ArchivedLogs:Marzipan and Coffee

Marzipan and Coffee
Dramatis Personae Emma, Parley	2013-04-05 Discussions of mutual acquaintances.
Location <NYC> Emma's Apartment - East Village
Parley arrives with a decent five hour notice ahead of time, a quick phone call, a short exchange of times and scheduling. His knock on the door is quick-light, shimmering with a brush of << (me). >> No major emotion attached to it. Unless there is an emotion that is 'waiting patiently to be let in - take your time.' (All of which /is/ actually conveyed in the one patchwork 'word'. It might be so light it even has the gentlest of soliciting /snark/.) << I really should get you a key one of these days, >> Emma admits to herself as she pulls herself away from her laptop on her bed. She wraps a silk kimono type bathrobe around her self and ties it closed, the drape and the style giving no real indication if she is wearing anything underneath. She pads quietly to the door and unlocks it /after/ she visually confirms that he is by himself. She holds the door open and gives him a small nod. "Parley," she greets. << (i'd just move in when you weren't home.)(sleep on your bed.)(eat your food.)(write on your computer.) >> Each of these is more offered in /visual/ than words. Though even eating Emma's food and writing on her computer Parley /also/ happens to be curled up on her bed doing in his examples. "Ms. Frost," he nods back, and though he does not in any way seek to wrestle his way in should she seem intent to block the portal, he will move forward with the expectation he'll be let in, by now. He's carrying a little box - it looks at first like a box of chocolates, save that the clear plastic lid actually shows small marzipan shapes, each sculpted artfully into miniature fruits. "You're not allergic to almonds, are you?" "No. I have no food allergies that I know of and I've been exposed to many, many types of food." Emma does indeed let Parley into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. "Shoes," she points, not really needing to, at a mat that has been set up since he was last here. << If you really were a cat, I would let you >> she counters mentally, replacing the images of Parley with that of a white furred feline. It is quite adorable at the laptop on her bed. << Is your actual apartment unsuitable, or are you just that keen on my things? >> She heads toward the kitchen. "Something hot to drink?" << and you should know I don't keep food here. >> Parley is already slipping his feet from his shoes, but only obediently smiles, carefully setting them down where indicated and neatening them in their place, "Of course.". << (i share.)(there are roommates.)(nice sometimes - quieter here.) >> He improves the image of himself curling up /beside/ the fluffy white kitty. He gets to be Big Spoon! They can surf the internet together. << (is your bed soft?) >> "Ah - coffee, if you have it. Something nutty?" He heads to the couch to begin opening the package of succulent almond delights. << (i would bring some. give it to you.)(then eat it.) >> He neatly crosses his ankles, innocently not looking up. << My bed is amazing. You can go see, if you like. >> Emma hums to herself as she moves around the kitchen. Most of her cupboard space is filled with drinkable supplies, in the varying forms of caffeine, but wine and wine glasses are starting to over take the space. She chooses a nice medium roast coffee and sets about to grinding the beans. While the machine is working, she fills the coffee carafe with water and uses that to fill the machine. << I understand the joys of not having a roommate. I would consider allowing you more access, it's just I have guests from time to time and without warning and you wouldn't want to find yourself hiding in the closet for hours while I entertained. >> << (not without a deck of cards to amuse myself with.) >> With the tray of marzipan set out, Parley stands up and meanders back towards Emma's bedroom, slipping through the door. This might look quite rude if one were merely watching from the outside. Especially when he circles her bed, spreading out his hands against the blankets to knead it experimentally. Abruptly, he shoots a name at her - it's considerably more abrupt. Like flicking a lure. << (alice lambton.) >> No association offered with it - none save a face. Yet, somehow... it's almost a question. Coffee measured and placed in the filter basket, machine turned on, Emma pauses and reviews what she knows about the name quietly before respond, << what about her? >> She pads after him toward the bedroom, leaning against the door frame when she arrives, looking him over. "You can get on it, if you like. It's impossible to test a mattress otherwise." With his hands pressing down on the bed's surface, Parley's shoulder blades are pushing up against the material of his shirt back, like little wings eruptant. He looks over his shoulder at Emma, and then raises a knee, pressing it down on the mattress. Creeeeeep. The other knee follows. Oo, soft. Knead-knead. It makes his shoulder's /undulate/ when he churns the soft blankets. << (she was at the labs.)(more than once.) >> This is also detached-clinical. It visualizes Alice though, present to a vague backdrop of suggested mutants in mulberry scrubs, a sterile environment, guards, orderlies. But no emotion. Emma watches, her face impassive. She collects the information from Parley quietly, examining it, then filing it away. "Did you want to have the marzipan in bed?" she offers, turning away a little bit, casting a glance over his form as he tests his environment. << Interesting. >> "And the coffee?" Parley inquires. << (i spoke to her.) >> "It'll be another minute or so. I have a tray, we could make up a tray," Emma offers, silk shifting as she turns back toward the kitchen. She detours back to the couch to pick up the marzipan. << What did you talk about? >> "That would be wonderful." Parley goes about pressing the pillows of Emma's bed up against the headboard (or wall, whatever serves) to make for easier sitting. And stakes a claim for himself, if Emma's been so /foolish/ as to leave him unattended. << (osborn.)(old times.)(other things.) >> Is it a taunt? An invitation? He's semi-kneading in his mind-voice as well, luxurious little pulses. Emma stands, looking at the well shaped marzipan and is quiet. She is a little tense as well. At length, she turns her head toward the kitchen and wills her feet to take her there. She pulls the packaging apart with careful movements, opening it up and removing the pieces to place them on a plate in a aesthetically pleasing fashion, then places that plate on a silver tray she retrieves from a lower cabinet. She then gets out a few more things - a thermal coffee carafe, a pitcher for cream, a sugar bowl, two cups, two saucers and two small spoons. By the time she finishes, the coffee is ready. She transfers it into the carafe for transportation. She turns and heads back toward the bedroom and finally breaks the silence. << She recognized you then. Is she a personal threat to you? >> The words carry a possessive overtone. The bed is set up in as neat of a fashion as could be prepared, pillows propped to serve as backrests, the top sheet rolled back to keep clean. Parley is lying back against a pillow, his expression blank save for a clenched jaw - it distracts itself back to Emma when she enters, holding out his hands to take the the tray from her so that she can get situated. << (...) >> For a long moment, there is only thick wisps of gray, the murky fog of Parley's mind washing in. Washing out. Uncertain and, absurdly, seeming on the verge of some black laughter. At least, this is what parts of himself he is /feeding/ to keep to his forefront. << (recognized me.)(we met.)(more than once.) >> The tapping of mental fingers, and he feeds cautiously over: << (not a personal threat, i don't think.)(i'm less vulnerable than others; clair, osborn, gala, opinion piece; i have anchors)(she seemed more amused.)(hhhah.)(i have not been /taunting/ her to feel otherwise.) >> Emma slides onto the mattress, carefully, staying on what Parley has deemed her side. She processes what he sends her quietly again, her eyes taking in his physical attributes while her mind is occupied. Once she is settled, she shows him where a good spot to set down the tray may be, before laying on her side, half propped up by the pillows near the head. << Are you concerned for the others? >> There's a quick succession of faces - other rescuers - that might be drawing her attention. << You should let me know if you feel that you are in any precarious position with her. I will see what I can do. Though, someone in her position is not precisely someone to trifle with. >> For a moment, Parley seems distracted, lost to a moment of staring hard at the far wall - then he licks his lips, positions the tray where Emma indicates and settles down on his side, where he can watch her face. He's taken hold of a marzipan peach, lovingly painted so that it looks almost /fuzzy/soft, and bites off a piece, exposing the soft white interior. His eyes stay /sharply/ present-moment, focused on eye contact while he chews. << (i'm often concerned.) >> It's bruisingly flippant. As though it were a lie, or a jest. But it's not. << (but do not think she's on any orders.)(just collecting data.) >> This somehow sends a cold little chill up his spine, which he counters by greedily stuffing the rest of the marzipan peach into his mouth. << (she's dangerous; can use a gun; keep her head under fire.)(image of Alice thrown through a doorway, blood slicing her cheek, shouting into her headset with a gun in hand.) >> And, as though it were just another conversational piece: << (she might visit you.)(not sure why; something... Osborn?)(my empathy doesn't read perfect; but no sense she means /you harm.)(not fond of Osborn, though.) >> "Thank you for bringing the marzipan." She picks up a decorative strawberry and begins a more reserved nibble, while pouring coffee with her free hand. She leaves the coffee on the tray, allowing Parley to prepare his cup the way he likes it. She stirs in cream and sugar. "They are quite delicious." She focuses on what she is doing, but does meet his eye contact from time to time. << Thank you for warning me. >> There's more thoughts churning beneath the surface, but she is continuing to keep a tight reign on those reactions. "It's like eating little pieces of art," Parley murmurs quietly to a miniature green apple, turning it over to admire all its sides. "They're each hand-made." Before biting, however, he reaches over to prepare his coffee - cream, one sugar - and take it, sip it, return it to the tray. << (also.)(those mutant terrorists; Sons of Magneto.) >> He adds, utilizing the sharp end of a canine to sliver off a small bite of of his apple, eyes settled low now, onto the gash his eye tooth tore. << (were not recaptured by them.) >> << Ah. Yes. I asked Hive to take care of that. >> Emma replies quietly and easily. << It is good to know that he can follow through on things. >> She leans a little closer to Parley as she reaches out for another piece, a cluster of grapes, examining it a little closer before consuming it. "And they still remain tasty. They seem fresh." She runs her fingers gently against the swell of her eyelids, pressing gently as she leans back and relaxes. "Oh, I think I've worked too hard to day, Parley. You're here, bringing me sweets, drinking coffee, and I'm still a bundle of distraction. I am sorry if I've made you uncomfortable." << (ah!) >> Parley's face doesn't show it - save that his eyes snap up to Emma's again - but a genuine allowance of surprise is permitted to flash up; surprise that is not displeased at all. << (was wondering.)(that's not a bad thing, then.) >> He pushes out a chuff of air through his nose, "Ms. Frost, you couldn't possibly have offered me more generous accomodations." When she leans closer, a part of him can be felt allowing himself to consider her proximity. What he feels about it. Whether it quells uncertain black thoughts more or less. He relaxes a modicum more, soon after. And leans nearer as well, when he reaches for his coffee. Just a slight shift. And a sigh that doesn't quite shake, but is not perfect either. "Would you like a back rub? It could help you relax." There is no suggestion behind it that he suggests anything more than this. "A back rub might be nice," Emma considers, still sipping at her coffee. She lets out a deep breath and sets her cup back on the tray, letting her hand brush gently against his nearest shoulder as it retracts. "But I'm also okay with just sitting and nibbling and talking while drinking coffee." She stretches out a little bit more and allows her legs to cross one over the other, the silk surrounding them clinging just enough to her thighs to keep her modest. "You could tell me more about your life, Parley. I feel you speak so little about it." << I need time to think about the other things you have brought me. I really appreciate the information. I may try to reach out at some point to see who she works for and if anyone would miss her - but at this point, I have no plans for Alice Lambton. Please let me know if she does threaten you though. >> Though he'd offered, Parley remains draped where he is, eyes closed and chewing on the rest of his current marzipan bite. His shoulder is relaxed under her touch, and eases further from it; there's no place of resistance to his personal space, no hard parameter. "I'm--." << (...she knows my name.) >> There's a long pause after this. << (her and osborn.) >> Is it concern? Dread? Amusement? Apathy? ... excitement? They're all such hair-thin scenes drifting through the cracks. And they concentrate into thoughtful observation: << (you have never asked.) >> << It's your name(s are important), Parley. It's your secret. You can keep it as long as you like and give it to me when you are ready. >> Emma's mind is patient with the young man, calm and intending to help calm him. << If you think it is important for me to know your name, then tell me. >> She remains, where she is, her first two fingers repeatedly stroking his shoulder, a mild form of affection. She finishes her marzipan and then fetches her cup once more to cradle coffee near her face. "You're?" she rephrases to repeat, goading him back to the verbal topic. One of Parley's eyes open, all the better to locate his coffee, to bring it to himself, to sip it. Marzipan, coffee, undemanding contact, he is not in any place to be anything but content. And the mental side of their connection relaxes like a muscle, dissolving into a loose smoke. Still there, /can/ be found, but isn't striving to communicate anything other than, << (thank you.) >> "My full name is Einen Turner." He sighs, snuggling down into his pillow, his voice drawn, quiet. "And I'm tired." "Get some sleep, Parley," Emma replies, leaning forward to kiss his brow. Parley crams his hands up under his pillow, and nods silently. And, if left to his own devices, that's exactly what he'll do.

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