2013.08.01 - Not Just A Little Stubborn

After receiving Fern's text about seeing him, it took him a good hour before he responded. Yes, he'd meet her and yes, he'd meet her in a place that wasn't a loud club. After some thought, he suggested a little, hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant that happens to be one of those unknown treasures in the city with an amazing bar...and amazing food. There was an agreed-upon time and Warren took the time up until then to try and get rid of the day's hangover.

Unfamiliar with the restaurant, Fern's effort to make sure she wasn't late turned into getting there early. Shown to a seat at the bar, the young waitress has a glass of water in front of her, not wanting to get a jump on drinking until Warren joins her. She's texting as she waits, keeping her mind occupied so she doesn't dwell on how well this may or may not go. Without really knowing the place, if it's upscale or homey, she decided to just dress simply, wearing a pale blue sundress with thin straps and a plain brown belt that matches her brown sandals. She doesn't check the time, or seem impatient... she doubts that Warren would stand her up.

The place isn't too swanky, but neither is it a dive. There are folks in expensive, designer clothes, and folks in 'normal' clothes...it just attests to the quality of the food. Warren is a couple of minutes past the time they agreed upon, but not horrifically late. He's dressed casually, for him, in jeans, a t-shirt with a graphic design on it, and a blazer. The wings, of course, are out. He steps in and takes a seat at the bar next to her, "Are we eating or just drinking?"

In the midst of tapping out a message on her phone, Fern immediately thumbs the button to blank the screen without finishing when Warren arrives, tucking the phone into a messenger bag that's slung over the back of her chair. Her smile comes immediately, although there's that awkward moment of 'should i offer a hug? would he hate it if i did? would he hate it if i didn't?' indecision that ends up with her staying seated. "Hey Warren. We'd only said a drink, so I didn't want to assume that you would feed me too," she jokes lightly. He gets a quick once over as she asks, "How are you doing?"

Angel shrugs as he takes a seat at the bar and glances at the drink menu, "I'm all right." He looks back at Fern after a moment, "I remember our talk from the club...I didn't get passed-out drunk that night." Nights following, however, are off the table. "What's this about? You're not going to yell at me for drinking, are you? I mean, I haven't had any yet today and we are meeting for drinks..."

Fern's already checked out the menu, and the prices are reasonable. Since she's getting paid tomorrow, she makes an executive decision and turns without answering the questions, motioning toward the hostess, pointing at herself and Warren to ask for a table for two when one is available. Then her attention returns to her winged companion. "I'm not going to yell at you, Warren, you don't need to be defensive," she says softly. "You're a grown man and whatever you choose to do is your business. But I'm a grown woman and I can be concerned about you if I want to be."

"Yes..." Warren offers slowly. "You can be. I'm just wondering why the sudden interest in my well-being?" He notes that Fern gestures for them to get a table...he doesn't seem terribly upset by that. This place is good. Ordering a lychee martini, he waits while the drink is made, "Not to rehash what we talked about at the club, but...it's been months."

When the bartender looks to her, Fern nods, indicating she'll have the same, even though she has no idea what a lychee even is. "And it probably would have been longer if we hadn't run into each other," she says simply, her fingers wiping the condensation off her water glass. Her eyes raise to his face as she goes on, "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me. You weren't getting in touch. So sometimes it's better to just see what happens if you let things go on their own."

Angel lets out a sigh, "Again, Fern. You left me. I didn't want to go chasing after you...that's not a very attractive quality, wouldn't you say? I didn't want to beg for your attention. That's why I didn't contact you. And you didn't contact me, so I assumed, naturally, that you wanted nothing to do with me."

While there's something to be said for showing some sort of desire to not just let someone walk away, Fern doesn't point that out, figuring it would just be another path down which this could all go terribly sideways. She shrugs her shoulders, eyes back on the glass, "So we both thought the other didn't want anything to do with us." The bartender brings the drinks, setting them down and fading away again. Fern reaches for hers, not to drink yet, but just to pull closer in front of her.

Warren isn't going to wait. He takes a sip from the drink and seems to be satisfied with it. "Isn't that the way most things go in a break-up?" Being sober, he has his 'mask' on. "So again, I ask...why now?"

"You might just as well ask why we bumped into each other on the street like that. I don't have an answer, but I figured it might have been opening a door for us to try and find a friend again." Blue eyes lift and Fern regards Warren levelly. "If I'm wrong, then ok. We'll have a drink and go our ways and live our lives."

"I don't trust 'friends'," Angel says, "They just decide to up and stop being friends one day...without warning. I don't like how that makes me feel, so I'm finding it a lot easier not to have them. Then you don't deal with the disappointment that is inevitable."

There's a soft sigh as Fern lifts her drink, half of it disappearing before she puts the glass back down on the bar. "I don't know what happened with anyone else, but I've said that I'm sorry I hurt you and I mean it." One brow arches slightly as she asks, "So do you want to keep beating me up, or do you want to see if I can be a better friend to you?"

Angel shrugs again, "I don't know. You might just decide to walk out again and then I've put my trust into someone who didn't want it in the first place." There's another sip of his drink, "Why? I want something other than 'It's fate'."

"That's all I've got, Warren. Sometimes things just happen." Fern turns as the hostesses approaches, indicating that their table is ready. She looks back to Angel, hesitating, "Should we eat, or would you rather the one drink and we go?"

"No, we can eat. I'm hungry." He pays for both drinks before letting the hostess bring their drinks to their table. Waiting until they're seated, he then continues, "All right...why do you want to be my friend again? I mean...we never had all that much in common before and it always felt like I was embarrassing you by buying you dinner and the like. That you didn't like being seen with me." He glances at the menu as if it's something to do and, not looking up, asks, "Is it because I'm a mutant?"

Well, it's not 'lets give it a shot' but it's not 'go away' either. Still, Fern sighs again softly, taking her bag and following to the table. It's in a corner, offering a little more privacy than a table in the middle of the room, and she takes a second to get settled, smoothing her skirt as Angel settles as well. His question stops her in her tracks, and she just stares across the table at him as he looks at the menu. It's stunned her, actually, that he would even ask that.

"Or is it because I have money?" It's almost a part off the same question. "I mean, don't parents always want their kids to find someone with wealth who will take care of them?" Warren's eyebrows lift at something on the menu, "Ooh, they do have the Bun here."

He's much better at wearing his mask than Fern is, unless she's actually on stage. Her eyes drop quickly as she pulls her menu over, but she doesn't really see it. Or, at least, what she does see is a bit wavery as her eyes tear. There's a pause, before she puts the menu back down and says softly, "I think I ought to go." She reaches for her bag and pushes her chair back.

Angel finally does look up at Fern, "This is what I'm talking about. You're just going to leave again." The menu is set aside as he stands, willing to leave as well. "You don't give me an answer so I'm forced to speculate." He shakes his head, "This is why I surround myself with sycophants. I know what's going on with them."

Fern digs in her bag, pulling out a wallet, and putting a five on the table in courtesy of the server that isn't going to get anything more out of the pair. "I don't have to take this," she says, voice shaking. "I'm trying to reach out to you, and all you're doing is slapping me over and over. That you would even ask me things like that just shows that you have absolutely no idea who I am or who I ever was." She shoves her wallet back into her bag, finally looking up, tears trailing down her face. "I never cared that you have wings. It never embarrassed me when you did nice things for me. You just never needed to buy me." She stands for a moment, facing him.

"I know," Warren answers simply. "I know that you never cared and that I never needed to buy you. But then you started being uncomfortable around me without reason. Do you know how long I beat myself up over it, going over every single moment to figure out what I did wrong? I just want an answer. It feels...sudden. It feels..." the mask slips a little, "I don't want to get my hopes up."

Since they're still keeping quiet tones, they aren't attracting any more attention than a curious look from the hostess that just seated them. "I told you, it was me, not you. I went right from... something..." it wasn't exactly a 'relationship', "into dating you and I didn't take time to work out what I was feeling about either of you. It wasn't the right thing to do, and it certainly wasn't fair to you." Fern's hand comes up, swiping at her cheek absently. "I understand if you don't trust me, but I don't have to let you treat me like this when I'm trying. I don't want you to get your hopes up, either, I don't know that this will be more than a friendship, ever. You're right, we don't have much of anything in common, and that doesn't even make for a very good friendship."

"So then what do we do? If this isn't a relationship and there isn't a strong basis for a friendship, how do you propose we do this? Am I going to be like a girlfriend? I don't mind the shopping part, but am I going to hear about boy troubles over cosmopolitans?" Warren frowns some as he looks down at the table, "I don't really have many female friends. I don't really know what to do with them. I never really -did- have female friends...not even at school."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that any more than I want to hear about what you did with Bambie and Thumper in a drunken stupor," Fern says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Even the most opposite people can have a good friendship, but they both have to be willing to try. I think the thing you're trying hardest at right now is pushing me away."

Angel sighs, "I had them taken home." He then gestures for her to sit back down at the table. "I don't let them into my place...I don't even want them knowing where I live. I barely even know who they were...I just picked them out of the line going into the club." There's a lift of his brow, "Why would it matter?" That's actually said rather honestly. If they're not dating, should it matter?

Fern looks at the table a moment, as if debating, before she sits. But she still keeps her bag shouldered. "How many times do I have to tell you that I care about you before you might even believe it's true even a tiny bit?" she asks, looking at Warren's face. "I don't need to hear about girls you pick up at random." She didn't miss the way they were hanging all over him, and he sure didn't seem to mind it. Maybe that just suits him better.

"I don't know. I'm probably just waiting for you to walk out like everyone else has," again, there's honesty. Warren also sits and looks back at the menu, but this time, it's because he's trying to get that mask back in place. "It's not easy for me to accept friendships when I've seen them be only meaningless. Not that you would be, but...that's my experience."

"Well, maybe you could not push me to the door so quickly?" Fern looks down at the menu, leaving it laying on the table, but her eyes lift back to regard Warren across from her. "I'm trying to reach out to you, because I think we could both use a friend. I know I haven't been a great one, I've said that more than once. But I'm still willing to try, I still want to try."

There's a long moment of silence, during which the waitress comes by to take their order. Warren orders some spring rolls for the moment...since he isn't sure how much longer they'll be staying. "How do I know that you just won't walk away like..." like before? "...like the others?"

Fern adds an "I'll have the same." onto Warren's order, setting the menu aside. "I guess you won't really know any more than I know you won't keep pushing me away. But I'm still willing to try." She looks across at him for a moment, before asking gently, "What happened, Warren? Are you still with the school?" There's an earnestness to her face, she really does care about the answers to her question and she's not trying to hide that behind any masks.

The waitress leaves with the order, letting the two have their semi-privacy once more. "I don't know. It's summer, so they don't need me to do anything. They didn't need me to do anything before...it felt like they were just having me there out of pity and that is unacceptable." He sips again at his drink, left to languish these last few minutes, "Kurt just sort of disappeared...and then I found out he bought his own boat...so I took mine away."

"Warren," Fern says softly, "Maybe they just had you there because they like you? It's not always about pity the poor little wingy rich boy, you know. And what's to pity, anyway?" She reaches for her remaining half martini, downing it and setting the glass aside. She's not much of a drinker and doesn't really do it delicately when she does. "And Kurt just sort of disappeared from my life too. So, maybe he's got things going on. Everyone gets tied up in their own life from time to time. That just means it got complicated."

"They don't like me, Fern. They tolerate me. They always have. They never liked me." Warren seems to firmly believe that. Nodding at her empty glass he asks, "Do you want another?" He's still working on his as he wants to stay mostly coherent for this conversation. Fern deserves that much, at least. "Kurt disappeared from your life when you started dating me. He was hurt by that too."

There's an exasperated huff from Fern, perhaps fueled in part by the rapidly downed martini, "Oh for heaven's sake, Warren, do you think anyone likes you ever? Because I don't think you really believe that I do, no matter if I go blue in the face trying to tell you so. Has anyone else tried telling you that to have you just brush it off?" She frowns, not a light one, either, but deeply, drawing her brows together. "If you're going to insist on pushing people away, how long do you expect them to try and stay?" The question has her belatedly looking at her glass, then she nods. "Please."

"'Like' in my world is...tricky, Fern. Especially now. I don't know who I can trust...I know I can't trust most of the people I end up hanging around with. I suppose I could trust most at the school, but from the lack of...any communication, I don't think they care. When people care, they reach out, right?" Just as Fern is doing now. When he can catch the waitress, Warren orders another round of martinis. "I think people like me for what I can buy."

Fern's eyes soften again, the frown easing. "Warren, sometimes people get wrapped up in their lives. It doesn't mean they don't care, it just means they're distracted. I have a best friend at home, and she will always be my best friend, even if we haven't talked in months. It's not about talking to her every day, it's about knowing that when we do talk, nothing has changed. We still love each other like sisters." She sits back in her chair, regarding him across the table. "When they try to communicate, do you accept it, or do you push at them like you've been pushing at me?"

Angel shakes his head, "That's the thing, Fern. They don't try to communicate. They don't reach out to me. I have to reach out to them and then they act as if I should be honored that they deigned to answer a question or do something." He finished off his drink, "Things changed with Kurt and he didn't even tell me about it. He wasn't going to tell me. He wasn't going to communicate...I was just supposed to be left in the dark, completely clueless."

"Still... I know it's hard when you feel like people aren't trying to keep you. But... sometimes people just don't know how." Fern releases the hold that had been lightly trapping her martini glass, moving her hand as if about to reach other and touch his, but it stops, her hand stilling on the table. "I'm sorry that things changed between you and Kurt." Regardless of whether it's actually got anything to do with her or not, she still feels a guilt about that situation. "And sometimes people just don't know how to communicate."

"He could have picked up the phone and called me," Warren offers. "It was his choice. He expected me to be so desperate for his friendship that I'd just accept any scrap he threw me." Pot calling the kettle 'black'. The drinks are refreshed and the spring rolls brought over, "These were people I spent years with, Fern. They knew. They just chose not to."

Fern sits back as the fresh drinks and food are brought, withdrawing her hand to settle into her lap lightly. When the waitress leaves again, she leans forward, looking across at Warren. Her eyes are owlish as she looks at him, perhaps in part by the quickly downed drink, but she just looks for a moment, lips pressed lightly together. "Maybe they chose not to. But if they did reach out now, would you shut them down? Or would you give them another chance?"

Angel takes of the spring rolls and looks at it briefly, "I don't know. I guess it would depend on how they reached out. If it was...snotty, then maybe I wouldn't accept it. But if they seemed to be earnest about it, maybe I would."

A half grin pulls at Fern's lips, she can't resist it in the moment with what Warren says. "I've been earnest, I think, and it's been pretty hard to convince you. Maybe you're just a wee bit stubborn added into the mix?" A real friend is honest, and even with that Fern laces it with good humor.

A bite is taken from the appetizer and his eyebrows lift. "If they really mean it, they won't give up so easily either." Not that he would expect them to beg, but...he's not going to just suddenly forgive them if the attempt is lackluster. "I have to be a little stubborn. It's part of my job description."

"C'mon, Warren," Fern says easily, copying Warren's movements, taking up a spring roll and taking a bite. She chews for a second, then covers her mouth so she can go on without him having to see half chewed food, "You're not just a little stubborn." There's a pause while she finishes chewing and swallows before she adds softly, not looking up at him, "I'm glad that you didn't just let me walk out."

Angel shrugs again and sort of leaves it at that. He's not going to argue that he's stubborn...or not. "You didn't seem like you wanted to walk out and you tried. I just...I appreciate you trying so hard."

Fern shakes her head, just a bare movement, as her hand reaches for the martini glass again. "I'm not perfect, Warren, and you will never hear me protest about that fact." She pulls the glass closer, looking up at him with a half smile, "But when I care, I try. I like you," she says, emphasizing it clearly. She likes most people, but she doesn't give as many so much effort. "I care about what you do, and how people treat you. Sometimes, we're just..." she waves one hand vaguely, before letting it come to rest on the glass again and pull it close, "I don't know." She lifts the glass to take a drink, her eyes on the clear liquid.

"No one's perfect, Fern. I know this." He also takes some of the drink, "Why? I mean...you seem to be one of the few who actually does...aside from my parents and they don't count." He's trying not to let that bother him. "We're just...what?"

The glass is half empty (or half full) when she puts it down again, and Fern sits back to look at Warren for a second. "Why do we care about some people who are thrown into our paths and not about others?" It's a slightly boozy speculation, she's not exactly much of a drinker, not on what she makes and has to pay out for rent. She looks at him and her blue eyes linger on his. "I think that we're just learning how to understand each other."

Angel's tolerance has always been much stronger...not only is he used to drinking more, especially lately, but his body can metabolize it rather well. Two martinis aren't enough to get him more than a little buzzed. Pushing the water over to Fern, he also offers her another spring roll. "I don't know. Maybe it's why some people end up as friends and some don't?" He briefly looks to Fern, "I don't know that I'll ever understand you. I mean that in a good way."

Fern's fingers curl around the water glass, a grateful look flashed at Warren across the table. "That's exactly it. Some people are just meant to be friends, and some aren't. It's simple, really." She takes a drink of the water, although it doesn't do much at the moment to ease the tingle in her fingers. There's a grin as she puts the glass back down on the table. "I'm sure I'll never understand you, Warren. But I'll keep trying."

"I'm not all that hard to understand. I'm a spoiled brat who likes attention. That seems to be the jist of it, really. Give me attention, and I'll be happy," Angel works on his own martini now, "I think you're much more complex than that."

Her head shakes, a lock of hair falling into her eyes, and Fern pushes it away with a typically careless gesture. "I can't believe that's all there is to you. I mean, sure, you're a bit of a spoiled brat." There's an impish gleam to her eyes, all trace of the earlier tears gone. "But I don't think only attention will make you happy. If that were the case, you'd be perfectly happy with your bimbos and hangers-on." So perhaps a couple martinis makes her a little more honest than she would be otherwise.

Angel grins right back, "Who says I'm not? I do like the attention. I thought when I announced that I had wings, I'd have more attention but...nothing. Nada. No one cared. They care more that I'm a socialite than the fact that I have wings. I like feeling important. I don't get that very often."

"You deserve more than just attention for something like that, Warren," Fern says, her voice still soft and gentle. "And I certainly don't think it ought to be for who you're seen with out at a bar." She may have caught that online article from OMG! about the two of them. It's hard to miss when there's a picture involved. "You are important, but I don't think I'll ever be able to convince you of that."

"Maybe I will be...once I inherit the company. If I'm not voted out." Warren shrugs then, "I appreciate you saying so, but you're probably right. I don't know that I'll be convinced of that. I'm superfluous. Outdated."

Fern shakes her head, not buying that for a second, obviously. "You are nothing of the sort, Warren, except in your head and in what you allow yourself to believe." Her fingers toy lightly with the stem of her martini glass, but she doesn't lift it again yet. There's a wry smile directed at him. "I may kick you under the table every time you say something like that. Maybe the pain will be enough to remind you that you're wrong?"

"I'm arm candy, Fern. I was when I was a kid...I still am. Sort of. Maybe stale candy at this point. Dropped candy...since I'm not as shiny as I should be because of the wings. But I'm still decorative. I know this. I'm not blind to it." He smirks rather wryly and takes another spring roll, "That's why my parents had me, you know."

Another soft sigh comes, but this one is more understanding and indulgent. "You will never be just arm candy to me, Warren. You're a wonderful, unique human being." Fern does take up the martini glass now, taking a sip. Ok, a little more than a sip. Was it noted she's not much of a drinker? But that only breaks down the barriers for her, and makes her more honest. "I think you're very shiny," she states as she puts her glass down.

Angel chuckles softly, "Thanks, Fern. I think you're the only one who thinks that. I guess the other see the 'shiny' money and 'shiny' clothes." He then nods in her direction, "Should we order some real food, do you think?" So she can get more in her stomach to absorb that alcohol?

There's a moment as Fern just regards Angel across the table, her eyes lingering on his before they travel, taking in the feathers of his wings over his shoulders, the print on his t-shirt, half hidden by the jacket he wears. Then her eyes drop, and she nods, "I think some real food would be good. Do you want to just order for us?" She's willing to trust him in more ways than he might believe, but it's a first step.

Blonde eyebrows merely lift as he gets regarded. He finally nods, "All right. Do you like cilantro?" Very important. He'll glance over the menu but he knows what he's going to order. He finally asks, "What?"

"I do like cilantro," Fern notes, almost absently, as she looks at the menu again. But it's not exactly hidden that she's not really looking at it, but just using it as a prop. Her eyes lift, widened, and she returns the question, "What what?" She looks almost too innocent for there not to be anything in her head, but she smiles warmly across the table.

Angel orders some Bun noodles then...with shrimp...for the both of them. "I don't know, but you were looking at me." He looks down at himself, "Did I forget to put something on this morning?" He's wearing pants and that seems to be the most important thing, really.

Fern laughs softly, letting her eyes drop again. "Of course I was looking at you, who else am I here with?" Subterfuge, but he's not the only stubborn one. She shakes her head, adding, "Nope, you look just fine. I like your t-shirt. You look less.... buttoned up..." she ventures. "I mean, not that you always wear a suit, but...." The words trail off, hang for a moment, and then Fern reaches for the glass of water again. "How's work been?"

He doesn't look terribly convinced, but Warren doesn't press it yet. "Well, I knew we weren't going anywhere fancy...I mean, I do own casual clothes." They just still have designer labels on them. "Are you saying I look more relaxed?" But she changes the subject and he goes along with it. Sort of. "Work is...work. It...just is."

There's a smile and a nod, "You look more relaxed." And more accessible, like a 'regular person'. More or less. He'll never not be Warren Worthington, but he can look more relaxed. "Things have been really good at the restaurant," she offers. "Jerry got a job, but you know that already. And I've got an appointment to audition for a national show. It's on real TV and everything." While she tries to downplay it, the excitement in her voice is unmistakable.

"Yeah? That's great! I'm glad you're still auditioning...and I'm glad that the restaurant is doing well. Can I do anything to help in regards to this audition? Do they film in New York?" Theater may seem like a lot more work, but for him, it's a little more glamorous than dealing with numbers and buying up companies. "When's the audition?" Warren may be more relaxed...he may have learned more about acting.