fandomtownies | Café Fina, Monday

Who will probably dance at you. Because he was told to.

For those of you who would like a fantastic meal without being bounced at by the puppy.

Be bounced at by the Pepper Shaker, instead.

After a frantic search of her closet -- after choosing and discarding dress after dress after dress, and worrying about her shoes, and her hair -- Elena had had an epiphany.

She was overthinking this.

It was dinner, with Tseng. She was not going to be a spaz and ruin it. She was not going to hyperventilate and put her head between her knees. She was going to take a deep breath, pick a dress, and wear it. It was not going to be too long, too short, too formal, too casual, too young, or too old: it was going to be a dress, and she was going to wear it so she didn't show up naked.

Thinking about showing up naked: not helping her nerves.

Look! A dress (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v328/Rellyjean/elena/_6058649.jpg). It was blue and light and fun. It was comfortable and she liked it. That meant she was going to wear the damn thing and stop having a nuclear meltdown over clothing.

And so Elena was waiting, now. Not naked. In a swingy blue dress. Hair clipped back from her face. Minimal make-up. She was not going to try too hard. She was going to have dinner.

She could do this. Right?

Edited 2010-05-03 20:47 (UTC)

By some crazy random happenstance, Elena and Tseng's dinner date just so happened to take place at the same time as Zack's break. Which wasn't to say that Zack wasn't there, no. It simply meant that the dishes had plenty of time to recognize Elena as one of Zack's friends, realize that she was there waiting for somebody, and then ~~tie him up and gag him in the kitchen~~ distract him with cake elsewhere before Tseng could show up.

And there was Tseng, now. In, of course, his suit, oblivious as to how kind the island really was to him at times as a particularly helpful Spatula showed him to his seat.

"Elena," he greeted, in a tone that suggested that he was working very hard on not thinking about the Spatula. Really.

"Tseng," she said, offering him a quick smile. And her hand, if he wanted to take it. Just to shake. It seemed properly date-like. "I should have warned you about the service, here."

She hoped the dishes would not overhear and think that she meant they were bad at their jobs.

"It's odd how quickly you get used to the little ... oddities around here."

She no longer thought it was weird, being served by oversized dishes and salt-and-pepper shakers. This island had the weirdest effect on people ...

Edited 2010-05-03 20:58 (UTC)

Beyond just turning people into other people and children and Rufus Shinra, yes.

"It's my understanding that this place seems to find it necessary to throw so many of those oddities at you that you don't have much choice but to adapt."

There had been a few 'I hate this fucking island, let me come home' reports from Reno before Reno's opinion of the place had changed, and Tseng's own opinion along with it.

He took her hand for a moment, because it was offered, of course, and gave it a small shake before taking a seat.

"Maybe that's on purpose," she said, taking the seat opposite him and fussing a bit with her skirt. Not out of nerves. Shhh. "Sink-or-swim mentality. Either you have a complete psychotic break, or you find yourself immune to shock after a while."

Even at that, she hadn't been expecting Veld. So perhaps 'accustomed' was a better word than 'immune.'

"I have a report for you," she added, "but you don't get it until after dinner."

Because she didn't trust him not to read it now, no.

She knew him well, clearly.

"Of course," he replied, in that very carefully chosen tone that meant that it was impossible to tell how disappointed he was that he was going to have to wait, or if he really didn't care at all, because he knew it would still be there when they were finished their meal. "There hasn't been a wealth of complete psychotic breaks, has there?"

She'd mentioned it, and he was curious. Also, it seemed like nice, casual dinner conversation, really.

Tseng needed to work on his casual conversational skills, apparently.

"I haven't seen any," she said easily, picking up a menu and trying not to think about how bizarre this was. Casual dinner conversation ... with Tseng.

"I would have expected my roommate to go first. He seems the most upset about how ... illogical this place is."

Not that he reminded her of anyone she knew. Really. At all.

Tseng couldn't help but smile faintly, remembering Elena's roommate.

"Illogical probably isn't the word I would have chosen," he mused, idly reaching for the menu. Very idly.

Because if he didn't reach for the menu, and idly so, then he would be staring at the kickline of saucers nearby.

"Insane, on the other hand..."

"He likes to say 'illogical,'" she said, smiling her amusement as she pored over entrees. Which was a good excuse not to look up, because she kept wanting to stare into his eyes and that was not good. Probably not good, anyway. "Life should be logical, in his view. Sane, in yours. Me, I like the chaos. Life doesn't stay in neat little boxes. This place is just especially good at reminding you of that."

... okay, the kickline of saucers were weird, sure. She'd give him that.

"It has, in fact, been particularly adept at reminding me of that, yes."

Phone calls from underlings who were never quite themselves. Reports of foodstuffs falling from the sky, of weekends spent as Gaian livestock, of other realities that were no less sane...

"Still and all, I'll keep whatever modicum of control I possibly can, whenever I can. Chaos and I haven't gotten along particularly well over the years."

... Chaos as a state of being. Not necessarily Chaos as a former Turk-turned-demi-Weapon.

"Even if it's illusory?" she asked -- and this time, she wasn't brave enough to look up, so there. "I think sometimes you don't so much have control as you have a loose hold on things and can pretend it's iron-clad. I'm not sure control's even possible."

The general 'you.' Or maybe him. One or the other. She wasn't sure, herself.

"If one can't actually take control of a situation, then the next best thing is to grab on and do what one can," Tseng replied. "A person might not be able to take the world and make it fall into step, no, but at the very least, a little more order than there was the day before is still an improvement, of sorts."

Edge was a shining example of what he was talking about, yes.

The Turks, for all of their snarls and tangles, were another.

"Is order always an improvement?" she asked, unable to keep a playful note out of her voice. "You make it sound like this is your purpose in life. Some kind of higher calling."

Tseng-Man, Agent of Order and Light.

His comic would be filled with the amazing powers of paperwork and keeping one's desk neat.

"It helps to get the bills paid," Tseng noted, twitching an eyebrow upward.

Elena's teasing was highly illogical.

... Really.

"And getting the bills paid means that we don't find ourselves forced to disband."

He was, in fact, a man with priorities that made sense if you teased him long enough to push him to explaining them.

Elena nodded, closing her menu and setting it aside. She was not going to fidget. She was not going to pick the menu back up just for something to do with her hands.

Oooh, sipping her water, that would help.

"I begin to see the upside," she smiled. "So long as you're not so bent on order that you burn yourself out, over keeping every single strand of hair in place."

Once again, Tseng allowed himself a momentary smile.

"My hair is a different matter entirely."

His hair was always perfect, damn it. You could light Tseng on fire, stab him several times, drop a Blizzaga on his head, and then run him over with a herd of chocobo, and his hair would still be perfect.

He was allowed some vanity, damn it.

Elena was not going to tell Tseng how much she liked it when he smiled. Or that he smiled entirely too rarely.

She was, however, going to lift her glass in a mock-toast.

"Next time, I'll try for a metaphor that doesn't appeal to your vanity."

"Best of luck," Tseng replied, lifting his own glass.

The glass of water that a Cheese Grater had filled up, before sashaying away again. He would order wine as soon as their waiter came to see to them, most likely.

... Their waiter, who was a Pepper Shaker, and wasn't it odd how Tseng was almost acting very nearly as though he was used to this, already?

"What will you be having, Elena?"

"I wish my hair behaved that nicely," Elena sighed. She was not going to comment about his hair again; that had gone bad places, last time.

As for Fandom, it happened quickly, didn't it!? Things became ordinary and even blase.

Perhaps the same could be said of this date, and its effect on her nerves. It was seeming less odd to be here with Tseng by the moment.

"The poulet grand duc," she said, setting her glass down again firmly. "Which is in white wine sauce, so I hope you didn't have your heart set on red. And you? Have you decided?"

Tseng took a moment to consider the menu. To consider the menu, and the fact that he only had a passing awareness of the French language.

"The terrine de saumon aux epinards looks appealing," he decided, "with the riz spécial, I believe."

He shut his menu, gave the Pepper Shaker a brief nod, and then handed it over.

"And a bottle of your finest white wine. You'll have to forgive me for not being more specific. I'm not familiar with the region."

The Pepper Shaker kind of gaped. Flawless French. And then he nodded quickly and scurried away in order to pass their order on to the kitchen.

"We may be the first customers who haven't mangled the pronunciation on the menus," Elena laughed.

And now, to put her napkin on her lap and pretend she knew how to be elegant and cool.

"I wonder if I can smoke here."

So much for that.

Tseng considered that statement for a moment, glancing around the room.

"I don't see any ashtrays," he noted. Because he was the voice of logic and reason and coming to conclusions about fine dining establishments that didn't seem to offer smokers anywhere to butt out their bad habits. "I guess would be that no, you can't."

In spite of the state of affairs of a particularly waxy former owner of the business, and all.

"I shouldn't, anyway," Elena said, putting her hands on the table and picking up her fork. She stopped her hand abruptly upon realizing she was going to start tapping it nervously against the table. No playing percussion with your utensils, Elena.

So much for calming down?

"I know it's a bad habit, and some days I want to quit, but then something bad happens and my first instinct is to get a nicotine fix."

This, of course, earned a curious twitch of his eyebrow, yes.

"Something bad?"

That didn't sound particularly heartening, when taking into consideration that she wanted that nicotine fix right here in the middle of their dinner out.

Elena was not blushing. That was a trick of the light. One that made red splotches appear on her face out of nowhere.

Very specific trick of the light?

She laughed, sheepishly. "Or when I'm ... nervous, and need something to do with my hands," she admitted. "Because otherwise I'll start drumming them on the table or tapping out little tunes with my silverware."

Nervous? Pfft. Just a date. Not nervous at all. Really.

"I imagine you could keep beautiful rhythm with the other silverware," Tseng offered.

Because he was helpful that way, yes.

"Is that why you asked me out?" she teased. "My musical abilities? You're going to be sorely disappointed."

He was probably going to tease her for being nervous, any moment now. So that made them even. If he did. Which he probably would.

It made sense in her head.

Edited 2010-05-04 21:16 (UTC)

Tseng's bemused demeanor didn't waver for an instant.

"Then I suppose I'll have to continue to make do with the radio." What a difficult life. Really. "Dare I ask what has you nervous?"

It was about as close to 'teasing' as Tseng ever got.

Elena opened her mouth. Closed it. Considered making a cute remark, something sarcastic or blase.

"You," she admitted, not brave enough to meet his eyes, even if she was somehow finding the guts to admit it. "Being here, on a ... a date, with you."

He hadn't said it was a date. But he hadn't said it wasn't, either. If she was wrong, he could correct her, dammit.

"Hm." Tseng considered that for a moment. There wasn't any correction anywhere on the horizon. It was a date, whether he'd specified it as one or not. "And is there any way to make you less nervous, shy of smoking or leaving dents in the table with your fork?"

So ... it was a date!? He didn't say it, but he didn't exactly have to say it. He wouldn't have let that stand otherwise. Okay. Totally a date.

She hoped her hair looked okay.

Ugh, why was she such a girl sometimes!?

"I ... could ..." And there, she was unable to keep herself from laughing.

"Anything I can think of would probably make you nervous."

Blink.

"That ... sounds ... worse than .... I meant?"

Tseng wasn't even going to bother pretending not to be smiling, by this point.

"Indeed."

His so very colorful imagination was unnecessarily filling in gaps, now.

"I suppose this is where I admit that my curiosity has been piqued, hm?"

"I thought you knew better than to encourage me," she said, offering an quick flash of a smile in return.

And then, she was going to very carefully watch her hands as she moved her water glass off to the side, a little. And place that hand .... there. Flat on the table, where her glass had been. Perhaps a little closer to his side than that. Very much not in his personal space. Just ... a suggestion.

"There is," Tseng noted, "a distinct difference between an inquiry and encouragement, Elena."

Which was why he was reaching for his glass of water.

No, no, wait. Actually, he was just resting his hand on the table. Perhaps decidedly close to where Elena's own hand was resting, as a matter of fact.

Was he nervous? He didn't look nervous. He hardly ever looked nervous. Damn him anyway.

"Some people will take any possible opening as encouragement," she reminded him.

Okay. This was easy. This was just ... moving her hand closer. There were only a few inches between them.

A little closer, and one of her fingers bumped against his. She left it there. Just -- next to his hand.

"This is usually where I fuck things up," she added. Very helpful, that!

"Perhaps today is the day you break that habit."

And his hand closed around hers.

"Perhaps," she agreed, slipping her hand into his like it was totally natural. And normal. Just ... sitting here with fingers intertwined, on an actually-a-real-date.

She was even breathing!

"This place has nice food."

Technically, that was a sentence, and those words were even in the right order. Shut up.

... I have a lot of dancing icons.

Edited 2010-05-03 20:23 (UTC)

And most of them pretty damn hypnotic.

*stares for five minutes*

Zack will dance! Dance for your pleasure!

Café Fina, Monday

Talk to Zack!

Mod Your Service!

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OOC!

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