Participants:
| Scene Title | Exceeding Expecations |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Expect the worst, hope for the best: Peyton and Amadeus find something in the middle on their little auction date, and find an unlikely friend in the other. |
| Date | August 23, 2010 |
TGI Friday's
It's early in the evening when Amadeus meets up with Peyton at the Friday's in the middle of a shopping plaza. He's changed out of his AC/DC shirt for this special occasion, and instead wears his black Metallica shirt. He stands outside waiting for her, arms crossed. "Date with Peyton Fuckin' Whitney." he mutters with almost child-like glee at the idea, the entire day being rather surreal. This almost completely makes up for that whole Deckard killing hookers thing.
Peyton Fuckin' Whitney has never actually been to a Friday's. Dive bars aplenty, high-end clubs and restaurants, many. But a sit-down chain restaurant for middle-class America is something the society brat has never actually done. She's dressed casually in skinny jeans, zebra-stripe ballet flats, and a gray sleeveless blouse with some ruffling going diagonally from the left shoulder to the right hip. She steps out of the cab, looking for her date and shouldering her turquoise purse. Dark eyes alighting on Amadeus, she smiles and strides with long legs across the sidewalk.
"Hi, Amadeus," she says simply, nodding toward the door. "Shall we?"
"Yeah!" Amadeus heads to the door, then pulls it open, actually holding it for once. "Since this is a date an' all, I thought I'd hold some doors and use manners and stuff." he says as he ushers her in with a wave of his hand. "Been lookin' forward to this, I had a hell of a crazy week."
The tall brunette looks amused. Manners and stuff. He may be a criminal and a pothead, but he's kind of amusing. "It's been a crappy week for me, too, honestly," she says with a bit of a grimace, but she holds off on that as the hostess asks for how many and then leads them to a booth. Monday nights at Friday's aren't that crowded, especially away from the tourist trap neighborhoods.
Once settled in the booth, Peyton opens the menu and begins to look at the choices. "So why was your week so bad?"
Amadeus is hunched over his menu as well, eyes going from left to right as he rapidly reads down the list. "Got shot at by an old crazy Chinese man 'cause the Triad set me up as a fuckin' joke, learned my deadbeat dad is Homeland, then I learned he used to kill hookers, so, don't know what to think about that. Oh and some fuckin' shithead shot a laser and destroyed my van's passenger seat."
He looks up at her from behind the menu, his eyes scanning everything but her eyes. "But I started readin' a book, it's called The Amplified or somethin'. It's about, like, Evolved extremists, anti and pro, and how both sides are bad or whatever. I ain't much for political stuff, but it's an alright book."
Her brows raise and disappear beneath her thick bangs and she chuckles. "Man, your parent situation is even more confusing than mine, I guess," she murmurs, though doesn't elaborate. "Homeland?" she asks, looking a little doubtful. "They don't usually make deadbeats into Homeland agents. He must have some skills of some sort." She also isn't sure if by Homeland, he means Homeland, or if by Homeland, he means Company. Neither agency is really on her good list.
"My … birth mother… she's Frontline. It's kinda nerve wracking, you know? It's super dangerous, but she used to be Coast Guard so she's all into that service sort of deal, I guess." She shakes her head. Faye is so different than her.
Making her choice, Peyton closes the menu. "Extremist in any way is usually considered bad. Extreme anything, right, is going too far, by definition, right?"
"My dad, Flint Fuckin' Deckard, just seemed like a fuckin' drunk who needed a shave to me. Skills my ass, I could beat him up if I wanted to." Amadeus makes his choice as well. Potato skins with bacon and cheese, with some buffalo wings. "FRONTLINE's fuckin' hardcore, glad they ain't got any business with me. But I don't know about extreme anything bein' bad, I mean, extreme skateboarding is pretty fuckin' awesome, right? And soda's pretty good when they make it extreme."
Peyton chuckles. "Well, extreme sports is different. I meant anything with extremist views, is probably too far by definition. Radicals, right?" She certainly doesn't consider herself an extremist. "So. You brought it up," she says, but pauses for a moment when the waiter comes by, suspenders full of flare. She makes her order, some pasta with the Jack Daniels sauce, and a lemon drop martini, glass of water. After Amadeus orders, she glances back at him.
"What's your take on it? The evolved thing. Registration, Linderman Act, that kinda stuff," she asks, curiously.
"Hey I want Jack Daniels on my food too!" Amadeus calls after the waiter as she starts to walk away, then turns back to Peyton so he can focus on her. "I used to be Evolved before I got the flu. I could hear what cats were thinkin', and like, be in their head and be the cat. I fuckin' hated it, cats are douchebags, I'm glad I lost my ability. But I got nothin' against Evolved, I know why some people might not like 'em, I know why they might want 'em to be registered, but… I think it all needs, like, thought? Registration feels wrong for reasons I ain't smart enough to really put in words, like, privacy stuff. I broke a Humanis dude's kneecaps once, for spray paintin' his shit on walls."
Cats are douchebags. Peyton isn't sure if he was just high a lot or if he really was Evolved, but she laughs a little. "Good for you. I tried to knee one in the balls but he smashed me into the wall face first. I've tried taking some combat classes, but I'm not really good at any of that," she says, glancing up as the bus boy drops off water glasses. She smiles and waits for him to be out of earshot again.
"So what did the cats think about that made them such douchebags?" she asks with a smirk. "I never had a cat. I have a puppy now. Ludwig Van — just Von for short."
"I don't know anything about karate and all that shit, I just know how to hit a dude and make it hurt. 'Cides, if you learn how to fight like that, someone can just read the book and know how to kick your ass." Amadeus stares at his glass for a few seconds, and returns to some brief oggling, before he finally manages eye contact again. "Cats think they own everything. They brush up on your leg like 'I own you, motherfucker', they use their spit to mark what they own. And they meow to trick you into thinkin' they're your children, and people fuckin' believe it!"
"Well, I was supposed to learn that Israeli thing, Krav something? Where it's all dirty fighting however you can, but then how is that teachable? I don't know. I just … to tell you the truth, it seems pointless. Someone can explode my brain with a glance or throw me up against a wall with a wiggle of their fingers or make me catch on fire. What's a karate chop to the nose going to do if I can't even touch them?" she asks lightly, though her eyes dart to the side. The truth is she doesn't fear the Evolved so much as someone like Danko.
"Hm. I wonder what my dog thinks. This little kid who picked out her puppy at the same time, she's a dog-whisperer type, but … you know. I don't think Von's thinking much besides pet me, feed me, pet me, walk me."
A few moments later, their waiter stops by with their drinks, and Peyton murmurs her thanks. "So, you know I'm Evolved, right? I mean, it weirds some people out." She's not going to tell him everything she can do. Or any of it. "And you just met your dad, or did he leave you as a kid?"
"Don't matter what anyone can do, they're all fuckin' human in the end. A baseball bat ot a good punch to the nose is gonna fuck anyone up. Fuck all that fancy crap, only thing you gotta remember is, first, fight smart, and second, everything breaks." Amadeus says with a firm nod, grabbing his drink to take a little sip. "You're Evolved? That's cool, you do somethin' good?" he asks, not being very pushy about it, just casually curious. "And yeah, the fucker didn't even know I existed, my mom always told me she gave me his last name out of spite for him."
"No, nothing cool," she says vaguely. It's easily researched — she's Registered after all. "Clairvoyant. But nothing amazing. I don't really get anything useful. Just scattered images." She takes a sip of her drink and sets it back down. "Well, if he didn't know you existed, it's not his fault he's a deadbeat, right? Though killing hookers is kind of a bummer for the relationship. I mean, unless that's your hobby too, but I certainly hope not." There's a slight smirk as she tries to turn it into a joke.
"Oh, so you're like, a fuckin' psychic? Hope my thoughts set the tone for the night." Amadeus snickers and takes a longer sip of his drink, trying not to get drunk quickly, if at all. "And nah, I ain't into hurtin' women, that's one of my limits. I never take a job if I gotta hurt a woman or a kid, that's why this hooker thing pisses me off. I gotta talk to him about it. And I wasn't blamin' him for not bein' there, but he acted like his shit grew legs and spoke to him."
Peyton's brow knits and she makes a sympathetic little moue for him. "That sucks. No one deserves to be treated like that… I mean… I suddenly had my birth father in my life — briefly — and whatever else he'd done, it wasn't his fault that I hadn't known him before, not really." She looks away. That is still in the to be dealt with category of her psyche, pushed away to deal with the other crises as they hit one after another. "I'm sorry. You're probably better off without him, you know? Cardinal seemed to find it funny that you're his kid. I don't think I know the guy, your dad, though."
"Oh yeah, Cardinal's that guy who fuckin' blew you off, ain't he? I told 'im if he did it again, we'd have to take it outside." Amadeus says with a rather serious nod, truly confident in his Cardinal slaying powers. "Eh, fathers, who needs 'em, right?" He holds his glass of whiskey up for a toast. "To bein' fuckin' awesome without the sperm donor!"
Her eyes drop at his recounting of the night's events and she shrugs. "Something like that," she murmurs, cheeks coloring a touch. "Don't fight him for me. A, you'll get your scrawny ass kicked, Amadeus, and B, he's not a bad guy. It's not his fault that … you know. I'm me, and he's him, and never the twain shall meet." She shrugs, and lifts her glass. "I donno about awesome, but I guess fuckin' is my middle name," she quips, clinking her martini glass against his tumbler.
"I hope you mean that in more ways than one." Amadeus adds with a little grin, then pulls his glass back and takes a nice long drink before putting it down again. "I think I could take 'im, but I ain't the kinda guy who needs to dick wag to prove it, so I'll leave 'im alone."
He leans with an arm on the table, getting a little more relaxed now that he's had most of his drink in him, and Peyton Whitney seems more like a regular person. "What's with chicks always tryin' to change a guy like me? Like all the virginal smiles and gettin' me a job is gonna turn me into Brad Fuckin' Pitt."
"It was a joke, don't get your hopes up there, sport. And no, you need to adopt eighteen kids to turn into Brad Pitt," Peyton says with a chuckle. The waiter comes by with their food, checks on their drinks, does his business with a few jokes and a thumbs-up to Amadeus.
"But who's trying to change you? I'm not. Do whatever you want. I just don't want you to fight Cardinal because he's my friend, not because I'm trying to make you different than what you are. If it's not broke, don't fix it, right?" Peyton picks up her fork, winding a bit of pasta around it as she speaks.
"Nah, it ain't you, you're my kinda girl. I can talk about all this shit and you don't act like I'm gonna stab you in the face, and I know you ain't the kinda chick who's gonna wanna get married just 'cause we bone in the alley behind the restaurant." Amadeus says as he gets hintingly specific on that little hypothetical situation. "But I met two chicks this week, One's this college student, she thinks I'm a total fuckin' loser judges me like a fuckin' punch to the gut. Then I was in this swanky neighborhood and met that new singer, Adelaide or whatever. She wants to fuckin' dress me up and get me a job 'cause she's a lonely virgin and doesn't wanna be seen with a guy like me. Chicks have some serious nerve."
Peyton raises a brow. "I think I've met her," she says with a little shake of her head. It didn't go particularly well, Ferry business of sorts. "Adelaide. Not the college student. I'm pretty sure there's more than one, right?" she says with a smirk as she eats some more pasta.
"In all seriousness, though, you know the alley think isn't going to happen, yeah? I mean, I know I have a street rep and all but things have been kind of different for a while. I'm not really the girl you see in the tabloids anymore. I haven't even talked to Paris for a year or so. Haven't even been out to Hollywood or anything in the same amount of time."
"I'm just jokin', well, I mean I'd love to do it in an alley, but I've got a bit more class than to do it in an alley on a first date." Amadeus starts sipping at his newly refilled glass, then grabs one of the potato skins and takes a large bite. "Now, the bed or a car is a whole other matter, but I ain't bankin' on it. You're Peyton Fuckin' Whitney, and last I checked, my dick ain't made of gold. I'm sure you're different, I've been gone for three years, but I'm a guy, a guy wishes and hopes and does stupid things in the hopes of getting impossible things."
Shaking her head and laughing, Peyton takes another sip of her drink. "I'm not a snob, you know. You don't have to be made of gold in any part of you. I just am sort of a clusterfuck myself right now, and don't need more flings in my life that don't mean much, and I can't offer anything meaningful, so I'm just telling you up front to be fair, right?" She stabs a bit of chicken and winds her fork around more pasta. "But, I think you're a funny sort of guy and you make me laugh, which I do need, so would you be opposed to friendship?"
"Friendship with a chance of benefits and you've got a deal!" Amadeus says before a little laugh, then offers his hand and nods, a sincere smile forming on his face. "I'm cool with friends. Fuckin' you's more like a bucket list kinda thing, I can live without it. You're a cool chick, and I like talkin' to you. You make me remember I don't need to change for anyone… Well, I am gonna take that Adelaide chick up on her offers, 'cause she's sayin' I can stay in her mansion. I'll wear a fruity fuckin' shirt if I get to stay in a mansion for a while."
Before taking the offered hand, Peyton lifts hers, index finger half an inch away from thumb. "Small chance," she amends, but doesn't dash his dreams entirely, slipping her hand into his and shaking like they just made a business deal. "You'd look nice in a fruity shirt. I'll take you to Barney's and we'll make sure it's nothing lame and smarmy. You can look cool and nice at the same time, you know. Just don't pretend to change for her sake, right? That's worse than changing."
"I told her I ain't makin' any promises, and I sure as fuck ain't goin' to grammar school like she told me. I don't need no fuckin' grammar, ain't nothin' wrong with it." Then when she mentions Barney's, Amadeus furrows his brow as if she has something on her face. "What, like, the fuckin' dinosaur?"
"You don't go to grammar school for grammar. It means elementary school. Pretty sure you did that much, even if you didn't finish high school. Everyone goes to elementary school, right?" Peyton says, brow arched. "And no, not like the dinosaur." It's like Big Daddy but with a grown up Frankenstein/Julian. "Big store here in New York. Where are you from, anyway?"
"I'm from Hell's Kitchen, but I was doin' community service or somethin' when the bomb happened. And hey, I finished High School! Took like fuckin' fourteen years, but I finished it." Amadeus has been digging through buffalo wings for a while, and offers her one of the potato skins to try. "Maybe I've got like, my dad's charm or whatever. He gets surrounded by chicks who wanna jump his bones, and I'll get surrounded by rich chicks. That'd totally fuckin' work for me."
"How'd you grow up in New York without knowing Barney's?" she asks a little skeptically as she waves off the potato skin. "You'll have to go shopping there, then. It's too late, really now, since they'll close in like an hour, but we'll go another day." She takes another bite of pasta and makes a little noise and pushes it away, the plate half eaten, apparently full. She'll have to ask Cardinal later about the guy's father. "And you couldn't have taken that long, how old are you?"
"Twenty-four. And when I was fourteen I started shopping at thrift stores. I ain't the kinda guy who wanted all that swanky stuff, had to save up for pot money somehow." Amadeus points to his Metallica shirt. "It was all faded and beat up like that when I got it." he explains as he finishes the last of his buffalo wings, and nibbles his last potato skin. "You ever shop in a thrift store?"
"Kind of," Peyton says with a laugh, blushing a little. "Well, yeah, a couple of times, for like, Halloween costumes, but I go to a store that has vintage designer stuff. I have a Chanel suit from 1965, some shoes, that sort of thing. I like the retro look," she explains, though the fact her Chanel suit cost $800 is probably not really what he means by thrift.
Amadeus raises an eyebrow, and downs the rest of his drink before he stands up and pulls his wallet out. It's actually his wallet, as indicated by his ID in it. He counts a few twenties, then places eighty dollars on the table. "Here's the deal. I go with you to Barney's, and you go with me to a thrift store. Come on, let's go hang outside and wait for your cab, I'm sure you still don't want me to know where you live."
It's probably the beginning of a dubious friendship, but Peyton can't help but laugh and nod. "Okay. It's a deal," she says, finishing her drink and setting it down. The money will more than cover the bill, so there's no need to wait for the waiter to stop by. "I'll split the cab with you. I don't care if you see what building I'm in. I don't think you'll stalk me. And if we're gonna be friends, you know, it's cool. I can use some friends that aren't all serious all the time."
"I drove my van here, so… oh yeah, forgot, my seat was fuckin' lasered. If you don't mind sittin' on my bed in the back, or sittin' on a half-lasered seat, we can take the van." Amadeus opens the door for her again when they get to the exit, and he motions her through again. "And nah, I ain't gonna stalk you. I fuck, I ain't a watcher."
"I'll skip the ride in the Mystery Machine for now, there, Shaggy," Peyton says as she heads for the door. She can't help but chuckle. "Thanks for dinner though. I'm sure I didn't live up to your expectations, for what, eight hundred bucks or whatever, but it was…" she raises her brows, perhaps surprised at what she's about to say, "nice."
"I thought you'd just be a hot screw, but you're a lot more than that. You're one cool chick, a lot better than Paris Fuckin' Hilton. You, uh, what's the word, went over my expectations." Amadeus pulls his phone out, dialing the number for the taxi. "Alright, let's split a cab. I'll get my van later."