The restaurant, not far from the 16th Street Mall, is called Rioja. It is one of the finest in town. It is where Avery is having dinner, alone. She is not sad. Does she wish her husband was with her? Of course. Has she texted him about the fare and openly suggested he take her here sometime? Naturally. For the most part, has she kept her phone out of sight, dining alone and with grace on a little picnic of artisan meats, pine nut crusted goat cheese, fennel salad, and orange confit? Yes. Has the staff assigned to her table wondered to each other quietly in the back of house if she is a food critic as yet unknown to them and been extra-attentive? Yes.
She is currently sipping wine while dining on New Zealand red deer with butternut squash and a fig-sage puree. She has already alerted the staff that she would like brandy snap cannoli and the pistachio and pears and variations of chocolate for dessert when she's finished with her red deer. She has requested that the coffee selections and dessert wine list be left at the table for her guest, who will be joining her for dessert and after-dinner drinks shortly.
When Rafael arrives at Rioja, he will find Avery sitting at a table for two alone, her hair done up with effortless elegance and softening wisps along her jawline and brow. He will find her in a heather-gray dress that follows the lines of her body with grey-on-grey piping at the seams and a notch in the straight neckline. She wears no jewelry but her engagement ring and wedding band and the pearls in her ears.
Rafael van der ValkEven now the wolf is uncomfortable in a place like this. Arrives at the appointed time -- more or less -- and stands tensely before the greeter in his motorcycle jacket, his jeans. Traded up on the shirt: no t-shirt tonight but a button-down instead, short-sleeved, and yes: grey. Exposed when he unzips his jacket.
He mutters something about meeting someone, pulling his gloves off. The wait staff here is very good; girl up front doesn't show her doubt when she politely asks for the name of his party. There's still something there, though, some reserve that is dispelled at once when he tells her the name. He is led back to Avery's table, which has been cleared of her dinner.
He glances around. Peels off his jacket, drops it over the back of the chair, drops himself into the chair. Shifts it forward in a couple jumpy jerks, then sits back. Picks up the menu. It's just dessert and drinks. He puts it back down; he's decided on cheesecake and whatever Avery drinks. Simple enough.
"Nice place," he comments.
Avery WhitechaseHe should be wearing a suit. She told him where they were meeting. He should be dressed better. He knows that as soon as he goes inside, but it isn't because Avery looks at him with distaste. No, far from it: she brightens when he is shown to her table, where her wine and plate have been cleared.
Rafael sits. Awkwardly. Avery is still smiling at him, and as he looks at the menu: "I ordered a few things. Do you have a preference on drinks? Coffee, port?"
Rafael van der Valk"Um." That's the sound he fills the silence with while he thinks. "Coffee."
He's underdressed. Knew it when he opened the door. Part of him feels shame. Tough to be underdressed in the presence of your elder. Another part of him doesn't give a fuck. He wore jeans to his own party, didn't he? Though granted: that was his own party. This isn't.
Still. Too late now. He settles into his chair and shifts the menu a little farther away; refrains, at least, from tilting back on two legs like a complete ruffian.
"You been okay?" Funny thing: he seems to genuinely want to know. "Haven't talked in a while."
Avery WhitechaseAvery smiles. She sets down the menu and the waiter comes over and they order: coffee for both of them. Rafael wants cheesecake. He has no idea that three other desserts will also be on the way, but he'll find out. She waits for them to leave, menus in hand, and then smiles again at Rafael as he settles. Before she can say anything, though, he asks her if she's been all right.
She blinks. She is caught a little off guard; no. She is touched. Her smile returns more slowly, warmer.
"I have been," she says, with a soft nod. A soft huff of laughter. "The holidays are always a challenge, aren't they?"
Rafael van der ValkIt's such a well-mannered, new england royalty thing to say. That gentle, joking ruefulness; that invitation to gently and jokingly commiserate. Wolf doesn't know how to handle it. Just shrugs.
"Don't usually celebrate them. This year was pretty good though." Pauses. "Had a party. Should've invited you. Next time."
Avery Whitechase"Oh?" she asks, eyebrows lifting. She doesn't suggest that it's a shame. Maybe he doesn't celebrate human holidays because he disagrees with them. She doesn't want to be rude. He mentions a party and she smiles. "That's so kind of you. Unfortunately this year I wouldn't have been able to attend; I was with family on the East Coast. Perhaps next year."
They agree on this. And she tips her head; more pleasantries. "How have you been? No more forays into the distant past?"
Rafael van der Valk"Heh. No. Been grounded in the present. Not complaining. Plenty to do here." He looks around the table; wishes there was something to snack on. Breadsticks. Chips. Caramel corn.
Avery WhitechaseCoffee is delivered to them. As well as the beginning desserts, the ones Avery ordered before. No cheesecake yet, but plate after plate of elegant nosh, food too pretty to eat but smelling of fruit and sugar and liqueurs. Avery waits for the staff to depart again.
"Less, now," she says, picking up where they left off, "with Cold Crescent shuttered and the Pit taken care of." A beat of a pause. "And more to do, as well, for the same reasons."
Her head tips to the side; she reaches for her cup of coffee and lifts it, ever so delicately, upwards. She does not drink yet. "You know, I have not had a pack for over a year now."
And there it is. That sentence: the most awkward she has been in years.
Rafael van der ValkWell; wolf doesn't seem to think the dessert's too pretty to eat. As soon as the waiter leaves, he starts reaching for the food -- pausing only to see if Avery had ordered to share. Doesn't want to assume, after all. It's possible he's already made one erroneous assumption: that they were here for dinner. Maybe that's why he appears starved.
When she says it, though: that sentence, the word pack -- he pauses. His eyes immediately fix on hers. He doesn't play stupid.
"You asking me?"
Avery WhitechaseAvery waves a hand at his glance; of course she ordered to share. She can eat an appetizer and pasta course and entree and wine and cocktails and still eat two or three desserts on her own, sure. That doesn't mean she wants to. Or needs to, tonight.
Well isn't he bold. She pauses, and takes a breath, and appears to think, and: "I am considering it," she finally says, careful. "Javed and I were a pack of two. He was my first packmate, and well-suited to me because we were both, in our own ways, quite solitary. He understood that about me and did not press it. I understood it about him and let him be.
"However," she goes on, "as time went on, I don't think we were effective as a pack. He would not lead, so I could not follow. He would not follow, so I could not lead. We disbanded peacefully." She watches Rafael eat dessert; she has not had any yet. She sips her coffee.
"I am, for the most part, content to remain alone. I have my mate. I have my family. I require little else for companionship or comfort, and in fact crave significant time alone." Avery glances down, setting her mug on the table. "Moreso than many would deem usual," she adds, more quietly, though without shame. Her chin lifts again, and she meets his eyes if he will grant them. "Recent events, however, have given me stark reminder of the need for a pack one can call on. Rely on. Fight alongside. And I must admit to being humbled; it is not something one desires and indulges in when convenient. A pack is something we need for survival. The craving for it lives in us only to ensure that we seek it out."
Rafael van der ValkWhile she speaks he watches her. Stares, really, unwaveringly and perhaps a little unsettlingly. People just don't look at each other like that. Civilized, human people.
When she finishes, his eyes drop away. He picks up his coffee and drinks. He eats some dessert. It's fantastic, exquisite, sweet without being cloying; rich without being heavy. After a little while he sets his spoon down.
"You know Morgan? Firebrand? We talked once, long time ago, about being a pack. Maybe finding you and asking you to be Alpha." He offers this information just as it is: information, no less or more. "Not sure why we never got around to it. Maybe because I'm not that great in a pack. Never been in one more than a couple days, temporary things to get rid of a problem.
"Don't much like people. But maybe we have that in common." A beat. "No, we don't. You like people. You just need time alone. It's different for me. But if you can deal with that..."
Trails off there. Turns out it's a sort of question.
Avery WhitechaseShe nods. "I remember her," she says, of the Fianna. She blinks, though, when he says that the two Cliaths had discussed making Avery their alpha. It isn't that she's opposed to the suggestion, it's just that... well. Avery seems taken aback that anyone other than herself would take the initiative, or have such a discussion. She just blinks at him again. It settles in her; they never did follow through. He says it's because he's not that great with packs. Just warpacks. Quick things.
Avery nods again, this time in understanding. He says he doesn't like people. And she is so close to correcting him, with a tender and aching smile: she loves people. She just needs time alone. She tenses slightly inside; she wonders how he knows that about her. What is being said. It unnerves her.
So at his sort of question, she hasn't said anything. She is frowning slightly. She reaches for her fork, and takes a bite of chocolate mousse to give herself time to think.
Rafael van der ValkHe misinterprets the frown; of course he does. Figures it's because she balks at the idea that he doesn't like people. That he chooses solitude, instead of needing it. Must seem like a sort of terrible waste to someone like her, who loves people but much occasionally forswear them. Like a desert-dweller watching a lake-dweller refuse to drink.
So there's silence. She eats her dessert, and so does he.
Avery WhitechaseThey do eat in silence for some time, uninterrupted. Surely now they look strange to other patrons; looking so intently at each other, but not romantically. Now eating four different desserts in total silence. Sipping coffee. Avery mulls over cannoli.
Rafael van der ValkEventually he can't take it anymore, breaks the silence: "So that a no?"
Avery WhitechaseAvery takes a breath when he shatters the silence. She looks up at him, wordless, but then she sets down her fork.
"I apologize," she says, and she means it. "I don't intend to be so rude. I'm simply... taken off my guard. You talk as though you know me intimately, and in this you have me at a disadvantage."
Rafael van der ValkNow it's his turn to be taken aback. "I don't," he says. "Barely know you at all. But anyone with eyes can see you like people. And since you say you crave solitude anyway, that must mean you need it."
Ends on a shrug: his own rough version of quod erat demonstratum.
Avery Whitechase"It is still," she says, with measured softness, "intimate."
By this she means private. She looks at him and she says this and she means personal. Not secret. But something to be shared; not exposed.
Rafael van der ValkHe doesn't know what to say to that. Looks away.
"Didn't mean to pry."
Avery WhitechaseThat's all she needed. She breathes in, and gives a small nod, but as he did not quite apologize, she does not quite accept it. All she can do is show her discomfort; he has to move around it or ignore it. He choses to move around it, and this is acceptable. Preferable.
"I do like people," she says, a little tetchy, because this was hers to say. "But I do not need time alone. I am simply... driven to it. No matter how much I might, in my heart, crave companionship, I sometimes... cannot bear it."
Avery clears her throat. She exhales. This is hard for her to talk about even with her mate; talking about it with a veritable stranger makes her uneasy in her own skin. "Surely you can understand that," she adds, a little more clipped. A little less petulant. Perhaps, however: slightly imploring.
Rafael van der Valk" 'Course I can," he says, which perhaps for a moment sounds offhand, cursory. He toys with his spoon. Fine silverware in this restaurant. Fine plates, fine mugs, fine everything.
"I do understand," he adds. Softer. "Think I do, anyway."
Avery Whitechase"You're a Silver Fang," she says quietly. And this is dark; darker than she often speaks to other Garou. She is their golden, shining light. It is easy to forget, with Avery, what her tribe has become. Until she says the rest, dark and knowing and yet sympathetic:
"If you do not understand now, you will."
Avery takes a breath after that and looks away. She eats part of a cannoli and sips her coffee. "Why do you think I called you?"
Which is, however late, an answer to his earlier non-question.
Rafael van der ValkYou will.
A shadow crosses the wolf's face. He sets the spoon down again. Shoulders rise and fall: a heave of a sigh.
"Yeah."
There is another silence. She eats; this time he has no appetite. When she speaks again, his eyes lift to her; glimmers of green.
"I'm not ... good with words," he says. "Don't know if that's a yes or a no or a question or what."
Avery WhitechaseAvery pauses, looking up and over at him.
"Because... I think that you can deal with how I am. And I think I may be able to deal with how you are."
Rafael van der Valk"Maybe," he says. And a little later: "Hope so."
Another small silence. Then, "Want me to see if Firebrand's still up for it too?"
Avery Whitechase"If I am to gather you, I should gather you," she says, tipping her head. But she nods: "I would like to speak to her together."
Rafael van der Valk"Yeah, all right. I'll see if her number still works."
His cheesecake's arrived by now. He cuts it neatly in half, pushing one half toward Avery. Starts in on the other.
"Look, don't need you to pad my ego. Tell me great things about myself. But ... being able to 'deal with it'. That the only reason you picked me?"
Avery WhitechaseAvery smiles, huffing a laugh. He shares cheesecake. She pairs it with coffee. The two of them are quickly cleaning their plates. All four of their plates.
He questions her motives. She raises her eyebrows.
And then she leans back. Straightens. Observes him for a moment, and then says: "It was a primary factor, but not the only one. You hold a territory that attracts evil spirits and defend it, alone. I know you are strong. Recently I could have used a strong Ahroun to aid me, fight with me." She watches him, gauging how he responds to these truths. "I have seen you and heard stories of you submitting to those of higher station without childish complaint or passive aggression, so I know you can follow a proven leader. You are one of my own tribe, which places you slightly higher in my favor than an equally qualified stranger."
A beat. She blinks slowly, thoughtfully. "I saw you, in Cold Crescent, when you were... gone. When you came back. I saw how you were with the girl who waited for you."
She does not explain that one. She does not linger on it.
Rafael van der ValkIt's that last one that makes a shadow of a smile cross his face. He hides it behind the coffee mug. Takes a slow, measured sip.
"Devon," he says. "That's her name. Devon Paredes."
Skinny thing.
Keeps that to himself, of course. Takes another swallow, bigger this time, then puts the mug down.
"We wanted to follow you -- I wanted to follow you -- because you seemed so good. Righteous and strong and good. And because you're a Fang. Don't know much about Fangs. Haven't really lived among them or been a part of the whole deal. Thought you wouldn't be a bad example."
Avery WhitechaseAvery cannot help it; she wrinkles her nose to keep from erupting into a beaming, glowing smile. Righteous and strong and good. She wrinkles her nose and it's adorable. "Oh, stop it," she insists, with that tone that suggests that he doesn't even remotely need to stop it.
Rafael van der ValkDon't think he can't tell. He can tell. He doesn't need to stop it. So he smirks, leans back -- "Fine." -- and stops it.
Praises this instead: "Cheesecake's pretty good."
Avery WhitechaseSo now she grins at him. Her eyes sparkle. They're a pale blue, more aquamarine than sapphire. Summer skies. She doesn't tease him. She does look at their empty plates. Looks at him.
"Well, someone was hungry," she says. "Would you like to work backwards, have some actual dinner?"
Rafael van der Valk"Yeah," he says. The smirk widens. "Thought you said 'after dinner, drinks'. Let's get some meat on the table."
Avery Whitechase"The red deer is quite good," she informs him, "but I was curious about the wagyu. And the lamb."
Avery signals the waiter. She asks for dinner menus. The waiter, who watched her just pound a four-course meal where one of the courses came on 4 plates, has to take a moment to recover, then produces menus again.
And she smiles at her guest. She does so enjoy spending money on people she likes.
No comments:
Post a Comment