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Dominic Ramírez || Quetzalcoatl (plumageablaze) wrote in paxletalelogs,

Dominic shut the door behind Benjamin, saving his bewildered look for the polished wood of it, and it alone. He'd seen an interesting share of personalities in his life--he did live in California, after all--but nonetheless, Benjamin's shorts were a surprise. Dominic himself wore a faded pair of blue jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, altogether dressed much differently than his guest. But rather than primarily fixating on Benjamin's fashion taste, he turned around to resume his position of host. In his family, it'd always been important to welcome guests and make them feel comfortable, to share with them what you had, even if it was only a little.

And that was precisely what he was going to do.

"In the kitchen's fine. Here, follow me. Or the smells. They're probably a better tip off." He gave Benjamin a small grin, testing the waters, the other's sense of humor. Aside from the peculiar way Benjamin dressed (and was he wearing a dash of make-up?), he didn't seem altogether that bad of a person. Maybe it was Benjamin's initial gift of coffee filters that gave Dominic a positive vibe about him, but there was something else, too. It was almost--dare he think it--a sense of familiarity, which shouldn't have made any sense, yet somehow it did.

"You brought cheese, right? I already have quesadillas made, and more on the stove, but you're welcome to add what you want to them." He led Benjamin to the kitchen, which was clean, with everything in its appointed place (like the rest of his apartment). Well, clean save for traces of Maseca corn flour upon one counter, where he'd made tortilla shells earlier in the evening. Dominic gestured to the plate of finished quesadillas before tending to the ones still cooking. "Help yourself. Those're chicken and tomato with queso fresco. I'll get you a plate in a sec."