The enticing aroma of cinnamon rolls baking downstairs teases Paulie awake. Smiling languidly, he props himself up in the bed and eases aside the thick comforter. The room that surrounds him in its morning warmth may not hold any true nostalgia for him, but it's certainly the next best thing. He glances at the sliver of light peeking through the drawn drapes, wondering what time it is. The baking rolls are no clue: Sofia Cabrini is a firm believer that breakfast is the most important meal of the day -- aside from all the others -- and she sees to it that everyone under her roof gets one, no matter _when_ they wake up. But if the old alarm clock with its big ear-ish bells is seeing to its duties, it's 10:25 AM.
The old-fashioned phone on the wall -- a facade disguising the vidphone within -- draws his gaze. 10:25 AM, Paulie decides, is as good a time as any.
He swivels on the bed and dangles his legs off the side. Hesitating only a moment, he stands on the chilly wood floor. He winces, but only out of habit -- his legs, while not up to 100%, no longer protest every use with a scream of electric pain.
Nodding to himself, he shuffles across the floor to the phone, opens it, and enters a code into the screen.
The crow girl's face is not actually facing the screen as she blinks into full-color life. In fact, she seems to be looking at something at vaguely knee level, and addressing it in annoyance. "... and just because I said you could use the shower doesn't mean three towels, Torrance, god, is that so hard to understand, I mean, I only have four to my name, and I am not going down to the store right now, it's my day off! Now I'm answering the phone, and you better have not left a wad of hair in the drain!"
She looks up into the screen, and as she sees Paulie's face her eyes light up, and a grins stretches her mouth to it's widest aperture. "Paulie-O!" she exclaims in delight. She's not-so-secretly both surprised and tickled every time he calls her these days.
"Hiya, Mags," he says, willing the sleep haze from his voice. "You, ah, doin' anything tonight?"
"Me? Oh no, I'm not doing anything, it's my day off so I don't have to work, and I was just going to bum around here for a bit and, man! Paulie-O, you look like you just got out of bed!" A small laugh interrupts her flow for a brief second, and she adds, "Love your _hair_! Oh, but anyway, I was thinking about going down to the Black Door, because there's this really freaky band supposed to be playing tonight, but that was it, I guess. Why? Oh, hey, hey hey, did you want to do something tonight, is that why you're asking, because I'm completely open if that's the case, you know!"
Paulie runs a self-concious hand through his hair as his drowsy mind scrambles to catch up with Maggie's train of thought. "Uh... Yeah! I was thinkin' maybe we could do somethin' tonight. That Black Door thing'd be fine -- if you don't mind me tagging along? And if you're okay with me not dancin'. My gams still aren't quite up for that. I mean, I _would_ dance with you, if I could..."
She smiles easily, nodding, "Nah, it's okay, it's a rock band, so more moshing than dancing I think, if there is any, but maybe not even that because I guess it's not that kind of band? I don't know, maybe the opening act would be, but I'll hang with you, so that's cool, we can sit at the bar or something, or I think they have little tables in there on the second floor kind of thing."
"So, why don't I pick you up before the show, and we could get some dinner first. I could give Tasha a ring for a ride."
"Oh, hey, that sounds really good, because I was just thinking-" she cuts herself off, suddenly blinking large golden eyes at him. "A date. Paulie Cabrini, did you just ask me out on a _date_?"
Paulie blinks back, reddening. "Well, ye-"
Her face is suddenly lit with that enormous grin of hers, and she practically bounces in place. "Oh my god, you did, you did!" Okay, now she really is bouncing, unable to contain her overflowing delight. "What time you wanna get here?"
"A couple-a hours before the show, I guess. I don't wanna have to rush our dinner, y'know?" His smile creeps wider -- although not nearly so wide as Maggie's, of course -- as the previously unspoken magic word "date" really sinks in as applied to this endeavor.
Later that evening, Paulie knocks on Maggie's door. He sports the kind of century-spanning ensemble popular with those trying to look "Nexus" without completely abandoning their plane of origin: black slacks with silver pinstripes, wing-tip shoes, white wide-collared shirt, black vest with silver trim, and a black cloth tie.
Straightening the latter, he glances over his shoulder at Tasha leaning casually against her shaw on the street. The only reassurance this earns him is a big sister's good-natured smirk, which the shawman had been wearing already.
After some faint conversation on the other side of the door, Maggie's higher pitched with someone with a much lower, almost growling voice, the door flies open, and Maggie stands there, looking both nervous and lgeeful, a strange combination that somehow seems to work with her odd features. The soft feathers that serve for her hair are brushed and fluffed a bit, so that instead of their normal swept back look, some falls a bit around her face like normal hair.
She looks him up and down, and her eyes light up. "Oh, wow, you look really spiffy, really, really great ..." She reaches out to run one finger along the line of his vest, then pulls it back, suddenly realizing this might be rude.
"Thanks, Mags!" he replies, following her hand with his eyes in mild curiousity. "You're lookin' good, too! I love the hair!"
Maggie, like Paulie is a unique product of her era and the mish mash that is the Nexus. She'd gone through her closet about a hundred times before settling on a white tuxedo shirt, complete with miniature ruffles, cut off neatly at the midriff (leaving a thin line of stomach exposed, though not so much as to be trashy, she hopes), and with the sleeves removed. Several silver bangles tinkle slightly against her wrists as she pulls her hands behind her back, as though physically stopping herself from giving in to temptation.
The loose, hanging-to-her-knees black mesh skirt she wears reveals a pair of her usual leggings, ebon and sleek, hugging her legs to mid calf, though usually the upper part isn't so visible through her normally baggy sweatshirts. A wide black leather belt hangs low on her hips over the skirt, emphasizing the muscle there, and adding another flash of silver at the buckle.
The whole outfit is completed with a pair of baggy, bucnhed up black socks and a pair of bright yellow converse, the only flash of color besides her brilliant gold eyes. She stands there with her hands behind her back briefly, until what looks like a large Russian wolf hound pushes past her, sliding around her gracefully.
"Oh! Uh, hey, howya doin', Momo?" says Paulie, the hint of a waver creeping into his voice as he takes a step back. He wonders why the werewolf would be in beast form at the moment and quickly decides not to pursue that line of thought.
"Oh, that's not Momo," Maggie corrects, "I know, he looks like him, but that's Sascha, he's couch surfing for awhile. Stayed with me for a few days, actually moving on to Cash's." She nods and grins at the big dog, who dips his head politely.
"Nice to meet you, Paulie," Sascha intones in a surprisingly deep voice, laced with a thick Slavic accent. "I will see you in a few days, Maggie?"
"Sure, see ya around, Sach."
"Oh!" Paulie exhales. Deciding that an offer of a shake might be insulting, he just raises his hand in greeting. "Well, hey, nice to meet you, too, Sascha!"
Tasha, not wanting to upstage "her boy", just gives a silent wave and a smile -- as restrained a greeting from the shawman as can be imagined.
"So, anyway," Paulie continues, grinning with boyish excitement while keeping half an eye on the canine, "I thought maybe we could go to Starfish."
Starfish, Maggie knows, is a metasushi restaurant owned and partially operated by a pair of retired Japanese technoshamans, offering raw oceanic delights from across the multiverse, from the supernatural to the genegineered.
She is also quite aware that Paulie suggesting such a place is akin to an acrophobe begging to ride the roller-coaster.
A delight she's never quite been able to jusitfy going to herself, the mention of therestaurant sends her eyebrows practically into her hairline. "Really? Oh, that's great ..." But. "But. You know, you don't have to take me somewhere fancy just for me, you know, I mean ... you don't like that sort of thing, do you?"
"Well, not usually," Paulie confesses, glancing at his shoes. Then he looks up and grins. "But, hey, I haven't actually _tried_ the place, y'know? And maybe it's time I tried some new things." He gives her a wink.
Tasha rolls her eyes. "You guys are gonna try _walking_ if I have to sit here much longer," she laughs.
"Oh, hey, sorry Tasha," Maggie gives a brief wave, then grins at Paulie as she steps out of her door and locks up, tucking her key away somewhere unmentionable.
"I've never been there, either, but I can probably steer you clear of anything too chanllenging," she laughs as she follows Paulie to the shaw. "When I first came here, I ended up in the New Asia district, got used to a lot of the more human exotic flavors there."
"Well, then," he replies, offering her a gallant hand into the 'shaw, "guess I'm at your mercy, eh?"
The Starfish interior boasts the decor of a technoshaman's Paradise. Angular abstract designs in bright pastel neon cling like phosphorescent lichen on otherwise stark black walls, their light gleaming on tables of chrome. An almost meticulous layer of silver-white mist covers the floor up to ankle depth, while columns of minty bubbles rise from the corners in an endless orderly ballet.
Maggie can't stop gaping at the decor ... far fancier than any she's used to, but it definitely meets with her approval. Her crow heart sings out to her, 'Shinies! Shinies!' but she manages to keep from saying it aloud.
All of which is lost on Paulie as he stares in dismay at the holographic menu before him. "Okay, Mags," he says, clicking his menu off and giving the girl a wry grin, "I give up. _You_ pick for me. I trust you. Err... I _can_ trust you, here, right?"
She turns her attention back to him with a confident grin. "Of _course_ you can trust me, you can always trust me, Paulie-O. Gimme some hints, though, like are you okay with the raw stuff? Anything I should steer clear of, allergies, stuff like that?" She glances down at the menu again, her eyes suddenly caught by, "Ooh, they have kanpachi! And chakin-zushi ... and shiromi from Tan-zeti Prime. I wonder where they buy their fish...?"
"Uh... yeah," he says as this alien litany trails off. "So anyway, yeah, I'm okay with the raw stuff. I figured I'd better wrap my brain around that before I brought you here. You _know_ what a big 'when in Rome' kinda guy I am, right?" He grins.
"But allergies...?" He clicks on his menu again and scans it to no real purpose, looking a little worried now. "I don't _think_ so... I mean, it hasn't really come _up_ before, y'know?"
"Well, lots of Italian dishes use seafood, right? So you're probably not allergic to any of the biggies ... we'll try and keep things, simple, I guess... oh, hey! They have a really good sample platter here, we could get a big one and ..." Looks up at him, reddening slightly, then smiling. "We could share?"
He clicks off the menu again and returns her smile. "Sounds good ta me, Boss," he replies, affecting a "gangster" accent that would make his mom thwap his head. (In the unlikely event that she got he joke, anyway.) "Just so long as it's got some of the weird stuff on there, too. I don't want you holdin' back on account-a me."
She shakes her head with a small laugh. "No worries on that end... most of these places will have sample platters so you can try a bit of everything... they've got some of the tamer stuff, but also a good selection of more out there pieces as well ... so if you don't like it, you can still enjoy the milder sushi, but you have a chance to try stuff without blowing your wad on something you may not like at all. It's a pretty good deal, actually."
"Think you can show me how to use chopsticks? If I'm gonna do this, I wanna do it _right_." He nods in mock determination.
She grins. "Sweet thing, you have come to exactly the right person... here...." And she gets out of her side of the booth and scoots in next to him, bringing her own chopsticks with her.
Paulie tries to hide a sly grin as she moves.
"Okay, see, you have to hold them like this ..." and she'll demonstrate, picking up a napkin with them. "The whole trick is in getting enough leverage... you want your fingers up high enough that they aren't dipping into the food, and low enough that you have a good grip."
She takes his fingers, placing the chopsticks where they should be, and shows him how to hold one steady and move the other... about halfway through, she realizes she's touching his hands, and a splash of crimson decorates her cheeks, but she manages to finish showing him the proper way to hold them without stuttering too much. "Uh, really, practicing's the only way to get it right...."
Paulie nods, his face a rictus of concentration as he fumbles his way through her lesson. "This's harder than it looks!" he sighs. Then, with a rueful smile that really doesn't look all that rueful: "Think maybe you could stay on this side for dinner? Y'know, to kinda walk me through it?"
"Oh, sure, okay!" she chirps cheerfully, tilting her head to the side and contemplating him. "We'll have you using them like a pro at the end of dinner."
"By the way, Mags," he adds, glancing down at their intertwined fingers, then back at Maggie's upturned face, "anyone ever tell you you've got some really pretty hands?"
She frowns, puzzled, "No, why would anyone-? Oh!" The red in her cheeks this time is much stronger, and she actually glances down at the tabletop for a brief moment, grinning, before she can pull her gold eyes up to meet his again. "Um, thanks. That's really... sweet of you." She gently squeezes his hand locked with hers, looking at him, a bit rapt. Looking at him the way she used to hide, and he never noticed, when he'd caught the edges of it.
Paulie holds both her hand and her gaze for a few moments, soaking in the warmth of both. His fingers gently rub against hers. "You know what, Mags?" he says, "After all we've been through the past few months, this is nice. _Real_ nice.
"Thanks."
If she were a cat, she'd purr, but Maggie is just a girl. So instead she lays her head against his shoulder, smiling contentedly. "Yeah, it is nice. And thank _you_..."
She seems about to say more, but the discreet cough of a waiter causes a startled blink, and a glance in said waitstaff's direction. She looks back at Paulie, murmuring low to him, "Curses, foiled again!" and then proceeds to order in flawless Japanese. Almost beofre the waiter can leave, another comes in and sets a variety of tiny bowls and plates on the table, about six in all, holding various arrays of vegetables: bean sprouts, some sort of slivered, long white things with carrot slivers, chunks of what look like potato that have been soaked in some orangish sauce, some other kind of green shoots, and two small bowls with steaming soup, chunks of tofu settlign at the bottom neatly.
"These are the appetizers," Maggie explains, "They come with pretty much every meal."
Paulie nods, eyeing the vegetables suspiciously. "This soup smells really good," he declares at last, taking a deep whiff. "Looks like they forgot our spoons, though. What, are we supposed to use chopsticks on _soup_?"
She laughs, poking Paulie lightly in the shoulder with the tip of a chopstick. "No, not for the soup." She snags some of the white silvers, pickled radish, and places it thoughtfully in her mouth. "You stir it..." She demonstrates, the whitish silt from the tofu suffusing the rest of the soup. "Then you drink it..." She raises her small bowl, blowing on it briefly, then takes a hesitant sip, then a larger one, when she feels it isn't too hot.
"See?"
He nods. "Okay, I can handle that." He stirs the broth as instructed, restraining himself from asking what the white stuff is -- it'd just make him look like even more of a mook than he already does in this joint. And besides, he's not sure he really wants to know.
But when he sips, his eyebrows go up. "Hey!" he exclaims, "That's good stuff!"
Half the bowl is gone before his mind's Department of Manners reminds him that there's more to a date than eating. ("Probably a good thing in _this_ place..." responds the Department of Eating, still savoring the soup but dreading the main course.)
Maggie herself is happily picking at the appetizers, plucking bits of various vegetables and nibbling on them, like, well, a bird.
"So, Mags," Paulie says, setting aside his bowl for the moment, "What's up with Joe and the Blackbird? I mean, is he ever gonna pop the question or what?"
She cocks her head to the side as she considers. "I dunno, really... I mean, they've been together, what, three or four years now? More? Something like... but you know, maybe she isn't the marrying kind, even with the lapsed Catholic thing, because I heard her talking about that once to Maria... she was saying something like she couldn't be a proper wife, but I don't know why..." She looks a little sad at this, adding, "Maybe he already proposed? She'd have probably mentioned, though."
"You think so?" Paulie replies. He fumbles a bit with the chopsticks as he tries to pick up a vegetable, setting it aside as casually as he can manage in order to make the gesture seem thoughtful, not incompetent. "I dunno. Maybe. You know her better than I do.
"Now, Joe, he wouldn't tell nobody, I bet. Well, he might spill the beans to Ma or Pop... Naaah, I'd know if he had." He thinks on that for a moment and shrugs. "Or maybe not. You wouldn't know it with that mouth-a his, but Pop can keep a secret like nobody's business when it matters."
"Really? Yeah, but I guess with the kind of customers he gets, he'd have to...."
He takes another sip of soup before continuing. "Anyway, guess I shouldn't worry about it. 'Snone of my business, and Joe an' Birdy can take care of themselves. But, ah, what about Maria? How's _she_ doin' lately? I know I haven't seen her that much, but she seems... kinda sad."
"Oh, she's always hanging around that Burkett guy, now." She sighs, swirling the tofu around in her miso soup fitfully. "She's in love with him, which means he might be 'the one' you know? Because her kind mate for life, though I'm not exactly sure how it works. If she just has to fall in love, or have sex with him, or what. I don't think she knows, either. She won't talk about it, either, which is so sad! I mean, when you fall in love, don't you want to just kind of shout it out to the world? She just says he's a very private person."
"I'm pretty sure he doesn't love her back, and it's so sad! I want to talk to her about, but it's a closed subject, ya know?"
Paulie nods sympathetically. "Yeah, that's gotta be pretty rough... You always make people feel better with your good talks. She oughta give you a chance. There's nothing worse than wanting to help someone who won't let you."
This earns him a nod, and a definite, 'Aw, you're so sweet' look.
He settles back into his seat and sighs. "Anyway... Burkett. I just don't know about that guy. I guess I don't get where he fits into everything. I think he's a friend of Joe's from way back, but neither one of'em talk about it. He's always just kinda sneaking around, showing up outta nowhere. Kinda gives me the creeps."
She nods. "He does seem kinda weird... but then, so was the Blackbird when I first met her. You never knew her before she got together with Joe, huh? Yeah, she was really different back then... well, not really different, but she had this awful temper, and it seemed like there was always _something_ for her to be mad about, she was always blowing up about some thing or other. Maybe Burkett's just lonely?"
Paulie shrugs. "Maybe. But sheesh, how many people's he need around, anyway? S'not like anyone's keeping him away or nuthin'." He considers. "You wanna know what _I_ think? I think maybe he just sulks around 'cause he thinks that's his 'style' or somethin'. You know, like one-a those -- whaddya-call-'ems. The ones who make a big deal about acting like vampires."
"Goths?" She seems amused with this comparison. "He does have that big black coat..."
"So, uh, do all shapechanging types have this sort of problem?," he continues, giving more attention than necessary to the stirring of his soup. "With -- you know -- love and stuff?"
"Oh, no, we're all different, really, it all depends on what type of-" She stops herself, and blinks, as she realizes the point of the question, and flushes slightly, before continuing. "Well, on the type of animal, what your born as, all that. Maria was born as a coyote, so she's more tied to their behavior, but it's got a mystical component to it, too, that I don't really understand. Whereas someone like me, well, I was born a human, and I changed when I hit puberty... so I mostly act like humans do, when it comes to that sort of thing. Crows mate for life, too, but I'm not a crow, either... just something in-between, I guess."
"Oh," he replies, mulling this over briefly. Then he smiles, and lays an arm around her shoulders.
"Nice mix."
She stills a bit as she first feels his arm, but then relaxes into him a bit with a happy little sigh. "Thank you... you've got some nice genes going on there yourself."
Something like a wince runs through his smile, gone in an instant. "Yeah... Yeah, I guess I do, don't I? Ma and Pop, they're the best... Brinly's lucky folks like that took her in. She's gonna have a good life."
"Yeah, well, and with you for a big brother, huh?" She smiles at him, and seems about to say something more, when dinner arrives.
Rice, seaweed, and infinite variations of fish are presented for their approval: a large, round dish, something like a mix of a bowl or a plate, is packed with finger sized delicacies. The colors fish come in are quite astounding, from a delicate, shimmery silver to a rich, bloody red, and everything in-between. No two pieces are quite alike, and many are garnished with odd looking vegetables, pieces of gourd, in several cases what looks like egg, or tiny, brilliantly orange fish eggs.
Maggie surveys the plate with a mix of eagerness and satisfaction. She takes the smallpithcer of soy sauce, and serves out two portions into the tiny bowls for that purpose, then grins at Paulie. "So what do you want to try first?"
Paulie looks at the contents of the table as though a platter of squirming xenomorphs has just been shoved in his face. Squirming xenomorphs he's expected to eat, no less.
But then he looks at Maggie grinning expectantly at him, and a sudden flare of Italian machismo brings his already simmering fear of disappointing her to a rolling boil. His fingers defiantly grasp his chopsticks, guiding them toward a waiting pinkish-white... something. "This," he answers, dipping and downing it before she can tell him what it is and thereby weaken his resolve.
His eyes widen.
Thirty minutes later, Paulie picks dejectedly through the remains of the meal, which he's had an unexpectedly large part in destroying.
"Yeeaaah," he sighs, "that's pretty good stuff! Wish we had time for another round... Guess we need to get to that concert, though, huh?"
Maggie nods slowly, having eaten quite heartily, herself. She grins at him, leaning into him a little. "Well, I wouldn't say no if you wanna ask me out here again ... but yeah, music's gonna start soon, we'd probably better motor..." She unobtrusively tries to pick a little bit of nori from her teeth, surveying the demolished plate with some satisfaction.
Paulie, a little unsteady on his feet -- even given his injuries -- walks out of the concert hall hand-in-hand with Maggie.
"Wow, Mags... that made for one heckuva first date!" he observes. "So, uh... heh... only problem is, I have no idea how to follow that up. What'd you like to do now?"
Do not copy or quote the above material without the expressed written consent of the owner of this page.