Penelope Featherington Rutherford (featherington) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-01-17 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, byron sully, penelope featherington |
Who: Penelope Featherington and Byron Sully
When: Probably January 10?
Where: Pen’s apartment
What: This was a date in which many things happened, not all of them good, including spilled wine, a stalled subway car, and a messed up dinner reservation. But then good things happen, yay!
Rating: Low
Status: Logged, complete
Penelope’s new dress was ruined. Spectacularly ruined, with a very large red wine stain on the bust and into the skirt. The man who had bumped into her had apologized very well, too, making sure that she had plenty of napkins to try to sop up as much of the wine as possible. She had avoided looking directly at Sully for many minutes, afraid that she would collapse into gales of uncontrollable laughter. It was either that, or cry. But the restaurant attached to the bar had assured them that they would be able to hold their reservation (which they had recorded for the wrong time, anyway) so that Penelope might change quickly at home. But only for an hour. Penelope let the dress drop to the floor of her bathroom and bent over to fill the tub, pushing the dress into the water to allow it to soak. She caught herself in the mirror and grimaced; her hair was starting to fall and she had mascara tear tracks on her cheeks, from where she had indulged her laughter after it became clear that there was a problem with the subway. It was all too delicious to not laugh about, really. They’d made it back to Potts Tower just at the time when she and would have needed to be at the restaurant. But it was nice, talking to him and listening to the many stories Sully had to share about life in Colorado, and Alaska, and telling him about working a few days a week at the clinic, and London, and being Lady Whistledown. It was truly lovely, having found a friend here in this modern world, where closeness seemed to be a veneer that everyone wore and confidences were exchanged over a cell phone, or in a text message, and there were no late evenings whispering as a house party fell quiet in the still of the night. Ten minutes later she joined Sully in her living room (it was still strange to not call it a drawing room) and gave him a sheepish smile. “It would seem that our evening was doomed to failure. And hunger.” She settled on the sofa, clasping her hands in her lap. “I don’t suppose you would like to join me in ordering something in, and at least salvaging at least part of our plans for the evening?” Sully had truly tried. He'd known she was used to London and society, and while it had been a while since he'd had to do society with Dr. Mike in Boston, he'd remembered enough, and had learned enough in his nearly two years here, to sort out the reservations, the dress, and he would have been able to maneuver the forks, spoons, and napkins without embarrassing either of them - had the evening seen fit to allow him the opportunity to do so. He just felt bad about the reservation, the dress, the subway, and the way everything had fallen into disarray. And perhaps part of that feeling was hunger. He hadn't eaten since a rather early lunch, and now it was a good hour after dinner time. He looked over at her and offered a smile in return. "It seems the best option at this point don't it?" He shook his head, and raised his hands to loosen the bowtie at his neck. Truth was he hated formal wear and hated wearing it and he supposed she'd seen him all dressed up now, so he could get a bit more casual. Bow-tie undone, he also undid the top button of his shirt. A century and a half ago, such behavior in front of a woman you were not attached to would have likely been scandalous - and might not have kept Sully from doing it - but he knew it wasn't nearly considered so now. And he'd go no further. It was just enough to relax. "Whatcha thinkin' on the food front? Pizza? Chinese? Somthin' else?" Penelope looked away when he loosened his tie and the button at his throat, cheeks burning pink in a blush that hadn’t been there a moment before. She was still becoming accustomed to the customs of the day, and she had truly appreciated his efforts. They meant more to her, perhaps, than he would ever know. In a world so laden with casualness, that anyone would take the time to give a little of that formality she had known back to her was the best of gifts, and made the amount she had “paid” for him completely worth it. Clearing her throat slightly, she lifted her hand to play with the pendant at her throat. “Oh, I’m not picky, you know. Anything will do. Although I do admit to feeling a bit adventurous. Is there anything you’ve never had that strikes your fancy? Vietnamese, perhaps? Or Polish? I do think that pizza would be easiest.” Truth be told, Sully would have been happy with simple potatoes and meat, but it wasn't particularly easy to order those in take out. So he considered her suggestions and tilted his head. "I ain't ever had vietnamese, or polish, but we could try it. It'd be somethin' new, and considerin' everythin' else has turned out a bit - well, not turned out more like - maybe it'd give us some accomplishment for the evenin'?" It had taken him some time to get used to being able to just search for things and have them pop up. It just wasn't how you did things at all when he was from, but again two years, and some classes, and being around others for whom it was second nature, had made it simpler. He pulled out the phone and typed in vietnamese - only to have the phone correct his spelling of it, well, no wonder - and looked at the list. "Looks like there's a Vietnamese place does delivery that's just a few blocks from here. There's a menu here, though, it ain't nothin' I'm familiar with so we might just have ta point to a number and go with it." She was more inclined to agree with his preferences, but as reading minds wasn’t a talent she possessed, she instead chose to embrace the adventurousness she had just claimed and leaned toward him to catch a peek at his phone’s screen. “Oh, I see. Uhm… Well.” She looked up at him. “Perhaps I’m not as adventurous as I claimed. But. The pho sounds interesting. The one with the chicken, I think.” She paused, and shook her head. “No, but that’s not choosing a number. Very well. Number 79. I’ll have that.” Penelope nodded her head decisively and gave Sully a bright smile. He glanced through the menu himself and shook his head with a smile. "See, and here I was thinkin' 79 sounded interestin' too. It's not going to be very adventurous if we both have the same thing though… so maybe I'll do 72. And we should get some summer rolls maybe, if you'd like some?" The truth was that having her this close was nice. She smelled pleasant and it had been a while since Sully'd been physically close to any woman. Penelope's pleasant manner, her courtesies, her smiles, all of it was nice, but he couldn't have said if anything was meant to come of it. Or if she was interested in anythin' outside of bein' friends. He'd figured she had bid on him just so he wouldn't be standin' up there lookin' foolish - or at least it was what he assumed. Penelope laughed. "Don't tell me what it is, please! I read the description of the pho, but then I certainly chose a number at random. I do hope it's tasty." If it wasn't... well, she had restocked her pantry and refrigerator just a few days ago. Although the idea of showing off her very new skills in the kitchen made her nervous, especially doing so for a person she esteemed so well as Sully. Which was silly, as he'd given no indication that he would be open to anything more than friendship. She peered at the screen again, and nodded. "Yes, I think so. They're similar to egg rolls, it seems, but we shall discover the truth of that soon." She reached for her phone, discovering that it was still tucked away inside the clutch she had carried with her that evening, and the clutch was laying on the foot of her bed -- completely out of reach. "I'm afraid it's up to you to place the order,Sully. I hope you don't mind." "Not a word," Sully laughed in return. "Now you're makin' me feel like I ought to go back and just pick a number. Maybe 70 or somethin' like that. But ain't no trouble, I can place the order. I've done it before." The truth was that Sully wasn't particularly useful in a modern kitchen, although he'd improved when he and Donna had taken cooking classes together a while back - she'd been here and gone and back again several times in the meantime, but his memories of the cooking held firm and he could now make several things if necessary. That didn't mean he hadn't spent a number of months after first arrival eating jerky and fresh vegetables from the market and ordering take out. The notion of how simple it was to do so was something he was still getting used to. He called and placed the order and then put his phone down and looked over at her. "I'm real sorry about how everythin' turned out Penelope. I had good intentions, but it seems fate had other notions for us." “Oh, no, you mustn’t do that. If you want number 72, then that is what you should order.” But it was easy to smile and accept his decision. It was only dinner, after all, and he was very easy going about, well, most things. He didn’t make her feel nervous or as if she were backwards -- he simply treated her with respect, as if she were a friend and a person with opinions and thoughts and a voice of her own. She felt at ease with him, much as she nearly always had with Colin. He apologized, and she reached out a hand to grasp his forearm, and to squeeze it firmly for just a moment. “No! Oh, no, dear, don’t apologize. It was hardly your fault, was it? And -- well -- I think it was terribly funny that everything just seemed to continue getting worse and worse.” She removed her hand from his arm and replaced it in her lap again, this time leaning in when she spoke. “But it didn’t, did it? It… no, I had a wonderful time traveling with you this evening. Perhaps we didn’t have the evening you had planned, but it’s been a fine one, nevertheless. I’m very glad that there weren’t other bidders for your date.” "I'm glad of that too," Sully nodded, his eyes staying on her face as she spoke. For all the confidence he exuded externally, in the moment he found himself wondering if he were reading her correctly. Was she speaking as a friend, or was there the possibility she might want or be interested in something more. It was a question he hadn't found himself asking recently but here it was, staring at him demanding a response. "It sure did seem like the fates had it in for us tonight. I hope - your dress won't be ruined will it? You looked real nice in it. I don't know if I mentioned that before." Penelope's blush crept up her neck and into her face. She lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together to try to hide her smile of surprise and pleasure. She'd thought she'd looked rather fine in her dress, as well, but to be told so by a male still seemed an unusual occurrence. She stammered out, "That's very kind -- very sweet of you to say. Thank you." Her face still flushed (it seemed to her) bright red, she returned the compliment, awkwardly. "You -- you look very fine as well." She reached out, as if for a cup of tea. Of course, there was none, so she only looked ridiculous as she instead smoothed some invisible wrinkle from her skirt to hide the movement. "I don't believe it will be ruined. I think I will be able to remove the stain." "That's good," Sully said. Her smile was reflected in one of his own. The flush on her cheeks only made her look more attractive and gave him some hope that perhaps his own interest wasn't entirely alone. After all, she had paid for the date with him and that ought to be some sign of interest. In a time where women were typically far more forward, it ought to be a good deal easier to sort out exactly what they were thinking. But it wasn't, and maybe he wouldn't have liked it that way either. It wasn't as if every individual - even men - were that much easier to sort out now than in his own time. But with women, or at least with certain women, the stakes of figuring it out felt greater. "Maybe we can give you time to clean it up, and you'll let me try again. Just dinner, perhaps, and maybe someplace nice enough you can wear it again, but not quite so high-falutin' as that place was. For all the formalities they seemed to require they ain't very good at keepin' simple track of reservations." Penelope looked over to him, blush finally fading. That he hadn’t run from the room or teased her about her flushed face was encouraging. She nodded, sliding her palms on her thighs. “I would like that, very much. Even if it were the -- the Shake Shack, I would like it.” She laughed. “Oh, quite. There was absolutely no reason for us to be treated so shabbily, and if I were a woman with a stronger backbone, I would call them tomorrow and give them a very stern piece of my mind, indeed.” "They've got good shakes, ain't they?" Sully laughed. But determined even as he did so that he'd give her the chance to dress up again, but definitely not something quite as much of a fuss as they'd tried - and failed - at accomplishing tonight. Something nice, but not this nice. "You've got plenty of backbone, but there ain't much point to it. We just won't go back to that place and if they treat all their customers that way, they ain't going to be around much longer anyhow." Sully leaned back against the sofa and gave her a smile. "Guess we'll have to figure out somethin' else to do tonight. We've got our food comin'. You got some books you wanta read? We could read somethin' aloud? Or maybe something on the television if there's a film you'd like ta see?" Sully had a cool head about him, a good sense that appealed to Penelope immensely. He wasn’t as refined or well-traveled as most of the men she had known had been, but his friendliness and open smile more than made up for it. He had, after all, been to places that were possibly more majestic than even the Sistine Chapel. It had, after all, only been made by men, while the mountains of Colorado and Alaska had been made by something more powerful than Michelangelo had ever dreamed of being. She admired him greatly, and found herself a little jealous of his Dr. Mike, for having known him very well, and also jealous of some unknown future woman, who would likely also know him much better than she ever would. Although -- sometimes -- there seemed to be a flicker of something approaching interest in Sully’s eyes. Just now, for example. But she wasn’t a woman that men approached, and that itself kept her from really hoping that there could possibly be more than friendship between them. “I have all sorts of books I want to read, you know,” she answered, gesturing towards a bookshelf that was almost literally overflowing with books. Many of them were leftovers from the life she had the first time she was here, the time she didn’t remember. But more than a few were recent purchases, ones that looked so interesting. “We can start something. Is there anything you’ve been wanting to read? And my Netflix queue can be brought up rather quickly, I’ve many things I intend to watch, but simply haven’t come around to them.” She paused. “It has been awhile since I’ve sat with good company and read aloud. I have a series of short stories by a fellow called Neil Gaiman. I’ve read one or two of the stories, and they struck my fancy.” Sully nodded. He'd seen the books on her shelf, and to be honest, it was books he'd rather invest his time in than television. He'd watched a show or two and films when it seemed that it was something he ought to watch so as to be up with the popular culture, but books were what he knew best and he had been a reader - at least of some books - it was one of the things he'd shared in common with Dr. Mike, and tonight he glanced over at the shelves and nodded. "I've heard of this Gaiman," he said. "Maybe we ought to just pull it out and read some of the stories? I'd enjoy it. Combine it with some good food when it arrives, and we'll have just the thing to maybe turn this evenin' around, right?" “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Penelope agreed. She stood and smiled down at him. “May I have your help in the kitchen? I had a thought we might further salvage our date by eating off of real dishes instead out of the take away boxes. Would you like a cup of tea?” And there was a rather lovely tablecloth, along with candleholders and candlesticks to brighten the table, along with the flowers already there. And with a bottle of wine, their meal would be very pleasant. |