fandomtownies | Il Pollo, Friday Evening

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Il Pollo, Friday Evening

There was something minorly weird going on on the island. Jeremy could tell by how much trouble he'd had getting into his closet earlier today, when he'd wanted to pick out a nice suit and shirt and a good tie that went with both. He'd eventually wrestled the closet door into submission, but the experience (along with the random little gates in the stairs back at the dorms) came back to him as he was escorting George into Il Pollo, through a door the staff were currently trying to get propped open because they kept having to come and open it individually for everyone who came in.

But he cared not, because he was on a date, and he gave George a winning smile as they were being shown to their table. "Did I mention yet that you look great, George?"

He had.

[ooc: Jerms is here with the slightly modded giiirl, but post is open for your other Il Pollo needs, sure sure.]

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"You kinda did," she said, blushing. "If you keep saying it, I'm gonna think that you secretly owe me money and you're sucking up so I forget about it."

George had actually worn something nice (http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/caslon-cascading-ruffle-tank/3168125?origin=category) for the occcasion (http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/nic-zoe-flared-knit-skirt/3188332?origin=category&resultback=4325), which was seriously weird for her. Her usual outfits were picked in order to send the message, 'see how much of a fuck I give?'

But she'd kind of asked him on a date, which meant he already knew she gave a fuck, so she couldn't really pretend not to care now with the clever use of flannel. Also, if she went on a date with a cute guy wearing flannel, Daisy would somehow develop psychic powers in order to discover it, and she would show up in the middle of dinner just to lecture George.

And possibly hit on Jeremy.

And Daisy wasn't allowed.

So, uh, George had bought an outfit. And hoped she didn't look ridiculous. And had been pissed that her earrings had turned up missing. All of her earrings. What the fuck?

She did not look the least bit ridiculous. Not in Jeremy's eyes, anyway. "I never owe anyone money," he replied with a laugh. Though technically he probably could be seen as owing his dad money, but... Nope, it was his money. "I'm serious, you look awesome."

"I never have money that I could owe anyone," she said easily, "or that anyone could owe me. I mean, I spent a couple of months as a squatter when I couldn't make rent."

Charming story, George. Very classy.

She twirled, once. "It's kind of weird," she said. "My earrings were all missing. I'd suspect my roommate but he's so not the type."

She had yet to notice any of the rest of the weirdness. The George/Seifer room was an exercise in chaos and mess. It would take more than a little childproofing to dent that kind of squalor.

Edited 2011-09-02 19:56 (UTC)

"Maybe the gremlins took them," Jeremy suggested, smiling at that twirl. "I mean, I haven't ever seen any, but I hear they're all.. crafty, like that."

Or something. Jeremy had an astounding ability to let large chunks of the island's oddness just pass him by. It was a gift.

As they came to their assigned table, he pulled out a chair for her. "Your seat, m'lady."

"I got bitten once," she said, glaring a bit. "It was less fun than being a monkey."

Fucking hell, Fandom conversations were insane.

She bowed, once, and took her chair. See? She could pretend she was all girly or whatever.

She did, however, frown at the silverware on the table when she sat down. Because it was plastic, and bright blue. And not even the cheap disposable kind of plastic, bright blue silverware. But the really thick toddler-style stuff.

"Um ..." She held the fork up. "....... Seriously?"

Edited 2011-09-02 20:14 (UTC)

"Um," Jeremy said, proving himself to be a highly eloquent man. He gave the waitress a helplessly confused look as he took his seat, but she just sighed something exasperated about island shenanigans and gave them their menus before going on her way.

Jeremy picked his fork up and frowned at it. "Okay, I... did not expect this."

"Is this ... some kind of a joke?" she asked. "Like, it's a fancy restaurant, but they make you eat it like you're five? That's their shtick?"

She hadn't been here before. George was not usually big on fancy. Maybe they were all avant-garde or something.

Jeremy hadn't been here either. He was big on fancy, he just happened to be even more fond of being lazy, and there was no Clark here to chauffeur him off to places in a rickshaw.

So, yeah. He didn't know, either. "I doubt it?" he offered. "Fancy restaurants don't usually have much of a sense of humor."

"So ... we go with it?" George suggested. "I mean, the restaurant's not on fire or anything, so this really isn't weird yet, by Fandom standards."

It was like she was daring things to get worse, wasn't it?

She flagged down the waitress on her way back and asked about the specials, but the waitress sighed and popped her gum. "The grill's shut down."

"All of it?" George asked.

"They can't get the fire going," the waitress explained, in the sort of bored tone that suggested she'd had this conversation too many times already today.

"What, like, at all?" Jeremy chimed in with a frown, because he really hadn't been faced with something like that before.

Whereas the waitress had been faced with it all evening already. "At," she said. "All."

Jeremy's eyebrows knotted further together. "I -- I have Platinum American Express?"

He was a little used to solving problems by throwing money at them. It didn't seem to impress the waitress; no surprise, really, since she couldn't exactly use the card to get the grill going.

"Is that the one that doubles as a lighter?" George asked, because she couldn't help being a smartass.

"Wait, hang on, I've got a lighter." She didn't smoke, but she did carry around a lighter in her purse, because you never knew when you might want to set something on fire. Except ... except there were all kinds of weird things in her purse today, and none of them were her lighter. Or her nail clippers. Or anything else remotely interesting.

"The fuck is this?" George asked, holding up the most useless, aqua, plastic pair of nail-scissors ever.

The waitress sighed, loudly, just to let them know how much she hated them. "I'll come back," she said.

Oh, the waitress was so not getting a tip. "Wait!" Jeremy said. "What about... I mean, can we still order something?"

The waitress shrugged, not really caring at this point. "If it's something we can cook in the microwave." Because the chef, at this point, was probably sobbing in a corner somewhere.

"I, um..." Jeremy looked to George for help with that. "Do you, uh, want something like that?"

Happily, George wasn't the fancy type.

"Do you have anything in a Mac 'n' Cheese?" she asked. "No, wait, that's still boiling on a stove. Okay. Hit me up with some Chef Boyardee. You have any Ravioli?"

The waitress made the sort of noncommittal noise that suggested that it was beneath her to admit openly that yes, they had managed to get their hands on some cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli.

"Wonderful," she said. "And the gentleman wants some SpaghettiOs, unless he's got a better idea."

She had a feeling maybe Jeremy didn't often dine with Franco-American's finest. So, you know. She'd help him out, here.

"What wine would you recommend, with dinner?"

Edited 2011-09-02 21:49 (UTC)

"No wine," said the waitress, and if there was a hint of lamenting to her tone, there, it was probably because she would rather have been drinking the wine herself. "We haven't been able to open the wine room door all evening. There's only water. And milk."

This so wasn't going as Jeremy had envisioned. "Well, I guess I'll take water, then," he said, defeated. "SpaghettiOs are fine, too."

He'd gotten a little more used to microwaveable foods during his months in Fandom, because see above re:laziness.

"Milk," George said. "We'll let you know if either of us needs to go potty."

The look the waitress gave them said that she might be spitting in their SpaghettiOs.

"So ... is today Toddler Day and we missed it?" she asked. "This is kind of bizarre."

"This is very, very bizarre," Jeremy agreed, shaking his head at the whole thing. "Do you think this has something do with how I almost didn't get my closet door open earlier?"

But he had, as evidenced by the sleek dark suit. Thankfully.

"Knowing Fandom, probably," George said brightly. "So, what contraband were you keeping in your closet? Guns? Porn? Bondage gear?"

George was never going to learn appropriate date conversation.

(sorry! back!)

Jeremy gave her a slightly flustered little laugh. "Just clothes." There might have been a teeny tiny little bit of porn there too, to be honest. "Mostly clothes. I didn't know Dior isn't child-appropriate or whatever the current wackiness is about."

[NP, since I fell asleep!]

"Sorry," she said, blushing. "That was ... supposed to be funny? I, uh ... I'm not really good with ... dates."

Gosh. Since she seemed like Miss America or something.

"Aww." Look, the blush was all adorable and distracting. "You're doing maximum. Especially considering all these --" He made a sweeping gesture at the restaurant at large, and at their plastic utensils. "-- outside hindrances."

"I kind of like the outside hindrances," George admitted. "I'd be sitting here worried about using the wrong fork otherwise. Now that the date's already kind of fucked, the pressure's off."

Jeremy grinned. "For what it's worth, I would've told you what fork to use." A pause and a thought. "Or not to care about which one you use. I'm not too particular. I would've probably encourage silverwear anarchy."

He was kind of like that when his mother wasn't watching. Or Juliet.

"But now there are no worries because everything's already screwed up."

"I'll keep your number on file, for all my fork-sorting needs," she said lightly. "The next time I get dragged out somewhere and have no idea which fucking fork to use, I'll text you. So we've got microwavable crap and Fisher-Price silverware."

She shrugged, with an easy grin. "But we both look hot -- wait, did I tell you that you look hot? I meant to. I'm not good with saying it. I mean, you always do, but ... damn."

Jeremy could totally smirk in a way that was both modest and smug at the same time. It was a talent. "Thanks, but I think I pale in comparison to you right now."

Yeah, effortless flattery was another one of his talents.

"I'm glad you didn't stay home, George."

"Hey, I was the one who asked you," she reminded him. Not that she hadn't been likely to bail, anyway. Going out and being social was never the default option. "And the more you tell me how good I look, the more I think you're just sucking up."

Which was also fine by her. Unless it was a trap. But it didn't feel like one. She was having too much fun to feel like this was some kind of trap.

"We really ought to go with the theme and start coloring on the tablecloth," she suggested.

"We totally should," Jeremy agreed. Hey, it wasn't like he couldn't pay the restaurant off if it came to that. Or make his dad do it, anyhow. "Ooh, or maybe demand our dinner too loudly. A food fight might get the troopers involved."

"If my milk isn't delivered in a sippy cup, then I'm gonna pour it onto the floor," George decided. Very mature, George.

She stared at him for a minute, and then cracked up. "Okay, out of everything I might have imagined on our date? ... This doesn't come close."

Jeremy might have been laughing too. In fcat, he totally was. "Oh?" he asked. "What did you imagine? Because I imagined a classy dinner and that... is not happening, and I don't care."

If she was laughing, he was considering it a success.

Okay, this time, she wasn't going to ruin it by talking about it too much. This time? This time, she was going to reach across the table, get a hand on the front of his shirt, and tug him so that he could meet her halfway.

And she was lucky that Jeremy leaned in willingly as soon as he figured out what she was doing. Willing and eager, but not off-puttingly so.

He'd lost his virginity at age 13, it was possible he had some experience with all this stuff.

And George ... hadn't managed that until last year, when she was already dead. He could be the experienced one; she was just the impulsive one who did stupid things like grab guys and kiss them instead of answering questions.

It had made sense at the time. To her, anyway. Which wasn't saying much.

When she finally let go, she pressed her lips together, her cheeks flushed, and sat back in her seat.

"More like that," she said, "and less of the ... you know. Sippy cups."

Jeremy was all for being impulsive. He didn't mind it one bit, not in a situation like this, anyway.

"I think we can combine both," he said, with a pleased smirk. "Although just to be honest and stuff, I think I prefer that to the sippy cups."

"I'd have to agree with that," she said. "I'd even rate it higher than starting a food fight and getting kicked out of the restaurant."

Although she did like getting in trouble. Hrm.

"No saying we can't do both?"

"I do not think there's a rule against that." Though Jeremy wasn't always much for rules in the first place. "Although having ravioli in your hair might lessen the glory of making out."

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Il Pollo, Friday Evening

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