maskormenacelogs | they call it a royale with cheese

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they call it a royale with cheese

WHO: Nicolas (

ringen)
WHERE: A burger joint in Heropa.
WHEN: Evening of the 10th.
WHAT: Gaby's back and wants to grab dinner with a friend. Unfortunately, that friend happens to be in the middle of a killing spree, but, hey, who doesn't have time for a burger?
WARNINGS: Possibly violence, mentions of death and murder.

[ Ultimately, a terrible decision. He's letting Gaby's return distract him from moving on to the next target, assuming they haven't been moved yet. But after the scene the second one caused, even he has to wonder if he's thinking straight. It's been a few rough days and it shows on Nicolas, even with his last minute attempt to tidy up. The only real blessing is, perhaps, that vampires don't bleed everywhere when you kill them, so he's avoided staining his clothing, that same sweater and scarf get-up he's always worn.

Regardless of appearance, he has managed to get them a booth. He's already there, seated, waiting, staring down pensively enough at the menu that one could mistake him for making some kind of grave decision instead of just figuring out whether he wants a shake with his burger or not.

The menu is, at least, more comforting than the ever worrying news channel they have on for background noise. This really, really is a bad idea... ]

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[ Gaby is blissfully, blissfully unaware of many things, as it stands. She doesn't know that Nic has been on a murderous rampage--she doesn't even know that he's a werewolf. She knows that the supernatural can occur in this place (and that this place is supernatural in and of itself) but she doesn't know just how close to it she is. What she does know is that Nicolas was one of the only friends she'd made the last time she was here--certainly, the one she spent the most time with, and she's glad that he's still around.

Her arrival is marked by the sound of her heels clicking against the linoleum floors. It doesn't take her long to spot Nic; not many people sit down at a burger joint and look like they're about to make the biggest mistake of their life. That, and the sweater-scarf combination helps. She tosses her clutch onto the tabletop as she slips into the booth seat opposite his. ]

There you are--

[ And that's when she notices how looks, all roughed up. ]

--Scheisse, Nic, what happened to you?

What? Do I look that bad?

[ He can't say he's surprised she noticed. There was only so much he could do about how he looked right now, so the best thing to do was turn it into a joke and offer a thin smile when he looks up from the menu. ]

It's been a rough few days, that's all.

Oh, you look fine, except that you don't.

[ She leans into the plush back of her seat, crossing her arms. ]

You could've told me you weren't feeling well.

I was already in the neighborhood, so I saw no reason not to.

[ Something he says with a meek shrug, completely in spite of the many, many reasons not to. ]

It isn't anything contagious, if that's your worry.

I wasn't really worried about that.

[ at least, not as much as she was, is worried about him? ]

Well... If you start feeling ill in the middle of this, we can leave anytime.

I'm sure it'll be fine.

[ Or so he hopes. He's still fighting the urge to glance nervously around them every few seconds, especially at the TV they have mounted behind the counter as the music for the Heropa nightly news comes on.

Instead, he glances back down at the menu. ]

If I sounded reluctant before, it's just... I don't know. I don't really get out all that much.

[ Gaby notes something about his demeanor that just screams uncomfortable, bordering nervous. Granted, Nicolas seems like he's uncomfortable 95% of the time, but there's something off about it today. She won't press on it, for now. ]

I know you don't. That's why we're here. I'm starting to get worried that you never left your house while I was gone from this place.

[ The smile that curls her lips says she's only teasing, and then she grabs a menu of her own to glance down at even though she's already pretty sure what she's going to get. ]

[ She's going to have her chance to figure out why rather soon, as the news wraps up its intro and launches straight into the night's stories. Sooner or later, the one about werewolves in Heropa will rear its ugly head, including a verbal description in lieu of any surviving visuals of the beast.

It's that one that Nicolas is keeping an ear out for, but he intends to give no reaction, like he hasn't even been listening. ]

I did. [ He looks up again, almost lamentable over how he did, in fact, have to leave his house (or, for a few months there, the park) at all. ] I do have other friends.

[ Somewhere, but probably not for much longer. ]

Are you going to get an extra order of fries this time or will you be eating all of mine again?

[ For the moment, Gaby is more focused on her friend than the news report; however, that is liable to change with the way people--the staff, a few people sitting at the bar--seem to be paying more attention to the television.

To his question, her lips draw into a thin, unimpressed line. ]

I did not eat all of yours last time.

But I'll order one. For you, Nicolas.

Oh no, you most certainly did. Every time, eating my fries.

[ Gabriella Teller's greatest sin: fry theft. ]

You know they aren't going to run out of them here.

If they aren't going to run out, then why are you so upset over your friends? We'll just order more.

[ Likely, by way of Gaby fluttering her eyelashes at the waiter. ]

Perhaps, but I do have a right to defend my fries.

[ Okay, there is no such right, but-- anyway, the waiter is coming by just around now, having briefly been distracted by the news. ]

[ Gaby politely places her order when prompted by the waiter, although she notes that he still seems preoccupied with something else in the lull that follows after she recites her selection for the night. She casts a quick glance towards the television mounted at the corner of the ceiling--but it's talking about imPorts' humanitarian efforts and some such thing. Lovely, but ultimately uninteresting to Gaby, so she turns her attention back to Nic. ]

Of course you do. You're in America--you can defend whatever it is you want.

[ Said with a degree of sarcasm, of course. ]

[ Likewise, he'll put in an order. Yes, his burger has bacon and, yes, he would indeed like a vanilla malt. He's going for the big time burger, too, something huge, so even if he does look terrible, he must be hungry. Then he's back to raising an eyebrow at Gaby. ]

So that's how it works? In America, you're allowed to defend anything you want? Do I need an eagle to sign off on that first?

[ He can match that degree with his own, thanks, but at least the humorous shade is being thrown America's way, not hers. ]

[ Gaby's brows rise slightly at Nic's order; for her part, she had ordered something more simple, just a burger and fries, and a soda, but her friend across the way seems to be going big. He must be hungry. She makes sure to follow his order up with that extra plate of fries they talked about before. ]

Am I wrong? Isn't America all about freedom, something or other?

[ Ironically, the only American she knew personally at home was anything but free. ]

Is it? I'm not sure I feel particularly free here, but that may be due to not being quite American enough.

[ Or at all. It hasn't been all bad, but there's enough a reminder most of the time that he's definitely one of them and he doesn't mean imPorts. ]

Although I certainly know I wouldn't be free at all if I managed to get somewhere more familiar, so I suppose I shouldn't complain.

[ Gaby wouldn't be free at all if she somehow ended up behind this day and age's version of the Berlin Wall. How terrible would that have been. ]

You and I both know we wouldn't be free at all if we were anywhere more familiar.

[ And that's about all she wants to allude to her past, for the moment, so with a sigh she watches the waiter's back as he walks off to put their orders in, and promptly returns his attention to the evening news. Now she's watching along, because that's better than talking about the Wall. ]

[ Right. The Wall. There's that awkward silence that reigns for a moment, then he tries his best half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. ]

Well, we aren't those places. I don't doubt a Bond girl like you will do very well here, instead.

[ Although one day, he has to wonder if she'll actually watch James Bond movies and be offended by who all the Bond girls even are. In any case, the news is beginning to creep back around to the wolf monster story. ]

[ No, she still hasn't watched those movies, but his calling her "Bond girl" sure is a reminder for her to do so, and she smiles a little at the familiar feeling of the nickname. ]

That name again? Some day I'll really have to see what this Bond person is all about, and why he gets to have a whole type of girl to himself.

[ Teasing aside, her attention is split between him and the news, which is indeed delving into reports of some sort of chase happening only the night before. The story doesn't particularly stir her interest; for now, it serves as a reminder of how there's always something happening around here. That's something she's got to get used to again... ]

What this Bond person is-- [ He can't help but give a snort of laughter. It really isn't so strange, people who haven't watched Bond movies, even back home, especially stuck where he'd been stuck. ] I guess I shouldn't spoil it for you, then, by telling you.

[ Sexy, extremely maladujusted British spies who drink way too much, of course. ]

I can track down the set for you, though, if you want.

[ Ah yes, the news. A chase. No footage of the monster, something having fried the cameras as it went by, but eyewitness descriptions peg it as dark-furred and still wearing some odd semblance of clothing. The grey scarf seemed particularly strange in Florida, of all places. ]

If you would be so kind, Nicolas.

[ She might spend a good chunk of the movies being oddly reminded of one Napoleon Solo, but she'll probably be entertained, in any case. As for the news, a shaky, cellphone-taken video of a woman running and going to static just as her pursuer might have entered the frame is displayed on the screen, followed by interviews of witnesses at the scene. Grey scarf is the common denominator. Now where has she seen a grey scarf before...

As it is, she's distracted by the news, and wears a thoughtful look on her face. She hasn't looked at Nicolas yet, hasn't realized that there's a grey scarf right across the table from her. ]

[ Unwittingly handing off a series of movies about a spy to a spy. What a world. ]

Of course. It shouldn't be any problem. [ Unless James Bond shows up via the Porter, then they'll have trouble. ] Uh, so...

[ But Gaby's clearly distracted by something and, while he knows he should resist the urge to look back, towards the TV with the news on, he no longer can. He turns, maintaining a carefully neutral expression when he notes what news story they've moved on to. ]

[ It's when he turns that she focuses in on him again, and notices--grey scarf. She studies him carefully, watching for a reaction, waiting for a twitch of his fingers or a quiver in his lips or a furrow of his brow or a hitch in his breath. Nothing.

It couldn't be, could it? ]

... Quite a story they're talking about on the news, isn't it?

What? That one? I don't know. I think it's only another imPort going out of control.

[ He won't react, he won't. He'll only observe the news story with mild curiosity, even though he's growing extremely conscious of the fact that he really should have set his scarf aside somewhere. ]

[ Whether or not he's the culprit, Gaby makes a careful suggestion: ]

... You might want to put your scarf away, if you don't want people jumping to conclusions.

[ She hasn't really, herself. She hasn't decided if she's just helped a wanted criminal stay low or if she's just helped a friend avoid misunderstandings. ]

My scarf?

[ Ah, so she has noticed. He turns back away from watching the TV, seeming to waffle over whether or not to follow her advice for a few seconds, but in the end, he will. He'll pull it off his neck and stow it out of sight, next to him in the booth. ]

I guess that would make getting our food a little more difficult, if they did...

It could certainly get complicated.

[ She continues to regard him carefully--and, well, it doesn't sit right with her, feeling so suspicious of a friend all of a sudden, but it's more a manner of habit than anything else at this point. Still, she doesn't appear to be distrusting, just a little guarded. ]

And I don't want to miss out on these french fries, so.

Which would truly be the real catastrophe. I'm not sure I want to see what happens when you don't get your fries.

[ At least he makes some attempt at a joke, kidding around, even if he's beginning to tap his fingers -- quietly -- against the tabletop. Maybe a nervous tic, maybe just normal impatience. ]

[ Her gaze flicks downward briefly, watching his fingers drum the table top, before she looks back up and gives him a lopsided little smile. ]

Trust me, my friend, but you don't. You might recall that I'm stronger than I look?

I do. I still feel sorry for that poor car you broke.

[ You know, after he silently appeared behind her. That one time. ]

[ Yeah, see, whose fault was that really? ]

I didn't break the car.

The frame looked pretty dented to me.

You snuck up on me. How else was I supposed to react?

[ ... By not accidentally smushing a car, maybe. ]

Maybe by not poking around things that don't belong to you in the first place, hmm?

[ She pouts. You made her pout, Nicolas. ]

I wanted to see what the engine was like.

Still not your car.

[ But here comes the food, so Gaby will get a brief break from him picking on her over that. At least that's one upside to sticking to places that mostly specialize in just burgers and burger-related sides, the kitchen is pretty fast. ]

But--

[ Oh, wait, hold on, the food is here. Actually, just forget about it, because Gaby is going to immediately take a fry and chomp on one end of it. ]

--Hm, not bad.

[ Unsurprised. ]

Well, it is a fried potato. I think that may be hard to make bad.

[ Rude. ]

You say that, but what if the fried potato was overcooked? Or undercooked? Or bland.

[ He'll take a second to try a fry, too, although not before adding an obscene amount of ketchup to it. ]

Then you just add things to it. Problem solved.

But my point stands. Bad french fries can exist.

[ As she stares pointedly down at the fry drowning in ketchup in front of her. ]

[ Wow, don't hate. He's eating that, ketchup and all ]

Mm. Well, perhaps I am just not as picky.

[ She pouts. She's pouting, Nic. ]

I'm not picky. I was only pointing it out.

Any other deep insights about potatoes you would like to share?

[ Still poking fun. He is immune to her pouts. ]

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