place?

Neal followed easily, having no complaint. Climbing really had only been a suggestion anyway. Another nostalgic jab.

Once taking an empty lane, Neal glanced to an occupied one beside theirs and his lazy smile widened. "You wanna know one place Oi shined, though: taking down the competition. Watch this. You'll love it."

Swiping a hand through his oily hair as he walked towards the next lane, he waited for the family that was using it to divert their attention. Once he saw an opening, he strolled through casually, stopping behind their ball dispenser to poke his fingers into one of the balls waiting there. In a flash, this had been done, and he strolled just as casually back to Mime Bomb, who was seated behind the score table and entering their information, as though nothing had happened.

The younger man glanced at him, but then both kept their attention on the family. Both took extra note when the one who happened to pick up the ball Neal had touched was a young boy no more than twelve. Oh, this was going to be good.

The boy stepped up to the lane, tongue out in concentration as he gave a few test swings to line up his shot, and then swung extra hard as he let the ball go.

It slipped off his fingers immediately in a way he clearly hadn't intended as evidenced by his surprised exclamation, and veered sharply towards the gutter. There, instead of stopping, it skipped, jumping into the air and over into the next lane, happening to strike another ball coming down it and knocking that one off course as well. The first ball, however, had lodged itself into an nice dent in the neighbor's lane.

The boy's hands were over his mouth in guilt, his mother mirroring the pose. The father was already rushing to apologize to the group of friends in the next lane, who were openly complaining in dismay.

Neal laughed as the fallout unfolded, that going far better than he ever expected.

Mime Bomb laughed too, silently. He'd put an elbow on the table console and put his fingertips to his forehead. Neal was still very much a prankster, too, it seemed. And good at it. He certainly knew how to make the most of himself, owning his excess moisture one hundred percent. Had he always been this good at owning his quirks? Mime had to wonder. It was very respectable.

Quite pleased to see the other shaking with muted mirth, Neal considered this outcome a double win. A happy Mime was the best Mime, in his opinion, and he felt very accomplished to be responsible for his condition.

"Only regret, though," he noted once they both had calmed down enough, "Is that it's all too possible Oi might end up doing just the same. Bet you'd laugh even harder seeing that." He waggled his fingers again, lamenting that in this case, though he was practiced at holding things when his palms might get sweaty, that slickness could be a double-edged sword.

While the man in makeup could admit that watching Neal slip all over himself might be very entertaining indeed, he took a moment to ponder an idea instead. Then he reached for Neal's hand, bringing it close, palm up, as he reached into his pocket to pull out a compact.

It might not have been as good as, say, chalk dust, but his touch-up makeup was sweat resistant, and this powder should mitigate the problem to a degree.

Neal's brow went up as he watched Mime Bomb apply that powder to his palm. When released, he brought it closer and wiggled his fingers again, indeed feeling much less clammy.

"Clever cookie~," he praised, to which the redhead beamed in a contradictory blend of smug modesty. Then Neal noticed what Mime Bomb had entered him as and scoffed with a snort. "Oh...immature, though. Really?" Another short laugh.

The painted clown had entered himself as simply 'MIME', but the second player had been entered as 'BUTT'.

In response, Mime Bomb simply shrugged in coy innocence now. He wasn't without his silly moments.

Lowering a brow in challenge, Neal noted, "Of course, considering your codename, the way that's arranged just looks like you call yourself Mime Butt now."

The other's brow went up in turn and he noticed that yes, reading the player names together did in fact look like that. Hurriedly, he tried to fix it, but there was no way to alter what had already been put in. So he puffed his cheeks in dismay.

This just made Neal chuckle more. "Too late, bruv. You're Mime Butt now. C'mon, Mime Butt, call up some pins already. Oi wanna get started sometime today."

It was only met with further amusement when the younger man brattishly shoved him several times in annoyance. Amused annoyance, but annoyance nonetheless.

The game went well. This pleasant, banter-filled atmosphere remained. Neal was pleased to discover his grip was in fact aided by the powder Mime had provided, and he put his other hand though his hair again to see what kind of spin applying some grease to the outside of his ball would grant. Mime Bomb would wrinkle his nose at this, but laugh when Neal claimed he brought new meaning to the term 'greaseball'.

Their scores were close, neither being particularly stellar at this game, and in the end Mime Bomb managed to win by only a handful of points. It did not stop him from gloating, however. Neal rolled his eyes, but had to allow it.

After this, Neal wanted to give climbing a real try now that he had an antiperspirant to help. That wasn't something Coach Brunt had ever provided.

Mime was still very uninterested in exerting himself in such a way, but he was more than happy to watch Neal attempt to clamber up a strange-looking tower of oversized, brightly-colored spheres. Against his already loud outfit, and given his height, it looked very out of place. He failed to make it to the top, as well, ending up dangling upside down and swinging in his harness after a graceless spread-eagled slip around a particularly large curve.

Neal would still laugh, claiming that was better than he'd ever managed to do in class. Coach Brunt would be proud.

Neither was interested in any of the sports, but Neal did manage to coax Mime Bomb into a few rounds of air hockey. The smaller man was no match for him here, alas, not having experience or reflexes suited for such a game. Neal would gladly take his chance to gloat, and Mime Bomb would roll his eyes, but tolerate it out of fairness. Then he would simply content himself in watching again as Neal tried out some of the arcade cabinets. The only one of these he joined was a racing game the player got to sit inside, but he was a little more interested in the destruction than winning, chasing after Neal, singling his car out and sending them both into a fiery explosion. It was still highly entertaining, and they delighted in more than a few rounds on that machine.

Lastly, the pair took an interest in the RC area. In particular, Mime wanted to fly a drone. He was displeased with the speed, however, and made sure no one was watching before hunching to tamper with it. The result was a much speedier aircraft that zipped through the air quite dangerously. Neal was impressed, and both men took turns flying this, harassing other fliers until one careless motion resulted in the blades of their altered drone slicing off the ponytail of a woman on the other side of the field.

She hadn't yet noticed in the seconds that followed, but Mime Bomb and Neal shared a guilty wide-eyed look, gently set the controller down, and decided they'd better leave before she did.

Outside, they were more than able to laugh about it in the aftermath. And getting away with it.

The sun was setting by this point, so after picking up some portable dinner, Mime Bomb questioned where Neal was staying by staring and putting his palms together, placing his hands under his tilted head like a pillow.

"Oh, you know, living in hotels as usual," Neal shrugged, "Nice one, though. Oh, and don't worry, Oi thought ahead for you."

Mime Bomb would see what this meant once they'd driven to the current hotel Neal was booked at. It was indeed nice. Spacious. And Neal had checked in as a pair of neighboring rooms that were connected by a door. He'd been considerate enough to plan for Mime to have his own bed and privacy, but this arrangement still made things easy enough if Mime needed him for anything.

This Mime did greatly appreciate, and with only a little thought, before he settled in for the night, he did take the opportunity to knock on that dividing door.

Neal had already made himself comfortable, answering in a long deep emerald bathrobe and black yoga pants. "Alright, bruv?" he quipped, "Lookin' for a good night kiss~?"

Ironically enough, a half-smile said, Mime nodded.

Taken aback, Neal couldn't help an, "Oh..?" He looked about in suspicion. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" It was never that easy to earn affection from the ginger.

In so many hand gestures, Mime Bomb simply pointed out that the date was over, and he'd enjoyed himself immensely. A kiss was tradition at the end of a fun date, wasn't it? He just wanted to say thank you, for the good time, and for his freedom one last time. This time less impulsively.

Well, it didn't sound unreasonable. Actually, Neal found it incredibly sweet that Mime Bomb would want to express gratitude in such a way. "Muh...alright," he granted, still just a little suspect, but willing to nibble. He couldn't say he wasn't into the opportunity.

He leaned forward, letting one hand slide around the smaller man's waist while the other held the doorframe. His suspicions were dashed as all Mime Bomb did was step closer with his pull, hands pressed gingerly against his chest as he too leaned forward to meet the other man's lips.

Both their eyes closed as they shared a relaxing sigh. It felt every bit as good as Neal remembered to have a tender moment like this with the other, and it was indeed a fine topper to the evening, just as their first kiss had been. Perhaps that was all Mime Bomb had been looking for. A recreation of that moment, letting Neal know he appreciated him just the same. It was enough to melt the Kiwi man's heart.

Mime Bomb felt a surge of warm sparks, much more strongly than either kiss prior, erupt throughout his body. It stunned him. He truly was glad, he truly was grateful, and, it seemed, he truly enjoyed this man's company. Neal was so comfortable to be around, especially after being reminded of how nice it was to have someone understand him so well. He made the redhead feel good. And it looked like he really could find himself drawn to him.

Unexpectedly finding that new idea a little bit intimidating, Mime Bomb was the first to pull away. The pleasant nature of the kiss lingered on his lips and the shock of desire echoed in his chest, though slowly fading, as he stared unsurely at Neal.

Opening his own eyes, Neal's motormouth came to the rescue before any silence had the chance to become awkward. "Well. Guess you weren't bluffing," he noted with a tut, "In that case...you're welcome." He smirked in a friendly manner.

On a more serious note, he added, "Just so you know, though, Oi'm not asking to be paid in sugar, either." A beat. "Not that it isn't greatly appreciated. Or Oi don't want more." Now he winked to keep the mood up.

It was very sweet of Neal to assure him that way, Mime Bomb would think, feeling another flutter behind his ribs, but he was already aware. Neal wasn't that kind of villain. Just wanting to absorb the revelation he'd had over the strongest attraction he'd ever felt, Mime Bomb lifted one hand to wave a short 'bye-bye' to his companion.

"Good night," Neal granted in turn, and shut the door. Through it, he added a chiding, "Don't let the invisible bedbugs bite~!"

Rolling his eyes fondly at this, Mime Bomb turned away and carried on getting himself ready for bed. So...he guessed he was into Neal properly, huh? Who would have thought? The taller man was not the kind of person he would have expected to go for, if anyone. But the idea of another date hardly sounded bad. The idea of forming a relationship didn't sound bad. Just...new. This kind of new was intimidating, but if it could be this good, then it was also somewhat exciting of a thing to try.

Only...was he still going to like it if he was stuck as a civilian? After they got to this house Neal was buying? Would it work? Would Neal still like him if he was a boring old regular Joe? Or even worse, when he learned more about the muted man, would he start to find him unsettling?

Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, poised with a washcloth, Mime Bomb thought about how Neal hadn't even seen him without the makeup yet. What if he wasn't as attractive without it? He certainly didn't find himself very appealing without it. All of his confidence seemed to melt away with it, as well. He didn't feel like himself when he was plain-faced. The makeup was more freeing than anyone could probably ever understand.

He didn't even want to take it off now. It would be the first time he did in his new life outside prison walls. It would mean the official start of a new chapter for him.

Reluctantly, he smudged at his cheek a couple of times, before sighing and giving into the heat of the damp cloth and spreading it over his entire face. Ripping off the bandage was better. Get it over with.

Looking up, he stared at himself again, hazel eyes large and almost urgent. His skin was reddened and slightly puffy from the aggressive rubbing, but he was makeup free. He let his eyes glance over his mousy features, assessing himself, imagining this person becoming his new normal. This would be him. This would be Ashton Mín.

He felt himself reflexively bite his lower lip in a familiar meek habit being without makeup brought. A minor insecurity. But he did not like the idea of not wearing his mime face.

His brow turned downward, displeased, hating the unnerving wobble through his guts. Between this, V.I.L.E. and Neal, too many things were changing. Too many big things. And two of those things were a direct disservice to him. Things he was unable to do anything about.

Sourly, gruffly, he tossed the washcloth down onto the sink and turned away from his reflection. Whatever. He wasn't going to lose himself, as much as he possibly could. That much he was determined to not let happen. No matter what happened with Neal.

Sulking as he stepped into the shower, Mime Bomb just hoped he felt better in the morning.