WHO: Gideon Choi and Desirae Morpeau WHEN: Not very long after Coopergate. WHERE: Some new salad place. SUMMARY: Not-A-Father-And-Daugher-Bonding-Moment #348: Des has some questions. They're interrupted. PROMPT: Green; salad. WARNINGS: None? It's on the longer side. STATUS: Complete!
This was a new thing: grabbing a meal together. Gideon certainly wasn’t opposed. Anything that involved food was pretty much a guaranteed good time for him. Even now, with the seriousness of the Cooper boy’s publication of every goddamn Tale in the town hanging over his head. Hanging over all of their heads.
It was always there in the back of his mind, taking up space as he went about the rest of his days. When he arrived at the restaurant — newly opened in Woodsbridge — he saw Des already sitting down, and swiftly approached the seat across from her, taking the chair with a nod.
“Doesn’t really feel like anything’s happened in here, does it?” he asked; indeed, the atmosphere in the place was almost deceptively calm and normal. But maybe some people were feeling normal, after all this.
Finally, he glanced down at the menu.
“This is a salad place,” he told her as if she didn’t already know (tricksy!), with a frown.
She had extended the invitation. Although, it had been more along the lines of ‘Let’s grab a bite next time’; but a question seemed redundant when it came to Gideon and food. And anything more would’ve implied something more. Implied something different than what this was: Information gathering.
Desirae still couldn’t entirely figure out what was in it for him. But for her, still, it was information. Des figured she could ask more, better, questions when they weren’t pressed for time and focused on competition.
Her first scroll had proved a disappoint. Leaving Gideon one of her better venues for learning more about being a Tale, how this Tale thing worked, and a number of other questions that sought for more structured responses to how abilities functioned.
She also wasn’t one, either way, to drop an avenue before she’d shaken it down for all it was worth.
“Dude. The observational skills on you Philo profs.” Her mouth quirked as she opened her own menu. If she was going to be spending time with Gideon, without the promise of throwing a basketball at him. Or (... usually) beating him shooting hoops -- “Former philo prof. Pretty sure your body’s beggin’ you to eat here.” She muttered the last, low, her tone supremely dry.
- then she was going to get something out of it. Something more. Trolling him definitely counted. In the rare times, they’d stopped by a food truck or into a store, after a game, Des had never seen him order anything green. Not unless it was artificially flavored.
Had he heard that thought Gideon would have called it a blatant untruth, claiming to be open to eat a wide variety of foods, many of which were green in color. The issue was that he ate often enough that, yes, unhealthy food was just easier to access.
“My body,” he replied, still flipping through the menu with something between vague disinterest and morbid curiosity, “is feeling less and less fed the longer I look at this.” There wasn’t actual displeasure in his voice: just complaining for the sake of it, as per usual.
“That’s cause the only thing fillin’ it is hot air.” Des retorted with a stretch of her mouth that was more mocking grimace than an actual smile. Despite the almost sweet quality of her tone.
Was she vegetarian or something? He glanced at her but instantly shrugged it off. It wasn’t like he would change what he had said if she was.
“Ah, here we go. There’s chicken in this one. That’s almost meat.”
Des rolled her eyes. Thankful once again, to whoever listened, that some things weren’t genetic. “Are you done?” But she didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she signaled the waiter, gave her order, and allowed Gideon to do so.
When that was done, Desirae pulled out her phone and turned on the recording feature. An obvious attempt to get to the point and deter small talk.
That made his eyebrows fly up, but not in a bad way.
“Am I being interrogated?” he asked, amused. But then again she would likely be the first to tell him he liked the sound of his own voice too much. “Well then, I don’t mean to complain. Go ahead.”
“You remember why we’re here, don’t you?” Or well why she was here. It was best to clarify before moving forward.
“Food?” His lip quirked, but he actually replied. “You want answers to questions, and from me. That’s what I gathered. You’re free to remind me.”
Desirae rolled her eyes. A deep, ‘round the world, almost prayerful turn. (Seeking patience from an Entity she probably didn’t believe in. As seeking patience from herself could be touch and go around Gideon). It was quick as it was obvious.
Her sigh was the same - loud but abrupt - as she chose the option that allowed her to ignore him. At least momentarily. “Let’s start from the beginnin’, yeah? I never asked. You know ‘bout other Tales in your family.” Still just his. Always just his. Hers due to a mistake that caused them to share genetics with a group of people she never wished to meet.
Ugh. The dinner had been awkward enough. Imagine a gathering.
“Other than my parents, I’m sure you mean,” he replied. “A cousin in the Tale village in Korea. I think her husband and kids may also be Tales. I haven’t spoken to them in years, though.”
There was a slight raise of Des’ brows. Yet it wasn’t entirely clear if it was curiosity, judgment, or acknowledgment. “And your parents’ parents? They were Tales? An’ you ever been to this Tale village?” She tapped her thumb against the table, twice, before she added, “I’m guessin’ it’s a stretch, you knowin’ what’s been goin’ on in that village?” He might not speak with his cousin but maybe his parents kept him vaguely updated.
Would Gideon pay more attention to information about scrolls in Korea? She couldn’t say. Des saw him as entirely self-involved and, besides his mentioning that he had quit his job to protest the treatment of his friends, she had never considered if there was any nuance.
“My mother thinks her late father was a Tale, though he never said anything about it,” he replied, after a moment. “Otherwise, no, their parents were all Mundane. As for the village, no, I haven’t been. It was small and poorly run when my parents were young, which is part of why they chose to come to the States. Now they’ve moved back to their hometown. I hear it’s a lot better now, in any case.”
“I’m guessin’ better mean’s no mysterious cracks in the sky? Would they mention it if there was?” Des paused and before she could self-debate on the necessity, the appropriateness -- no, more whether she wanted to approach it, of that second question their food arrived.
Gideon chuckled. “I think ‘better’ means a functioning society. My parents would have mentioned it to me if they knew, seeing as I’ve told them what’s going on here.” Well, at least the gist of it. As much as wouldn’t cause them to ask too many questions. There was enough going on as it was.
Desire shrugged. She figured as much. But there was no accounting for what people would tolerate or ignore in the name of their desired improvement.
The topic introduced was more interesting than he had expected — not that he had expected much, not really knowing what Desirae was aiming to learn — and so when the food came he picked up his fork automatically, mind still on the Korean village. “And I imagine they would have reached out afterwards, so, no, I doubt they’re having the same problems there.”
“Sucks.” She muttered without thinking. Her mind momentarily overtaken by that line of thought. It wasn’t that she wished the current misery and frustration on others but if it had been there maybe it could’ve been a way toward better understanding. A perspective they lacked here. Also, it was a little too strange for her (- and honestly the quantitative measurement was nothing that she could voice, as it didn’t exist - ) to accept that all of this was happening only in a ‘sleepy’ town on the north west coast. This wasn’t Twin Peaks and, jokes aside, it wasn’t Sunnydale.
There had to be something more beyond “shit happens”. And it was momentarily frustrating to have a possible avenue shut down before she could even fully open the door. Or really, if she was going to think in metaphors, she had to admit there hadn’t been any door. And in a way that was worse.
“Well, lucky them.” She said in a more audible tone.
“Sure,” he replied, and then the food really did catch his notice. “Now, time to put that thing down and eat, right? A meal deserves your full attention, even if it is just a few pieces of lettuce.”
The look Des laid on him was both unimpressed and vaguely amused. It was obvious that ignoring him was a real option for her; however, she realized that spite wouldn’t be worth the waste of time. If she knew anything about Gideon it was his love affair with food. She turned off the recording feature but kept her phone on the table. “So much for mealtime conversation.”
Though not at all filling, the salad actually tasted pretty good.
They did in fact manage to make minor conversation, though most of it was Gideon cheerfully talking between bites. When they were approaching a finish — though he considered making another order — he gestured again to her phone. “Well, did you have more questions?”
“Yeah.” Yet surprisingly she didn’t rush to ask them. She settled her fork against the edge of her plate before her hand slid down toward the edge of the table. Thumb tapped at the corner, once then twice. She looked as if she was weighing something. Having reached her decision her hand quickly moved toward her phone, “You ever been to another Tale town?”
“No,” he shook his head. “As I mentioned, I never went to the one in Korea. And I haven’t traveled that much, in general, really.”
“Hm.” Momentarily Desirae lightly tapped the tines of her fork against her plate. Her next question came quickly after and then the next and until they fell into a pattern.
Desirae had to admit, just to herself, that she’d almost lost track of time. Between their q and a, they ordered more food, drinks, and even dessert.
They were finishing up that dessert when a cleared throat interrupted Gideon’s response. Des huffed, through her nose, in exasperation as she paused the recording feature on her phone.
“You’re Friar Tuck!” She looked up to find a grin that was too wide bearing down on them and tone far too giddy for a bulky man who had been pushing over six feet - it was hard to tell sitting - and over forty. “Are you doing it now?” His eyes darted from Gideon’s empty plate to Des’ phone.
A phone that her hand made an aborted effort to slide protectively off the table. Instead, she lowered her hand with a loud, purposeful, thump and just as purposefully bit back all of the rude responses that flew into her head.
This was Gideon’s problem to deal with. And Des had to admit, even if just to herself, she was curious about his response. It was easier to focus on that - her curiosity - than the impulse to slide down in her chair.
Not that they would’ve ever talked about it if he had. So she could be wrong. But Des was damn sure Gideon hadn’t registered any time recently.
“Am I doing what now,” the incarnation of Friar Tuck said, eyebrows already flying up. Already he seemed as irritated as she was. This was a new thing entirely, of course, brought up because of that damned list. There had been people who knew his Tale, before, various students who were clever enough to figure it out, but clever enough to figure it out generally meant clever enough to not ask these kinds of dumbass questions. “Ah, right — my power. That one.” It was said very sardonically. “Yes. Yes, of course I am.”
The man didn’t seem to know how to take that. “Oh.” He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but the message, mercifully, had been delivered, and after a moment of silence he nodded awkwardly and wandered off.
Gideon squinted after him for a moment. “I think I might have gone to high school with him,” he said, bored.
“Cleary high school you wasn’t as much’a dick as college you,” A version of Gideon who she had the misfortune of running into when she had been fifteen and more acerbic than a lime. “Or you-you.” The implication being that if that version of Gideon had been this might’ve been avoided. It could almost have come off as a compliment. If there wasn’t a tightness in her tone.
“High school me hadn’t yet learned where to refocus my energies,” Gideon muttered, and for once only after the fact realized that he could have spun that one, or it could spin itself, into a dirty joke. (Even if he mostly, actually meant debate.) Mercifully he kept his face straight.
Then he chuckled. “Who even cares a whit about Friar Tuck? Of all the…”
The joke, uncharacteristically, went over Des’ head. It was a moment made for a snarky comment. Or even a quippy return of, ‘You said it’ or any number of meme-inspired comebacks. Instead, a frown lightly marred her features. A frown she tried to shake off with her quick shrug. The interaction had left her unsettled. Damn that list. “Medieval folklorists, Disney fans, so-called liberal socialists probs, traditionalists, foodies, an’ obvs, that guy.”
He sat back in the chair, his posture relaxed, but tightly so, like his body language was meant to give the impression of a purposeful brand of carefree.
“There’s merit to the story,” Gideon acknowledged. “Off that list I’d be most willing to talk to the Disney fan.”
She was making movements that she was ready to go. Or at least readying to go. Her shoulders rigid, her jaw tight, despite the studiously nonchalant expression on her features. She struggled to keep control of it. Seeming unbothered even though she was furious for more reasons that she could count. Furious and very much uneasy. Her movements - thankfully, by some miracle - were not jerky. Des aborted her task as she stilled to look at Gideon.
“Why?” Her curiosity hinted at possible amusement. “That into badgers?”
He shrugged. “That just seems like it would make the most interesting conversation. You don’t think? I saw the movie. It was cute. Totally divorced from the source material, in a good way.”
Then he nodded towards the idle phone. “Is that the end of the interview?”
“I’m against agreein’ with you on principle.” That actually wasn’t true; though it might seem true. “But you’re right. It probs would.” She eyed her cell. Mentally she assessed the hour and went through her schedule. Des did have more questions. She actually had the time. And she refused to let it, or the current opportunity, be wasted because people thought their own curiosity surpassed boundaries.
“And really?” Then she shrugged. “No. Just not here. I figure you could probs still eat.” Her smile was minute and her amusement wasn’t remotely condescending. Or dismissive. Or even irreverent. Or --
-- Gideon laughed, genuinely surprised.
There would be time, later, to puzzle over this moment, the feeling, the change. It wasn’t fatherhood, but perhaps it was some distant relative. Or just a neighbor. Either way it was something, and it was something new.