2013.09.27 - Breaking and Dinnering

It's been a long, busy week, but it's ended unexpectedly early for Fern. Justin had some business to take care of that he wouldn't need her for, so he gave her the rest of the day off. The sun has warmed the air so the young woman was only too happy to get out and about in the middle of the afternoon. With no real plan she started out for the ferry, and as her thoughts wandered she decided on a course of action. A quick stop at a corner shop and she's got a few things in a brown paper bag as she strides up to the Dorilton. Thankfully Jake is on duty, and Fern is easily able to wheedle him into letting her upstairs when she shares her plan with him. It doesn't take long for her to become engrossed in her project, the sound system playing something danceable, her tights affording her a wonderful slide on the smooth kitchen floor, and the smell of tomato sauce beginning to scent the air from a pot on the stove. Another pot holds heating water, and there's a box of dry spaghetti waiting on the counter. There are other things going on as well, and all of it currently to a pop-song beat. "Hey soul sister, ain't that Mister Mister on the radio, stereo..." She sings along enthusiastically, providing a nice bit of harmony, actually, her skirt flaring as she moves. She's still wearing her work clothes, but she's a bit more casual today than she has been the rest of the week. It's Friday, after all. The wrap-around dress she wears has short sleeves and a modest hemline, but with her dancing as she cooks (heats up) dinner the neckline has shifted to bare just a bit more than she usually does. Dancing over, Fern picks up a spoon before shimmying back to the stove to stir the sauce, sneaking a taste as she does.

It has been a long week and most of his focus has been on the rally from the night before. Since that's over, he went to his office to try and get some work done, but ended up fielding a lot of questions about the rally and the reasoning behind his desire to put himself into that position. Luckily, most at work didn't seem to notice... yet... but he had already warned his father about it.

Still talking on his phone, he makes it back home and rides the elevator up to his penthouse. He pauses though, once he steps through the doors -- there are smells of cooking coming from his kitchen. And music. And singing. The phone call is ended and he slowly steps in further to peer in to see who might be there. Surprise is tempered by amusement when he catches sight of Fern dancing about the kitchen. He says nothing but just seems content to watch her for a moment.

There seems to be quite the little bit of choreography going on as Fern remains unaware that she now has an audience. "You gave my life direction... a game show love connection, we can't deny...." Her voice follows the singer's easily through the series of notes, as if she's sung along to this countless times. As the line comes about his heart beating she makes a cartoonish heart beating motion with her hands in time to the music, and turns, spying Warren. She smiles and doesn't stop, but goes on with the song, dancing toward him. "I believe in you... like a virgin, you're Madonna, and I'm always gonna wanna blow your mind..." And there's a turn before she reaches Warren, the singing still goes on with the chorus until she reaches the remote and turns the volume down. Warren gets a grin and a, "Welcome home. Hungry?"

Warren Worthington applauds once the performance seems to be over, "Very nice! Thank you, and I am, but...how did you get in?" He looks to the doors at the balcony and then dismisses that. "Not that I mind, but I was just surprised. It's nice though...seeing you here. I'm sorry we didn't get to talk much last night, but I appreciate that you were there." He sets his phone down so that it's no longer in his pocket and moves even closer to offer a kiss and a hug.

Fern bows with a flourish, giggling, setting the remote back down. "I have friends in high places," she answers, on how she got in his penthouse, saying no more to 'protect' her sources. "I knew you'd have a lot of people to talk to last night, but at least we got a little bit of time. It seemed to go really well, I'm really proud of you." She waits for him to make the first move, and when he does she responds naturally, stepping into his open arms, tilting her head for the kiss. Her fingertips brush his cheek lightly before she lowers back onto her heels, looking up at him, still smiling. "Why don't you get out of your work clothes? There's still time before everything is ready."

"I wasn't sure if anyone would show, but I'm glad people did, mutants and non-mutants. It really meant a lot and I think we might be able to push a little more with it. Maybe not quite give Magneto a run for his money, but maybe make people aware that it's ok to have mutants living with humans." Warren smiles back to Fern before he looks over her towards the kitchen, "Wait, you're cooking for me too?" There's a blink before he looks back, "All right...I suppose I can do that..." and he somehow resists the urge to ask her to help.

When Warren says 'it's ok to have mutants living with humans' Fern's eyes drop, and she looks to the kitchen when he does. "Yep, I'm cooking for you too." Granted, it might not be what Warren is used to. The pasta isn't fresh, and the sauce is from a jar, but the remnants of freshly chopped herbs on a cutting board tell that she's doctored it up some. "The water for the spaghetti is just about ready to boil, so that won't take long to be done, and there's about fifteen minutes left on the garlic bread." Frozen, reheated, garlic bread, just like Mom used to make. Warren probably makes a good call, resisting that urge, because that could have the consequence of them not eating the food she bought.

Warren Worthington pauses as Fern's eyes drop, "Did I say something wrong again? Damn...I'm so good at that! I should just shut up..." He also glances to the kitchen, "It smells really good." And with that, he moves towards his bedroom to change before he says something else that could potentially hurt her.

"Stop," Fern says, looking up at Warren again, her face untroubled but maybe a light shade of rose. "You didn't say anything wrong." Her hands come up and she shoo's at him, "Go on, scoot." She returns to the kitchen, dumping the spaghetti from the box into the boiling water, using a serving fork to stir it. The sauce is turned down and garlic bread taken from the oven before Warren returns, and Fern is stirring the pasta with the fork again.

"You sure?" Warren offers before he ducks into the bedroom to change. It doesn't take him too long to change into jeans and a t-shirt...since one should never really eat, bare-chested, at the table. His wings flit some to get settled once the shirt is on and he steps back out. "Can I help get anything? Like...set the table or something?" Because he might know how to boil water. Maybe.

Fern was humming again, and she looks up to smile as Warren returns. "Set the table, please?" she requests. "Oh, and do you have a strainer? I could just use the pot lid, but if you have one it'd be easier." The fork is set down and Fern edges over to pick up a knife, and she starts to cut the slab of bread into smaller pieces. "I thought about making lasagna, but that would have taken too long, so I hope this is alright. Don't be afraid of the jarred sauce, I do amazing things with herbs," she grins. She's having fun, being in a decked out kitchen, having the room to move around and do things properly.

Warren Worthington starts to move to the cupboard to get the plates and glasses, "A strainer?" Blue eyes blink for a moment, "What does that look like? I mean, maybe? I had the designer deck out the kitchen with stuff. Uhm." He looks around and then nods to one of the lower cabinets, "Maybe in there? I don't think I've looked in there for a while." He then moves to put the dishes on the table before returning for the utensils and napkins. Even with him and his wings in the kitchen, there's plenty of room for another to move around.

For a moment Fern looks surprised when Warren questions what a strainer is, then she laughs, "Boy, it's a good thing I found as much as I did by myself. You're no help in the kitchen," she teases lightly. She moves over to the indicated cupboard, pulling the door open and bending to look inside, after a second dropping her rear so she can see better and then reaching in and pulling a strainer out. "I'm sure that was just a lucky guess." Standing she crosses to put it in the sink, twisting as she brushes past Warren, her hand lifting, softly smoothing any feathers that got ruffled with her passage. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so close." Much.

"The kitchen came with the place," Warren grins as he reaches to get the utensils and napkins. The brush by him causes his grin to widen, "It's all right. I don't mind if it's you. You can get as close as you'd like." Now it's his turn for his eyes to lower before he slides past her to the table. "We...don't want wine, right?"

Fern knows that the words are not insignificant, and she's even more acutely aware of Warren's nearness as their paths cross again and she picks up potholders. The pot of pasta is picked up, she looks to make sure Warren hasn't turned back before she turns to take the pot to dump the water out. "You can have wine, if you want. Just because it's not my favorite doesn't mean you can't drink it." And there are some ways to get a taste of wine that make even the driest bottle palatable to her. "Do you have milk?" She's never outgrown the habit of milk with spaghetti, and it reminds her of home.

"Well, I'll see if I have a bottle already opened..." he doesn't want to open a bottle just for himself. Once the utensils are set, he then goes to the fridge to look, "Milk? Well, we can ring up for some if I don't have any. They're really quick about that sort of thing." Having a doorman is pretty useful! "What's the milk for?"

"If you don't have it we don't have to bother." Fern pauses, blowing the steam away as she dumps the pasta, stepping back as the rest of the steam rises, setting the empty pot aside on the counter. "It's to drink, silly," she tosses back, using the potholders to pick up the strainer and give it a light shake to get more water out. "I can have water just as well," is added agreeably. The strainer is plopped into the pot so it can continue to drip water out, and she reaches to turn the sauce off.

"I might have some...I think I had some cereal the other day," which would have required milk. He can, at least, make those breakfasts! "I have some Italian soda too...and water, of course. Uhm. Still have some of that cider," Warren continues to look in the fridge, "Uhm. Orange juice...red wine..." ooh, he'll pull that out.

Sliding lightly on the kitchen floor, Fern is at Warren's side. "Italian soda?" she questions, perhaps a little distracted. The young woman leans in close by her winged friend, letting her arm press warmly to his. Her nose wrinkles as orange juice is mentioned (with tomato sauce? bleh.) but she offers, "Good, there's wine for you."

"Yeah, blood orange soda and grapefruit. Do you want either of those? They have these at work and I'm sort of obsessed." Warren turns to look at Fern when she comes closer. "Anything tickle your fancy in here?" The fridge is still rather sparse -- there are some leftovers and some snack-type items. It's obviously the refrigerator of someone who eats out a lot. After a moment he peers a little deeper, "Oh! Milk. I think it's still good, too."

"Hmmm... I'd like to try them sometime, but not with spaghetti." Unfortunately, Fern's response to his question is out of her mouth before her brain can stop it. "No, but something out here does." At least she says it while Warren is turning to look back into the fridge, and maybe his discovery of the milk takes any attention away from her words. "Yay milk!" she says, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Just need a glass then." And she'll make sure it's still good, since 'I think' tends to have varying degrees of reliability.

"It does?" It might take Warren a moment to realize what...or who she means. "Oh! Oh, good." He smiles at her and then steps away with the milk carton and wine bottle, closing the door. "Glasses are on the table...I'll get a wine glass. Anything else? Or are we good? It smells divine!"

Fern pauses, looking around the kitchen, taking stock, before nodding, "We're good. Why don't you sit and I'll finish getting things to the table? You can pour," she grins. The spaghetti goes into a large bowl, with the serving fork, the pot of sauce gets a ladle and set on a folded dishtowel on the table, and the bread is piled onto a plate and set out. "I forgot to think to get parmesan cheese, but I think we'll survive without it." It's possibly more like the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving dinner than anything Warren normally eats as far as general quality, but she wasn't lying when she said she improved upon the sauce.

Warren Worthington makes sure to sniff the milk to make sure it doesn't smell sour before he pours it into Fern's glass. He then pours some red wine for himself, "You sure you want me to just sit?" He'll do so, pulling up one of the custom chairs to the table. "I think we're ok without the parmesan cheese." He pauses as if about to ask something else, but he catches himself and covers it with taking a sip of the wine. "I'm just flattered that you broke into my home to make dinner for me."

Getting everything placed just so, Fern even makes sure all the utensil handles are turned toward Warren so he can start serving himself. She slides into her chair, giving him a questioning look for a moment before she grins. "I didn't break in. Much." As Fern reaches for a piece of bread, looking at it and not at Warren, she asks casually, "What were you going to say?"

Warren Worthington does start to serve himself once the handles are pointed at him. He'll take some of everything, of course! "You only sort of broke in?" but he's grinning. The dishes are passed down once he fills his plate with the food. Taking a bite of the garlic bread, he nods his approval before blinking, "Hmm? Oh. I was going to ask about the meat, but you know me well enough."

"Meatless sauce," Fern says with a smile. Yes, she knows him well enough. Her phone, set on vibrate and tucked into her bag across the room, has received at least three calls while she's been busy making dinner. Convinced that they're some kind of prank, she's stopped answering them. Why would names like Spielberg be calling her? She's never even really gotten a chance to show her stuff properly yet. But when she does, she'll show whoever thinks it funny to play tricks on her. She returns to the previously topic, saying with mock defensiveness, "I can't believe you would even use those words in association with me. I'm hurt, Warren, truly." But it hasn't affected her appetite any, and she takes a good sized helping when Warren has his.

Warren Worthington nods and also starts to eat some of the spaghetti, "Thank you. I knew I didn't really need to ask." Or explain. After the first bite, he nods his approval again, "This is really good! Thank you for making this for me...I probably would have just ordered takeout again or finished the bottle of wine for dinner. This is so much better." He takes another bite before, "Are you hurt? Really? I don't know...I don't think I'm convinced."

A baleful look is cast across the table at Warren, complete with Bambi eyes, and Fern sniffles, a short intake of breath. "Crushed. But I suppose I'll survive. Somehow." If not for the forkful of pasta that gets shoved into her mouth, it would be entirely believable. She chews, swallows, and says simply, "You're welcome." She does like doing things for him, and he shouldn't eat out so much anyway.

Warren Worthington snickers, "Don't you try that 'actress' bit on me, missy...I know you..." he's trying. He's really trying...and maybe not succeeding, but it's an attempt at being lighter. He works on the food for a moment before he offers, "I really like spending time with you and I really like that you came by just to make me dinner."

His efforts haven't gone unnoticed, nor unappreciated, and maybe this is a way for Fern to say so without coming out and saying so. Fern takes a drink of milk, then quickly sticks her tongue out at Warren before she goes on eating. "I need to hang around people that don't know me so well," she grumbles, not at all unhappy with the fact that he's calling her out with a tease. She sets to in silence as well, until Warren speaks again. She's a bit more sober when she responds. "I like that we're spending time together again. I could do it more often, maybe," she ventures, glancing up at him.

"You can come over whenever you want," Warren offers easily and quickly. "I like that we're spending time together too. I don't want to hog you all the time so I won't insist that you come by every day...although I wouldn't mind." He'd offer more, but he doesn't want to scare her away again. "I really like the garlic bread, but now I'm going to smell like garlic all night."

Fern nods, "Alright then, I will." She doesn't want to crowd him, either. At least that's the excuse she uses to keep from facing anything head on, but it probably won't work forever. His concern about smelling like garlic is met with a raised brow and another light tease, "Oh, got a hot date tonight that you're worried about impressing?"

"Well, I don't know. I mean, she's also eating garlic bread, so maybe she won't notice? What do you think?" Warren smirks before taking another bite of the bread. "I see what you did...you served this on purpose!" He grins and works on some more, "You're winning me over through food!"

'Good answer' is thought but goes unsaid as Fern grins at Warren, but she sighs heavily, back into actress mode for a moment. "You see right through me. Mama always said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." She pauses, then goes on casually as she twirls some spaghetti on her fork. "I always thought it was right through the chest, but you don't argue with Mama." It's delivered deadpan, and as she looks up to Warren, expression mild, the spaghetti disappears into her mouth.

"Well, if you're going to use a stake, I suppose that's the most direct way," Warren offers conversationally. "I knew it, you know. I know your motives, Fern Fiddlehead." And yet he's still eating, of course, his blue eyes showing his amusement at this banter...and maybe some surprise that he is able to continue it.

Fern huffs a breath in mock exasperation, "Oh seriously Warren, I wouldn't use a steak any more than I would use a cutlet. It needs to at least be a spoon." They don't go on like this all night, thankfully, but their new found rapport brings another level of closeness, and several times during the evening she finds herself looking at Warren with quiet delight at his playfulness. Before she heads home, they've verified that them both eating garlic bread renders the taste nullified whilst kissing.