Dimitri (basecompound) wrote in worldsapart_ic, @ 2019-08-08 17:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | layla lin, nikolai |
Who: Nikolai & Layla Lin
What: Dinner's on me!
When: 7th August
Where: Layla's apartment
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Layla was a simple person with simple needs - mostly because she was getting used to actually being a person and her own person at that. She didn’t have a family, no one to guard or protect, and she remained firmly planted on this mortal plane. No shuffling back to the Otherworld, enshrouded in darkness and misery. That was why she wanted to do everything she could to embrace her humanity, her...womanhood. Was that a word? Something like that.
Her living space reflected her lack of grandeur and complication. It was a tiny apartment above a popular noodle shop with its mirrored walls and dark, wooden chairs; she picked the apartment partly because the spice and scent of Hong Kong always wafted up through the creaky floorboards, and it was good for her when she missed home. Definitely an interesting experience though - she’d gotten menus shoved under the crack beneath her door merely a week after moving in, she overheard pretty much all the gossip from wait staff when they took their smoke breaks below her outside, and she sometimes received mail meant for the restaurant that the owner (who barely spoke English, but luckily she spoke Chinese) would buzz her for at weird hours.
Still, she wouldn’t change it. She also enjoyed the challenge of decorating a small space - mostly she used a lot of box shelves for storage, to hold her books and thrift store finds, and a coffee table that was a trunk (also packed with thrift store finds - she loved shopping, and working at Wing’s Curiosities was almost dangerous). There were copper pots and pans hanging on her kitchen wall out of the way, and right now she was using them to make dinner. Not noodles, not takeout - just some spaghetti and meatballs because...she didn’t know how to make anything else. And wasn’t the best cook anyway.
But she could handle breaking up a block of spaghetti to add to salted water (it needed to be salted, right? Basically the ocean?), and the sizzle of cow in the pan. She’d invited Nikolai over for dinner and it was stupid to just invite him over only to pick something up from downstairs. Layla was also a little nervous but she’d try to calm her frazzled nerves - by pouring herself a laaaaaaarge glass of red wine, slosh, there it went.
He was handsome (and cute, handsomecute) and she was essentially one giant ‘what do?’ but she’d figure it out. Maybe. More wine would help, while she waited for him to arrive.
It was a rare thing that Nikolai socialised outside of his very small very limited circle of friends which if he were being completely honest with himself probably simply consisted of Fallon, but Layla was like him, and she was free. It was a concept he was still trying to wrap his head around especially as he had been alive for a very long time and he had never known what it was to be free.
He'd stopped off at a store on the way over to pick up a bottle of wine as he might not do this a lot but he knew you didn't turn up to dinner empty handed and as Nikolai happened to have a wine connoisseur for a friend it was easy enough to select a bottle that was perfect for the evening to come.
It wasn't a date but he'd still dressed nicely for the evening and made sure he smelled nice and looked presentable because impressions were everything even if this was his second one. It still mattered. Especially when Layla was exceptionally pleasant to look at and she had shared life experience which was hard to find in just anybody.
Nikolai had followed Layla's directions to the letter and lifted his eyebrows at where she was living as he hadn't expected a noodle shop but then life was full of surprises so why should a Hellhound be any different?
He sought out the buzzer and pressed down on it before he just waited.
Ahhhhh, he was here. Layla checked to make sure she hadn’t accidentally spilled sauce on her dress during her brilliant idea of drinking alcohol while cooking (hiccup) - it was a v-neck dress, with Bohemian floral print, and she also made sure her tits weren’t falling out entirely but she actually wanted them to fall out a little, so. A little was fine.
Anyway, right, she should let Nikolai in. She buzzed him inside and then headed to the top of the stairs so he’d see her when he entered the noodle shop. “Hi,” she waved, grinning brightly. “It’s just up this way - come on inside.”
She showed him into her abode, scented with those herbs she was cooking with and the ever-present five-spice from below, noticing he was carrying a bottle. “Oh, you brought wine!”
Nikola offered Layla a smile as he waved at him from the top of the stairs before he trailed up, catching all the scents from the noodle shop and from whatever it was she was cooking. It smelt good, either way. “I didn’t want to turn up empty handed.” He offered the bottle to her before he reached up to shrug out of his long dark coat.
“You look lovely,” he informed her after he’d turned his attention back to her after having found somewhere to hang up his coat.
A gesture towards his feet. “Shoes on or off?”
“Thank you, you look lovely too,” Layla blushed, then remembered she had bubbling spaghetti boiling on her stove and rushed into the kitchen to quickly drain the pot. “Um! Off is good,” she called back to Nikolai. He’d probably be more comfortable that way - it wasn’t as if she cared about people actually wearing shoes on her floors. She never really got visitors anyway.
When the spaghetti was in the strainer, she found a bottle opener to pop the cork on that wine that her guest brought. “Thanks for coming,” she added sheepishly. “I’m sure you’re busy. I’m...really not.” She went to work and came home, or stopped someplace for a bout of picture-taking. Usually a cemetery, if she passed one. Autumn was approaching and that was her favorite season - she was eager to see how people in this city celebrated. Halloween was a western thing, not as important in China. But that was certainly not the case here.
Nikolai leaned down to unlace his shoes and turned to rest them near the door, thankful that none of the socks he owned were either gimmicky or had holes in them as he trailed her in the direction of the kitchen.
“Not at the moment.” It was the truth, The Broker was currently satisfied with Nikolai’s latest acquisition, and probably would be for another week before he demanded that his Hellhound do something else.
He leaned against the neary counter and folded his arms across his chest as he watched Layla move around the kitchen. “I don’t get many dinner invitations.”
“Why not?” she wanted to know, genuinely curious. Nikolai seemed pleasant enough - though, admittedly, it was probably due to the same reason Layla herself didn’t get many dinner invitations. Hellhounds were unsettling - it was like their auras dripped with black swamp ooze; they weren’t meant to be cute puppies in Christmas presents, they were dangerous creatures that served a purpose.
Right now, she had no purpose. Still trying to figure that out, actually. “But I mean, no matter what, I get it. I guess that’s why we should stick together?” He knew what it was like to be stuck this way. To have to constantly answer to someone else and to not really have goals of your own.
She plated the spaghetti and meatballs, proud that it didn’t turn out awful (because if anyone would burn water, it’d probably be her). “Here, come sit! I don’t cook much but I saw this done on television and it didn’t look hard.”
He was grateful that he didn’t need to explain as Layla immediately understood the reason why people might not invite him round for dinner. Hellhounds were, well, they weren’t exactly four legged furry and friendly. Obviously depended on the purpose for why they’d been summoned in the first place and Nikolai’s? Well, it definitely made for a frightening creature.
“I agree,” he said with a nod. “I don’t have many friends.” And the ones he did have knew what he was and liked him anyways. Friends like Fallon. It also helped that the Fae could match him in a lot of ways but he knew it was a strange match. Not that he cared. Fallon was good people.
He moved to sit as she requested and offered her a smile. “It smells good so that’s a start.”
“Thanks,” she beamed, proud of her accomplishments - a silly accomplishment, maybe, since ten-year-olds could handle spaghetti. But it still meant something to Layla.
She poured them both wine, from the bottle Nikolai brought. “I kind of want to learn to cook better, even though it’s always easier to find food in hound form.” In Hong Kong, she’d hang around specific restaurants - this relatively large pitbull-looking creature - and they came to know her. Would toss their scraps, even, and she never had any complaints.
“If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?” she asked, twirling sauce-covered noodles around her fork.
That was a remarkably difficult question to answer. Nikolai had never given what he might do outside of what he did any real thought, seemed pointless, it wasn’t as though his dragon was going to release him from his contract and if he had his way Nikolai would go back to where he’d come from before he ever let him go.
“That’s a difficult question to answer,” he shared as he reached out to take a sip of wine. “I think I’ll need to come back to you on that when I’ve actually given it some thought. What about you? I suspect you might have had longer to think about it than I have given your freedom.”
He helped himself to his first forkful of the noodles.
Layla had thought about it, but she still didn’t have any concrete answers. Still, with the freedom she’d been given, she had considered some possibilities. “I think I’d kind of like to go to school, maybe?” she mused, chewing on a piece of meatball. “I really like history and anthropology. History because I’ve been around for so much, in China, all the way back hundreds and hundreds of years and more - but they’re not strong, real memories. You know?”
She could recall bits and pieces, flashes of things in different times and places - she’d seen that China evolved from the Han Dynasty to the days of villain-hitting beneath bridges and the new scent of car exhaust, but she didn’t know how. Everything was too unclear.
It was just a side effect of having your consciousness recycled, the way it was for hounds. “But definitely think about it,” she implored Nikolai. “You’re a real person. I promise.”
Nikolai chewed on his food thoughtfully as Layla spoke, fascinated by the concept that she could pick and choose to do whatever she wanted and there would be nobody there to tell her no. Of course he didn’t know how well he would adapt to being set free and fitting in with society given his calling and the fact he’d spent so many years doing things that would make most people balk that he might find “normal” hard.
“I understand,” he assured her because if there was somebody who really got what she was saying it was another Hellhound. “And you should, go to school that is. Why not, right? Do what you want to do with your time now that you have it.”
Real person? Easier to say than to think though he had been working on doing things outside of his contract and just for the sake of doing them rather than for some ultimate end goal. Making friends was one of those things. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“I think I’m older than your average student,” she chuckled, nose crinkling playfully at the notion. But at least she appeared younger than she was. Layla didn’t come across as someone particularly geriatric. Her person-form, while it never really aged, seemed to fit in okay around other humans. “But I guess that doesn’t matter. People go to night school at different points in their lives.”
It made her sad that Nikolai still had trouble accepting himself a real person with his own wants and needs, interests, and goals. She couldn’t blame him though, since there was always that little nagging thought in the back of your mind that you were disposable, as a hellhound - you were doomed to return to the Otherworld, once your time was up.
Regardless, she could keep reminding him how real and important he truly was. “Good - next time we go for iced coffee, you’ll have thought about it,” she grinned. She knew he liked iced coffee, at least. That was a start.
“You don’t look it,” Nikolai pointed out. “But you’re right. People go back to school at different points in their lives.” And for Hellhounds their lives were long and Layla definitely had it on her side now that she had her freedom.
He smirked a little and dropped his gaze away to watch the noodles as they wrapped the prongs of his fork.
“Depends on when we next go for iced coffee.”
“Whenever you want - maybe on Friday?” That seemed like a good time for coffee, in Layla’s opinion. It was the end of the work week, perfect opportunity to treat one’s self. That’s what people did, right?
Well, either way, it’d be something to look forward to. Also, more wine - she topped off both their glasses. “I’m glad you came over, Nikolai.” Before, she didn’t really have any friends at all - but now she had at least one houseguest and a morning bakery partner? Not bad for an ancient creature who hailed from what equated to the bowels of Hell itself.
Nikolai made a mental note of the date and figured he would need to do research the same way he did whenever he was working on something for The Broker. Being a Hellhound only got you so far unless you moved with the times and learned how to make things work for you, things like CCTV, police frequencies, all those things and more. “Next Friday,” he affirmed with a nod of his head. “Jam Jar again?”
He glanced over as Layla refilled their glasses and nodded.
“Thank you for inviting me, next time I will have to cook for you.”
The Jam Jar was delicious and around in the same vicinity where Layla worked so she was all for it. "Sure thing," she nodded, before stuffing a forkful of meatball into her mouth. She at least wasn't a chubby bunny, and swallowed, before continuing to speak. Maybe her social graces weren't as polished as someone who had walked this earthly plane for their whole lives but she knew some things.
Like not to talk with your mouth full. Rude.
"And I'd love that!" Nikolai cooking for her, that is. She wondered what he'd make. if he was as clueless in the kitchen as she was (yet she managed to make spaghetti work - major accomplishment there). "Dinner invitations for the win."
That sounded better when you typed it out rather than saying it out loud but oh well. She was learning.
Nikolai flicked his tongue out over his lower lip before he rested his fingers across his mouth in an attempt not to smile or laugh at the use of “for the win” though his eyes, those blue depths of his, totally gave him away.
He would have to look into what to make in terms of food but he had time.
Nikolai had a fondness for Japanese food so maybe he’d try that.