Akai, Zenichiro Gabrielli (ma_verite) wrote in ourtrueselves, @ 2009-10-14 22:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | elsa jameson, zenichiro akai |
Life moves and I stopped to taste it...
Who: Elsa and Zen
What: Dinner for two.
When: Wednesday evening.
Where: Los Angeles, CA. Elsa's place.
Warnings: none
Zen had been anxiously waiting and planning for the appointed day, though had held off the actual shopping until he had confirmed the date and time with her. Sometime this weekend may have become perhaps later this week, and so forth, but they had pinned it down at last--and he had traveled to LA more than a few hours ahead of schedule so that he could purchase the ingredients as fresh as possible. Now, he stood outside her front door, juggling grocery bags, and probably putting on a fine display of his oh-so-impeccable balance--or lack thereof--as he attempted to ring the doorbell. Fortunately, his reflexes were nearly divine, and he managed to recover before any of it actually hit the ground.
Embarrassment, he could handle, though he would have preferred to save face. He just hoped that he could make it through dinner without killing himself. Sepukku just wasn't his kink.
Elsa had been busy most of the morning, working out a schedule for herself and her new girl. Rebecca was going to turn quite the profit, and Elsa was rather pleased with it, even if it meant having to keep a close eye on the red head to avoid any issues. She came slowly from the back where she did most of her business.
She'd gone for something a little more covering, so when she opened the door, he'd see that she was in a very lovely pants suit that harkened back to the 1940s. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, and she had put on just enough make up to give her a little bit of color without looking made up. She towered over him, or felt as if she did in the slightly platformed shoes. It was definitely Hollywood glamour without being overly made.
"Hello, angel. I was just taking care of some business. Come in." She took one of the bags to help him.
"Hello, Elsa," he said, resisting the urge to protest when she relieved him of one of the bags. "Thank you." He followed her inside, glancing down at his thick-soled boots. Even with the boots, she would have had several inches on him, even if she'd been barefoot--but no matter. He set the groceries down long enough to remove his shoes without making too much of a scene, then retrieved the bag and headed for the kitchen.
People probably would question the fact that Elsa didn't let shoes go further than the small area around the front door, yet she was constantly seen wearing shoes within her home. Then again, she probably had quite a few pairs of shoes hidden back in her rooms; she rather liked shoes. She followed behind him with what she'd taken from him.
"So, what are you making for dinner, angel?" She set whatever she had grabbed on the counter, settling on a stool at the counter to watch him do whatever it was he had planned on doing.
Zen, on the other hand, hardly batted an eye at the fact that she wore shoes inside, because it was not at all uncommon for people in Japan to have a pair of shoes for that express purpose. Slippers, at the very least. He gave her a quirky smile over his shoulder as he set to work--only hesitating for a moment before he remembered where things were after his previous visit.
"Italian," he answered, arching his brow. "I know what you're thinking," he added, "And you're...probably absolutely right."
Elsa's brow lifted. "What is it I'm thinking?" She rested her chin in her hands, her elbow on the counter. It wasn't at all lady like, but did she really need to be a lady around the small artist?
"I doubt you know, but do enlighten me." She laughed softly. "What sort of Italian are we having? Light, heavy, cosmopolitan, rustic?"
"Well, maybe not," Zen replied, smirking as he turned to face her, "But I could certainly find out." He gave an answering laugh. "You already know enough about me to know I'm something of a mama's boy. I was thinking something light. Slightly Asian inspired. Growing up in a multi-cultural household, my cooking has done some interesting evolution."
"Whatever evolutions your culinary skills have made, please, let it be edible." Elsa was teasing him. She could do that on occasion, right? "So, why are fixing dinner for me?"
If he looked around, he'd not see the orchid, which didn't mean she'd gotten rid of it. It meant that it wasn't out for just anyone to see. It was hers, and hers alone. Elsa was a strange one sometimes. "What will we be drinking tonight? Should I find wine?"
"Well, I'm trying to stick to my mother's recipe, so that is the hope," Zen replied with a laugh, wielding the chef's knife with considerable skill for a pretty Asian boy who claimed to be awkward and clumsy. Then again, maybe that was his angel showing. "And I'm cooking dinner for you because I feel like it," he added, "That and if I make this for my self I will be eating leftovers all week. I figured I might as well share."
He moved to the stove, where began to saute the herbs and spices that he'd just chopped up, along with a little butter--glancing up as he stirred. "You may, if you wish. I'm thinking a medium-bodied red if you have one. I also have a bottle of Italian soda, if you'd like to start out with something a little bit lighter. Or save it for later. Up to you."
"Italian soda? I suppose we could open the bottle and let it breathe. Have the soda for now." Elsa slid off the stool and quickly found a red that would suit what Zen requested. The woman knew how to entertain in more than just the bedroom. Any good escort knew that it wasn't about the bedroom; it was about the client. Sometimes they never made it to the part that was so very taboo when it came to payment: the sex.
"All the way from Italy." Zen smirked. Between the MTN, and the fact that his family vacationed there on a regular basis, wasn't nearly such an extravagant gift as he made it sound--at least not in his mind--but he was allowed to tease back, wasn't he? He couldn't help but steal a few glances at her as she took care of the wine. She really was an elegant woman--but he suspected that she never would believe that he was doing something nice for her just because.
Elsa pulled down a few glasses, simple yet elegant, and set them on the counter. While it might not be proper, she set an ice cube in her glass, paused long enough to see if the artist wanted any, then poured soda into each glass. She set one glass on the counter out of the way, but close enough to show that it was his. Then she sipped from her own glass as she rounded the bar to sit on the other side and watch.
"I guess if I were a proper hostess, I would offer to help." Elsa laughed softly. "Actually, if I were a proper hostess, you would not be cooking at all."
"And that is exactly why I am here," Zen replied from his cooking, "Because you hostess all the time. I'm giving you the night off."
"Zen, you are too kind, but I don't always play hostess. Sometimes I'm waited on hand and foot. Men and women have very interesting needs. Even angels who wish to change a whore's heart." Elsa smiled over the rim of her glass before taking a sip. Her eyes were still smiling even if he couldn't see her lips.
Zen gave her a sideways look, but he didn't argue as he set a pot of water to boil for the pasta. "Maybe you're right, and I do have some deep seated need to act on my angelic instinct, but if I do..." he shrugged. "Well, the fact that you're letting me says you must be getting something out of the bargain, as well."
"I am. I'm curious about this angel business. It amuses me to watch you, to know you, to interact with you. I don't understand you, and perhaps my curiosity is Fred's way of nudging me to the straight and narrow. Of course, curiosity did do a bit of damage to a certain member of the feline family. Or order. Fred hasn't straightened that one out for me." Elsa took another sip. "Fate did put an angel in such an interesting body, but I suppose they come in all shapes and sizes. You're very pretty, you know that?"
"Satisfaction remedied a considerable amount of said damage, I've heard," Zen replied, glancing up with a mischievous glint in his eye, though his voice was deadpan, and he turned back to the stove as if nothing were amiss. "Hm. Pretty enough to cross-dress for Halloween, I'm sure. Yes, I can skim off your thoughts if I'm not careful."
"I wouldn't mind dressing you for Halloween." There was a definitely desirous devilish smile on the escort's lips. The tip of her tongue caught at any soda left there on those possibly kissable lips as she watched him. "I might not be able to read minds, but I'm very good at reading bodies."
"Don't tell me you want to see me as Lolita." Zen rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of tongue in the smirk he shot back at her. "And what is my body saying now?"
"'I'm an ass. And I'm showing it.'" Elsa smiled back at him. She took yet another sip of soda. "That or 'yes, please, make me your bitch.'"
"Oh, you think you can make me your bitch, do you? And here I thought you wanted to see the avenger."
"Well, there is that to. I do want to see the angel, but I can wait. I'm rather good at waiting." Elsa took another sip, smiling still. He was truly entertaining; there weren't many she could honestly say that about. Entertaining without being overly judgmental, and she rather liked that.
"Well, you won't have to wait much longer," he said, juggling a few things on the stove. "Dinner will be served as soon as the pasta's ready." Was that a wink he flashed her? Perhaps.
"No?" Elsa watched him absently, not at all showing any sort of interest or expectation. Her fingers pulled the condensation ring into a different pattern, just keeping herself busy. "Good, it smells very good."
The artist-cum-angel busied himself attentively about the final touches on their dinner, straining and rinsing the pasta, and then presenting the dish on a pair of plates that he'd warmed in the oven, complete with an attractive garnish. He was an artist, and Japanese, after all. It was all about the presentation. "Voila."
Elsa looked over dinner then up at the angel artist. Her brow lifted, and she gave him a smile. It really was adorable. "It looks good enough to eat, thank you, angel."
"You are welcome, cara mia," he said, spreading the table and moving to pull out a chair for the lady of the house. "I hope it will not be too disappointing to the palate, either."
And with that, they settled down for a quiet evening. Perhaps the angel-sightings would wait for another time.