Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-01-10 17:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, emma frost (white queen), pete wisdom |
Who: Emma Frost and Pete Wisdom
What: chance encounter
Where: the grocery store
When: backdated to last Monday afternoon
Warnings: low-ish, only warning is due to language.
Status: complete
Emma was very distracted while wandering the store. She wondered why her luck was incredibly bad. Her first week living with her. . . whatever, and he was sick as a dog. There was substantially less sex, for one thing. That was a big letdown. For another, she’d expected to learn more about him through the usual method of discussing things like adults, rather than learning how to superglue wounds shut. She felt exhausted. She looked it a little, too.
She sighed as she perused the cold medicines, wondering if Scott would prefer cough syrup with or without alcohol.
That store didn't seem to have very many people in there. Pete imagined at that hour, it was safe to go out and get some more ginger ale and odds and ends, to stock up in case things got worse. Better to do it now, than later. He was running low on beer and cigarettes. That's why he drove to someplace a little more out of the way, since he hoped it would be a little less populated.
Glad that he was right about that choice, Pete rolled down the aisle to get some of the cough syrup with the alcohol in it, because that's the best kind. Both elbows were on the cart and he was leaning forward as he rolled it down the aisle, looking profoundly unamused.
He looked like he rolled out of bed and landed on the floor. His suit was rumpled, his tie was once again loose and askew, and he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. In short, Pete looked like he'd been hit by a truck, and then a train, when he saw who was standing there in the aisle.
Oh bugger. He knew Emma Frost from his dreams. It really was The White Tart, in person, minus the lack of clothes that made her seem tarty. Maybe she hadn't remembered everything yet. Even better question: What was she doing here?
Pete looked around, up and down the aisle, unsure if he ended up in fancy schmancy store instead of a regular supermarket. Nope. It looked regular. No signs of champagne, caviar, and brie on every aisle.
Emma looked up when someone else came to look over the cough medicines. She didn’t like the look of the new person, and scooted subtly away. At least he wasn’t sick. The store was mostly empty, she hoped all the sick people were at home. The ginger ale was a little curious. Scott hadn’t complained of nausea. Maybe he was shopping for someone with something else. She watched patiently until he moved away from the cough syrup, then went back to looking at the selection. Finally, she decided on the non-alcoholic stuff, figuring they could add whiskey if needed.
Nevermind. Pete rolled his eyes as she tried to get away from him. At least she didn't say anything though and there were no hints of any voices in his head going EWW like he expected. So this was probably a case of someone not remembering much yet, like he suspected.
Nevertheless, Pete told himself not to be a prick and to say something nice for once, even if it felt like pulling his own teeth with some rusty pliers. She did seem to be shopping for someone who was sick, after all.
"That kind's rubbish," he said, at a stop with his cart, a respectable distance away. "Most of them are. You're better off with half a cup of hot water, lemon, honey, and the other half of the cup filled with brandy. It's mum's secret cold recipe."
He knew because mum complained of having a cold constantly every single morning with breakfast.
Emma looked up in surprise. “Huh? Oh.” She looked at Pete in confusion. This was the stuff she normally bought herself, and it seemed to do okay. “Uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” He didn’t seem either drunk or insane, so her initial evaluation was incorrect. It did seem plausible. She made a mental note to grab some lemon juice. If it didn’t help his throat, it at least sounded delicious. “This is easier to carry around, though.”
Normally? He's a little of both. Drunk and insane.
"Suit yourself," Pete said in a low grumbling voice, reaching over and making a sour face while grabbing one of the non-alcoholic versions just in case they needed it. Grape flavoured, with a happy design on the box so sick kids would want to guzzle it down like soda. He was hoping that it wouldn't be needed, because he didn't want to think about Navi catching the creeping crawlies. And so she knew it, he stated very bluntly, "It's not for me."
Because he looked like it would take hell freezing over for him to let anything non-alcoholic touch his lips. Especially if he had a cold or the flu.
She snorted. “Suit myself and whoever you’re buying that for.” Emma shook her head, laughing lightly. “Beside, this isn’t for me, either. Only an idiot would be out spreading the plague while they’re sick.”
"The wife, that's who," was his dry reply, as he dropped it into the cart next to the ginger ale. "And hurrah. I'm not an idiot."
He didn't sound too happy about it. But Pete had curmudgeon practically stamped on his forehead.
"Why're you out and about," he suddenly asked, like a defense lawyer during cross-examination. "I'm surprised someone like you didn't have the groceries delivered."
He almost added with bows on top and on silver platters, but he somehow refrained.
Emma frowned at his comment. Who the fuck was this guy? “No, I don’t. It takes quite a bit longer, and people who use services like that are either healthy and lazy, or homebound. As I am healthy but not lazy, I do my own shopping.” Well, mostly she had take out delivered, but that wasn’t the point.
He's the takeaway king, so he has takeout delivered every chance he's gotten for the past twenty years, at least.
He's also a professional arsehole. In the other universe and this one. Only in this one, he's 0.005% less of an arse than he was where he dreamed he was from. And he's meanwhile trying not to remember the drunk dialing that Emma knew ALL about. Which probably isn't helping on the Pete Wisdom scale of social interaction. That scale probably runs in reverse and goes into negative numbers. It's why he currently looks like he's sucking on a rotten lemon.
"Some things've changed," he grumbled under his breath, even if he was thinking maybe she might not sound like she's talking down her nose at everyone else around her. Or that might happen, as time went on. He hoped not. Emma Frost in a grocery store? Kind of hilarious. He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. "Right. Good t'know. I'm terribly well informed now. So who is it you’re shopping for?"
Some of her mutant students? Could be. He waited out of inner curiosity and tried not to fidget since he was dying for a cigarette.
She wasn’t sure what all this small talk was about. It honestly disturbed her a little. But she took a deep breath. It wouldn’t hurt her to talk to someone who wasn’t a tween or Scott. Of course, that left her with the difficult question of how to answer Pete’s question. While Scott was her roommate, it sounded a bit cold. The term girlfriend was pretty terrible, and lover was too intimate for a grocery store conversation with a guy who looked like he’d slept in his clothes. “My grandmother.” Well, why not? He didn’t need to know this sort of thing. “She’s terribly sick. I think she has whatever flu is going around at the moment.” Maybe she’d tell Scott he’d been downgraded to grandmother later. It would probably make him laugh.
If she was disturbed, Pete was staring at her like the experience was making him feel like he was having his teeth pulled. Without the shots to numb anything. Using rusty pliers. At least he was making the effort though, and that one percent of him that was feeling curious about how this Emma matched up to the one he remembered from his dreams, was keeping him from saying a big fat 'screw this' and rolling his cart down the aisle. So he was keeping his distance, with the cart between him and her, like it might act as some sort of poor man's shielding against any signs of potential snootiness.
"That's rubbish. Hope she gets well without keeling o'er dead, then." He shrugged and squinted at her for a moment, before saying in a low grumble, "Best take her to doctor. Well. Good luck with that."
He started to move the cart in a wide-berth of a semi-circle, around her, thinking he should pick up at least two cases of cheap lager, rather than one. It was probably better to stock up against the flupocalypse.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Oh, thank God it was over. She collected herself, shaking her head as he moved around her and away. This was a compelling reason to save all shopping for the daytime, when the people would be more normal. Or at least less chatty.