fandomtownies | Taste of Thai, Tuesday Evening

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Taste of Thai, Tuesday Evening

Claire did her best not to get to the restaurant too early, but waiting to leave -- and how late did rehearsals run, anyhow? -- was making her go nuts in her room. After she changed her outfit for the fifth time (settling on a black jersey dress, orange sweater, tights, boots, hair down) she made a final face at herself in the mirror and started the walk into town, just so she'd have a place to be.

She claimed a booth at the restaurant and ordered a Thai iced coffee because it was like liquid crack. She sketched idly on the placemat with crayons left from someone's kid's menu as she waited, watching the entrance for Cal.

[OOC: Up early for SP. Comment notifications are FAIL.]

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Cal tried to get to the place right after rehearsal, but tried not to look like he tried to. The need to just get the almost inevitable disaster over was stronger than the agony of wanting to put it off. He came in, saw Claire over in that booth, and thought that maybe she hadn't seen him yet, and he could just turn around and leave and stand her up. Of course, she'd think he was a total ass, but, in the long run, that'd be better for her, right?

But he just couldn't do it. His hands dove into the pockets of his jacket and he meandered over. "Hey."

Claire looked up under her bangs just enough to notice Cal's little dance of hesitation. Before she had much of a chance to think about what it might mean, he was at the booth.

"Hey," she returned, setting the blue crayon aside. "How was your rehearsal?"

"It was okay," Cal shrugged a little, his head tilted at the doodle on the placemat.

"What are you working on?" he asked, shifting a little with his awkwardness to peel his coat off, throwing it into the seat across from Claire before sliding into it.

"Kind of a cartoon," Claire said, taking a fraction of a second to move the placemat so Cal could see. She'd flipped it over and was using the blank back to draw the hostess at her stand. "I dunno, she just has an interesting face."

Cal leaned in for a better look, and then glanced back over his shoulder to make a comparison, and a faint grin surfaced. "That's not too bad."

Claire glanced from the sketch to the woman as if seeing both with refreshed eyes. It was okay; she wasn't happy with the hair. "Thanks. My best work is always in the medium of off-brand crayons," she deadpanned.

"You could be a pioneer," Cal stated, "and bring the art of off-brand crayons to the next level beyond refrigerator doors."

"I could!" Claire said, a hint of a giggle in her voice. "It would be ironic stick figures and lollypop trees."

"Ooh, pulling out irony. You could be a big hit. Your phases could be based around all the different off-brands..."

"This brand," Claire said, holding up the blue she had so recently cast aside, "is called Crayon King. I could do a series of portraits of royalty." She considered this. "Maybe even call it outsider art."

"Whoa there," Cal held up his hands. "Let's be careful to not be too gimmicky. But, I have to admit, there has to be at least one princess and unicorn. Handprint turkeys. Spaceships. Gotta hit up all the hot motifs."

"Gimmicky? I am the artist, Stephanides," Claire said, mock-offended, before adding. "... And I totally learned to draw unicorns back in sixth grade."

"Sixth grade!" Cal snorted. "Please. I was turning out that shit when I was four."

Claire rolled her eyes elaborately. "I mean good unicorns," she informed him. "Not, y'know, mutated dogs."

"They were good unicorns," Cal insisted, petulantly. "Farting rainbows and everything."

"If they were good you wouldn't call it farting," Claire claimed, then turned the paper to Cal and put the crayon before him. "Here. Show me your non-mutated unicorn."

"I said when I was four!" Cal argued, shooting Claire a look, but he picked up the crayon and pulled the paper toward him. "I'm out of practice. But, fine, fine. I'm so good that even twelve years won't make a difference."

And he began to very meticulously draw out a unicorn, starting with the horn.

Claire watched for a moment, then realized she was watching and it might make him nervous and started elaborately looking elsewhere. She did, though, notice that he had very nice, delicate hands.

"You attained expertise in pre-school," she noted gravely. "I can only bow before you."

"I'm glad," Cal said as he swooped the crayon down to make the unicorn's back, "that you're starting to appreciate talent when it stands before you."

He paused, giving the unicorn quite the tail.

"Or sitting, in this case."

Claire had been looking at a neutral point over Cal's head, but she looked at the paper after he spoke. "I have to recognize talent," she said. "Especially when his unicorn has such a pretty pretty tail. Are you going to add a bow, or would that be unmanly?"

"Bows are not very befitting a warrior, Claire," Cal said, as he moved on to trying to give the poor thing legs. "And this is clearly a warrior unicorn."

What the hell was he even talking about? He didn't know, but, clearly, he couldn't exactly just stop.

"Oh, right," Claire said. "I can tell that from how very pointy his horn is."

What the hell?

"Well," Cal said, finishing up the unicorn. "It's not a red crayon, so it's not like I could have put on the blood that would have been all over it."

He took a second to look it over, added a few little stars around it to symbolize how magical the damn thing was, and then held it up.

"Ta-da."

It looked probably exactly like the ones he'd drawn when he was four.

"I think there might be red in the box," Claire offered, then applauded. "Awesome unicorn, Cal. Stars are a nice touch."

"Thanks," Cal said, setting the paper down and wondering if he honestly just started a date out with drawing a unicorn. He wondered if the fact that he'd only really ever been on a few dates with Amber before counted as a reasonable defense. "I thought so, too. We should order; I'm starving."

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