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nextgenerationmarvel2013-01-10 05:32 pm
pyroprincess) wrote in nextgenerationmarvel2013-01-10 05:32 pm
Old Times' Sake (Marcelo)
WHO: Stephanie, Marcelo
WHAT: A dinner date, supposedly to discuss business.
WHERE: La Navarra
WHEN: 7:30, Friday evening (prior posted due to my being away on Friday night)
Normally, before meeting with a fellow businessperson for an important discussion of relevant things, she would rehearse whatever it was she planned to say before her assistant, Reginald, who would offer a precise, learned critique. When she had declined to do so for this particular dinner, despite it being with a very important individual, the local "big man" of Veridian Dynamics, Reginald had understood implicitly that the real business of the "dinner meeting" wasn't really business at all, and instead he'd devoted himself to tending to her stock portfolio, as well as to the management of her current, fairly extensive property holdings around the 11th Street Shelter.
Instead, she'd spent the time preparing herself more personally, getting her hair styled, nails done and spending the afternoon at a beauty spa. She'd had something of a revelation, thinking in the time between when she'd sent the text to Marcelo and today. They'd had troubles in the past with being together often enough to sustain a relationship, but neither of them were happy apart from each other. Her and Marcelo. To wit, Stephanie wanted her Brazilian prince back, and like any Shaw worth their salt, what she wanted, she would get, and in style at that. Slipping into the dress she had chosen for the occasion, she looked at herself briefly in the mirror, making sure everything was just right.
She wondered what he thought about her invitation, whether he assumed it would be a mere business discussion after all, or if she wanted to simply spend an evening together as friends, or what she really had in mind. Stephanie mulled it over for a moment and decided she liked the idea of keeping him a little unsure, surprising him a little. For a moment, a little doubt crept into her mind- what if he didn't miss her as much as she missed him after all? She shooed away the undesirable and patently false doubt. No, the mistake she'd made, that they'd made was to let things go. If she didn't think she had the opportunity to undo that nasty mistake, she wouldn't have asked him out for dinner at her favorite restaurant.
When she arrived there, they greeted her with the respect many reserved for royalty- after all, this was her restaurant, even more than the one that she and Brooke owned. She knew its space as well as anyone, the owner included, whom came out to greet her with air kisses and just a slight air of familiarity. She was their best customer, after all. A very special prix fixe menu with wine pairings (and a selection of their favorite spirits for pre-dinner and possibly post-dinner cocktails- and as they were in an entirely private part of the restaurant, they would even be able to smoke cigars if they wanted, public smoking laws be damned). Decor brought in specially from a company that had done similar services for the President, the British Royals on their last American visit and Tony Stark. No expense, no preparation had been spared.
Now, though, all that there was to do was to slowly enjoy a pre-dinner drink and wait for Marcelo to arrive. 1966 Domaine Boingneres armagnac, to be precise. Bold, but smooth. A complex flavour with a hint of mystery ...
WHAT: A dinner date, supposedly to discuss business.
WHERE: La Navarra
WHEN: 7:30, Friday evening (prior posted due to my being away on Friday night)
Normally, before meeting with a fellow businessperson for an important discussion of relevant things, she would rehearse whatever it was she planned to say before her assistant, Reginald, who would offer a precise, learned critique. When she had declined to do so for this particular dinner, despite it being with a very important individual, the local "big man" of Veridian Dynamics, Reginald had understood implicitly that the real business of the "dinner meeting" wasn't really business at all, and instead he'd devoted himself to tending to her stock portfolio, as well as to the management of her current, fairly extensive property holdings around the 11th Street Shelter.
Instead, she'd spent the time preparing herself more personally, getting her hair styled, nails done and spending the afternoon at a beauty spa. She'd had something of a revelation, thinking in the time between when she'd sent the text to Marcelo and today. They'd had troubles in the past with being together often enough to sustain a relationship, but neither of them were happy apart from each other. Her and Marcelo. To wit, Stephanie wanted her Brazilian prince back, and like any Shaw worth their salt, what she wanted, she would get, and in style at that. Slipping into the dress she had chosen for the occasion, she looked at herself briefly in the mirror, making sure everything was just right.
She wondered what he thought about her invitation, whether he assumed it would be a mere business discussion after all, or if she wanted to simply spend an evening together as friends, or what she really had in mind. Stephanie mulled it over for a moment and decided she liked the idea of keeping him a little unsure, surprising him a little. For a moment, a little doubt crept into her mind- what if he didn't miss her as much as she missed him after all? She shooed away the undesirable and patently false doubt. No, the mistake she'd made, that they'd made was to let things go. If she didn't think she had the opportunity to undo that nasty mistake, she wouldn't have asked him out for dinner at her favorite restaurant.
When she arrived there, they greeted her with the respect many reserved for royalty- after all, this was her restaurant, even more than the one that she and Brooke owned. She knew its space as well as anyone, the owner included, whom came out to greet her with air kisses and just a slight air of familiarity. She was their best customer, after all. A very special prix fixe menu with wine pairings (and a selection of their favorite spirits for pre-dinner and possibly post-dinner cocktails- and as they were in an entirely private part of the restaurant, they would even be able to smoke cigars if they wanted, public smoking laws be damned). Decor brought in specially from a company that had done similar services for the President, the British Royals on their last American visit and Tony Stark. No expense, no preparation had been spared.
Now, though, all that there was to do was to slowly enjoy a pre-dinner drink and wait for Marcelo to arrive. 1966 Domaine Boingneres armagnac, to be precise. Bold, but smooth. A complex flavour with a hint of mystery ...
no subject
"I'll have to go with you sometime. Finally meet your whole family." The thought stopped as she noticed shapes in her peripheral vision. Her expression narrowed.
"Marcelo." They were being followed.
no subject
"Hey, lady. Donchu know it's not safe to walk around at night. Specially with a 'guy' like that."
Though guy wasn't the word used.
no subject
He spotted the gun but didn't think he could do the whole throw the invulnerable girlfriend at a gun thing on general principle even though it was logical. He was rapidly losing room to maneuver.
He held up his hands. "C'mon, guys. You don't want to do this."
no subject
The man with the gun was the threat. Not to her personally, but to Marcelo. She made sure to step between the gunman and Marcelo, but along the way, she punched a wall. Hard. If they were observant, they would've noticed chips of stone coming out from the walls.
"He's right. You don't have to do this." She spoke calmly, firmly. As if she weren't some not-particularly-intimidating looking woman.
no subject
no subject
Marcelo staggered and grunted. He went on the defensive to even have a chance.
no subject
Letting a baseball bat bounce off of her head with no effect, she noticed that Marcelo was being attacked directly and pushed aside her attacker to go after the one harming her boyfriend. She took a running leap, a small spurt of pyorplasm giving her dropkick greater momentum that would otherwise be possible.
no subject
The one with the baseball bat said "Oh, shit. Muties!" Because nothing else could stand up to his Sammy Sosa swing.
The one going to swing again on Marcelo got kicked out into the street and hit a moving taxi.
The two left were in different camps. One was still calling Stephanie names. The other was thinking about a quick escape.
no subject
"Shut. It. You," he growled through clenched teeth. He pressed the man's face hard against the cement.
no subject
"Your move." One of the tendrils of pyroplasm brushed against a mailbox and sliced it neatly in half, little bits of molten metal dribbling away from the centre of the destroyed recepticle.
Then she engaged a jet of pyroplasm, making her leap high up into the air, banishing the whiplike tendrils and plant her feet directly in the would-be assailant's chest. Breaking his ribs at the very least.
"Guess not." She turned around to look to see how Marcelo was doing.
no subject
Then he smacked the man's head against the concrete and got up. Only he hunched a bit as he stood up because... ow. Metal pipes into sore spots hurt.
no subject
"C'mon, let's just get out of here. Let them deal with the consequences of their actions." The glow left her eyes and she gave him a hug, tight, but not too tight.
Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, she just wanted to get out of there.
no subject
His steps staggered a bit, but he headed in the direction of home.