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[BtI] Date 1, Turn 2 (Active Player=Rich)
[OOC: As the first date continues, our Attraction is now at 2, and there are no Compatibilities established.
That means, Alani, you have five possible dice to award initially, if I pull it off: 2 for Attraction (beginning the turn with something that might make the Active Player's character more attractive to the Guide's character); and 3 Bonus Dice.]
That means, Alani, you have five possible dice to award initially, if I pull it off: 2 for Attraction (beginning the turn with something that might make the Active Player's character more attractive to the Guide's character); and 3 Bonus Dice.]
Comments
Of course, you're happy to share these details, since this is your art, this is your expression on the world. The waitress comes along, I order a bread pudding, and look to you to make sure you catch it, which, of course, it's obvious. I ask how big the portion is, and fidget around a bit before saying, "We'll take one and share it." I'm not entirely sure why I said that, but a little thrill runs through me when I see your reaction.
The bread pudding arrives, and the waitress hands us two spoons. I scoot my chair around, which is easy at a round table like this. I turn to you and ask, "What is it you like about this bread pudding, Alani?"
I watch you talking with the waitress and am tickled when you order the bread pudding to share. Not even knowing that I'm doing it, I reach up and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. If I was aware, I'd be embarrassed. It's such a flirty gesture. When you scoot next to me and ask your question, I pause with my spoon midair.
"Dried cherries. Dark chocolate chunks. And I'm pretty sure the bourbon sauce comes from heaven." And before I think about it, before I even think about it, I've dipped my spoon in and held it up for you, right in front of your lips.
Still, it's a nice little moment of anticipation. Practically the reason I scooted around. Then you describe the food with such devious pleasure that now I want bread pudding, too. You pull the spoon up to my mouth, and I'm surprised as hell. But what the hell, right?
I laugh a little, then move my head forward to open my mouth, leaning into the spoon and closing my lips around the edge of the bowl. It's a sensual act, and I know it, but I'm not trying to be gross about it. Playful. I take it as playful. That's the best way to accept it, you know.
Then, for a brief moment in time, I'm looking at you, in your eyes as I chew. I'm sharing this experience with you, and it's forward, I don't even know why you've drawn me into your orbit with this. But damn. you're right. This bread pudding is hella good!
I chew a couple bites, slowly, savoring it. I actually look away at the end, it's a little intense for an almost stranger. I hold my hand up to my mouth and swallow, then say, "Okay, that was... that was no lie. Best bread pudding I've ever had." I take a drink of my water to wash the last bits of flavor down, then look back at you, "What did you call it? A slice of heaven?" And now I'm being forward. Well, as forward as I tend to be. I'm looking right back at you, and I want to watch you eat it.
Min, I love it, watching you taste, showing me with your eyes, but I'm glad when you look away. Intense, indeed. I smile, and when you ask about heaven I may be hearing an entirely different question. "Something like that, Min." It's the first time I've said your name since we were first introduced.
I take a bite, with the same spoon I just fed you with. There's an art to this, making sure to get a bit of everything on the spoon, then dipping just the tip into the whipped cream. I put it in my mouth and chew, meeting your eyes until I can't help it and close mine. "Yep. Heaven."
"Min? I may have decided that Bonnie and Jim don't need to be punished too severely for their shenanigans earlier. What do you think?"
If I didn't know the pudding was fantastic, watching you eat it would convince me. I end up with this dopey half-smirk on my face that I have to consciously will away for fear of looking foolish.
"Wait..." I say when you talk about punishing Bonnie and Jim, a little confused. "That was a shenanigan? It seemed a little funny, but... what?" Now I'm a little worried. Is this some joke?
I hope I haven't been too frank. Hope that there wasn't really a tragic water leak at the DelMonaco household and that I'm misunderstanding this whole situation. I really don't think so, but I've been wrong before.
I'm watching you intently as you describe our common friends as yentas and I'm chuckling, thinking of the movie. When you describe your last date and it's a guy, my mouth tightens a tiny bit and my heart drops. Then you talk about setting them straight and I'm sort of checking out mentally, trying to salvage what's left of the lunch.
But you flip it by explaining that the father was an accident from trying to fit in, and there's a bit of curiosity flickering. I decide to take a chance, and ask, "So thennnn, this here," I gesture in a circle, around the table. "This is a? A date?" My tone is not at all shutting down the thought, but I'm not trying to sound desperate.
"Pretty sure the Diabolical Duo thought so. They live on the top floor. They are not very good ninjas."
I think for a second, appreciating another bite of the best bread pudding in the known universe. "So. Is it? A date?"
Think carefully, Min. Your answer matters. At the moment, it matters a lot.
"They are the Chris Farleys of ninjas." I agree with your assessment of Jim and Bonnie. "Hrm, well, I guess they fooled me."
I watch you for a moment as you enjoy the bread pudding. Then you ask me if it's a date. "Only if I get at least one more bite of the bread pudding. Then, yes, it is officially a date."
What the hell, right? A date is just what this is.
Alright, this spoon has been in your mouth and mine, but I'm operating on instinct and... something. I dig again, making sure to give you the full bite. The whipped cream is melting a bit now, but that just makes it better, in a way. "Okay, a date. What's next? I hold the spoon up for you again, hoping you'll take it.
So, I don't know for sure whether it's Chris Farley or agreeing that this is a date that pushes it over the edge, but you get your third Bonus Die.
Attraction: (Rolled: 1d6. Rolls: 2. Total: 2)
Bonus: (Rolled: 3d6. Rolls: 5, 1, 4. Total: 10)
Attraction: (Rolled: 1d6. Rolls: 1. Total: 1)
"Once the pudding's done," I remind you with a grin. "We should head to 34 West, catch the Sunday show. There's a special show this weekend I've been wanting to see. A woman named Mary Fishburne, no relation to Lawrence, is a female vocalist impersonator. She sings like other singers. I know, it sounds weird, but she's supposed to be really great."
I purse my lips thinking. "... and now I know why Jim only bought two tickets." I reach into my purse and pull out two tickets, to illustrate my point.
Now we come to the part where we talk about who pays for the check. I don't want to be crass and suggest going dutch, but that's my preference. I don't want to be rude and insist on paying, but then, I know I'll feel a tiny bit odd if you pay for me. So I sort of hesitate and keep eating for a bit, hoping you'll bring it up.
The check arrives. The waitress places it right in the middle between us.
The tension of the "check moment" goes out of the room. "Sounds like a great show. I'm in."
That hesitation on the check was a bit awkward, but we moved past it, I think. Go ahead and re-roll one of your 4.
Well, that's a pleasant surprise. I look over at you, grin, "Maybe they're more like Jackie Chan ninjas. Is that even a thing?" I brighten a little, the load of "the check" off my shoulders. Pick up my purse and stand up.
"Did you drive? I walked." I just blurt this out, which is curious, since we're so near the shore that it's a giveaway I must live close by.
"What time's the show?"
"It's at three. We've got time. We can walk and talk." I say, trying to stay chipper. I realize you have your own car then. Interesting. Do you live outside the city?
We walk the couple blocks from the restaurant to 34 West. Without the food or sitting close together, there's a bit of distance. We walk, but we don't really talk. I get a couple texts about a deadline from a client, so I deal with that. That probably irks you, and I feel guilty, but I don't have work hours, and this was sprung on me, so it's not like I set aside my time for this exactly. I feel bad, though. The look in your eyes when you see me on my phone, then looking away.
We arrive after a fifteen minute walk. The last five were on busier streets, so thankfully the silence isn't a choice anymore. And we're about to sit and watch someone else sing for an hour or so. I already feel things slipping away.
We're in our seats, and the lights are about to go down. I hope this singer's good.
Please roll 1 of your remaining 3 Reroll Dice. That was sad.
The exterior of this place caught my eye. I've always wanted to catch a show here. The interior is exposed brick and there's a nice thrust stage with raked seating. Our seats are together, right in the middle. Bonnie and Jim kicked in for nice seats, we're maybe ten rows back
I turned off my phone after telling my client (an editor from CNET, not that I'm humble-bragging, but you know, it's important) that I'm AFK for a few hours. As the two minute warning happens, I look at you and apologize, "I'm really sorry, Alani. I had no idea that today was, you know, a date. I would've pushed a deadline out if I'd known. But I'm officially all yours for the show." Shit, did I just say that? Yes, I said that.
And now the lights are going down. Crap, crap, crap.
Do we hold hands? It's a date. I'm not opposed to holding hands. Except, well, this is an hour, my hand might get sweaty. I do not want you to be holding my sweaty hand, Alani. I'm inwardly kicking myself. It was so really nice in the restaurant. Why did we leave? I want to rewind us back there. Dammit.
I can feel this awkwardness between us as the lights go down. The false intimacy of the low light in the midst of a crowd. The inches between us are a river, and one of us needs to build a bridge.
This uncomfortable moment is stretching to eternity. Please roll one of your 2 remaining Reroll dice.
Re-roll (3): (Rolled: 1d6. Rolls: 3. Total: 3)
I quietly nod my head when you graciously accept my excuse, but it doesn't fix things. I inwardly curse the events, start tracing back each step to try and figure out where it went wrong. If I hadn't turned off my phone, I'd probably snatch it up for some distraction, something to calm my nerves.
Luckily, Mary Fishburne comes out and starts her show. I look over to see you grooving as Mary starts off with some Barbara Streisand song. It's trite and overdone and I'm probably not in the mood to appreciate it, but your smile grows. Are you really digging this? Trying to make the best of a bad situation? Rubbing it in my face? I can't tell.
I could be on my boat right now. It's such a lovely day. I could be finishing my review and beating deadline, which is always a feather in my cap for getting more work. Lord knows my readership is flagging lately. Stupid social media requirements and always having to be pithy and quotable. Why can't I just review tech? I don't want to be a personality.
Was that Lady Gaga? When did she change songs? Oh hell. I wonder how long I zoned out. Well, you're still grooving. Glad it's good for you.
Who would expect to hear "Love Games" in a setting like this? This Mary Fishburne is pretty good, nails the mannerisms as wall as all the little vocal tics and tricks. I'm glad the show's going well, because I can feel you withdrawing into your head.
Min, it's too late for me to touch your hand. I don't think I can fix this moment, I think it's up to you.
Roll your last Reroll die, for the zoning out. Also, we've agreed that your Conflict has been invoked, so also roll those three dice. And please, roll well?
Re-roll (4): (Rolled: 1d6. Rolls: 6. Total: 6)
She's doing Poker Face! And her lyrics are so funny. Okay, I'm laughing at the word play at least, and sure, there was a hiccup, but I'm going down fighting. I look over at you, and I just take a chance. I slip my left hand over yours on the seat. Yes, I noticed you put it there for me, thank you, Alani.
Four Non-Blondes? Oh shit, that's funny. And her Alanis is spot on. Who can't laugh at mocking Ironic, why was that even popular? I squeeze your hand, and lace my fingers through yours. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. New mantra.