Hungry Like the Wolf


nicole2_icon.gif sable_icon.gif

Scene Title Hungry Like the Wolf
Synopsis Straddle the line in discord and rhyme, I'm on the hunt, I'm after you. Mouth is alive with juices like wine, and I'm hungry like the wolf.
Date October 1, 2010

The Bronx

How serious is Sable taking the implied 'dateness' of the dinner she roped Nicole into? The one that, due to its being her treat (her, the below minimum wage, under the table, off the grid worker), certainly has date-like features. But stripes a zebra does not make. Tigers have stripes too. And okapi. Just to take two other examples.

It may just be because of how mature Nicole seems that Sable has donned her good (read: only) white button down shirt, as well as her dress slacks and black leather shoes. The lack of tie and vest must mean something. What, though, is anyone's guess. All you can be sure of is that Sable gave it some thought. The game, if it's to be played, is to be played with a mix of careful forethought and keen instinct.

Sable has no car. She can't pick Nicole up. If it's a date, that's a bit of a minus minus. But maybe it's not. Sable gave Nicole an address in the Bronx, and its outside a small bistro, the smell of fresh Italian wafting out from the front doors, warm and heady. The yellow eyed girl has a long paper bag under her arm. The crinkle around the top third betrays its nature: if she was drinking from it, she'd be paper-bagging. Vino, baby.

A taxicab pulls up out front of the bistro, and Nicole steps out after passing the appropriate amount of cash to the driver to cover the fare. It doesn't take her but a moment to spot Sable, her look is quick, but not lacking in an appraising nature.

It would seem that that Nicole is taking the idea that this might be date seriously. She didn't bother finding a new dress, but instead took the one she wore to d'Sarthe's soft opening out of her closet. A tasteful black thing with a skirt that falls past her knees, and a blue sash tied into a bow, the same colour as the highlights in her hair. "Hey," she greets with a small smile. Her gaze lingers briefly on the distinctly wine-shaped parcel under her date's arm, but quickly comes back to her yellow eyes. "You look nice."

"'n' you'd know, hon," Sable says, stepping forward and offering her hand up to Nicole, palm pointed to the darkening sky, and offer to take, not to shake, "'stunning'," she says, enunciating clearly, cutting her accent out entirely, saying it like someone fancy might say it, "is th' word I figure best fits you," she clicks her tongue, softly, "this is gonna be somethin' else f'r me. I hope y'all enjoy yourself too, though, hon. I'm gonna try to see t' that," she wiggles her shoulder a little, shaking the bottle, "but I ain't gonna do it alone."

Oh boy. Nicole takes Sable's outstretched hand as it's offered, having a fair idea of where this is going. "Thank you," she murmurs in response to the compliment. "A little bit of a warm-up before the drinking contest at Sissy's?" she queries with arched brows.

Sable's fingers are a little rough; there's a callus on the pad of her thumb. Nicole can feel this as it brushes across her knuckles, as Sable takes her hand.

"Tried t' get reservations," Sable says, informative yet still sounding a bit off-handed, "but turns out they don't take 'em. But hey, BYOB. Hard t' beat." She tips a small wink and then leads Nicole by the hand, through the front doors and to the hostess, who bustles them to a table by the window. Sable moves to pull out Nicole's seat then, as she feels her hair rippling in a rather chill breeze, she looks up. AC vent. The yellow eyed girl wrinkles her nose, sidles over, and pulls out the other chair for Nicole. What a gentleman, huh?

"'course a little warm up. Y' don't go int' th' ring without buildin' up a little sweat 'n' fightin' spirit first, eh?"

Nicole holds up her hand when Sable goes to pull out the other chair. "Actually, I like A/C," she admits, allowing her date to settle her in to the original chair. And if Sable should brush a hand over Nicole's bar arm, her skin does prove warm to the touch. "You're right, of course."

A quick smile and Nicole is reaching into the folds of her skirt, a concealed pocket, procuring her BlackBerry and setting it on the table. "I'm not trying to be rude. It's just… Work." She gestures to the phone with a what can you do? sort of shrug. "I have to keep an eye on my alerts. I promise it will not be an all-encompassing distraction."

"Aw, hell," Sable says, settling into the hair she pulled out for herself, apparently. She grips it by the sides and scoots forward, cah-klomp, cah-klomp. "Don't you worry. I don't want this t' feel all, like, serious 'r nothin'. Do what y' gotta do. Honest… I know I was forward 'n' all, askin' y' t' join me, but, like, I ain't got no expectations 'r, like, goals b'yond tryin' t' get a better sense ' y'."

She sets the bottle on the table and tugs down the brown paper. It's a Cabernet Sauvignon. Not that Sable has any idea how to pronounce that, nor does she try, simply gesturing at the bottle and awaiting Nicole's reaction - approval, she hopes.

"Whatall d' y' know 'bout me, hon, if y' don't mind me askin'? I know 'proximately jack 'bout you, but I'd like t' change that."

Nicole looks somewhat impressed, as it isn't three buck chuck that's in the bag, but no more than that. "You have good taste." Even if she does prefer merlot. Her phone doesn't buzz or chime, but the screen does illuminate briefly. She ignores it.

"I don't know very much about you, I'm afraid," Nicole confesses. "I know that you're a strong young woman, and you've made quite an impression on my sister. She insisted I meet you." Whatever that means, says her look. "So I figured that I should make an effort to find out why." Her smile is kind, polite, and encouraging. "I work as a personal assistant, which really means I do just about anything asked of me, or find someone who can. I've been doing that for the past— Since I got out of college." The correction is quick, so as not to give away her age.

Understand, every drop of the little tact Sable keeps in reserve is expended in not making some 'clever' comment about how Nicole can find out in just what manner Sable made her early impression. In no universe does the admission 'I got with your sister after a drinking game' constitute good date chat. "Goes both ways, hon," Sable says, instead, "can't say that she didn't leave her own mark, nor that it ain't reminders 'f her that got me as, like… mixed up as I am, meetin' you. Older th'n her, I know. Y'all got yerself t'gether, clear as day," implying that Colette doesn't, maybe not flattering, but maybe not without intention, either.

Menus arrive, along with bread, olive oil, and wine glasses. The waiter wastes no time in uncorking the Cab. He gives Nicole the first glass, then fills up Sable, before departing. It's only when he's gone that Sable continues speaking.

"I dunno whatall y' should know, frankly, nor that it matters 'r anythin'. But yeah, Colette's got a place with me, that I sure as hell can't deny. Flattered, though, that y'd take interest in me. I'm th' sort been tryin' t' do exactly what I'm asked not t' do, since… hell, since as far back as I remember…"

Nicole honestly isn't quite sure how much she should read between the lines with Sable, but she hides it with a smile of polite interest. It's more genuine than the one she gives to the waiter when he fills her glass with wine, however, which should be somewhat of a comfort to the younger woman seated across from her.

"I've had a few more years to get myself together," Nicole points out in a quiet voice. Perhaps a bit defensive on her sister's behalf. "I was… Well, Colette's a lot more together than I was at her age." She makes plays at being older, more responsible, at the very least. A gentle shake of her head dismisses the subject. They aren't here to talk about Colette.

"Tasha of course told me that you're a musician, and you indicated as much yourself, but… I didn't catch what you play." Nicole brings her wine glass up finally and takes a sip, brows arched upward to entreat for information.

"That so?" Sable inquires, "not t' say Colette ain't got her head on her shoulders 'bout some things, capable as fuck 'n' no mistake, but together ain't precisely how I'd figure it, makin' me wonder, hon, what it is you were up to at her age, eh? Please, share. This is all 'bout gettin' t' know you after all."

But there's a quid pro quo at work, and Sable must at least answer Nicole's question before expecting her own to be addressed. "Guitar 'n' vocals," is the easy answer, which Sable relays with a sedateness that, from her, must be taken for modesty, "but I c'n pick up things pretty easy when I put my mind t' it, so I c'n, like, 'play' some other stuff too, but what I'm best at… guitar 'n' vocals," she grins, "Anythin' t' get me center stage, y' know?"

Nicole's smile is easy as she listens to Sable's explanation, nodding in a show that she's paying close attention. Even if she does glance down to her phone when the screen lights up. "At Colette's age, I was sneaking out my window, smoking in the garage — No. I was younger than 'Letty when I was doing that. No, at her age, I was in college. Partying in between bouts of fanatic devotion to homework."

There is a quick glance downwards at the phone, following Nicole's line of sight. Sable thought it would be easier to ignore the gadget's imposition, but catching and holding eyes is central to the game, and whether or not she is playing it, it's on her mind. It rarely isn't. This split of attention, however minor, rankles Sable. Her lips quirk in a momentary show of irritation, the musician never being anything like a master of expressive control.

"College? 'course… 'course y' went t' college," Sable says, finally taking her up her wine and taking a… gulp. Unfortunately no one ever conveyed the proper way to consume wine to Sable. "See, that I don' get. Bein' an achiever and a fuckup's s'pposed t' be, like, mutually exclusive, dig? That ain't playin' fair, what you did."

Well that was not the most flattering thing to hear. Nicole's dark brows knit together for a moment when Sable essentially calls her a fuckup, but she doesn't call her on it. "I didn't really have a lot going for me, and I didn't want to be stuck living at home my whole life, so… I threw myself into my studies. Had to do something so I could get out of Boston." At that notion, Nicole takes a generous gulp of wine herself. Talk of life before college seems to leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Sable's perceptive enough, and on edge enough, to notice the moment after which that frown forms. Dammit, she was… she was joking! A quick save is in order. Try and play it off or…? No. Obviously some things are getting lost in translation. "F'rgive me," she says, cutting right to an apology, "y'all gotta unnerstand, achiever means worse from my mouth th'n fuckup. 'n' neither was meant an insult. I was joshin'. Stupidly, I guess. But I got nothin' 'gainst college girls, swear. Dated a chick - went t' Emerson - back in Boston. Real fine gal. Smart as hell 'n' dedicated. Heck, I lived in Boston f'r over a year b'fore comin' here by bus," okay, okay, she's covered herself, now to try and keep the conversation from stalling in awkwardness - she smiles to try and place a good spin on things, "pretty eager t' leave m'self, when th' time came. Why were you so quick t' head Yorkwards?"

Nicole's smile is patient as Sable backtracks and explains her, well, Sableisms to her. She's more than happy to let it slide and move on. "New York is the city that never sleeps," she offers with a shrug of one shoulder. "And I never wanted to sleep." Some days, she still doesn't. And her ability allows her to supplement sleep with electrical energy. "It seemed the logical choice. It was close enough to home that I could still have Colette come visit, and far enough away that I could avoid visiting myself."

Her 'never wanting to sleep' is taken entirely metaphorically - Sable has no report of Nicole's power, and, to be quite honest, she doesn't think to ask. It's not that Sable would be surprised to find out Nicole is evolved it's that… that sort of thing actually doesn't matter a whole lot to her, when calculating a person. It's more instinctive indifference than tolerance, but one that's served her well. Finding out she was Evolved was not the shock it was for many. Of course she's special. Duh.

And of course Nicole would be special. Though Sable does not know. She grins at Nicole's comment like it's a joke, which it is, just not quite in the way Sable thinks. Further details, however, cause the grin to fade into a look of slight concern. "Not t' pry int' what ain't none 'f my fuckin' business, but sounds like y' weren't so fond 'f home, eh? Y'all don't have t' say why, but hey… I'm listening. I wanna know you, like I said."

Nicole fills the space of Sable's concern with another long drink of wine. "S'fine," she insists. "Colette and I just had lame parents." Lame doesn't begin to cover it, but it's a cover that's said enough for years. And if anyone understands a desire to avoid lame, Nicole suspects it's Sable. "Enough about me," she murmurs with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Let's talk about you for a minute."

"Fuck parents," is Sable's opinion on the matter, "bad 'nuff they screwed up this world so bad, then they gotta bring us int' it 'n' just leave all their shit on our doorstep." And she pursues the topic no further. Parents are, by and large, best forgotten, as far as Sable's concerned. She'd rather be talkin' 'bout her g-g-generation.

"Well… whaddya wanna know?" Sable asks, smile slanting to one side. It's worth noting that she hasn't even opened her menu yet. Obviously food is not the main event in Sable's mind. "Jus' keep in mind, I'm keepin' my wittiest-type replies f'r my interview with Rollin' Stone 'n' all that. Hope y' don't mind."

Nicole chuckles quietly and tilts her head to the side. She lays one hand over her phone when the screen lights up again, blotting out the illumination beneath her palm. "You make it sound like you've been on your own for a while now, but you don't, no offense, look much older than my sister. Did you leave home early?"

"No offense taken, hon," Sable says, and she's not just saying this, from the looks, "hell, I get 'nuff people thinkin' I'm younger by yards, 'cause 'f, y' know," she lifts a hand to pat the top of her head, indication her vertical handicap via pantomime, "which, lemme tell y', is a real pain seein' as I'm much more a butch, but hey," she shrugs, "we all got our crosses t' bear, eh?" A crooked smile accompanies this little c'est la vie statement.

"But yeah, I split from m' foster home when I w's, like, fifteen 'r so. Been gettin' by, on way 'r another, since," Sable says, "'n' lemme say, I think y' may be th' first person t' ask since I came t' this city. So, like, thanks f'r askin'."

Nicole's gaze is sympathetic now. Foster care. That makes a lot of sense, and it stirs a bit of guilt in her for Colette's own stint in the system. "Fifteen. And you're… Twenty now?" she estimates with a faint narrowing of her blue eyes. "Ish?"

Sable isn't actually all that fond of sympathy, at least for her social situation. It's aftertaste is a bit too much like pity. Not that she's always been in a position to be troubled over it, not in the past. And she's not about to get crabby with this woman. Sable shrugs at Nicole's estimation. "Prob'ly. Not really sure. Seems fucked, I know, but I can't really remember m' birthday. Spent 'nuff time with it not matterin'… sort 'f slipped 'way. But yeah. Nineteen if I ain't twenny which, like, I dunno."

The shock is very evident in Nicole's features when Sable says she isn't even sure of her own age. "That's horrible," she murmurs, trying not to sound too much like she's full of pity for her date. "Why don't you tell me about your band?" A better topic. Happier, perhaps. Less potential for mis-steps. Nicole doesn't want to upset her sister's friend. She'll never hear the end of it.

"Howzit horrible?" Sable inquires, smiling despite her tone of confusion, "I think it lends me 'n air 'f mystery. 'n' chicks dig that." A tooth grin accompanies this fun fact. If there's some deep seated unhappiness behind her forgetting of her birthday, it's not evident from how she acts here and now. The band, though, is always a happier topic. Sable lights up visibly. "Well, we don't got a drummer yet, but we got a name," she grins, "'Mad Muse', which, like, was a compromise 'n' all. I woulda named us somethin' more classic rock, but Quinn's all modern, 'n' Magnes is… well, he's Magnes, which is it's own goddamn thing, as y' know if y' know 'im at all. Quinn's th' real virtuoso type, with th' keyboards 'n' th' guitar 'n' th' fiddle 'n' th' synth 'n' all that. She's a DJ over at Tartarus. Magnes does bass on this real dorky B.C. Rich Warlock, but I wouldn't never ask 'im t' bother bein' cool, 'cause that ain't his style. 'n' I'm… well, I told y' 'bout me."

"So you're the lead singer?" Nicole asks. There's a whole list of reasons how it's horrible that Sable doesn't remember her own birthday, but she isn't about to bring them up if the other women doesn't feel the need to even acknowledge them. "I admit, I wanted to play a Warlock when I was in high school. But…" Her face scrunches up, a moment of confusion. "You mean Magnes Varlane?" That can't be coincidence.

Sable gives a laugh. "Mebbe y' c'n borrow his, come jam with us sometime. I'm ten times sexier, if y' c'n believe it, when I got my ax in hand. Y'all gotta see it f'r yerself," is said with about as much cockiness as you'd expect. A nod, then, at Magnes' name. "Don't f'rget the 'J' in b'tween. Boy never does."

The woman's hand is quick to lift in tandem with a shake of her head. "Oh no. I never did learn how to play. I just always thought it would be awesome, you know?" Nicole sighs quietly at confirmation that it is Magnes J. Varlane that Sable's referring to. "Is he as off-kilter as he seems?"

Sable's lashes lower a bit and she leans forward over her wine. "I give lessons, hon," she says, and there's more than a hint of suggestion in her tone, "run things on a rewards system. Y'all make time. I make house calls."

This is when the waiter shows up, maybe just in time. He looks between the women, assessing their readiness to order. Which, in Sable's case, is… not ready at all. Luckily… "Ladies first," she says, gesturing towards Nicole, mischief in a smile that is shortly hidden by the menu which she opens and lifts, scanning quickly for anything that looks like anything worth eating.

As for Magnes, she can answer that question while figuring out if she wants her ziti with pesto or marinara sauce. "Yeah, but not how most folks figure."

Nicole's cheeks flush at what Sable's just implied. It wouldn't be the first time someone's made such allusions to her, but she wasn't exactly prepared for this one, either. "Chicken fettuccine Alfredo," she responds easily without looking at the menu once. Either it's a perfect standby, or she knew what she wanted all along. She passes the menu to the waiter and then shoots a quizzical look to Sable, but doesn't actually verbalise her desire for further elaboration.

"Uh… this," Sable says, pointing at an item on the menu and forcing the poor waiter to crane his neck and see. "The… ziti, miss? Pesto or-" But Sable already knows. "Th' green stuff," is her preference. "Pesto, then," the waiter says, accurately identifying which one Sable means, "anything else?" "Some, like, garlic bread? Y' got that, right?" Sable presses, her menu already closed and offered up, rather than opened and checked. "We do indeed," the waiter replies, with the patience of a saint. He takes their menus, then tops off Nicole's wine glass in what may be a gesture of mercy, seeing what uncouth creature it is she has to have dinner with.

When he's gone, Sable can go into details. After taking another gulp of wine of course. "Wants t' live life on 'is own terms, is all. Don't like t' compromise on th' shit that matters. Only what matters t' him seems sorta cracked t' most folks. But I dig it. I ain't, like… like him. But I get him. I know what that's like, y' know?"

There's a grateful nod for the additional wine in her glass and Nicole is quick to lift it and take another drink. "I can appreciate that, I suppose," she allows. She doesn't suppose talking about how he was absolutely massacred by Glenn Beck will mean much to her date. It's not the best of conversations for said date anyway, really.

"Could I ask you kind of a queer question?" Nicole doesn't let it linger. She figures the answer will be a yes. "Are those… contacts? Because I have never seen eyes quite that colour before. It's really quite striking."

"Strikin'," Sable echoes, with enthusiasm, "that's good, I'm gonna use that. I mostly use 'stunnin'', but strikin's less forward. I like that." Which is certainly one way to take a compliment. "Naw, darlin', these here are all-natural. If they were contacts, I'd be sort of a fuckin' weirdo, don't y' figure? And not th' kinda weirdo I aspire t' be. I'm more David Gilmour, less Marilyn Manson, y' dig?

"Which… I gotta ask: what music do y' listen t'? 'n' what music really moves y'? That shit matters t' me, 'cause, y' know… I figure a lot 'f who y' are y' c'n know by what speaks t' y', 'n' what moves y'."

Nicole's lips purse outward in appreciation of the natural hue of Sable's eyes. "Wow. Well, they suit you." Her striking personality. To the question of music, she has to think for a moment. "The Goo Goo Dolls are one of my favourites. I listened to a lot of punk and grunge in high school. I don't very often anymore." Her brows come together momentarily, like she's remembering something unhappy, but it doesn't linger. "I have a soft spot for Paul Revere and the Raiders. I doubt you know who they are, though."

"Fair 'nuff, darlin'," Sable says, grinning a bit and leaning back in her chair, tipping a bit so that the front legs of the seat lift an inch or two off the ground. One hand grips the edge of the table to help her keep her balance. This can only end in tears, would be what any world weary mother would say. "Been a wolf f'r quite some time. Just livin' up t' my peepers. Can't be blamed!"

Thankfully, she settles the seat back down with a mild thumb, her body tipping forward a moment with the momentum. Sable purses her lips as Nicole explicates on matters musical. She seems to be thinking. After a moment, she starts to sing a low melody. "Girl y' though y' found th' answer on that magic carpet ride last night…" Her head tilts, "That them?" She sounds unsure. This is her best guess.

The electrokinetic's face lights up when Sable begins to sing. "Yeah! That's them!" Nicole shakes her head in mild disbelief. "I didn't think you'd actually know who I was talkin' about. That's cool." She seems a bit more relaxed now. Maybe it's the wine that she's bringing to her lips again for another generous sip. "You know your stuff!"

"Haven't listened t' much, I'll admit," Sable says, feeling the need to own up to the limitations her knowledge - it appears her cockiness doesn't encompass all topics or moments, "but thass a good tune. Solid 60's rock. Best kind there is. John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix 'n' Pete Townshend are m' holy trinity, no goddamn joke." She sounds serious. But she catches the growing ease in Nicole's posture, and the feeling is catching. Sable smiles, maybe a little goofily. "Yer tough, hon. Real tough. But I like you. Figure it w's prob'ly inevitable. You got that way 'bout you."

"Oooh. Hendrix does some bitchin' guitar work. I mean, if you'll pardon my understatement." Nicole leans her elbow on the table, resting her head in her hand briefly before her phone catches her attention. She winces. "Hang on. I have to take this one." Though it's only a text message, thankfully. She scrutinises the screen for a moment before dashing a reply off rapidly. When she sets the phone down again, it's with the screen pointing toward the surface. No more distraction.

Sable eyes Nicole sidelong. There's a tone exaggeration to her smile, a vague good cheer, that suggests about one glass of wine does the trick for Sable. Cheap date. Virtue of her size. Plus she's been drinking less lately. Only on, well… only for special occasions. "Y'all are just tryin' t' charm me now," she says, tapping the side of her nose with a finger, "tryin' t' catch me off guard. Don't think it'll be that easy, hon. I'll lead y' on a chase. Y' gotta earn it!" The phone's resetting does not escape Sable, and she actually bites her lip, just a little, keen canine dimpling the flesh for a moment.

"If I go too far, hon, shut me right on down. Wanna have a nice dinner, 'n' I get in th' way 'f that, you lemme know. Plus, like, lettin' me what ain't my business. But… gotta ask: y'all seein' anyone right now?"

Nicole doesn't feel the alcohol quite as quickly as Sable, but she's letting it loosen her up more than she otherwise might. When she's asked if she's seeing anybody, Nicole blushes a shade of rosy pink. "I'll be honest… That depends on your definition of seeing someone. Am I dating anyone? Not… really. But there's someone that has a key to my place, if you get what I mean."

"She blushes!" Sable exclaims, gleefully, and not without appreciation, "I gotta find a way t' see that again. I ain't restin' 'til a do, in fact." She leans forward, elbows on the edge of the table, fingers extending to 'ting' a fingernail against Nicole's wineglass. "Thass cool. So it's like that, then? Y'all friends or do y' just, y' know, meet each other's requirements."

The blush reaches clear to Nicole's ears at the proclamation that Sable would like to see more of it, and the way she becomes pursuant of the nature of her non-relationship. "We're friends," she offers simply, somewhat uncertainly. "He's just a very dear friend."

"Hell, I'm on a roll," Sable says, with a snicker, eyes fixed on Nicole, smile just a little wolfish. Something about this composed young woman displaying uncertainty, flushing… "if yer tryin' t' draw me in, hon, it's workin'. Now here's me hoping we make fast friends ourself."

Nicole draws in a quick breath and shrinks back in her seat a little. It's rare someone can get her to squirm like Sable's doing. And Sable is doing a fine job of it. "Noooow I know why Sissy insisted we meet." She reaches for her glass and lifts it from the table with that uncertain smile. "To friendship?"

"T' dear, dear friendship," Sable agrees, grinning wide, refilling her glass before lofting it in turn, causing it to ring, glass on glass, against Nicole's. "Bottom's up. This is our warmup, after all, eh?"

Nicole pulls her glass away after clinking with Sable's, a bright smile on her face. "Bottoms up."

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