capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO: Gil (

invoking) & Natasha (

latrodectus)
WHERE: A nice but somewhat bland business luncheon establishment.
WHEN: Some ordinary weekday afternoon.
WARNINGS: N/A
SUMMARY: Gil and Natasha have an Awkward Business Lunch.
FORMAT: Whatever.

Natasha was enigmatic by nature and by design; maybe that was why she'd decided to take Gil to lunch.

It was a very beige affair, this restaurant, with heavy cream curtains and a light touch of gilding to the chairs. The tables were spaced wide enough for talking and the waiter (who called himself Mark) wore a black vest with a suitably pastel tie. Without glancing at the menu, Natasha could tell the food would be competent, but lacking in imagination.

Business as usual.

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"The less people and buildings," he nodded. That also meant less cars, hopefully. He understood they were commonplace and an important means of transportation, but he still disliked a lot of those bigger and faster ones. Loud and dirty.

"New Zealand was like that. The air was cleaner."

"Did you like it better? New Zealand? I've never been there, not for long." Not this New Zealand, anyway. It didn't have the sort of tourist attractions that would get her to travel.

There he went again, slipping into another world. He had spent the majority of his time in New Zealand's land panicking and on the verge of losing his mind.

And being harassed by sheep. The smell had taken a while to wash out of his hair and clothes.

"It... was alright... I wasn't there long either."

"It's a beautiful place." She meant that, too. But something about his reaction suggested he didn't feel the same way, which intrigued her.

"We briefly stopped in some city to catch our breath." He wondered about Donna briefly. "To tell the truth... the porter sent me there when I was brought back here."

"How strange." She knew it could probably send anybody anywhere, or at least. It should have those capabilities, unless there were some spiritual anchors at work that Natasha just didn't want to think about. But it never seemed to send anybody anywhere. Everybody went to one place. And then back. If they were lucky.

He nodded, quite embarrassed over the topic. Maybe she hadn't seen his video entry where he was bombarded with those sheep.

"It was..."

"Well. Sheep are infamously boring. There's no need to discuss them further." If he was embarrassed, there was no point in talking about it. At least the waiter would be back with the food, soo. Or so she hoped— lunch was supposed to be on a schedule.

He was beginning to wonder about the food. He was never good at sitting in one place for too long if it was somewhere in public. Under the eyes of so many strangers, even if everybody was minding their own business.

"Ah, you did some traveling not too long ago, right? Where did you go?" he preferred to direct the conversation on her.

"Monte Carlo. I don't like to gamble, but sometimes I love the beach." That was the truth, though it didn't say anything about her trip to Monaco. "Like the saying goes: get out while you still can."

She smiled, close-lipped and small.

He had briefly thought about going to see if he United Kingdom was anything like his home, but all that paperwork and flying business was beyond him.

"It's surprising... I though more imPorts would travel or live elsewhere than this City." He wondered why everyone stayed here.

"I don't understand it either. I don't think it makes us very popular, to tell you the truth." More powerful, maybe, more important as a local lobby— there was the mayor, after all. But more noticeable, too, especially when there were alien invasions underway. Natasha wondered sometimes why they didn't all try to just slip into anonymity. But that was always her first instinct, her impulse toward survival.

Gil held some strange belief that the closer he was to the Porter, the more likely he was to go home. Many people who were sent back were often in the City. Then again, he didn't have any evidence to back up this theory.

Truth be told, it was a small comfort he brought himself. False hope. He was good at clinging to that.

"Were imPorts ever popular? The people of this city are only scared because they don't know anything about us, yes?" He couldn't fault them-- not completely. "It's something beyond their control."

"People fear what they don't understand, it's true. But they also fear what they know too well." She shook her head. "I think we like to blame prejudice on ignorance, but that can be ignorance, too." Sometimes people weren't stupid, they were just mean.

That was when Mark decided to show up, balancing a tray of food on one hand.

He knew the second half all too well.

But he said nothing as the food was placed on the table. When was the last time Gil was served such quality food in a fancy place like this? The Nightray mansion, probably?

"It might be strange to say... but I feel bad for them."

"I don't think it's strange at all." No one had asked for this, after all. It was all rotten, and so, in Natasha's estimation, not all that unusual.

She was happy the food had come, and cut herself a delicate bite.

After some prolonged staring, he cut himself a piece (which wasn't as hard as he thought it would be with one hand) and had his first taste. His eyes widened slightly-- surprised by how delicious and most importantly, how fresh his food was.

"Do they not have kitchens where you come from, either?"

Her tone was flat, and if she looked up from her plate, it was quick and hard to see.

Gil had barely swallowed his second helping and he choked a little at her question. He rubbed his chest and took a moment to catch his breath before shooting her an incredulous look. "W-What sort of question is that?!"

He shrank back momentarily for raising his voice. He cleared his throat. "It's just... it's well cooked."

She was only joking, but she joked the way a cat does, so that you never know if it is laughing at you or if it is laughing at all.

"I'm glad you like it."

Cats are always laughing at Gil, because he hates them and they hate him.

He relaxed again. It was nice to not have to struggle to clean and prepare the food with one arm. He didn't feel he deserved any of this-- yet, it was pleasant so far. Awkward conversation aside, it was a small relief to take his mind off everything else.

He smiled. A very tired smile, but a genuine one nonetheless. "Thank you."

Edited (get out of here random and) 2012-09-20 23:59 (UTC)

"I don't run a sweatshop." It had been a long time, for Natasha, but she was still not very good at accepting kind words. Kindness had cost her a lot, and if anything her gestures grew smaller, more imperceptable.

"The chef isn't bad."

"I've mostly been cooking my own food since I was brought back." He didn't mind it. It was something he felt confident in, especially when he baked. "But everything is packaged or um... what did they say? Processed? It has a different taste."

"It's processed if you buy the processed food. You can get just about anything in New York, though." She was still in the habit of calling this place New York.

"New...?" There was a moment of confusion before he realized what she meant. "Ah, the name of this city in your world?"

He didn't understand the name change in this one... or rather, its lack of one.