Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Unfortunately yes." Tully admitted, after chasing around the meeting like a bad taste in his mouth that he didn't want to spit out publicly. "I met the insane Hippie Cockatoo. They don't BOTH have feathers do they??"

This seemed prudent to ask, since it sounded vaguely like Connor might have met both of them, prior to his apparently 'terrible by virtue of not being 'him'' date.

"The little psycho was hanging advertisements on the pole right outside the Cafe'." He growled. "You want a beer?" he asked, knowing that the answer was probably 'no', but he was still writhing from Quinn's attentions, and admitting to the idea that they had happened felt as though it validated that it had happened at all, and if he didn't, he could theoretically pretend that it had been a bad spot of beer the night before or something.

"What kind of a name is Vale Tully demanded with a slight frown. "Yeah, Quinn, from the Pet Shop of your nightmares." He shuddered, which was closer than he had wanted to come to admitting the encounter had not only been annoying but uncomfortable, and he took a slice of lime and squeezed it into the neck of the beer.

"Did he actually eat what he ordered or did he take it back to dissect it?" He demanded. It was hard to picture rail thin Quinn putting away a broad sampler of what was in the case, not without borrowing their restroom afterward to purge. "Did he do anything else Weird?" he asked. Quinn was, after all, extremely weird. Surely he'd given Connor similar treatment? He prayed silently to the gods of all things fair and sane that he hadn't been the only one to be treated that way by Quinn.

"Oh did you know they called their place the Godsend?"

"I dunno if Wishy Washy is the term I'd use..." Tully took a deep drink of his beer, still trying to wash the entire incident out of his mind. It wasn't working very well, and he didn't actually dare get plastered enough to try washing it away, not with the store to take care of in the morning.

..Or for that matter the potential of Connor versus Hangover.

"He didn't act so wishy washy with me." He admitted, after his latest attempt to clear away his distaste with alcohol. "Though I can't imagine any customers wanting to put up with that kind of stuff. Not unless he packs up shop and goes to the Red Light district."

The corners of his mouth looked like they were working on getting stuck into a scowl almost as perpetual and dour as Clint or Jack Palance, if he kept discussing it.

"I hope for the whole damn street's sake that Vale is saner." He also hoped that Quinn's gene mods were the exception of the two, but what kind of guy would willingly hang around someone with that kind of blatant mod? At best they had to be border line and into the gray area legal, if not totally illegal.

"You think maybe there's humming bird in the mix?" He ventured, with a snort of slightly shaken amusement. "Might explain the sugar fix."

Tully visibly shuddered at the description of Quinn's potential mods.
"Chrivist that's a horrible image." He confessed. "...And I dunno. I'd have to see the place. I wouldn't buy coffee there, that's for damn sure."

He hesitated, teetering around the brink of actually explaining what had happened.

"He tossed me an offer for a free cup of coffee when they're open but I don't know about actually taking him up on it."

"Don't call my Teddy Bear." Tully snapped, reflexively, which was in it's own right probably a decent sign of normalcy for Tully, like bacon spitting in a pan.

"Flirting? He practically humped my leg!" He blurted. "It was totally nuts! He was -sniffing- me and stuff." He grimaced vigorously and took a third large drink of beer, which was enough to almost finish his bottle. "Wait, you told him not to?"

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it was kind of nice, if weird, in normal Connor-is-weird way to think that Connor had been attempting to ward of Quinn at the pass... on the other hand, it was Connor, and you had to wonder what else Connor was thinking.

Tully leaned back on the couch, uncrossing and recrossing his ankles into a new position.

Connor MacMillan had been defending his honor. What the hell was the world coming to? He had barely registered that Tully was encroaching, though now he rested his elbow on the back of the couch and hung the mostly empty beer bottle between them as a shield, the crushed lime turning slowly in the bottom in it's beer-pond.

"If Captain Cockatoo tries that again I'm pretty sure I can do my own leg work on getting a restraining order on him without your awkward exes."

He tilted the beer bottle and glared at it. "Guy's a total nut job anyway." He added. "I mean you're nuts too but you don't -sniff- people. So maybe you were right about the Komodo dragon thing. Aren't those things supposed to have the Hell version of Bad breath or something?"

He remembered seeing a special on it, something about how they weren't technically poisonous but that their bite could kill you anyway, and they just followed you around until you dropped from it.

... That was not actually the image he wanted associated with Quinn, but now it wouldn't leave, moving in like an unwanted guest.

"No one's really straight..." He scoffed, annoyed. He'd seen some of those ridiculous studies that said everyone was technically some level bi curious, but frankly, he thought they were bogus, and just meant to guilt straight people into thinking that maybe they should give it a shot, just for the sake of science. "Right."

"Really? REALLY?" Tully's face twisted into a grimace as though he'd just swallowed an mouth full of worms. "...No. No you sniff me and I swear I'm going to chain you to your stove." He threatened, draining the remnants of his beer and reaching to grab another. Like most movie nights he'd brought a cold six pack out with him, though under normal circumstances only about half of it would get drunk, even with Connor's help.

"Seriously, I didn't need that mental image." He complained, wrenching off the cap without any sign that the metal edges of the cap were uncomfortable. ((They were, very, but a nice light beer haze was taking the egde off.)) "And I am not sure I have enough beer to get it back out of my head you b*****d." He added. "I was trying to enjoy my movie."

He was definitely going to need more than two beers. And Advil. Lots of Advil, tomorrow, and black coffee. Maybe he could stash an extra pot in the kitchen and tell Connor not to ... right. That was like telling Jaws not to eat bikini babes.