Participants:
| Scene Title | Semi-Charmed Kind Of |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A discussion during the making of lunch turns sour when The Other Man comes up. |
| Date | January 9, 2011 |
Dorchester Towers: Bradley Russo's Apartment
I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life~
"BABY! BABY!" the music is loud. But still Bradley Russo can sing louder. And off-key compared to Third Eye Blind. The frilly pink apron he wears is technically his, but only because he inherited all of his mother's things. And in a way it still smells like her, having been left in her dust collecting house for four years. Recently he'd gone 'home'. To both 'homes'. Only to get clothes for Delia. And, evidently, his mother's apron, which is falling apart at the seams— he'd gotten his love for food from her.
"I want something else~ Not listening when you say— " operatically he raises his voice into a near painful falsetto, "Gooooooodbyyyyyyyyyye~" as he sings into the ladle which he's been using to stir the sauce. With his left hand, even though he is right-handed.
His right hand has been fixed with an ice pack to reduce the bruising that had formed following Russo's encounter with John Logan. No one had asked about it, but then he hadn't tended to it until now. Clever man.
"Do you like your spaghetti sauce ridiculously garlick-y or just semi-almost-ridiculously garlick-y?"
Seated at the kitchen island, Nicole looks up from a spiral-bound notebook she's been jotting into. She bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile as she watches Russo make a total fool of himself. She does not join in the singing. He's singing plenty enough for the both of them, thank you. "That depends. If we're going to try kissing again, you should ease up on the garlic, for both our sakes. Also if you have any intention of making any sort of public appearance today."
Slender shoulders come up in a shrug. Nicole Nichols is already shifting gears into campaign mode. She's made several notations for her own reference on the subject. "The garlic is clearly not the only thing ridiculous in this kitchen today," she teases.
"Byyyyyyeeeee~" Delia's accompaniment of Brad's singing does absolutely nothing for the quality of his voice. If there's one thing that marks them as siblings it's the perfect pitch of their inharmony. Poor Nicole.
Sitting in one of the easy chairs in the living room, the redhead is within sight of her brother and playing on her iPad. Actually… she's shopping on the sly. With Brad's credit card. Rosa had mentioned that Delia had a visitor yesterday but only said it was 'some young man', in Spanish. The door was left open.
Beside her is the Gerbera in a pot and a small portion of chocolate covered blueberries. She's not worried about spoiling her dinner. Spaghetti, home made or not, isn't exactly something she's looking forward to trying to eat after the spaghettio incident. "Nnn— Nnniick-ole?"
"Hey lady, you haven't even seen my air guitar!!" Russo shoots Nicole a brighter lopsided, and certainly more boyish, smile as he stirs the sauce once over. "And who needs to go out in public when I have two beeeeautiful ladies here?" There's a hint of mischief in his smile as both edges of his lips dimple his cheeks. The ladle is set down on his lizard-shaped-spoon-rest painted by one of his colleague's children, and he carefully unwraps the icepack that he'd fastened to his hand before tossing it haphazardly into the freezer. It's just an icepack.
His eyebrows tick upwards as he peeks into the living room at the girl in the easy chair. "Uh… Nick?" there's the slightest nearly undetectable somewhat uneasy lilt to his voice, but it doesn't present in any of his features. And then, rather randomly because he JUST set it down, he retreats back to the oven to grasp the ladle again, giving the sauce another stir while giving each of the ladies the blank expression of… his back.
Nicole doesn't catch where Brad's gone with Delia's request and just rolls her eyes good-naturedly at his protectiveness and what she sees as his re-iteration. "I heard her the first time, darling." She sets down her pen and slides off her seat, padding over to the living area. "What's up, Carrot Cake?" she asks as she perches on the arm of Delia's chair, keeping her curious glance on the girl's face, rather than prying as to what she's doing on her iPad.
First things first, Delia needs to be a good hostess. With a shaky hand, she lifts up the little plastic plate of chocolates toward Nicole, offering her one of the precious gift blueberries. It's a big deal, even Brian didn't get a blueberry, he got a cherry. "Nnn- nn— " There's a frustrated grunt as she's unable to actually get out the words she wants, not as eloquently as the beautiful woman perched on the arm of her chair.
Instead, she holds up the iPad, showing Nicole a website of bathing suits. Plain and standard swimsuits. "Ss— sswimming! Nnn— Nnnnick ann'me." Her face tinges pink, her eyes shine with tears, and her chin trembles lightly before she presses her lips shut again.
The sauce is sooooo interesting. At least it seems that way with how obsessively Russo stirs it. His shoulders heighten with a deep inhalation of breath before he finally turns around and opens the freezer again only to shut it and lean his forehead against it silently. Wherever his thoughts are, it's unclear. When he finally peeks back at the ladies, it's with a feigned curiosity.
"Swimming? That's a great idea." Nicole carefully reaches out to lift the iPad enough for her to see it better. "Oh no, honey. I've got a much better, site." A few taps of the on-screen keyboard and Nicole is handing the device back. "Here. These are vintage style. Cute, but still modest." Which should make everyone happy.
The brunette's head doesn't lift, but her eyes come up and fix Russo a with a serious look. An expression that could be withering to most others, but in this case simply states in advance that she'll be accepting no excuses, and no arguments here. "What did you do to your hand, Bradley?"
Turning her head to look up at Brad, Delia's head tilts along with Nicole's question. She squints to try to see the television host's hand a little better. "B-braduh?" Her eyes shift to Nicole and then down to the iPad. Not that she's not worried about her brother's hand, but it seems his fiance is much better at verbalizing everything the redhead wants to say. So she'll just listen…. and look at these ubercutesuits.
Scrolling through the different styles, she opens the old page to show Nicole. 'See? that's what Brad got me'. Tragic. Then she's back to the other site and perusing the different styles. The bikinis are bypassed without a second glance, a blueberry is popped into her mouth and she chews slowly as she deliberates.
Nose wrinkling like he's smelled something foul, Brad smirks, "Seriously? Bradley? I'm pretty sure I only ever got Bradley growing up when it was accompanied by a Benjamin Russo. Brad. Always Brad." His eyes twinkle alight as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Out of sight, out of mind.
And then, dismissively, as an aside he shakes his head, "It was nothing." The hand. Its injury. He's a man, he can take it. He shifts into the living room, hands still safely tucked away, "Uh. What are you looking at?"
The older woman's nose wrinkles at the site of the suit Russo initially picked out for Delia. Nicole shakes her head quickly. "Definitely not. He's a boy. He doesn't know better."
This time, Brad receives the full brunt of Nicole tilting her chin up so she can scrutinise him. "All right then. Have it your way." And for a moment it appears she's going to let it drop. And then her lips part again so she can turn his unintentional invitation back around on him. "Bradley. Benjamin. Russo. What did you do to your hand?"
There's a snort from the redhead when the brunette poses her question again, yes she's having a laugh at her brother's expense. At least she's smiling. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she alternates between hysterical snorts and a hissing laugh, 'ssss sss ssss'. Nicole called him by his full name. Someone's in trouble.
"Bee-rrrad-lee Jemmin' Rrr-SO!" she mimics, pointing her finger at him and giving him the 'stern face' not the Howard Stern face, but the one that says 'i mean business'. "Me ssee?" She knows all this stuff in her head, after all. She just might not be able to get it out.
There's a small smile of relief as the topic seems dropped… only to be picked up again. Russo frowns slightly as his non-injured hand rubs the back of his neck. Finally he unpockets his right hand, extending it so they can both see it. His lips purse slightly as his gaze tracks upwards, "It's not a big deal."
Swallowing he finally regards the reason for his apparent injury. "Look. When I went to the Corinthian like yesterday to come see you, I ran into— " a crazy person? "— a random stranger who saw fit to rearrange my face. I, however, wasn't game to this plan and thwarted it. My hand took the brunt." There's a small pause as he shrugs his shoulders and manages a slight smile, "I figured it was better than my face. No one wants to watch a television host who needs reconstructive surgery."
Hands are cupped over Delia's ears so that the woman seated at her side can swear without guilt. "Oh, fuck my life," Nicole whines, and then uncups the girl's ears again. "Was he blonde, bitchy, and British?" She points a finger down to Delia's iPad and instructs her, "Pick out two suits. I'll buy whatever you want."
Then, Nicole's crossing back to the kitchen to Russo, reaching out to snatch his wrist so she can examine his hand. "You poor thing. I'm so sorry." Like this is her fault. She tugs open the freezer door and rather than reach for the previously discarded ice pack, she grabs a half-full bag of frozen peas leftover from their Christmas meal, and rests it carefully in his palm. "Is that better?" she asks gently, her eyes coming up to meet his.
Russo is delivered a bright smile as she gives a cursory inspection to his hand. "B-brruise? Oh-kay?" Then there's a muffled sound of a curse word and Delia's eyebrows quirk in the direction of her sister-in-law to be… a scowl paints its way across her face. "M'not! ..Nnnot.." Her chest heaves with heavy hurt breathing as her eyes water just a little. "Nnnot.. b-baby!" Sniffling, she glances down at her iPad and calms herself by looking at a 1950's version of a racy bikini.
Blonde, bitchy, British… Those three words combined don't describe anyone that Delia knows. Turning back to her iPad, she peruses the suits and holds up a picture of one to her brother. There's a glance in his direction as she seeks his approval, it's doubtful he'd let her out of the house if she was wearing anything not appropriate. "F'r swimmin'? Nniick?"
"Something like that," Brad murmurs while a skeptical eyebrow arches at the questions and reaction. His lips part, but nothing comes out until the frozen peas are laid upon his swollen hand. Pale blue tracks up to meet hers, his lips edge into a near soft smile as he hmmms. "John Logan." There's a small shiver at the touch of the peas, "He called himself John Logan. And then reprimanded me for dipping my pen in the company ink."
His eyebrows knit together and his attention is redirected to the iPad. His eyes widen slightly at the swimsuit, not that it's the swimsuit he's really shocked at. It's the company. "With Nick?" he repeats as if to ground himself in the question. "R-really? I'm sure… Nicole could take you swimming. Or Jaiden. Or… I could, I guess.."
Nicole's eyes shut tightly. This time, she only mouths the fuck word, for Brad's benefit. She isn't sure she's allowed to cuss like that in front of his sister yet. "Logan." She does have to suck the inside of her lower lip in between her teeth to discourage a quirk of her lips that could be interpreted as a grin. "Did he really try to break your face?"
She really has to wonder just how broken she is to consider that romantic. The problem is that she totally does. But enough about Nicole's messed up love life, let's move on to Delia's. "I'm more than happy to chaperone, Brad. If Nick wants to take her swimming, and she wants to go, I say you should let her. It's good for her." A look is flickered Delia's way. So in your corner, Carrot Cake.
Delia's eyebrows knit together and there's a slight twitch of her head. "Nn— " It just can't be her Mister Logan. Impossible. "D-dog? Chay-zzah?" If this John Logan didn't have a dog, it's not her Mister Logan. Simple enough.
Slowly, she flips to a pic of a modest bikini and shows it to Nicole, it covers pretty much everything she'd want to hide but still pretty enough to be looked at. "Mm'swimmin' Nn-nick. Nnick-ole… Mm'Ii.. " She looks down at herself and frowns deeply, thin to the point of emaciated, even with all of the food that she's been eating. They don't want her to gain as quickly as she lost. "Mm'Iii.. Ugg-lee?"
A cynical glance is given Nicole, "Try not to look so broken up about it, okay?" There's a softer lilt to Russo's voice and a warmer smile as he shakes his head at Delia, "I have no idea. It didn't come up when he tried to beat my head in." With a small sigh he allows his shoulder to slump forward.
His jaw tightens again at the mention of Nick. "Honestly, there's lots of people to swim with… I don't see why it has to be Nick." Eileen's words roll over his conscious mind. "And… I… " his lips twitch slightly at Nicole, "Carrots is in a fragile state, I'm not convinced Nick could accommodate that. Besides, there are plenty of other people to go." He's not convinced he wants Nicole spending time with Nick either. It's a poor excuse, but he uses it with confidence. "And Carrots, you will never be ugly."
"Cheza. Yeah." Of course the girl knows Logan. There are brief memories of her dreams. Talk of the King of All in his castle of diamond. It brings some colour to Nicole's cheeks, most of it from embarrassment and guilt. She sent Delia in the wrong direction out of jealousy, and spite. "Going swimming with Nick is obviously important to Delia," she insists. "I'll go with them. He's not going to be a problem." Her voice lowers to a hush. "Can't you tell he cares about her? And she cares about him?"
At Delia's question, Nicole shoots Brad a look as if to say we'll finish this later, and then hurries back to Delia's side. "Don't be stupid," she murmurs gently, not treating her like a child or an invalid, just like she requested. "You're beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. It won't take long for you to get your weight back up, and then you'll feel more comfortable in your skin again. And even then, you are anything but ugly."
Shaking her head a little, Delia's confusion sets in. "Mm— Mmmisser Llo— M-MY Mmisser Llog-an?" She shoots a worried glance to Nicole; she didn't say what she wanted to but she's hoping the older woman will know what she means. "I— " Looking down at her iPad, she swallows heavily and takes a deep breath. If Mister Logan is trying to break her brother's face… how is she going to see Cheza?
Brad is shot another dirty look as Nicole takes Delia in her arms and drops a kiss into her hair. "Ssshhhh… Don't you worry about that right now. Don't fuss over Mister Logan. There's nothing worth worrying over. It'll all turn out all right." Carefully, she eases the girl up, wrapping an arm around her midsection for support. "Let's get you back to your room. We'll have our spaghetti in bed. It will be lovely. Like a picnic. And a girl thing." The last bit is shot pointedly to her fiancé.
Someone is definitely in the doghouse.