hal yorke. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
showtunes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2015-03-12 12:57 pm
showtunes) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-03-12 12:57 pm
Entry tags:
closed.
WHO: Hal Yorke and Kitty Jones.
WHERE: Kitty's.
WHEN: Today.
WHAT: Tea.
WARNINGS: None. (WEIA)
[ Hal does, indeed, know where Kitty Jones lives. Surprisingly, she is perhaps one of the few people left that he'd be willing to call a friend (well, there's Alex, but that's complicated.) Perhaps her young age should deter him, given he struggles to hold down platonic female friendships with any woman he hasn't first killed, but honestly after five hundred years everyone seems too young.
So even though he's not actually sure whether she was inviting him for tea in the sense of a small meal or simply a shared hot beverage, he makes his way to her house late in the afternoon, when the sun has turned everything golden, brightening the budding greeney that promises winter has finally passed.
When she answers the door, he scrutinizes her for a moment, scenting for blood, sharp brown eyes tracking over her with a predator's analytic gaze, looking for injuries of any kind. But she seems well enough, which he's glad of, and the concern passes quickly. ]
Hello. Here I am.
[ Thank you, Mr Obvious. ]
WHERE: Kitty's.
WHEN: Today.
WHAT: Tea.
WARNINGS: None. (WEIA)
[ Hal does, indeed, know where Kitty Jones lives. Surprisingly, she is perhaps one of the few people left that he'd be willing to call a friend (well, there's Alex, but that's complicated.) Perhaps her young age should deter him, given he struggles to hold down platonic female friendships with any woman he hasn't first killed, but honestly after five hundred years everyone seems too young.
So even though he's not actually sure whether she was inviting him for tea in the sense of a small meal or simply a shared hot beverage, he makes his way to her house late in the afternoon, when the sun has turned everything golden, brightening the budding greeney that promises winter has finally passed.
When she answers the door, he scrutinizes her for a moment, scenting for blood, sharp brown eyes tracking over her with a predator's analytic gaze, looking for injuries of any kind. But she seems well enough, which he's glad of, and the concern passes quickly. ]
Hello. Here I am.
[ Thank you, Mr Obvious. ]
no subject
[ Kitty likes Hal a lot. She's gotten the full story on Hal's...Well, on the fact that he's a vampire and therefore dangerous if not deadly to know. Half the story had come from Hal himself, the other half from Mitchell, both of her friends eagerly slandering the other. What Kitty had taken away from that, more than anything else, was that the two of them had some bizarre grudges against one another. And to be careful around them, certainly - but she's not a victim, and has no patience for acting like someone who might become one. Careful isn't going to equate to wary for her, and certainly not to scared.
So she invites him in without hesitation: ]
Come in, please.
[ And she steps back to gesture him in. Tea is, in point of fact, proper tea, earnest if a bit modest: a pair of scones on a plate, jam, some little egg sandwiches, biscuits. Water is boiling on the stove. It's the friendliest part of her whole flat, which is on the whole bare and devoid of personality. ]
Absolutely lovely weather lately, isn't it?
no subject
[ The weather here in general is an improvement on Wales, though Heropa can be a little humid for his taste. Still, today is lovely, enough to put a spring in anyone's step, and he acknowledges that as he comes inside.
He doesn't actually require the invitation, age having surpassed those boundaries, but he appreciates it for politeness' sake. ]
And it's er, good to see you well, of course.
[ Smalltalk. This is all very normal. He tells himself that while flipping a domino in one hand, that Kitty is perfectly safe and this is perfectly ordinary. He spends so much time in the real world now, interacting with hotel patrons and those he cleans for, surely he has inured himself to the sound of a pulse fluttering in a young woman's neck.
(He has not.) ]
Did you make these?
[ The sandwiches, the scones; he's a bit charmed by the entire spread, truth told. ]
no subject
Don't get too impressed. The bread's from the grocer's, and so is the jam. Miss Trout would have vapors if she knew that's what I was serving to a guest. My cooking teacher. [ That last part is amended by way of explanation.
She carries the teapot over to the kitchen table. There are only two parts of her flat that aren't orderly: a spot in the living room covered awkwardly by an out-of-place rug, and this table, which is half-covered with books and papers. These books and papers have been shifted, though, to make room for the two of them to sit, and for the plates and the like. ]
Please sit down. How do you take your tea?
no subject
[ Like his soul. Despite her demurrals, Hal is actually impressed, since that means she did bake the scones — which in turn means they have a lot more interest for him. There's no food in the world that measures up to what he really craves, but home-made baked goods are a balm in their own right.
After a moment, he takes a seat, perching elegantly but not actually serving himself. ]
You have a cooking teacher? Here?
[ A little bemused, but mostly respectful of her ability to go out and educate herself. ]
hahaha like his soul
My cooking teacher when I was a girl. That's what school was for us - cooking, metalwork, pottery. And reading and writing for the cleverer kids. [ Her shrug towards the mountain of books crowding the table clearly indicates which category she fell into; she's not embarrassed by this self-awarded descriptor. ] It was awful, but I've certainly not forgotten how to bake a good cream scone.
[ And she sets down the teapot in front of him and settles down into the other free place, plucking a scone and putting it on her plate, assuming he's waiting for her to begin snacking. As she breaks the scone into a few pieces, she takes the time, finally, to look him over. He looks all right, she thinks. She always sort of worries for him and Mitchell. ]
Do you bake?
no subject
And it is a good scone: he serves himself one, spoons a sparing amount of jam but plenty of cream, and eats it in delicate little pieces, never getting his fingers sticky or spilling so much as an errant crumb on his chin. Watching Hal eat is like watching him fold origami, there's he same concentration and precision.
He also doesn't speak until he's fully appreciated several bites and then cleared his mouth, though he does shake his head as he finishes chewing. ]
Of my many [ many, many ] hobbies, I'm afraid that is not one. I'm an adequate enough chef, on the rare occasion I need to be, but baking really isn't my thing.
no subject
I'm surprised. I'd definitely have taken you for a baker. It's such a methodical sort of thing - you know. Measure out this and that, worry about precision. All of that.
[ Kitty is much more one for jam; she spoons it generously over the scone. She's got a sweet tooth and very little concern for healthy habits. She's a neat eater as well, though, pecking at tiny little bits of scone at a time, dexterously avoiding getting any of the jam on her fingers as she eats. ]
no subject
[ He pouts out dubiously. ]
And I think, perhaps, too stressful. I do best at tasks with no possibility of failure.
[ But mostly he just doesn't bake because he doesn't bake, never really took the time to get the hang of it. ]
It's not as though I purchase food.
[ He reminds her gently, though he follows it up by continuing to eat his scone and taking a sip of tea, so he obviously can eat if he wants to. ]
no subject
I've actually been wondering about that. If it's all right to ask. Do you...not have to eat? I was never entirely sure.