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Post by JAIME LEE on Jun 7, 2013 7:20:39 GMT -8
There were some days when even people like Jaime might crave a few moments to herself. So whenever these urges pop up, the med school student usually would just hop on her bike and drive to a secret haunt of hers. Arcana is the only bookstore left on the Promenade, and one of only a few remaining in Santa Monica. It's a little sad but it was dying slowly, bit by bit, though the selection of used books were still pretty solid.
The Asian woman parked her bike somewhere close and removed her helmet, before walking to the store. A pleasant smell suffused the establishment, previous curiosity had pointed her to the presence of Lignin, which was basically the stuff that prevents all trees from adopting the weeping habit, and when made into paper and stored for years, it breaks down and smells good. It's a scent similar to vanilla, so while it's a nice place to chill out and scout out for some hidden gems... it always led her to a bakery for some sweet things after.
Today's customers seemed to be at an all time low, she waved a greeting to the storekeeper and promptly disappeared into the shelves. Callused fingertips tapped on a few spines as hazels scoured titles, once in a while, she would gingerly remove a selection and flip a few pages.
Sometimes if she was fortunate, she would find an old medical text that had careful hand-drawn illustrations and old school knowledge. And today was her lucky day.
Now she was going to do what Asians do best: bargain.
Jaime began to make her way back to the till and turned a corner before coming almost nose to nose with a person. Widened hazel took in grey eyes and alabaster skin. Her pulse thundered and she sucked in a deep steadying breath.
"Jesus Christ—"
Where in the world did he even come out from?
5th May 2012 |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 8, 2013 17:19:07 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. Mikhail was not quite used to transport. Having grown up in Antarctica all his life, having a busy street full of cars was an entirely new experience. They'd certainly had transport (generally snowmobiles), but nothing close to the sheer quantity of vehicles that could be found in just one street of the LA area. Even riding in one was strange and confusing, and buses were as alien to him as everything else.
Bikes were more of an option, considering his disposition, but he didn't know how to ride one, and that really left only one option: Walking. He was fit enough that he didn't mind walking, even if he was nowhere near as fit as he'd once been, and the Third Street Promenade was close enough to his apartment that it wasn't even a particularly long walk. Hell, he could walk to the Society Headquarters, although most wouldn't consider it 'walking distance'. He really didn't mind the walk--it was just an easy way to get used to his new home.
There were other things near his apartment though, little bookshops and cafes being his preferences. He didn't like the massive malls, packed with people as they were. The one he'd found closest to his apartment was his favorite thus far, fille with old tomes and dusty volumes. He loved that sort of thing, loved finding some old book that was long forgotten, burying himself in blankets in his frigid apartment and starting to read.
He was paying no attention at all to the other customers as he picked out a particularly dusty tome, blowing off the cover before tucking it under one arm. That would do. None of the others caught his interest, but this one, nearly a hundred years old, did.
With the book in hand, he turned the corner, heading to the front--and nearly ran straight into someone else. He jerked back, narrowly missing a full on collision, and stumbled back, nearly taking out a shelf. He did fail to keep a hold on the book, and it hit the ground with a noise loud enough to make him wince--not that it was a particularly hard thing to do.
"I'm sorry!" He blurted out, voice carrying the lightest tinge of a Russian accent. "I didn't see you!" He looked jumpy as all hell. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Jun 11, 2013 5:11:43 GMT -8
From his expression, you'd think that he just literally relived a memory from his worst nightmares. Jaime didn't think that skin could even go that pale, the doctoral student in her was slightly worried. This is California, you don't see many people who aren't either tanned or freckled. Perhaps the tinge of something foreign in his accent, Jaime rummaged through her mind for a few moments to pinpoint the origin before arriving at Russia.
"Oh no," Jaime shook her head, "don't worry about it. I'm partially to blame too. Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you."
She just had to ask; judging by how jumpy he looked, Jaime wasn't too sure whether he was going to faint on her anytime. It wasn't exactly something she'd like to risk. There had been a noise made by something falling onto the ground and Jaime looked down to see a dusty old tome. She quickly bent down to pick up the book and returned it to its owner with a half-grin.
"Sorry about that."
Jaime took another look at the volume again. It looked more at home at a museum than in a second-hand store. She had a feeling that it was something rare and that peaked her interest.
"Forgive my curiosity, but how old exactly do you think that book is?" |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 12, 2013 18:46:02 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. To anyone with medical training, Mikhail must have looked like a severe case of anemia. The truth was significantly more mundane for someone who had grown up in Antarctica: For several months a year there was no sun at all, and even with regular UV treatments, you still ended up being sickly pale. Hunts were mostly done in the long periods of night. The moonlight was far kinder on the eyes, and the ice reflected the snow too painfully. If you went out when the sun was up, you ended up wearing heavy duty goggles and trying not to go blind. Snow-blindness was a major concern they'd had to deal with, and it meant that Mikhail was very, very pale.
The hair didn't add to that. He was just naturally grey (or silver, as he liked to call it, and more or less all of his family was. Part of it was partially sun-bleaching from when he went out, which only made it even whiter than it was. His genetics weren't particularly helpful in the looks department, although at the very least he wouldn't go bald.
"I'm fine." He tried to sound reassuring, even if he certainly didn't look it. "Just startled." He reached out, taking the book back carefully, running his fingers over the cover.
She seemed genuinely curious, and he was fine with that. Really, he was happy to discuss it--books were a passion, and easy for him to talk about. While he might have stuttered over things people found easy to deal with, like the weather, books were just so simple.
"I would estimate perhaps eighty years old, but it might be a more modern reproduction. It's a cosway style binding, named for... Cosway, actually." He couldn't remember the man's name. "He did portraits. So it became a style to set a book like this, with a little portrait on the side of a main character or the author. Despite the style looking quite old, the oldest one of this type is only maybe a hundred years old." He glanced at the cover again. "This one is quite worn, and I wouldn't be terribly surprised if it was a more recent copy made to look old. If it's authentic, it's been grossly mispriced." And was a very lucky find. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Jun 13, 2013 9:05:57 GMT -8
Even the blind could see that he was passionate about books, that there was a genuine edge to his words that hinted at a love for dusty old tomes and thick antique selections. Jaime understood passion, a drive that gave someone reason to wake up the next day and pursue certain goals with every ounce of their being. She also tended to like those people better.
At least there was some part to them that was sincere, even if the focus of the passion might be a little questionable. Though that depends on the person you're asking.
And it ;ooks like Jaime asked the right question, as the blond opened up slightly, greys alit as he smoothly elaborated. The topic breathed life into him, allowing her to see a more animated side to him, even though he still looked as if a strong wind could probably knock him over.
"So if the book was real and around the age you've estimated it to be, how would you go about preserving the pages? I've just recently started buying some old books," she had chanced upon an old tome that had some old mechanical drawings of some really old antique cars, her first, then that had been followed by another old book that had some medical knowledge, and ever since she's been hooked on hunting them down , "I'm quite hesitant to do anything to them until I know for sure that I'm not going to destroy anything."
Then she paused, realising that she was rambling again without even considering whether the other person even want to stay around to answer another one of her questions. She shot the male a sheepish grin as she rubbed the back of her neck, "Ah, rude of me not to introduce myself, I'm Jaime. Hi." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 14, 2013 18:25:46 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. She seemed... interested. That was new. He'd tried to speak about books several times before, but no one had ever really shown any interest in it. At most, you got a smile and a nod. At worse, people told him they had things to do and vanished down the hallways of the base. It was strange to have someone who seemed genuinely curious--even asking a question of her own.
And boy, did Mikhail have some stuff to say about her question.
"Common practice held that you applied oil to leather bindings to keep them from breaking down. That was the practice for quite a long time. Common understanding of the materials involved prove that leather doesn't break down because of lack of moisture--it simply does so because of a chemical reaction." Or something of the sort--he had no idea of the details. He just knew what was necessary.
"Oil can also damage the bindings, or stain it--or even reach the pages and damage them, so it's no longer recommended. Only those who are particularly old fashioned still oil their books. Instead it is much easier to do so other ways. Books should be kept in archival boxes, free of acid and away from the sun." What else?
"Ideally, it should be kept in a room with low light, low humidity, and low temperatures." It was one of the reasons he'd been drawn to old books--there really wasn't a better place on earth to hold rare books then in a vault in Antarctica. The area was perfect there. It was cold, not particularly humid, and well protected.
It was at that point, and only at that point, that Mikhail realized he was rambling. He had a tendency to do that when excited, and he was particularly excited--making little gestures with his hands, clearly eager to talk about it.
"I - I apologize, I may have gone off on a bit of a ramble. My name is Mikhail. It's not often someone knows anything about old books." Or was eager to listen. Really, he was just happen she hadn't insisted on a handshake, although he had a feeling that had more to do with the book still held in his hands (when they weren't gesturing, anyway). |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Jun 15, 2013 9:03:45 GMT -8
If she knew of his previous experiences, Jaime would feel sad for those who didn't stay around long enough to get to know more about books. But then again, it's their choice. At the moment, she was learning a lot, and as rumbuctious as she can be at times, Jaime enjoyed academics to a certain extent. One had to, especially if you were doing medicine; it's a lifetime of studying for her.
"Damn, I'm so glad I bumped into you. The things they tell you on the internet are bogus as far as I'm concerned. I'll be ordering some boxes soon. Don't want the babies to get dirty because that would be a tragedy."
Jaime continued nodding as he further explained; he was more than just an expert, he just loved books. It was so simple, yet so encompassing at the same time. He must have put so much time into this passion and craft, and she could respect anyone who did that.
"So how would you suggest I recreate a suitable environment that isn't a vault? I don't think my landlord would approve of the renovation if I went that way." A grin tugged at her lips, hazels amused at the amount of gesturing his hands were doing as he spoke. Then he stuttered slightly and apologized for rambling.
Aww shucks.
"Oh no, don't worry about it. Trust me, you're doing the books and I a big favour." Jaime paused, "And I feel bad learning so much from you without giving back something. Want to get some food? It's almost lunchtime? I mean, you look like you could use some—" She cringed and groaned, palming her face "I'm sorry. But food?" |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 16, 2013 12:35:53 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. Mikhail did not have a particularly high opinion of the internet. He was a book sort of person, interested in holding volumes in his hand rather than pouring over tiny text on a screen. Plus, Internet hadn't really been an option for most of his life. They did have some semblance of internet, but the speeds were close to dial up, and the cost was particularly high. It was used for a reason, never just for the hell of it. You needed to have a set purpose before even starting up the connection.
Plus, Mikhail had long ago learned that the internet wasn't reliable. It was manipulated constantly by the society, checking for those who might have known too much, providing misinformation. There was no way to be sure that anything he read hadn't been manipulated by his own side.
Plus, he'd never really had the experience with computers as a kid. It was simply too much of a risk to have a kid on the internet unmonitored, considering all that he knew. There were too many ways he could slip up. As a young man he hadn't really understood how the average person lived, and he was still struggling to get used to the idea of living normally. There was no way he could have faked it on the internet for fun.
A vault. Well, Mikhail by and large had access to a vault, although at the moment most of his more valuable books were tucked away in his apartment. One day he'd seen if he could requisition a corner of a climate controlled vault to use.
"Insulate a room particularly well and keep the thermostat low with a dehumidifier running. Keeping things in an archival box in archival sleeves will do most of the work for you." Most people probably wouldn't have been willing to do all that for some books, but it wasn't a matter of his enthusiasm clouding his judgement--he simply wasn't entirely aware of what limitations most people had. He owned his apartment, more or less--on loan from the society unless he was transferred, and he could largely do with it as he pleased, considering he was expecting to be there for years, if not forever.
Mikhail winced as well at her offer, although for different reasons. He wasn't particularly bothered by the idea that she thought he was thin. He knew he was. He'd lost a good deal of weight after the attack, and while he'd been given the nutrients he was needing, he hadn't eaten a thing beyond that. His body had been burning through calories healing him, and he was still thin as a rail.
No, he was far more bothered by the thought that he might be going out for lunch with someone from outside the society. There weren't any rules about it, beyond that he couldn't reveal anything, but he'd been warned plenty of times growing up about how risky it could be.
Only he'd only rarely gotten to talk about books at length, and that of all things was enough to convince him. After a moment he gave a hesitant nod. "If you'd like. I haven't eaten yet." Which he supposed was fairly obvious, but still worth saying. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Jul 30, 2013 8:28:06 GMT -8
She could tell that he was a little hesitant and she wasn't all that bothered by that fact, because it was good to exercise some caution when it came to meeting new people. Plus, Jaime will admit that she did not come across as the most upstanding citizen he'll ever come across and she will not be getting any public service awards any time soon as it is.
Nothing wrong having some self-awareness.
He pondered a little more and she gave him some space, patiently waiting for him to give her the go. And he did! Jaime grinned and nodded, "I know of this really good Italian place called Fritto Misto, the portions are quite generous for a good price. Have you walked around this area yet?"
She doubted that he did much of that since he was still so pale, no one could stay that white if they spent a little time out under the LA sun. No one. Jaime would know. She used to be fair.
Then her mother lamented the loss of her pale skin and Jaime would have done something about it. That is, if she gave a shit.
"It's not too far from here, about a fifteen minute walk?" The Asian paused for a few moments to see whether he was going to give her any response to her offer, "And if you have another preference for a different cuisine, I'm sure we can work out something. I'm good with anything, really."
Jaime topped it off by giving Mikhail a sunny grin. |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jul 30, 2013 13:36:22 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. Mikhail wasn't even entirely clear on what counted as Italian food. Pasta? That was about all he could think of, and he felt particularly ignorant. Even if he was intelligent and well-learned, everything he'd done had been in very set fields of study. He wasn't worldly--he lacked knowledge that other people took for granted as a result to his upbringing, and to even reveal that would give away too much. Instead he was forced to go along with whatever, hoping he didn't trip up as he tried to fudge his way through even basic social interactions.
"No. I haven't particularly had the chance to explore--I've mostly spent my time unpacking." Which was a normal thing to do as far as he knew. People moved all the time. Nothing strange about that, save the distance he'd moved.
Good with anything was fine with him, and he gave a small nod. "I am good with whatever. I am particularly... uncultured when it comes to foreign cuisine." If she thought the Italian place would be good, then Italian it was.
He wasn't afraid about the walk for the very least, although he would have to be careful with his book. "Just give me a moment to purchase this, and we can be on our way." He kept a firm hold on the book as he approached the counter, picking through a small billfold to pay before tucking it all away.
With his book safely stored in a bag, he gave her another small smile. "Lead the way. I don't know the area at all."
If he'd have been a bit younger, they might have been mistaken for a young couple going on a date. As it was, it probably wasn't the first thing most people would assume--he was thirty four, and he would have guessed she was twenty one or so, even if he was a few years off. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Aug 4, 2013 22:52:22 GMT -8
"Yep, not a problem. I'll just wait for you outside."
The med student slipped out of the small, unassuming store and did as she said, leaning against the wall as she checked her phone for any incoming messages. As for being mistaken as a dating couple, Jaime would have laughed it off if told as such, seeing that the other looked like he'd be a little afraid of his own shadow. Sure, the guy did look exotic with such fair colouring right smack in the middle of Los Angeles, where tan was the usual skin currency. But nah, Jaime didn't think he'd be interested anyways.
Books were probably the only thing they had in common. Well, besides, being in LA.
It didn't take Mikhail too long to wrap up his business and then they were on their way. Jaime took a handful of turns into a few different streets.
"So where were you based before landing in LA? You sure don't look like a local."
She spoke up first, knowing that the other probably wouldn't. It's something she disliked but hey, unless Mikhail told her to shut up outright, Jaime was going to be peppering the time they spent together making some small talk.
"I used to live in Brooklyn before I moved for college. But that was a while ago though, I'm in med school now. Second year."
It's always easier to offer something about yourself in exchange, something about it made the conversation smoother. Perhaps the trade-off established that she wasn't all stalker material and that he would have the comfort of knowing her too. In Mikhail's case, it was needed since he sometimes looked as if he was skittish enough to bolt any moment at the slightest sign of untowardness. |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 6, 2013 11:55:09 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: rp swap. In a way, he was already antsy to get home, to research the book he'd just bought. Was it authentic? Even if it wasn't, he'd enjoy reading it, but if it was authentic, he'd have to go out of his way to store it properly. The more expensive books needed extra treatment to keep them from breaking apart, and if it was authentic, then it was absolutely going to need even more then usual. It would be one of the most valuable books in his collection, and one of the most delicate.
If it was real, he might need to see if he could get a corner of the Society's vault for his own use. They had plenty of space. Really, he probably could have just set up his books in a corner of a climate controlled vault and no one would have ever noticed, simply assuming they were magical tomes. Mikhail was nothing if not behaved however, and he would go out of his way and ask, even if everyone else would have just gone ahead with it.
Of course, the very first question she asked was a damned minefield. The truth was out of the question--the number of people born in Antarctica was both a matter of public record and extremely tiny list. Anyone could look it up, and it would be extremely obvious he was not on the list. At the very least the society already had a cover story prepared for him--all the documents and most of the knowledge he'd need. His only issue would be if he ran into someone from the wrong part of Russia, who would know he wasn't a local.
"I'm from Russia, actually. The northern tip." Which sounded particularly specific, despite not being so. There were six or seven 'north tips' of Russia, and as long as he didn't get too specific, he could reference any one of them. Dikson was technically what his paperwork said, but any incongruities could be explained away by the simple fact that, strictly speaking, Mikhail had been born into a country that no longer existed, and a whole lot of paperwork had been shuffled around in the fall of the Soviet Union. It made everything a whole lot easier to get by.
He was fine with smalltalk otherwise, but he didn't ask her the same question. Simply put, he didn't know if she looked like a local, and he was hesitant to show his ignorance on the matter, even if she knew he wasn't from around there. Thankfully she volunteered the information, and he gave a small nod, only vaguely aware that Brooklyn was somehow connected to New York--either nearby, or a part of it. He couldn't have pointed it out on a map, but then she really, really doubted that she could have pointed out any of the Russian Oblasts based on their names.
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Post by JAIME LEE on Aug 19, 2013 8:14:12 GMT -8
She could tell that he was one who preferred to stay indoors, at least alone with his books. Belatedly, Jaime realised that she had been a little pushy and the young woman felt the stirrings of guilt bubbling up in her chest. Sometimes, she forgot herself and not everybody could stomach the cup of tea that was her.
"Hey," Now she wasn't even sure if he was one for straightforwardness but she ploughed on because it was her personality, "If you're uncomfortable with having lunch with me, just say so. I swear I won't take offence because that's just silly. I don't want to make you feel like you have to do this with me. After all, we've only known each for half an hour tops."
A half smile played on her lips and her stance was casual, loose, to signal that she really wasn't going to overreact to his potential refusal to share a meal. What's the point in having food when you're not in the mood? The food sure as hell won't taste as good, have you tried eating a damn good burger when you felt like shit? Well, she did and it tasted like shit even though she knew that it was an amazing plate from prior experience.
"It's completely cool with me if you want to do something else, I sort of steamrollered you into this." Jaime tacked on a sheepish chuckle. But honestly, she won't be mad or anything just because he wanted to do something else. It's his life and he has the total right to dictate what he wanted to do.
"So don't feel like you have to do this, because you don't." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 19, 2013 11:23:30 GMT -8
tagged: jaime. time: may 5th, 5pm. notes: notes. It seemed she'd caught on that he was feeling nervous, even if it was more or less for the wrong reasons. It wasn't as if someone could just guess that the reason he was nervous was because he'd never been out with someone who wasn't part of his secret society. It was fairly understandable that she might think it was just her, and he quickly shook her head. Avoiding it wouldn't help things. Eventually, he was going to have to do things with people who weren't members of the society. Maybe it would even be good for him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, there was no reason not to socialize with those outside the society. If anything, it would be good for him to be out with someone who already thought he was awkward about the whole thing. He could pass any gaps in his knowledge off as simply awkwardness--as if he didn't feel comfortable answering a question she asked, rather then simply not knowing the 'normal' answer.
Maybe it would be good. "I'll be fine. I simply haven't gone out with anyone in quite some time." At the very least he had an answer for the inevitable 'why is that'. That was part of his pre-arranged explanation provided to him by the Impedio Society, and despite being mostly bullshit, there were several people who would confirm it on the off chance someone looked into it.
"It really is fine." He reassured her once more, straightening up and clearing his throat, trying to look presentable. He could do it. He could manage--or at least he could try and not horribly screw it up. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Sept 11, 2013 19:09:45 GMT -8
She wasn't going to ask why he had difficulty socializing and why he hadn't been around people in a while because it definitely wasn't her business. Jaime merely nodded with a smile, accepting his circumstances for simply what it is. Now she felt a little bad for making him feel like she thought she was intruding. He just wasn't used to this. Brown eyes softened and she shot him a crooked grin.
"Now I feel a little sorry for you because you have me as your first point of contact. I'm not the most conventional person, I will have to be blunt. So if you do feel uncomfortable, just say the word. My skin is thick enough, I promise it will not hurt. And it's not pity," she had a feeling that he wasn't a fan of receiving that, "it's just me trying out the notion of consideration. I'm a little rusty."
The guy was a little endearing, him being lost shaving off a few years of his real age. Not that she was aware of that number but there was something about Mikhail that reminded her of her soft-spoken younger brother. |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 14, 2013 8:05:47 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. It was a good thing she didn't feel the need to ask why, because Mikhail wasn't entirely clear on what answer he'd have given. There were a lot of possible half truths. Raised in a remote area, spent time in the hospital, new to the area... but none of them really came together to explain just how bad it had been. None of them really explained how severe it had been, nor the fact that he suffered from both a long term general isolation, as well as a significantly more short term complete isolation. It was bad no matter which way you looked at it.
He gave a small nod, still not entirely sure of how unconventional she really was. She seemed, at least to him, to be astoundingly normal, and by and large he was painting her with the same general brush of 'someone not from the society'. It was too easy to do, and he found himself falling into the same trap every time, thinking of all people outside the society as the same general thing.
A stupid sentiment, but not one he'd managed to overcome.
"Well... lead the way then. I'll try and keep that in mind." He was ready to walk when she did, doing his best to keep at her side rather then trailing behind. |
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Post by JAIME LEE on Sept 15, 2013 7:26:58 GMT -8
Jaime could only nod and smile, deciding that comparing her newfound companion to a skittish newborn foal which had just lost his mother wouldn't be the worst idea she's had. So she led the both of them to the Italian restaurant she was talking about just now and it didn't take them long to push through the doors of the establishment.
The restaurant was moderately full despite the unusual hour between lunch and dinner, delightful aromas and friendly chatter met her ears and she was quickly ushered to a comfortable table. She opened the menu after two glasses of water were placed on the table, she had only been in here once but honestly, the best Italian restaurants were those who stick to the basics and made them great. The italians valued the freshness and the quality of the ingredients, believing that the flavours should be the main event and there should be none of the frivolous distractions such as garnishing.
She quickly decided on a lasagna and tiramisu for later before venturing a question after a sip of her water, "So like anything you see on the menu?"
And right after the words left her mouth, only did she realise that it might have not been the best idea because it was wrong to assume that anyone would have taken the same amount of time to decide. She sighed inwardly but didn't quite feel like giving up. One step at a time, no? |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 18, 2013 17:53:43 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. Mikhail would have balked at being thought of as a 'newborn foal' if he had known that was how she thought of him, but it was a relatively accurate description. He was new and fumbling, largely unaware of how one was supposed to operate in a city like LA, and he had to take tiny baby steps in order to avoid revealing something that was better not revealed. He knew what would happen if she learned of the society, knew the rules and regulations laid out. No one could ever know. Ignorance was what had kept humanity safe.
The restaurant was a new experience, and while he didn't gawk, he did make a point to look around, eyes flicking across everything even if his head stayed looking ahead. He wanted to know everything, to glean ever possible piece of information he could from the new surroundings. He spotted several meals on his way to the table, but since he had no idea what half of them were called, he was going to have to improvise. Thankfully the menu was helpful and clear, and he skimmed across it as quickly as he could.
Evidently he wasn't quite fast enough, because she was asking before he was even halfway through. He made a quiet little noise, glancing back up at her before hesitating for several long seconds. He didn't know any of the names, unless he was going to order just plain noodles. The fact that most of the dish names had been told to him in Russian growing up was really only adding to the issue. Unable to come up with an explanation, he opted to deflect.
"Lots of things. I'm not sure what's good though. What would you suggest?" Because she probably had something in mind, and it would be easy to take a recommendation. He wasn't a terribly picky eater, and he'd probably like it either way.
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Post by JAIME LEE on Oct 18, 2013 19:07:04 GMT -8
The comparison stuck with her as she watched his gaze flick around the restaurant. One would think that Mikhail had never quite been to one before. She did not know how close to the truth she was. Jaime resisted the urge to palm her face; any more slip ups and this skittish foal will run away from her. Okay, she will have to be more patient but not treat him as he was mentally challenged. She did not think slowing down her words would make him feel any better. Perhaps she should just give him more time as it seemed that he really was slowly taking in new surroundings.
"If you like something tomato-based, I would recommend the tomato basil pasta. They make the pasta fresh here."
She wondered briefly how he grew up or what had happened for him to be like this. Trauma was not as rare as people would like to think just because it never happened to them. She had seen too much while interning during the summers in hospital, the emergency room and the work trauma surgeons did. Even though she was attached to the tamer side of the hospital's day-to-day functions, she saw enough. They were perpetually on call and there was always new victims pouring into the trauma ward. As much as she will not pry outwardly, she made some connections in her head. His skin was entirely too pale and his too-skinny frame suggested a period of time confined in a room, out of the sun. He probably had some serious accident that affected him both psychologically as it had did physically. Of course she will not try and pry it out of him.
Jesus Christ, she was not that bad or tactless.
But that thought did make her take a step back from being too enthusiastic, as it was not what he was obviously used to. "But hey, take your time. Though the ravioli is quite similar to pelmeni, a little taste of home for you?" |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Oct 21, 2013 18:37:23 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. Tomato-basil pasta? The concept of 'fresh' anything was a foreign concept. Nothing was fresh in Antarctica, unless you counted the occasional seal. Plants didn't grow, and everything was shipped in from places he'd never even been. If people thought the average American was distanced from the source of their food, they couldn't even imagine what it was like for someone who had grown up in one of the remotest places on earth. Mikhail had never seen a cow outside of a photo, and the whole concept of how food made it to his table was something he was aware of, but had no real perception of.
At least he knew Pelmeni. It was a single bit of familiarity in the whole situation, and he gave an understanding nod. "I'll have that then." It would give him something to work from, a rough idea he could base it on.
When the waitress did arrive, he gave her a small but genuine smile, ordering the tomato basil ravioli. At the very least she didn't ask him any extra questions--it was a simple enough meal to begin with--and then turned to Jaime to take her order. |
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