Conversing about dinner, the Artist and the Writer was joined by Marlon in the kitchen area.
With a smoulder, one that Marlon thought that could charm the ladies, he approached the Writer. Confidence seeped from him like a newly dabbed cologne. He stood beside the Writer and winked at her.
Both the Writer and the Artist looked at him with different expressions on their faces.
The Writer has a 'who is this insect?' kind of look on her face while the Artist was grinning like she ate a canary. Oh how the Artist knew what would happened.
"Hola señorita~ I know we just met and I know you're busy and all but you and I should go out sometime," said the very bold Marlon.
The Writer cocked a brow, unable to believe what the new comer just said. "Not interested," she replied coldly.
"C'mon! It would be fun!"
The Artist wanted to laugh out loud and save her friend. But the sight of his attempt to ask her flatmate out was hilarious for her.
"No," the Writer answered firmly and stoically.
The other friends of the Artist came out of the room and decided to watch the daring man and his futile attempts. One of them even tried to stop their courageous friend but the Artist shook her head, silently telling them to leave it to the Writer.
Marlon showed the Writer a puppy dog pout that he was sure that could help his situation. "Please give me a chance!" he tried again.
"I have a pen—" the writer said, twirling her pen skillfully.
'Ohh laying out the 'pen' rejection,' thought the Artist with a wider grin on her face. She knew what would happened next. It was something she witnessed before and could still bring chills down her spine whenever the Writer does it.
The brave and bold Marlon looked at the pen that the Writer was holding and thought of why it was being shown to him – he was also amazed at such dexterity and grace.
"This was a gift. I don't use it much due to my penmanship, but i do carry it always. More of writing sudden ideas than actual novel writing," the Writer's voice was cold like the glaciers of the South Pole and her face showed no emotion as if looking at a brick wall.
The Artist's friends shivered upon hearing the danger within the tone of voice that the Writer used.
"But I do have other uses for this pen." The Writer began twirling the pen again. "For example, did you know that this pen, slightly thin yet made of tough plastic, with the right amount of force, could pierce through flesh? I knew a guy – my dad actually – used a cheaper kind of pen to stab the hand of a bully. It went straight through the bully's hand. So I've heard."
The Artist's friends all were shocked at what they heard. The Artist just snickered.
But the Writer was not finished. She stopped twirling the pen and grinned in a way that's akin to a psychopath. "And another use for it, in case of someone didn't take 'no' for an answer, the ink can be used as poison that can render the relentless person running for the nearest bathroom for a few hours or so. I could simply uncap this precious pen, pour the ink in that poor unfortunate soul's drink, and—"
Even before the Writer could finish her explanation, the visitors rushed back to the Artist's room, hiding.
And the Artist finally let put the laughter she's been holding back since the start of the explanation. "Y-you didn't have to use the 'pen' rejection on him!" she laughed louder.
The grin of the Writer faltered and her usual poker face was out. Staring at the laughing creative woman, she poked the butt-end of the pen on the Artist's head. "Shush."
The laughter slowly died down but the Artist's smile never left her face. "Anyway, burger for dinner?"
"Yes," replied the Writer flatly, twirling the pen again.
With an understanding nod, the Artist patted the Writer's slightly messy hair. "Burger it is," she said and got a shrug for an answer from the Writer. The smile slowly turned to an impish grin. "Say~ do you want to go out with me sometime?"
The Writer swatted the Writer's hand offer her head. "Do you want me to tell you the several uses of an A4 paper other than printing or writing on?" she said with a grim tone.
Laughing at how the Writer reacted, the Artist stepped away from the Writer. "No thanks. Anyhoo, thanks again for the pizza. Need to finish my work and then I'll cook the burgers." she winked at the Writer and went back to her room.
The Writer couldn't help but smile when the Artist left.