theeyeofra (theeyeofra) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-18 22:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, bast, gamora |
Who: Bast & Gamora
When: St. Patrick's Day
Where: A cool restaurant with all the beer?
What: Hanging out!!
Rating/Warnings: Low/None
Status: Complete when posteeeed
Never in a place had Gamora seen such an endless selection of beer. The list went on and on, which meant she’d be there for hours deciding - only, she did not have hours to spare and only cared about ordering the most ridiculous indulgence available. Ultimately, her selection was a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a tall, chilled glass of framboise - raspberry lambic beer, and it was so outside of what she’d normally order (Snakebite, dark beer, cider) that she actually felt giddy about surprising herself in such a way.
And a pastrami burger, with a side of fries. It was a good night for protein, cholesterol, with tons of salty meat and a fried egg on top.
She had a tall spoon which she used to poke at the glob of ice cream in her float - it looked delicious, and she couldn’t wait to dive in. The atmosphere was nice too, laid back with small lights on the tables if you were out on the patio - it was a pleasant enough evening, so why not. Better than being crammed up at the bar with a bunch of beer-hungry college-aged douchebags, already drunk for the ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish Even When I’m Not’ festivities.
“I have never been here before,” she observed, glancing around. “But Yelp reviews are positive. And Google tells me it is a good place to spend St. Patrick’s Day in Orange County.” So far, the restaurant hadn’t disappointed.
Beer was definitely an interesting topic for Bast. She’d be suspect of anything dyed red, which was why red-tinted drinks were almost always avoided. But then she wasn’t going to drink enough of it to pass out and be defeated. She wasn’t Sekhmet. She hadn’t had the story in her mind before the dreams, but now that she had, it was also something to amuse herself with.
Bast, herself, had stuck to fish. She was feeling very cat-ish today, which was also why she hadn’t bothered to disguise her cat eyes. Most people, she figured, were too drunk to really pay attention. Maybe not here, but it wasn’t like she was drawing attention to herself. And certainly drunk people would spill out of places eventually. It was the perfect time not to worry about dream presents. Her long hair had been pulled back into a braid and rested against her shoulder. She’d chosen an orange-flavored beer because she wanted something a little lighter than the “traditional” Guinness. She wasn’t actually Irish, so she figured it wasn’t really like she was hurting some lineage by not being Irish enough.
“It’s definitely good. I’ll have to remember this in case Sekhmet ever shows up. There’s beer all over the place.” She gave Gamora a warm smile before taking a sip of her beer. “How exactly did you find this place anyway? I don’t think I’d have thought to look for ‘place with lots of beer’ when looking for places to go.”
Bast’s cat eyes were very aesthetically appealing - or at least Gamora thought so. The way they seemed to glow almost, like moonlight; she didn’t see how anyone could find them unattractive. But then again, people were odd. They were also drunk, for tonight, and there was little to care about besides revelry, good food and drink, and just kicking back to relax and let loose. Something that Gamora did not do often, yet she was getting there. Having friends, unclenching a little to allow herself to make friends, now that all was what helped her blend in. It made things less stressful, made her feel less alone since she began to have strange dreams.
“I used Google,” she responded with a sheepish smile. “It was a matter of researching the top-recommended places in Orange County to experience St. Patrick’s Day. In Hawaii there is usually a keiki fair in the morning, then a parade, and parties later. So not too much different from here.”
A fry was dipped into a dollop of ketchup and screw the naysayers - she’d use it and like it, as low-class was ketchup was (why did it get such a bad rap? She came from an island where spam was a delicacy). “After this I told my boyfriend I would see him where he is bartending,” she added. “If you wish to come. It’s called The Hanged Man. And I think he is my boyfriend,” Gamora frowned in thought, “...I am unsure if that is the right term.”
Bast liked that night vision was a thing now. She could see even better at night, which would keep people from sneaking up on her. Not that she was easy to sneak up on as it was. She just liked to think about it making her that much better. If she was lucky, her avatar would come next and she’d be even better at fighting. Once she got some practice in.
There was a smile at that. “Okay. That’s a much more sensible wording choice for a search.” She played idly with the end of her hair. “That sounds like fun. I’ve never been to Hawaii. You’ll have to tell me about the fair sometime. I’m not even sure what that entails.” It definitely sounded like something she’d have wanted to take part in, however.
“Oh? A boyfriend, is it?” Her smile turned into something a little more mischievous. “Well, is he a boy that’s a friend or a boy that is more than a friend?” She thought idly about texting T’Challa to see if he wanted to come as well. The more the merrier, correct? She was pretty sure. “But either way, I’d love to go! Absolutely!”
Gamora chuckled huskily, picking up her glass to take a sip of her beer - and wipe off the foam mustache that came about from drinking a huge float. “Keiki means children,” she explained. “At the fair there is usually facepainting, arts and crafts, storytelling - things like that.” In the days of her youth (long since passed), she had gone to those fairs for holidays like St. Patrick’s Day. The times when Thanos tried to pass them off as normal, when they were anything but.
“And as for Peter, he is...more than a friend. I suppose if you fornicate with someone, they’re more than a friend.” Or really, in Gamora’s view they should be - unless you fucked anything with a pulse, and that was slutty and not something she was interested in doing. Unlike burgers, beer, and pleasant conversations, sexually transmitted diseases were not all that great. She’d paid attention to those pamphlets in school. “We have decided to date. But he is very fun - you will like him. If you have anything you wish to bring to the tavern also, that would be fun too.”
Kind of like a double date? Or that sounded ridiculous, actually. Socializing. There. We were back to that again.
“Oh! Well, that sounds like fun. Perhaps not very adult, but then sometimes things like that are even more exciting when you’re older. But then I guess that might be me. Joy is simple if you know how to get ahold of it.” She’d prefer to be the one telling the stories, though, but she wasn’t against a little face paint at least.
And now she was laughing. She couldn’t help it. She’d never heard someone discuss it so technically before. “Yes. I’d definitely say that is something that you’d do with someone that’s more than a friend. I definitely don’t just sleep with my friends.” That would just get messy. She knew that not everyone chose to stick to that sort of a distinction, but some people were friends and some were more than that. It was good to keep the lines clear. At least for her sanity.
“Dating is very fun.” She smiled. “I’m seeing someone, too. I believe. I mean, we did go on a Valentine’s Day date. Except I forgot that was something...people did. I’ll text T’Challa and ask him if he wants to come.”
“Seeing someone is a good way to put it,” Gamora decided. “I would like to meet him. To make sure he is worthy of you,” she winked at that, playful, a rarity for her. But still, for one thing, food and beer (even the sweet lambic kind) made her all sloshy and feel-good and secondly, it was important to look out for friends. Making sure they were not ‘dating’ weirdos, and well, sometimes having that other perspective helped?
Yes, she would make sure Bast did not snag herself a weirdo. Even if she had confidence that this T’Challa person was just fine. “What did you do for your Valentine’s Day date? Peter had to work on that day, but he sent me planet chocolates and succulents.”
It was very sweet of him. Even if the succulents weren’t doing so well. Gamora did not have a tender touch - she could kill hardy cacti, what could she say.
Bast had made a point to send him texts and was waiting for him to reply. “I’ve told him to come. Or, I guess asked, but as his patron goddess, I think he’ll come. I’m sure he’s worthy enough. He is supposed to be my champion. I doubt he’d have gotten that position if he didn’t earn it.” She still found that to be amusing. “He’s the one that knows a different version of me in his dreams. We’ve never met in mine, which seems like a shame.” She wondered if her other self would be the same as she was or if she was more war-like than she was now. She had a feeling it was the latter.
“We went out for dinner, which was nice.” She didn’t do dinner out a lot, but she thought it wasn’t too bad anyway. “That is definitely a nice present, though. I’ve never had very many plants. Muffin has a tendency to knock things on the floor. Especially if she thinks it’s getting more attention than she is.” Not that Bast minded too much. Muffin just took more time to warm up to the idea of change than she did. They got along just fine.
Gamora found herself smiling - her cheeks actually hurt a little, perhaps because the muscles weren’t used to the workout. “So he is dating is patron goddess? That is actually very romantic,” she said. Like hell she knew much about romance, but she was trying. Maybe it could be something possible to learn.
“Cats are like that. They enjoy attention. I have been considering a pet of some kind - a cat might be nice, now that I think about it,” she mused, taking another bite of her burger. She was almost done, and would try to do something romantic for Peter since he was working tonight. Maybe bring him dessert from here - he would enjoy that, as a nice surprise. “They are independent and would not require me tending to their excrement needs constantly.” Just use the litter box, there, done.
“It’s likely more unusual than anything else, but I’d like to believe that it’s also very romantic. I don’t think that I’d have actually dated him if I was his Bast. Or if I’d just started out as a goddess and not just...been one because of the dreams. We didn’t mix like that with mortals. We do take them as hosts sometimes, but I’ve never really had a human host. Muffin has been the only host I remember.” She left hosts to Osiris, Isis, Nephthys, and Set. And whoever else seemed to want it. It was a lot of repeating.
“Well, I am always in support of people getting cats as pets. I’d be happy to help you find one. I can usually tell things about cats.” And talk to them. She felt that she knew what sort of cat might work well with Gamora. At least she’d know once she met the right cat. Even if she was of the idea that all cats were perfect in their own way, she could also tell that some cats did better with people than others. “It is easier, yes. Dogs are always so…” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Well, I guess they are okay sometimes.”
“Why am I not surprised that you prefer cats?” Gamora chuckled. She was sure that she preferred cats as well. They were sleeker, more sophisticated, not so...drooly. This bodyguard with two jobs really didn’t have time for a dirty, shedding, slobbery beast. “I would like that, actually. If you were to help me select the perfect feline companion. Maybe we can go to the animal shelter soon?”
If she were going to acquire a pet, she’d want it to be one she could give a good home to. A lonely furry thing that was due to be euthanized or something depressing like that. Even hard-hearted, iron-like assassins such as herself had a soft spot for sad-eyed animals. Most people with a soul generally did.
Bast grinned. “If the cat goddess doesn’t give away my preference for cats, I don’t know what ever will.” She knew Anubis and she knew that she didn’t need to spend too much of her time around him. She preferred cats. Always cats. Maybe if she met a dog that didn’t attempt to jump on her or drool on her or try to startle her in some way, she could learn to tolerate it. She didn’t have high hopes, however. At least T’Challa was the Black Panther, which meant he was cat-related. He would tolerate her cats only pet choices.
“I’m more than happy to help you find a cat that is suited to you.” Especially when that cat came from a shelter. “I’ll text you with my schedule and then you can let me know when works best for you.” She could always push things around a little if she had to. It couldn’t be too bad. “You don’t strike me as one that minds if they are a little worse for wear. Not everyone feels the same, but I would never take battle wounds from a cat. They would not thank me for it. Perhaps if they had really hurt their leg, I might help. But if it’s not a serious injury, I could not take it from them.”
No, Gamora did not mind a cat that had some battle wounds. They were predatory creatures - they fought over companions (males fighting over female cats, for example), territory, or a higher spot in the feline hierarchy. This was something she understood; she had been fighting all her life. Maybe a cat with more battle scars showed that they were tougher - Bast would know better than most.
“I don’t mind. And I will let you know what works with with my schedule too,” she grinned a bit, excited by the idea of coming home to something besides an empty apartment when she got done with her two jobs. Those days felt endless, and she also did not have the time to clean up a big mess or take a dog for a long walk so it could relieve itself. A quiet, dignified cat would do. Hopefully she could make a connection with just the right one.
Her burger had been scarfed down, and she was surprised to see that the beer glass was empty. How odd. Must have lost track of time, in the relaxed atmosphere. “I am going to bring Peter dessert, I think,” she decided then, studying the menu. “S’mores brownie. This sounds good. Do you want anything?”
Bast wondered idly if she shouldn’t have been the sort of person that worked with cats and finding them homes, but she would likely have ended up with far too many cats in that instance. She’d have paid someone to clean up for her, likely. But no. She was happy with her job. It was better this way.
“That sounds like a good plan.” She wondered idly if T’Challa would want dessert or if she was the sort of person to bring dessert. “I think the only thing I’d want would be ice cream,” she started. Or just cream. She would ignore her dream self’s affinity for cat food as long as she could. “I don’t think that carries well.” But if T’Challa requested something, she’d bring it for him.
Ice cream sounded good. Gamora considered that, licking her lips - what sort of deliciousness did she want to sink her teeth into? Chocolate, perhaps. A brownie of her own. With caramel and chocolate chips - it might be an overload, but only in the best way.
She’d have another beer too. Her tolerance was pretty good, and if need be, she and Bast could always Uber home from The Hanged Man after a night of indulgences. It was St. Patrick’s Day, why not live a little?
“Tell you what,” she started. “I’ll get the brownie for dessert, and you can have the ice cream it comes with. Do you like coconut?” Because ‘toasted coconut’ was the flavor, but she was sure they could just get plain vanilla if need be.
Bast looked like she was considering it before she nodded. “Coconut works. If it’s anything like coconut water, I think I’ll probably like it.” Even if it would be ice cream. But who was she to complain about ice cream flavors? Except for some of the more unfortunate flavors. She didn’t need a lot of random ingredients in her ice cream or things that would hurt her teeth.
She decided on a more dessert beer to go with her ice cream as well. As long as she didn’t drink the entirety of the alcohol, she wouldn’t be in too much trouble. “T’Challa seems very interested in you and Peter’s names,” she commented, checking her phone. “But it looks like he’s going to come!” She clapped a little. “Yay for us!”
“Our names?” Gamora wondered why. But alright, if he was interested, then she would take that as a good sign. “Well, I am looking forward to meeting him.”
The brownie a la made it was and when it arrived (gave her some time to digest first, and sip on her next beer which was a chocolate stout, she was probably going to go into a chocolate coma at this rate but who cared), she gave the generous scoop of ice cream to Bast as promised. “Here’s to...us,” she laughed, clinking their spoons together. “And a yay.”
Yes. A yay indeed.