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xp_logsBackdated to Saturday evening. Marie-Ange and Garrison have a date. But first, a quick tour of the apartment. Yes, this is safe-for-work, and no, you pervs, they didn't get right down to the Adult Content.
Garrison selected the buzzer button from the list at the lobby of the brownstone, wondering briefly who had hired a 'Bucky Barnes' if all of the apartments were taken by employees of Snow Valley. It was cold in New York, but not overly so. The late fall was mostly mild, save for the old vicious wind that knifed through the urban canyons and were spoken of with such vehemence by the natives.
He'd dressed to match, happily piling on layers to keep warm. Kane had finally settled on a business casual approach, depending how formal or informal a place Marie-Ange had chosen, and his leather jacket was suited for any situation other than a biker bar. If she had decided on a biker bar, he was going to be annoyed.
He pressed the button with one finger and waiting for the inevitable crackle of unintelligible crackling to indicate someone talking. "Uh, I'm downstairs. It's me." He paused. "Garrison." There was a crackle in response and he sighed.
Marie-Ange had given up on the intercom actually transmitting voices, and just listened for the the buzz, and then scurried down the stairs, avoiding the elevator entirely, and down the hall to the lobby. She smiled at the sight of Garrison, looking murderously at the panal of buttons. "It isn't you. The intercom hates everyone." She said.
"I assumed that." Garrison said, stepping back. He reached into his inside pocket and produced a rose tucked in there to protect against the cold. "The requisite flower." He said, passing it over with a grin. It was quickly becoming apparent that he tended to see what was funny about everything.
"Thank you." Marie-Ange said, taking the flower. "I should go put this in some water... " She looked around for a moment, debating heading back up to the apartment, and weighing it against the odds of running into Amanda, or Remy.. or worse, Doug. ~Oh, to hell with it.~ "Do you want to come up to my apartment for a minute so I can put this away?"
"Normally I have to pay for dinner first. Nice." He grinned as he followed her inside. The brownstone was a touch on the shabby side, but there had been obvious signs of recent repair and renovation. It reminded him of his mother's house, and all the repairs that he had ably fobbed off on his sister to do before selling it.
It also gave him a moment to give Marie-Ange a once over while she wasn't looking. She was still as attractive as he remembered, and obviously a little nervous. Garrison got the idea that it wasn't really the date she was nervous about, filing that detail away. "Been here long?"
"Not quite six months." Marie-Ange answered, leading Garrison back towards the elevator. "I moved in August." She looked around the elevator hallway, and half-smiled. "We are still doing some small renovations.." Still, it was obvious that she had some small measure of pride in the building. "But with an older building, there are always renovations, and with almost all of us in the same building, it is easy to keep as much control as possible."
"Yeah, but working and living in the same place? I thought the mansion was sometimes a pressure cooker. If Pete hasn't changed his habits, you must get even worse after your 'jobs'." He made the quote marks with his fingers, as he followed her into the elevator. He didn't mind walking behind her at all, and it was a small elevator. Somebody up there still likes me, he thought.
"Not really. None of us were especally sane to begin with. " Marie-Ange smiled, a little self-aware that it had to come up -eventually-. "We have a psycharist on staff," She laughed, and pushed her hair over her shoulder as the elevator doors opened. "I have to give Sofia some credit. Also, we drink a lot." She said, entirely deadpan.
"You could almost be Canadian." He grinned as they got into the elevator. "What did you have in mind for dinner, then? I do believe that lobster and steak is the traditional first date order incase you suddenly decide I'm awful. That means you make a net profit on the deal, eh?"
Marie-Ange laughed. "I spent eighteen hours in a car with you. If I thought you were awful, it would have been at the rest stop. The one with the bikers." She tabbed one of the elevator buttons with her free hand. "There is a restaurant a few blocks away that I had thought to go to. No lobster, I promise." And more importantly, it was not anywhere her co-workers would go.
"The bikers were nice." Kane protested. "The one in the leather halter by the door offered you guys free tattoos during lunch. That was neighbourly, I thought." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I'm not protesting the lobster. Thanks to the Canadian government and the lack of rent or food bills down here, I'm flush."
Two floors in the elevator went quickly, and Marie-Ange avoided fumbling for her keys at the door to her apartment. "If I ever get a tattoo, I am not getting it from someone who had more leather on then one of the X-men in uniform." She pushed the door open, hitting the light switch with her elbow. "For once, my apartment is actaully presentable... I renovated a lot of it as a project for class credit..."
"Nice deal. I wish I could have done that, but they get twitchy when you try and do a little freelance hostage negotiation on the side." Garrison grinned, looking around the apartment. It was tight and neat, much like Marie-Ange's personality. He got the feeling she liked things organized; not in an obsessive fashion, but as a part of her personality. "This is a nice place. Lot of room for an apartment in Manhattan, even if it is the Village."
Midway through filling a rarely-used vase, Marie-Ange turned, looking over her shoulder. "Knocking a wall down helped." She said, a little overly calmly. She was just a little proud of the apartment renovations, and if she showed them off a little, that wasn't so wrong. Besides, it led to jokes about Wanda and her pet sledgehammer.
"Ah, you got to break shit. Now it all makes sense." He leaned against the support pillar, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "So when you're not knocking holes in buildings, what else do you like to do, eh?"
"Paint, sculpt a little, draw a lot.." was the initial answer. "I was considering an art history major until I decided it was a bad idea. And that architecture means I can knock more holes in buildings." There wasn't this much small talk the last time she'd dated, but then, the last time, she'd known the person already.
"Nothing worse than a jobbing architect. They want to rivet for themselves." Garrison grinned. He waved towards the door. "So, unless we're hopping straight into bed, dinner? I'm hungry enough to eat a dolphin on toast."
Marie-Ange smiled, shaking her head. "Puns. Everyone I know loves the puns. I am -cursed-." She headed towards the door, pulling a scarf off her coatrack on the way out. "Raw dolphin? Because I -do- know a good sushi bar..." She said innocently.
"A day without chopped raw fish isn't a day worth living." Kane chimed in, nodding his assent as they headed down the hall and back into the elevator.
Garrison selected the buzzer button from the list at the lobby of the brownstone, wondering briefly who had hired a 'Bucky Barnes' if all of the apartments were taken by employees of Snow Valley. It was cold in New York, but not overly so. The late fall was mostly mild, save for the old vicious wind that knifed through the urban canyons and were spoken of with such vehemence by the natives.
He'd dressed to match, happily piling on layers to keep warm. Kane had finally settled on a business casual approach, depending how formal or informal a place Marie-Ange had chosen, and his leather jacket was suited for any situation other than a biker bar. If she had decided on a biker bar, he was going to be annoyed.
He pressed the button with one finger and waiting for the inevitable crackle of unintelligible crackling to indicate someone talking. "Uh, I'm downstairs. It's me." He paused. "Garrison." There was a crackle in response and he sighed.
Marie-Ange had given up on the intercom actually transmitting voices, and just listened for the the buzz, and then scurried down the stairs, avoiding the elevator entirely, and down the hall to the lobby. She smiled at the sight of Garrison, looking murderously at the panal of buttons. "It isn't you. The intercom hates everyone." She said.
"I assumed that." Garrison said, stepping back. He reached into his inside pocket and produced a rose tucked in there to protect against the cold. "The requisite flower." He said, passing it over with a grin. It was quickly becoming apparent that he tended to see what was funny about everything.
"Thank you." Marie-Ange said, taking the flower. "I should go put this in some water... " She looked around for a moment, debating heading back up to the apartment, and weighing it against the odds of running into Amanda, or Remy.. or worse, Doug. ~Oh, to hell with it.~ "Do you want to come up to my apartment for a minute so I can put this away?"
"Normally I have to pay for dinner first. Nice." He grinned as he followed her inside. The brownstone was a touch on the shabby side, but there had been obvious signs of recent repair and renovation. It reminded him of his mother's house, and all the repairs that he had ably fobbed off on his sister to do before selling it.
It also gave him a moment to give Marie-Ange a once over while she wasn't looking. She was still as attractive as he remembered, and obviously a little nervous. Garrison got the idea that it wasn't really the date she was nervous about, filing that detail away. "Been here long?"
"Not quite six months." Marie-Ange answered, leading Garrison back towards the elevator. "I moved in August." She looked around the elevator hallway, and half-smiled. "We are still doing some small renovations.." Still, it was obvious that she had some small measure of pride in the building. "But with an older building, there are always renovations, and with almost all of us in the same building, it is easy to keep as much control as possible."
"Yeah, but working and living in the same place? I thought the mansion was sometimes a pressure cooker. If Pete hasn't changed his habits, you must get even worse after your 'jobs'." He made the quote marks with his fingers, as he followed her into the elevator. He didn't mind walking behind her at all, and it was a small elevator. Somebody up there still likes me, he thought.
"Not really. None of us were especally sane to begin with. " Marie-Ange smiled, a little self-aware that it had to come up -eventually-. "We have a psycharist on staff," She laughed, and pushed her hair over her shoulder as the elevator doors opened. "I have to give Sofia some credit. Also, we drink a lot." She said, entirely deadpan.
"You could almost be Canadian." He grinned as they got into the elevator. "What did you have in mind for dinner, then? I do believe that lobster and steak is the traditional first date order incase you suddenly decide I'm awful. That means you make a net profit on the deal, eh?"
Marie-Ange laughed. "I spent eighteen hours in a car with you. If I thought you were awful, it would have been at the rest stop. The one with the bikers." She tabbed one of the elevator buttons with her free hand. "There is a restaurant a few blocks away that I had thought to go to. No lobster, I promise." And more importantly, it was not anywhere her co-workers would go.
"The bikers were nice." Kane protested. "The one in the leather halter by the door offered you guys free tattoos during lunch. That was neighbourly, I thought." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I'm not protesting the lobster. Thanks to the Canadian government and the lack of rent or food bills down here, I'm flush."
Two floors in the elevator went quickly, and Marie-Ange avoided fumbling for her keys at the door to her apartment. "If I ever get a tattoo, I am not getting it from someone who had more leather on then one of the X-men in uniform." She pushed the door open, hitting the light switch with her elbow. "For once, my apartment is actaully presentable... I renovated a lot of it as a project for class credit..."
"Nice deal. I wish I could have done that, but they get twitchy when you try and do a little freelance hostage negotiation on the side." Garrison grinned, looking around the apartment. It was tight and neat, much like Marie-Ange's personality. He got the feeling she liked things organized; not in an obsessive fashion, but as a part of her personality. "This is a nice place. Lot of room for an apartment in Manhattan, even if it is the Village."
Midway through filling a rarely-used vase, Marie-Ange turned, looking over her shoulder. "Knocking a wall down helped." She said, a little overly calmly. She was just a little proud of the apartment renovations, and if she showed them off a little, that wasn't so wrong. Besides, it led to jokes about Wanda and her pet sledgehammer.
"Ah, you got to break shit. Now it all makes sense." He leaned against the support pillar, hands in the pockets of his jacket. "So when you're not knocking holes in buildings, what else do you like to do, eh?"
"Paint, sculpt a little, draw a lot.." was the initial answer. "I was considering an art history major until I decided it was a bad idea. And that architecture means I can knock more holes in buildings." There wasn't this much small talk the last time she'd dated, but then, the last time, she'd known the person already.
"Nothing worse than a jobbing architect. They want to rivet for themselves." Garrison grinned. He waved towards the door. "So, unless we're hopping straight into bed, dinner? I'm hungry enough to eat a dolphin on toast."
Marie-Ange smiled, shaking her head. "Puns. Everyone I know loves the puns. I am -cursed-." She headed towards the door, pulling a scarf off her coatrack on the way out. "Raw dolphin? Because I -do- know a good sushi bar..." She said innocently.
"A day without chopped raw fish isn't a day worth living." Kane chimed in, nodding his assent as they headed down the hall and back into the elevator.
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