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Isabela of Rivain (rivainipirate) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-12-21 18:48:00

Who: Isabela & Atton
When: Wednesday evening
Where: A restaurant in Orange County
What: Bonding and flirting
Rating: PG for talk of Isabela's nasty husband
Status: Complete!



Isabela was finishing her preparation; in theory Atton would be here in ten minutes, so she had to make it quick. She was wearing a simple long-sleeved shirt, though it did cling and have a low neckline, and a skirt that hit just below her knees. Her secret weapon, the garter belt and stockings, was tucked nicely underneath. She liked having an ace up her sleeve.

Atton had just dressed casually in jeans and a nice t-shirt, one that was just the tiniest bit tight so she could see that his arms weren’t too wimpy. He knocked on her door, wondering why she’d gotten so drunk the night before.

“Coming.” Isabela slipped into knee-high boots and opened the door, smiling almost shyly. “Hi. Come in, please.” It was weirder now that this was an actual date, but she still tried to be cool. “Glad you found the place without me directing.”

“No problem,” he grinned. “I hope you don’t mind steakhouses. If not, I’ve got an Italian place as backup.”

“Steak’s lovely. I don’t eat pork, but beef’s fine.” Isabela went to get her handbag. “I presume you’ve got your car, so we don’t need to take my scooter?” She’d get him on that one day, if they kept seeing each other.

“We do. One day you’ll get me to ride your slow death machine, but that day isn’t today.” He smiled and leaned against the door, watching her move. “You sure you’re okay?”

“My scooter is not a death machine,” Isabela replied with dignity. “Just … girly. And I’m fine. Still a tad hung over.” She didn’t regret drinking, though; she’d have just laid awake reliving the dreams if she hadn’t.

“Girly death machine.” His eyes were serious when he looked her over, reaching out to run a thumb over her cheek. “You look tired. Want to stay in? We could order something, I can make you drink water. It’ll be a hoot.”

“No.” Isabela snorted. “I’ll drink water while we’re out. Really, I’m fine.” Something made her tell him. “You’ll laugh, but I had a truly terrifying nightmare, and it hit me close to home. And instead of lying there reliving it, I decided to get shitfaced.”

“I had a weird dream too, but it was weird weird instead of scary weird. But I understand having really bad nightmares. Trust me. That I’m intimately familiar with.” He lowered his head, not wanting to talk too much about it.

“People seem to have bad dreams here.” Isabela knew that look. She just smiled a little. “I’m sure it’s the first phase of government mind control. Shall we?” She wasn’t one for feelings, especially not with a handsome bloke she’d barely met.

“I had them long before I came here,” he smiled back. Offering her his arm, he was glad that the touchy feely moments were over. “We shall.” He lead her to his car, opening the door for her and everything.

Of all things she wasn’t going to arse around with. Isabela chuckled when he held the door for her. “First you stare at my breasts, then you hold the door?” She teased.

“To be fair, your breasts were out and in the open. Not staring seemed rude.” He grinned impishly at her before hopping in on his own side. “Are you saying you wish I hadn’t?”

“No, it’s all right.” Isabela said it innocently. “I’ve been told to marry you. Not many men can go twice in so few hours.” She hoped he took it as ribbing, rather than insulting. She liked poking people, but she didn’t actually want to offend him.

“Well, if you want, we can. But I do steal the covers. And I snore. And I’m kind of messy.” He was teasing right back; he liked that they could tease each other without getting offended easily.

“I already have my green card, thank you.” Isabela grinned. She settled back, relieved that the vibe was still relaxed between them. “How’s poker been?”

“Smart girl, I wouldn’t want to marry me either.” He turned the music in his car down low enough so he could hear her. “Not bad, not bad. I’ve been winning most of my games, so I can’t complain. Plus appearance fees, I can get some nice presents for people this year.”

“Oh, good.” Isabela smiled. “I don’t have that many people to shop for, and I already got mum a Chanukah present. Just having extra money is brilliant, though. I get a nice bonus at the holidays, so I usually go for a nice dinner with my mates. Sometimes I’ll get a really good bottle of wine.”

“That’s always the best gift - experiences.” Atton had all of the stuff he’d ever need. He’d much rather have people to share it with.

“That’s what people tell me, but I have to say, I’ve gotten some lovely gifts for December holidays.” Isabela laughed. “I don’t know. At the risk of sounding like a terrible cliche heroine in a noir film, I’ve never needed that many people.”

“You vant to be alone?” Atton’s German accent wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. He moved an arm to lightly rub at the back of Isabela’s neck. “You don’t sound cliché, you sound independent.”

She liked that and didn’t stop him. “You don’t seem like the type to want a ton of people round you, either.” Honestly, she felt kind of special that he let her in.

“Nah, that just means more people to worry about pissing off.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nope, I like it with quality over quantity.” He liked Isabela enough to try to let her in. It scared him, but he figured if he could stay just distant enough, she’d be okay.

They got to their destination, and Isabela got out of the car without waiting. “You keep choosing good places to eat. The smells out here are brilliant.”

“I’m a man, half of my brain functions on how I can acquire food.” He grinned at her, squeezing her hand. He liked holding her hand; she didn’t sweat or glom onto him too hard. She fit really easily, and it terrified him sometimes.

“And the other half is how you can get laid? I know how it goes.” Isabela chuckled. “Seriously, though. I love to eat - I think that’s considered heretical in this town. I just work it all off.” Somehow, she hoped she’d managed to make that sound innocent.

“You’re allowed to love food, you’re just not allowed to keep it in your stomach. You’re forgetting your OC rules.” Atton mimed sticking a finger down his throat. “But I jest. Your work probably keeps you running around all over, right? I’m the one who has to sit down all day.” He pretended to look put upon.

“How could I have forgotten.” Isabela deadpanned, but it turned into a laugh. “I could get you work on the set. You look like you’re in good shape, but appearances can be deceiving. Also, I’d have to have a word with Perry first - he thinks it’s funny to try and pinch the new people’s bums.” She didn’t like that idea, for whatever reason.

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. I like my job.” He grinned at her. “Free drinks, I get to take people’s money, and groupies. Yeah, I’m set.” He motioned to the maitre d’ to get their table, one arm loosely around Isabela’s waist.

“Groupies? Really?” She didn’t think he was lying or anything, but she couldn’t quite imagine groupies for poker players. “I have a feeling I may have lots to learn about Vegas life.”

“Oh, there’s groupies for everything. I’d bet there’s groupies for spelling bees.” He wrinkled his nose, feeling a bit silly for having mentioned it, or inferring that he’d indulged. Which he had.

She couldn’t exactly judge him for it. “How many people do you think are immediately more interested in me because of what I do?” Isabela leaned lightly against his shoulder before stepping around to her side of the table.

“I don’t know, how many? I’d be immediately interested in you because of your legs.” Atton grinned at her.

Isabela thought for a second, but didn’t think before she spoke. “At least five blokes in the last year have slept with me explicitly because they said being a stuntperson was sexy.” After what he’d said, she doubted he’d judge, but still.

He blinked. “Clearly they’re idiots. I just slept with you because you’re gorgeous and funny.” He smiled at her, looking down at his menu to cover up any embarrassment.

For once, she didn’t mock him. “Thanks,” Isabela said lightly, smiling a little before looking at the menu. “I could say the same.”

He’d normally have offered her a self-deprecating statement, but he learned to just shut up. Instead, he smiled up at her and then looked back down at the menu. “What do you think you’re going to have?”

“I always get either lasagna or pesto.” Isabela replied, crossing her legs. “And I see they’ve got a spinach lasagna, so I’m a happy girl.” It really was a favorite, so it was a good point for the evening.

He smiled, ready to get himself some veal of some kind. He rarely indulged in it, but restaurant with a girl he liked was a special occasion. “So, what have you been up to? You know, in my absence. I’m sure you’ve just been pining.”

“Oh, yes.” Isabela deadpanned again. “You’ve consumed my every thought.” She couldn’t help herself, though, and grinned. “Actually, only about every fifth or sixth. I do enjoy your company, you know. The rest of the time I’ve been trying to work out choreography for a fight scene I’m shooting on Friday, and drinking two entire bottles of wine.” She figured if she joked about the hangover, she could make it seem less important or awkward.

“You know, that’s … yep, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.” He grinned right back at her. “What kind of fight scene? And why the sudden wino tendencies? Yup, wino. I said it.”

“What, that someone enjoys your company?” If he’d never heard that, it really was sort of sad. Isabela rested a hand on his, hoping it looked casual. “The fight scene? It’s for a pirate film. I’m doubling for the governor’s daughter who has to fight her way out of the brig, so I don’t actually get to do any moves. It’s mostly a lot of flailing.” She laughed. “Still, you have to choreograph flailing. And I am not a wino.” She knew her accent made the word sound even sillier.

“No, that I consume your every thought.” He chuckled and moved his hand so that their fingers were threaded. “Oh my, you get to flail? I could flail for free, but I doubt I’d be a dead ringer for the governor’s daughter.” He winked at her, then couldn’t help but laugh at how she said wino.

“You’re a bit taller, for one.” Isabela smiled, then raised an eyebrow, amused. “What’s so bloody funny?”

Atton was still giggling. “Wiiiiiiiiino.” He tried to cover the laugh up with a cough, but that didn’t work well either.

“Twat.” Isabela swatted him, but couldn’t help laughing herself. He had an infectious laugh, and she shook her head. “I told you. It was either lie awake thinking about bad dreams, or get shitfaced.”

“You shouldn’t do that too often. You’ll end up a lush.” He smiled at her and shook his head. “You can always call me if you want, I can come over and dance or something. That’ll give you different nightmares.”

“Thank you for the terrifying visual. I’ll likely need something to help me sleep tonight.” But the offer was kindly meant, and she did smile, threading her hand back into his again. “Thanks. Honestly, dreams don’t usually scare me so much. This one just happened to.”

“Yeah, me too.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’ve been dreaming of war. Which is, you know, the last thing I want to dream about. It’s just super awesome.”

The waiter came and went, having taken their orders. “War,” Isabela said, sitting back in her chair. “That’s a horrible thing to dream of. I just dreamed of my husband beating the shit out of me.” She was surprised by herself; she hadn’t intended to tell Atton what she’d dreamed about.

Atton raised an eyebrow. “Real life husband or dream husband?” If the man were tangible, he’d beat the shit out of him, no question. His dreams were forgotten, didn’t matter anymore, didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Dream. But he looked like the man I married in real life.” Isabela looked away. “My husband in real life wasn’t as bad. He ignored me, and hit me once, but in my dream, he started beating me because I refused to ‘entertain his friends’.” She kept her tone dry; now that she was somewhere, with someone else, in public, it wasn’t so bad. “He was from somewhere called Antiva. I don’t even know if that’s a real country. Sounded Spanish, though, and my real husband was Mexican. His name was even Luis.”

“If he hit you once, he was bad, Isabela.” Atton’s voice was low. “If it happens again, you call me. Or hell, you’re probably stronger than me with my girl arms, you hit him.” He folded said girl arms, eyes narrow.

“You have rather nice arms, actually.” Isabela shrugged. “And he’s dead. He drove his car into a light pole.” She hadn’t raised hell when Luis had hit her for a simple reason: he’d immediately held her and cried and groveled apologies. At the time, she’d believed him. She knew now where it might have gone, had he lived, but it hadn’t gotten there. “I’m not an abuse victim, Atton. I think it’s why the dream scared me as badly as it did.”

“Good.” He still had his arms folded. “And I didn’t say you were, I said he was an asshole.” He shrugged. “The two don’t have to be the same. And yeah, I think it’s why I’m sort of okay with my dreams. War sucks, but I’m used to it.”

“You’re used to it?” Isabela echoed, curious. “I hope not. Unless you meant metaphorical, demoralizing your poker opponents with the power of your mind.”

“Served a tour in Yugoslavia,” Atton murmured. “But you don’t want to hear about that.” Nor did he want to talk about it.

“Oh, the war back then.” But Isabela wasn’t stupid, and while she wasn’t a poker player, she could read body language well enough. She took the proverbial step back. “I won’t pry, but I’ll say you’re damned good at getting people to open up.” She didn’t want to talk about what horrors he’d likely seen, but she didn’t like that she’d spilled her proverbial guts. If he treated her differently because of it, she’d just get up and be on her way.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” He smiled at her and shook his head. “Nope, this is now officially the worst first date talk ever. Uh, so let’s assume I said you look really nice tonight, and now you’re going to tell me about how close you are to your mom so I can pretend it’s just fascinating.” He raised his scotch to her in salute before taking a drink.

Isabela chuckled, raising her water glass. “So, it’s a date now.” She couldn’t help but be amused. “My mum and I aren’t all that close, if only because she wants me to come back to England. She didn’t like that I got this work. She thinks I’ll kill myself one day. What about yours? Oh, sorry, you said she’d passed. Sorry.” He’d spoken of his mum in the past tense. Hopefully it had been a while.

“You didn’t think it was before? Shit, I’m sorry.” He winced, but then laughed. “Surprise dates are the best dates, don’t you know that?” He listened to her, idly drumming his fingers on the table. “She probably just misses you. No big deal, it was … god, about fifteen years ago, give or take for bad math and a terrible memory?” He knew the date, he just didn’t want her to know he knew.

“I’m fine with it being a date. I just didn’t want to jump the gun.” Isabela grinned. “You wouldn’t believe what some men do when you call it a date.” She did her best imitation of a squirrelly, twitchy bloke before forcing out in a terrible American accent, “‘I - uh - well, that isn’t what I was looking for.’”

He rolled his eyes. “Your American accent is awful. And don’t worry, I’m not expecting deviant sexual favors. I’m just expecting you not to slap me. Really, that’s a good date for me. I have tender cheeks.”

“I don’t speak on camera.” Isabela laughed, sticking her tongue out. The waiter returned with their food at that point, and she thanked him, settling back, crossing her legs. “And as for a good date, all I have to say is look down.” Her garter belt might be visible; her leg was outside the tablecloth.

Atton looked down, but he didn’t get her meaning. “Yes, my penis is still there, thanks for asking?”

“How appallingly unobservant. I suppose you’ll find out later.” Isabela chuckled, squeezing his hand and getting up. “Back in just a second; I’m going to pop to the loo.” She’d give him one more chance to see what she meant; otherwise he’d find out when she took him home.

He noticed then. His eyes went wide and he bit his lower lip to keep from whistling. He didn’t even know what to do with that information, it was like his brain had short-circuited with an audible ‘pzzt’.

Isabela did actually need the loo, so she took a few minutes and then came back smiling. “You don’t strike me as one of those who expect women to pick at their food. I promise, I’ll abide by OC rules later.” Her tone was confidential, and she couldn’t help smirking.

“Please, don’t. I’d like you less.” He grinned at her, then doubly so when their food arrived. Nothing cheered Atton up like gorgeous women and meat. “And your food looks really good. If you’re just going to OC it later, let me eat it for you.”

“Don’t even try.” Isabela hunched over her plate, jokingly eyeing him with suspicion. “I can hurt you in interesting ways.”

That just made him grin lopsidedly. “Promise?”

Isabela mock growled, liking his smile. The meal passed relatively without incident, though she did accidentally kick him in the shin under the table. When they’d finished their food, Isabela sat back. “So. I really must insist that you come back with me and I can look at the bruise I’ve given you.”

He agreed, putting a mock grave tone to his voice. “It’s true. My shin could wither and die and then other people would make fun of me for dying from a tragic shin accident. … shut up, that sounded way better in my head.”

isabela laughed. “If you were dead, people couldn’t mock you. And I would defend your reputation to the death, sir.” She struck a serious pose, then offered her hand, smiling. “You’re not allowed to die, if only because I told a mate I had to one day get you to do something adrenaline-rushy with me like bungee-jumping. You can die then.” Her tone was cheery.

“I’ll die the way my grandpa did, screaming and urinating on a pretty lady.” Atton responded equally cheerily, arm around her waist as he ushered her into his car. “And if that doesn’t make you feel secure about driving with me, I don’t know what will.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bit of a tit?” Isabela said, leaning against him. She let him close the door for her, settling in and getting comfortable for the ride back to her place.