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victory_road2020-08-22 11:32 pm
amaure) wrote in victory_road2020-08-22 11:32 pm
Entry tags:
No Romo (closed)
Who: Dirk Strider and Emet-Selch
Where: Goldenrod, at an upscale restaurant, then maybe around the town, who knows
When: August 23rd
Summary: The boyfriends going on a not!date. Shenanigans.
Rating: PG-ish. Dirk's got a potty mouth, but it's also them, so I'll update as needs be.
It's been a week since Emet-Selch's unfortunate nap that allowed him to live our the imminent disappointment that he was otherwise spared upon his arrival to this laughably absurd world. Fortunately, he isn't one to stay idle for long in his despair, despite how much he might otherwise wish he could. So, instead, while he has indeed placed energies in brainstorming what this world means, and what the transplants here might be, he has also decided his energies would be better spent on someone more deserving of them.
Particularly his ever loyal lover that saw fit to remain at his side, exhausted with worry and sleeplessness. Surely, he showed his appreciation for it, but he is not a man to only dote in direct exchange. Nay, he ever enjoys continued intimacy and attention, and all of that aside, he figures it only right to indulge for the two of them.
As such, he's brought Dirk along to a rather extravagant Japanese restaurant, though he'd name it Hingan in style. It is all roughly equivalent, and even then this world names it more Johtonian. Regardless of distinction, he has more than caught on to Dirk's general affection towards the style, and so it is with that in mind that he has picked their place of dining. So too has he been mindful of Dirk's preference for the more private, and so they'll find themselves being seated at a private room.
Emet has dressed himself in far less flashy attire, decidedly masculine in style. Another decision made for Dirk's benefit. No one can claim he is not thoughtful, nor charitable! As he takes his seat, he offers Dirk a warm smile—a genuine one. One that has not truly graced his features in a few days as he's left himself tired and stressed overthinking everything that his 'update' of sorts has given him. But this isn't about that, this is about them.
A small fraction of time to themselves, away from work, away from the stresses of their continued existence outside of each other's company, away from everyone else...
"I do so hope this will appeal to your tastes, after all, you do seem to favor that of Hingan persuasion, and I find myself of a similar fancy." He doesn't comment on how Dirk looks arguably Hingan—or perhaps Doman—himself. It matters little, and he knows the distinction is different between worlds. Idly, he wonders what his own features translates to Dirk, perhaps he looks...Greek, was it? An entertaining if admittedly a pointless train of thought.
Where: Goldenrod, at an upscale restaurant, then maybe around the town, who knows
When: August 23rd
Summary: The boyfriends going on a not!date. Shenanigans.
Rating: PG-ish. Dirk's got a potty mouth, but it's also them, so I'll update as needs be.
It's been a week since Emet-Selch's unfortunate nap that allowed him to live our the imminent disappointment that he was otherwise spared upon his arrival to this laughably absurd world. Fortunately, he isn't one to stay idle for long in his despair, despite how much he might otherwise wish he could. So, instead, while he has indeed placed energies in brainstorming what this world means, and what the transplants here might be, he has also decided his energies would be better spent on someone more deserving of them.
Particularly his ever loyal lover that saw fit to remain at his side, exhausted with worry and sleeplessness. Surely, he showed his appreciation for it, but he is not a man to only dote in direct exchange. Nay, he ever enjoys continued intimacy and attention, and all of that aside, he figures it only right to indulge for the two of them.
As such, he's brought Dirk along to a rather extravagant Japanese restaurant, though he'd name it Hingan in style. It is all roughly equivalent, and even then this world names it more Johtonian. Regardless of distinction, he has more than caught on to Dirk's general affection towards the style, and so it is with that in mind that he has picked their place of dining. So too has he been mindful of Dirk's preference for the more private, and so they'll find themselves being seated at a private room.
Emet has dressed himself in far less flashy attire, decidedly masculine in style. Another decision made for Dirk's benefit. No one can claim he is not thoughtful, nor charitable! As he takes his seat, he offers Dirk a warm smile—a genuine one. One that has not truly graced his features in a few days as he's left himself tired and stressed overthinking everything that his 'update' of sorts has given him. But this isn't about that, this is about them.
A small fraction of time to themselves, away from work, away from the stresses of their continued existence outside of each other's company, away from everyone else...
"I do so hope this will appeal to your tastes, after all, you do seem to favor that of Hingan persuasion, and I find myself of a similar fancy." He doesn't comment on how Dirk looks arguably Hingan—or perhaps Doman—himself. It matters little, and he knows the distinction is different between worlds. Idly, he wonders what his own features translates to Dirk, perhaps he looks...Greek, was it? An entertaining if admittedly a pointless train of thought.
no subject
To be given the opportunity to learn about a world outside his own, yet still holding curious similarities, was a treat. Especially the parts of the culture that deviated from, that he knew, but so too the differences of their very realities and the laws that hold it together.
It certainly helped that Dirk was a captivating speaker.
"Mm. As is oft the case with fiction, where one can sculpt and curate the reality within it to the author's specific desires and expectations. Something I know you are quite familiar with." There's obvious amusement to his tone towards the end there, but it's nothing close to mocking. Truly, he finds Dirk's ability to more or less make his own reality his story to tell is...fascinating. Almost like a variation of tempering but so too what Lord Zodiark is capable of.
"So, I suppose that while this world—generous as it is to name it such—has its similarities, it does not have that specific overlap in artistic and linguistic expression? I cannot say I have heard the word used, nor seen much in terms of manga. Or, perhaps I have not been in the right environment to do so."
To be fair, it's not like he's been looking for manga, or listening to anyone saying...such anime-specific terminology.
no subject
The pause is distracted, not dramatic; he's actually making an attempt to look at the menu for longer than half a second. He'd gotten as far as realising this was full-on kaiseki (and would therefore take more than that half-second of attention) before now; he doesn't want to make Hades wait for the next thirty minutes while he explains television programming. Not when he knows that a break in the conversation doesn't necessarily mean losing his platform.
no subject
As Dirk looks it over, Hades watches him quietly—though the polite knock on the sliding door to their room pulls his attention away. With his invitation, the waiter slides it open to take their drinks. For Hades' part, newly discovering that Dirk is a bit of...a straight edge, he decides against sake, if only to keep the amicable and pleasantness of the evening intact, and so he decides to order tea instead. Specifically Gyokuro, a rather pricey tea, but one that adequately pairs with what he plans to order.
Not that he will order just yet, if Dirk himself is not ready, but once the waiter likewise has Dirk's drink order, he excuses himself to allow them a few more minutes. With the soft click of the sliding door, Hades looks to Dirk curiously.
"Anything in particular catching your attention? I know yours is a rather specific palate." Which is his nice way of saying that Dirk's picky, but really there's no judgment there. If anything, he finds the trait charming.
no subject
"I know it's mostly coincidental, you don't have to remind me. But when it comes to me, nothing's really coincidental. Either way, cut out the red meat and I can eat almost anything on the menu."
This is still a bit of an obstacle. The right cut of beef--or whatever sourceless red meat their steak is made from--is still considered high class, and this is a classy place.
no subject
However, that doesn't matter.
"I did recall that you seem to have an aversion to red meat, so worry not, while this establishment prides itself on its delectable high quality cuts, it likewise has options available for those whom hold no love for it. Accommodating substitutions in some cases." As he explains, he flips to the latter half of the menu, turning it to show him the dishes that focus more on white meat, fish, and even ones utterly bereft of meat at all. Closing it, he places it back down in front of himself.
"As for my tastes, however, I have found there is fair little I object to outright." He comments idly. "After living so many false lives, across an array of cultures and landscapes, it would be rather miserable to be otherwise. Not to say I do not have my preferences, I do."
no subject
Not that he's changing the subject, but he knows surprisingly little of what Hades 'prefers' in a food sense. Outside of anything attributable to what he would have once called 'Greek' culture and Hythlodaeus and Hades now have him calling 'Amaurotine.'
Not that he hasn't been paying attention--he has. He always does. But it's not like they're fucking married, they don't eat together every single day or anything. He can pick up on a pattern, yeah, but he's not exactly had the time or opportunity to rule out every ingredient on the planet.
"Wait, are you one of those people who can't eat cilantro? Or are atavistic quirks like that too retrogenetic for the Amaurotine people?"
no subject
Knowing these facts did nothing to flavor the food, nor make the texture any less revolting. Between the fermented meats and the porridge, let alone all the pickled and spreadable fish one could tolerate...Hades had acquired a distaste for it all.
"Nay, naught of the sort--though I do believe such quirks came about with the creation of mortals. Another shortcoming of their kind, I suppose. As for what I object to...aught without flavor. Bland food is insufferable, but worse than that are dishes with horrid textures. That which better resembles slop you might feed to a swine than a man, like porridge, for instance." As if claiming that wasn't enough, the disgusted recoil on his face does the rest. Like speaking of it was enough to summon the unfortunate experience to the present.
"My time living among the Garleans introduced me to myriad dishes I have grown to dislike; a variety of fermented meats, spreadable fish, tuber vegetables without any seasoning--Garlemald was hardly rich in such luxuries, and I have had my fill of gelatinous foods or that which is reminiscent of slime for the next eon."
no subject
"I can see it, though. Eating the same things every day, texturally.... the same monotone palette of flavourlessness in an endless, gruelling montage."
He's just describing his diet growing up, and they both know it.
Fish. Seaweeds. Eggs, stolen from the gulls at great personal risk.
Raw, boiled, grilled, dried, and/or (eventually, with practise) pickled or fermented.
At least there always orange soda.
He doesn't remember remember it, of course, but he can recall the impressions of that experience; not so much the first time he got the crawlspace door open and dropped like forty-something plastic bottles of orange liquid directly on his stubborn toddler head, but the part that came after, when the first drops of that sugar and corn syrup explosion of colour hit his tongue, thicker than water and warmed by the relentless sun and inescapable humidity of Atlantean Texas.
By the time he was old enough to figure out that flavours like that once existed in abundance, the taste and mouthfeel of four-centuries-flat orange soda was indelibly scored into his brain as the rewarding peak of gustatory experiences.
"Damn. And here I'd been led to believe there existed no man capable of resisting the siren song of good old-fashioned mashed potatoes. Mark that one down as only lie my Bro ever told."
no subject
Of course, he knows that what Dirk described was likely his own fate being...stuck as he was, with limited options. Though, he seemed to become endeared to it, while Hades became repulsed. Which is just how it goes sometimes.
But then what Dirk says dawns on him, and he stares at him for a moment with a scandalized expression, even bringing a hand to his own chest, palm to sternum, as he regards the thought in what could only be described as horror.
"Do not tell me you have only ever endured unseasoned mashed popotoes...?"
Priorities.
tfw you know a character splices commas in a certain way,
Dirk doesn't get a chance to rag on Hades for that one, though, because Hades' expression--indeed, his whole fucking body--shifts from 'conversational' to 'Dirk just implied something heinous about the use of a holiday turkey.'
He takes a moment to give the reason for that its due consideration. Then, in a perfect deadpan (marred only slightly by the half-second's quirk of the left side of his mouth), he answers.
"Depends. Is gravy a seasoning? I classify it as a condiment, myself."
no subject
Is he hallucinating? How is this a conversation they are having at the moment? He is now left to consider the bleak and bland experience that has been Dirk's entire relationship with popotoes. Of course gravy does its part, as it ever does, but it is meant to be a complement to the popotoes, not carry the food entirely in terms of flavor.
Mayhap he will endeavor to serve him proper popotoes sometime. Direly does he need it, really. Not that Hades gets much of a chance to say as much before the waiter has returned with their drinks, Hades' mouth pursing to a thin line as his tea is placed before him, and Dirk's beverage of choice before him.
As he looks to the two of them, Hades smiles politely before requesting a few more minutes. Not because he thinks Dirk hasn't decided, but merely because he's uncertain if he can idly sit here with this new bit of information jostling around inside of his skull. He knew Dirk's circumstances were...dire back whence he came, but to continue on, suffering in ignorance, was unacceptable.
With a polite nod, the waiter aways, and Hades snaps his attention back to Dirk.
"—Truly? No salt, no pepper, rosemary, smoked paprika, sage, thyme, saffron?"
The list could go on, but he figures Dirk has the idea.
no subject
To his credit: he gives the waiter a chance to leave before placing one elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm thoughtfully.
"I'm pretty sure there was some salt in there, but I couldn't tell you with any degree of certainty whether that was the potatoes--sorry, the popotoes--or the gravy."
no subject
And here is Dirk acting so bloody casual about it all.
"...Right." Clearly he is struggling here. All the more glad he chose this restaurant, that Dirk might indulge and eat something worth the calories. "Well, mayhap I should treat you to some proper potatoes. And an accompanying meal, of course. Little should that ever be the main course. Gravy is all well and good, but honestly."
Really, he has to wonder what Dirk hasn't tried. What he hasn't experienced. The options were once limited, but has this made him shy away from certain foods? Is he picky, or is he just apprehensive about trying new things?
no subject
Dirk is nothing if not bold. At times he's genuinely motivated, other times it's more about the performance, but when combined with a contrary and independent disposition, he often gives the impression of being a man who will do or say or try literally anything.
On the other hand, the world he grew into and the world he filled with himself (or rather, his selves) suffocated and smothered him. And combined with the overthinking endemic to his neuropathological blueprint, this frequently makes the truly adventurous an overwhelming near-impossibility.
Individual experiences (chocolate chip cookies, carbonated cola, flat cola, his first hamburger, a single peppermint, and so on) are tackled and conquered with relative ease. (For good or for ill: many of the aforementioned experiments were found not worth repeating.) The first time he attempted to navigate a grocery store, on the other hand, was a disaster that ended with a 32-text queue for Jake to wake up to and no breakfast cereal purchased that day.
Which was disappointing on multiple levels, as the aforementioned cereal was the only thing he was there to purchase at all.
At the end of the day, he knows his eating habits have been a source of dismay to a lot of people in his life. Almost everyone, in fact. And usually it's his willingness to eat what they deem inedible. So Hades' reaction, while dramatic, is very much something Dirk is used to.
"After watching your reactions here, I don't think I have a choice. I didn't think my personal history with potatoes was going to break you like that. Kinda feeling like I need to make it up to you... if that entails eating Amaurotine-grade mashed potatoes, then I guess I'm eating Amaurotine-grade mashed potatoes."
Is now a bad time to share the fact that the combination of potatoes and butter together is a nutritionally complete food source?
Wait. He sits back up a little.
"...that reminds me. Not to. Uh. Change the subject on you," he waves his left hand in the air as though to illustrate... nothing, really, "but I had a question about Hythlodaeus."
There's a chain of logic jumps behind this, but explaining it would take more work than simply ignoring it.
no subject
And while no one is going to be dying in the cereal aisle over cornflakes or cheerios, the wellspring of anxiety might not know the difference.
But this is also why Hades wishes to guide him through different foods, that he might not have tried yet, those he might not have even heard of. He does not want to leave him stranded to make decisions he has no knowledge or experience in making, it would leave a rather sour impression, he wagers.
Honestly, he planned to tell Dirk that he could always refuse him, that he doesn't have to accept his offer, yet they'd both know Hades' disappointment if he didn't. Instead, Dirk segues into Hythlodaeus, and this surprises him. Perhaps it shouldn't, considering that Hythlodaeus has made it apparent that he is quite the culinarian, so it is only natural this would round back to him from that.
At least that's what Hades thinks, anyway.
With a slight tilt of his head and the quirk of his brow, "absolutely, ask aught that you will, and I shall answer."
no subject
"I don't really need or want to have a whole conversation about his psychopathology--or mine, trust me, I've been psychoanalysed back and forth by Rose plenty, entirely for the gag. But he tried to pull me into some kind of conversation about having antisocial personality disorder in between pressuring me to knead the bread dough for him. Which sounds exactly as fucked up described as it was to experience."
no subject
"...Aye, as is his wont. Oft does he pull such queer combinations between conversation and task—like as not to maintain some semblance of advantage in the exchange." It is always about control in some way, for there is no means to maintain balance without it. Even Hythlodaeus does not wish to upset such, but balance can still maintain even if the scale is ever so slightly tipped.
"If you wish not to dig into his nor your psychopathology, what then is your question?"
no subject
"Man, I don't even know. Is he. Christ. Is he... okay? Like. This is normal? Good. Fine. Great, even. I can deal with that. It just doesn't make a lot of sense to me. He's stacking all these psych textbooks and diagnostic manuals, but if he's like you and I, then there's no way it's remotely applicable to the actual function of his brain."
I don't want him trying to psychoanalyse me, Dirk doesn't say.
He knows perfectly where that there are theorists out there, hypotheses and suggestions made more in seriousness and less in jest than the author will let on. Fans of his. 'Fans' of his. So it wouldn't--shouldn't--bother him even if Hythlodaeus did try.
But, well. What can he say? He just really hates guessing games. Especially when he's not been invited.
no subject
Is Hades' thoughtful and short reply. Not quite the answer Dirk is likely looking for, not one much at all, really. If anything, it's a request for a moment as he thinks this over, as he brings a gloved hand to his chin, his gaze drifting to the side so that it might focus on literally nothing of import. Nothing that will distract him.
"To be plain with you, he has been acting a touch strange. Though, I cannot say that this is truly odd. See, like you and myself, he likewise seeks answers, seeks knowledge—we of Amaurot oft do. Our greatest passion has always been and always would be the pursuit of knowledge for the betterment of all."
Which in a sense might answer the question for Dirk, but Hades isn't about to let such ambiguity hang in the air.
"Which stands to reason he may be doing research to better understand mortals from a mortal perspective. You see, observing any manner of creature from afar will only give one a very basic and shallow understanding. But, to research from within the perspective of any given creature or society of people will garner the most accurate conclusion."
Lowering his hand from his chin, he laces his fingers together before him, setting his hands upon the table as he looks to Dirk.
"By my wager, he may be attempting to find his place in this society, how best one of his odd nature may fit in. How mortals may expect one of his queer disposition to act, so that he may not upset the balance too much. I do not think he seeks to learn aught about himself, so much as to learn how others view him."
no subject
"... gotcha." The first half of the answer was technically what Dirk had asked, but it wasn't anything he couldn't have figured out on his own, either. The second half, though... makes sense in a way that comes with a moment of rueful silence.
"I don't think he was getting the answers he wanted. Not from me, anyway."
no subject
After all, it was burdening Dirk enough for him to bring it up at all, it would be cruel and thoughtless for him to move past it without some consideration.
"And what do you think he was after? Well does he know you are no mortal, that you stand aloft those of an incomplete nature much as he and I do. Would you tell me that in which the two of you spoke of?"
no subject
"....what if we order food and then resume this one. Or we can talk about anime, I didn't actually get to that. We got sidetracked onto pota--popatoes."
no subject
Perhaps they can speak about this matter another time, or at least later. He's fine to drop it for now. At least he doesn't seem bothered by the lack of an answer, or Dirk's dodging of topics, though he cannot help but smirk at Dirk's attempt to say popotoes. Not that he'll correct it.
Just as he's about to take a drink of his tea, he hears the waiter at the door. Perfect timing, really. Trusting that Dirk has indeed figured out his order, he will give his own first still—affording him a little more time in case he has any second thoughts. Naturally he goes for the course comprised of the red meat that Dirk abhors. Such a pity he doesn't enjoy such, but to each their own.
After all, it isn't like Hades much enjoys the eggs in a blender breakfast that Dirk does. Everyone has their quirks.
Gets distracted by mid 2000s furry techno
Theoretically, he's aware that the whole ordeal of ordering anything is entirely in his head; concretely, he's aware that his order being completely normal and Emet taking notice are two conditions that can coexist.
He doesn't really care what the waiter thinks.
Once menus are handed back and the waiter is gone, he waits a beat--just one--before speaking again.
"So, what'll it be?" Topic-wise, not food-wise. He just heard Emet order his food. He doesn't need a recap.