2013-02-23 Breaking Bread With An Angel

She may not have expected it, but Warren actually made the trip out to Brooklyn and to Anita Bella. There was a pause before he entered the establishment, but he finally steps carefully through the doorway and to the hostess station. There's a slightly nervous glance about before he offers what he hopes is a charming smile, "I'm sorry, but I don't have a reservation. Is it still possible to get a table for dinner?" A table that might be able to accomodate his wings?

He's dressed casually, for him, in a pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater under his coat and scarf. The wings, of course, are out.

It's not a particularly fancy restaurant, a little shabby around the edges, but it smells good and the greeting from Anita herself adds a homey touch. She's a small Italian woman with a broad, warm smile and a faint accent. "Of course we find you a table," she says, looking past him. "One tonight?" She's not at all phased by the wings, having been in New York for more years than Warren's been alive. "Come on with me, we get you best table."

She leads him to a table off to the side, where fewer people might stare, with chairs and no bench in deference to his wings. A menu is set at one of the place settings, and Anita pulls the chair out before she steps aside. "Someone be right out with water for you." Her smile comes again before she returns to the front, talking to guests as she passes. The restaurant isn't full, the busiest part of the evening winding down, and three servers bustle around at their duties.

Fern has just taken an order and she glances up, pausing as her eyes land on the angel from Central Park. Her smile comes, and she steps quickly to intercept Jerry, another server who had been heading for Warren's table. There's a short exchange, both looking to the table briefly, before they part ways. Fern puts the order in that she just took and gets a glass of water before heading to Warren's table.

Dingy white sneakers squeak softly on the floor as she moves easily between the tables, and she has a warm welcome when she arrives and sets the water down. "Alright, I have to admit that I didn't think you'd stop in," she teases lightly. She seems more centered, less skittish than she may have on their first encounter. Her uniform is a fashion statement, if you count people questioning her ability to see color as such. A dull, mustard colored dress reaches almost to her knees, and today it's multi-colored striped tights that cover her legs. Her nametag reads, simply, FREN.

Warren offers a smile to Anita when she brings him to his table, "Thank you." He then makes a few adjustments so that he can get comfortable and by the time he's settled, Fern is standing there. Looking up, his grin widens and he glances briefly to the nametag on her dress, "Well, 'Fren', I said I would come down and I don't go back on my word. After all, I knew I'd have to try the 'Best Italian Restaurant in Brooklyn'." He glances at the menu briefly before he looks back up, "What do you recommend? I don't eat poultry..."

Fern's smile widens at the note of her nametag. "You won't regret it," she promises. There's a nod toward the front, "That was Anita herself. All the recipes have been handed down through her family, and everything is made fresh." His mention of poultry garners a quick glance to his wings, and she nods in understanding. "I've tried everything at least once, and I have to say that the lasagna is still my favorite, hands down. Seasoned beef, no feathers." While they're a joke, the words are light and reassuring.

She's removed her order pad from her pocket and it's held in her left hand, pencil in her right. The bandage on her left hand looks to have been changed, now just a gauze square taped in place, carefully kept nearly it's pristine white.

"I'll have the lasagna then...and a glass of whatever wine you think would go with it." He sets the menu aside as he's not really ordering from it anyhow. Noticing the bandage on her hand, Warren offers a nod towards it, "How is your hand feeling?" He waits for an answer before looking about at the restaurant, "How does the business do?" he asks, not exactly willing to let Fern rush off to put the order in.

Fern scribbles quickly on the pad, then reaches to take the menu from the table. With it held in her fingers, her eyes settle briefly on the gauze before lifting to Warren's face. "It's not bad," she says, "Aches a bit, but at least I have an excuse to not have to do any dishes. It's nice of you to ask, thanks."

She doesn't appear in a rush to leave either, folding her arms easily, menu held against her in her embrace. Some more tables have emptied and not been reseated, and a glance tells her that her other two tables are involved in eating and their glasses are more than half full. "Pretty well, I think, although I've not got the best head for business. Busy times and slow times, it's pretty regular." Her head tilts as she looks slightly down at the seated angel. "What do you do?"

Her words are considered as she explains about how well the restaurant is doing. "Well, I can see if I can help at all..." Warren leans some on the table and watches her as she explains about her hand and talks about what she knows of business. At her question, he grins, "Technically, I'm the Vice President of Worthington Industries. Although I'm only working part-time right now." It's not Stark or Luthor, but it's still a 'name'.

Fern's brows arch, "Vice President?" She looks surprised, adding, "You're so young. What does the Vice President of a company do?" There's a curious light in her eyes, and it only strengthens as she goes on. "Help? How so?" She's just full of questions, intrigued by this apparently business-savvy angel.

Warren smirks, "Right now, not much. I'm sort of...on probation a bit. But usually, it's run meetings, meet with big wigs, start on acquisition deals, approve stuff...I sign my name a lot and have a very large office overlooking the Park." As for his age, Warren shrugs one shoulder, a wing rustling with the movement, "Well, it helps when your father is the President and current owner of the company. And as far as helping, I can always mention this place to the colleagues I know who might be in the area. When we have meetings in the area, suggest they come here. You know, word of mouth. Would that be all right, do you think?"

A brow arches, before Fern's expression lights up. "Warren, would you? Well, you should make sure you like the food first, but I just know you'll love it. Oh! I should get your order in!" The order pad is held up and wiggled lightly. "I don't want to starve you." She makes no move to go just yet, but pauses to add, "But I do want to hear what you're on 'probation a bit' for." Her grin is open and amused, and she takes a couple steps backwards before she finally turns and heads for the kitchen, squeaking lightly.

She takes care of a few things after putting Warren's order in. Her other tables are checked on, drinks refilled, dessert order taken. She completes her tasks efficiently, and makes it look rather effortless as well. One table includes a toddler in a high chair, and Fern bends quickly to pick up a crayon that had rolled to the floor, setting it back onto the tray and ruffling the little boy's hair.

A quick swing back to the kitchen, and she's approaching Warren's table again, with a smile and a glass of red wine. "I has Julius pick it out, Anita's husband. He knows a lot about wine."

"It's not the most interesting story..." Warren murmurs, but waits as Fern goes to deal with the rest of her job. He checks his phone for a bit until she returns with the wine, "Thanks! I...-don't- know a lot about wine. As long as it tastes good, that seems to be enough for me." He does take a test sip from the glass and node his approval, "I think this will do just fine. You can't really sit down, can you?"

Fern leans on the chair across from Warren, her hand planted on the back comfortably, watching expectantly as he sips. She looks pleased, "I'll tell Julius he's done it again." The question has her glance around, eyes flickering to her two tables. "They'll be done in about fifteen minutes," she estimates, looking back. "I should be able to take a break then. So hold onto that story for me, hm?"

Warren chuckles, "It's really not a story. It's because I'm a mutant and I got tired of hiding it." That may be a slightly more interesting story. "Not everyone on the Board thinks it's a good idea to have me around." He settles into the seat and takes another sip of the wine, "Make sure you bring something for you to eat too...I'd feel weird eating with you just sitting there, you know? If you're hungry, that is. It's on me." He watches her as she glances around, but when she looks back, he tries his best to look all casual and nonchalant.

"They probably think the world is flat, too," Fern comments wryly about the board members. She doesn't have much experience with 'special people' as she calls them, but the few she's run into have seemed perfectly nice. The offer gets a grateful smile, "Thanks, Warren. Let me go finish things up, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

She turns and heads directly for the table with the toddler, taking out her pad, ripping a page as she moves, before pausing to talk to the family. After making sure they enjoyed their meal, she goes to the kitchen. In short order she's got the last table's dessert packaged to go, and has not only taken care of their checks, but has fetched Warren's order.

Fern makes her way over and lowers the tray, smoothly setting out Warren's meal, and a plate for herself with a considerably smaller portion of the lasagna. With rolls and butter to round things out, the tray is empty and set aside.

"They didn't outright toss me out...probably because of my dad, but it was a start," Warren offers before he lets Fern go to see about the rest of her duties. The phone is checked again until she returns and it's put back into his pocket. As the lasagna is set down, he comments, "It certainly smells good..." but waits for her to sit and get settled before starting in on his meal. A roll and butter are also placed onto a little bread dish, "So, do you like working here? Kind of far from the lights of Broadway though. Do you have time to go to your auditions?"

Fern settles easily into the chair across from Warren, flapping her napkin out and laying it across her lap before picking up her fork. She doesn't start in on it, instead warning gently, "It's hot, so don't burn yourself on the cheese." Her eyes hold on him a moment before she answers. "I actually love working here. I couldn't have found nicer people to work for, or nicer customers."

She does sound genuinely happy with the situation as she goes on, "And Jerry and I," nodding toward the waiter she had spoken with when Warren first came in, "We both have auditions, so we cover for each other whenever we can, and Julius and Anita are very understanding about it." Fern watches him as she talks, waiting for him to take his first taste.

Warren's fork pauses over the lasagna at the warning, "Thanks." He cuts into it, but lets it cool while he takes a small bit of bread and butters it before popping it into his mouth. "The bread's good...cooked fresh here?" He looks over as she points out the other waiter, "Ahh...good that you two can do that. Sounds like a cutthroat career choice and if you don't get anything, you're stuck living on tips." Once he figures the lasagna has cooled enough, he takes a small, careful bite.

How could they call themselves the best Italian food in Brooklyn if they didn't bake their own breads and rolls? Fern nods, but she's apologetic as she offers, "Anita makes the best rosemary bread, but we already ran out tonight." Still, there's nothing to match fresh bread, rosemary or not. Her shoulders shrug lightly, "Most jobs in theater don't pay that great anyway, unless you're some kind of name. I don't expect to get rich, I just love doing it." She waits at least until the food is all the way in his mouth before she asks, "What do you think?" She could at least let him get it on his tastebuds.

"Then I guess I'll have to come back another time to have some of that rosemary bread," Warren offers as if it's not a trouble to get to Brooklyn at all. It might not be seeing as he doesn't always have to obey traffic. "I know that productions are quite expensive...my parents donate to the Metropolitan Opera...not quite the same, I know." He takes another bite of the lasagna, "It's very good! To be honest, I haven't had much other Italian food in Brooklyn, but it's -very- good!" The lasagna is worked on another moment before he offers, "I think it's great that you love it despite the potential for...small rewards." There's a pause. "I hope that didn't sound condescending. I didn't mean that."

Now that she's across from him, Fern can take the opportunity to study Warren, but without openly staring like their first meeting. She can't help a laugh at his words, and she chides lightly, "Well, you can just take my word for it then. You don't need to be trying the competition anyway." She finally takes a bite herself, shaking her head and chewing hastily to reassure, "No no, it's just the truth. Too many people want to do it to get rich and famous, and they don't really -love- it. They're never the ones that do get rich and famous anyway. At least if I don't expect it, maybe I've got a chance?" Her speculation is good natured.

Warren is quiet as he eats and listens, but he finally answers the somewhat rhetorical question, "At least you'll always be doing something you love and you aren't reliant on money to make you happy. I find the arts to be amazing. I mean, I don't know that I have anything that I do that I could say that with. I mean, it's a real passion, right?"

Fern nods again, "It is a real passion, for me anyway. Enough that I left home and came to live in the scary big city." Now that... that's only a half joke. It's been kind of scary lately, but she's dealing with it. She tilts her head, regarding Warren with her fork halfway to her mouth. "You don't love Vice Presidenting?" She frowns lightly with the question, concern lightly furrowing her brow.

There's a laugh as Warren lifts up the glass of wine, "No, I don't love it. It's...a job. It's expected of me. It was easy to fall into since my dad gave me the job. It's...something to do. I guess, to my parents, it beats being some sort of socialite Party Animal and getting arrested for stealing clothes or something, don't you think?"

Despite her nearly penniless state compared to Warren's lack of financial worries, Fern actually looks sympathetic and understanding. "Too many people -have- to do something instead of wanting it in their hearts." She sighs softly, letting silence fall for a few minutes so Warren can eat. Finally, she asks, "What do you love to do?"

Warren shrugs again at the answer, "I don't know, really. Sail. Fly. Eat Italian Food in Brooklyn with a lovely, aspiring broadway star." He's trying to be suave, but this kind of flirting is rather new to him as his cheeks seem to flush a bit pink. He grabs his glass of wine to use it to try and mask that blush.

She may notice the color in Warren's cheeks, but at least Fern has the thoughtfulness to blush as well at the unexpected words. She doesn't reach for the glass of water she brought for herself, instead hastily shoving another fork full of lasagna in her mouth. She's not sure why -he's- blushing. Surely he's got this patter all down, with his looks and obvious potential. But it never sucks when someone says nice things. At a momentary loss, she finally nods toward his wine, "Would you like another glass?" It's not waitressing this time, it's being an attentive companion.

There's a long pause of silence as Warren waits for his blush to hopefully go down. At least she didn't laugh at him. The question about the wine has him looking back up, "Sure, another glass would be nice. Just one more though...I don't want to be drinking and flying." There's a little humor in that; he's trying! "Thanks for sitting with me, too. I hope I didn't get you in trouble."

Fern pulls her napkin from her lap, touching it to her lips before laying it aside. "I supposed they'd have to catch you before they could bust you for that, though." She returns the joke easily, a marked improvement in just two meetings. "Oh no, you didn't get me into trouble at all. We each have moments when we like to pause." They all seem to get along exceptionally well, but it's pretty easy to when you actually have good people in charge. "I'll be right back," she promises, going to get a fresh glass of wine.