Love Has Warts


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Scene Title Love has Warts
Synopsis Kam is domestic, Savannah doesn't want to tell him things that would make him worry, and the two discuss love and sacrifice… and sapphires.
Date December 13, 2010

Dorchester Towers: Abbot and Savannah's Apartment

Chicken pot pie night, not something scheduled but rather spontaneously occurring, can go a number of ways. Sometimes Kamber gets the crust just right. Then it's a hell of a thing. Sometimes, he doesn't, and it's not nearly such an event. As such, every preparation is a gamble, but that's the nature of pot pie. You must venture in order to gain.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he kneads the pastry dough, the most important part of the whole process. A glass of white wine is nearby, present to help him sooth his poor nerves at this crucial stage. The pie filling is already prepared, but the whole things needs to be baked, and that takes time. And it's late, and he's hungry. And Savannah should be home soon.

The front door shuts with the usual momentum as Savannah enters, fingers reaching up to pull her hair out of the ponytail she had tied it back in. The golden-haired author stretches her arms, noting a distinct lack of Kam as she first enters, and wanders towards the kitchen. "Pot pie," she assesses as she enters, moving up behind him to slide her arms around his waist so as to be a distraction but still allow him to knead the dough. "I surely don't deserve you."

Kam twists his neck enough to set a kiss to Savannah's head, or at least in its general direction, before swiftly reapplying his eyes and attention to the dough. "I know," he agrees, emphasizing the word as he pushes into the dough with the heels of his hands, "but make sure I don't catch on. I labor better under misapprehensions."

Savannah shuts her eyes, leaning her head in against Kam's back as she keeps the hug-from-behind, letting out a slow breath. "Well, I think it would be hard to convince you that I'm anything other than fantastic, so… I think I'm safe. Mm, you're warm." She murmurs, snuggling against him. "Just swat me away if I'm in your way, Kam."

"Safe, yes… for now," Kam says in an exaggerated, Vincent-Pricey radio horror voice. "Get me the rolling pin, would you darling?" He points to the drawer where it can be found. "Resume your hugging as soon as you return, though. That's a head chef's order."

There's a smile from the author, and she reluctantly pulls herself from Kam as she wanders over to get the rolling pin. She returns, presenting it to him before moving behind him and resuming her position pressed against his back. "You get us tickets to go abroad yet, or have you changed your mind?" She questions.

"I bought them the next day," Kam says, putting on a faux-haughty tone, like of course he's bought them, he's not a plebeian, "I got a connection through Heathrow, but I don't think we'll see much of London on the way there. Which is fine, it's such a dismal city, however grand," he starts to roll out the dough, thin but not too thing, "I don't have return tickets, yet, though. I was thinking… we might want to linger a little. It's not like you can't write in Europe. You might even be inspired."

"Vacationing until New Years might be good… who knows. We'll see when we get there." Savannah leans in, kissing him on the cheek. "This whole.. Christmas eve thing… it really scares you, doesn't it?"

"No," Kam counters, adding a little more flour to the dough and rolling it just a little bit thinner, "it doesn't, not now that we'll be sleeping in a Czech inn. I found a lovely little place in the old ghetto, terrifically quaint. It doesn't even have the internet, I was thrilled." Obviously he's making a point of not being scared. He's actively working towards this goal.

Savannah frowns, but hugs him tighter in reassurance. "We'll be fine. No one's after me, Kam. I promise. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, so… don't worry about it." She assures him. "We've got plenty of years of being old cronies."
You have been applauded.

"And I said, my dear," Kam says, half turning to smile down at Savannah, "that I'm not worried. The place you'll be with, you'll be with me, and the time will be spent away from all the nonsense of New York. You don't worry about my worry. We've taken care of everything."

"For the record… Christmas in Prague sounds romantic and amazing." Savannah assures him, turning to plant a kiss on his cheek. "No one I'd rather be with. I'm lucky to have you."

"So we established, upon your return," Kam says, smiling lopsidedly, "so, in the interests of not seeming too amazing… could I ask you to set the table. Pour yourself a glass of wine. I'm going to finish these, put them in the oven, and then you can tell me about your day, or recent days."

"You won't want to hear about that," Savannah points out, but releases him to go set the table and grab herself some wine. "You'll just worry more if I tell you what I've been up to. Although I suppose you could have just watched the news…"

Oh, no, that is never what one wants to hear. Kam looks up from his cooking to give Savannah a rather blank look. "Darling," he says, "the only thing that would really worry me is your keeping things from me. I'm not a child. I don't need to be protected," he sounds… a little serious about this, "I would appreciate it if you would tell me things if they'd concern me. Even if they 'concern' concern me."

"There was a rally, pro-Evolved. Big one, one of the biggest in a long time. Humanis First poisoned someone, let off some smoke bombs." Savannah explains. "I wasn't hurt or anything, I was there, though."

Kam closes his eyes, takes a few calming breaths, and then looks back up at Savannah. "I understand," he says, "that you might not want to just come out and say that immediately because, you know, I'm sure we both want a nice evening. But good Lord, Savannah, you weren't going to tell me about this?"

Savannah shakes her head in protest. "Kam, it's not like I wasn't going to tell you eventually, I just wanted to find a moment where it wouldn't make it such a big deal. I mean, with the whole Christmas Eve thing I don't want you to panic or think they're targeting me or anything." She pours herself more of the wine. She's going to need quite a bit more. She sips it, shutting her eyes. "I'm not a bad person, Kam…"

"I was not leveling a criticism at your character, Savannah," Kam says, slowly, "only expressing an ardent desire to be informed about such things as soon as is possible. I know you had good intentions, of course, but I need you to know that I need to know about this sort of thing at once, all right? I will worry, of course, but I am an adult. Please don't try and shield me. That's not how this works. We tell each other things, we don't hold them back."

"I'm sorry," Savannah murmurs, sinking down into a chair with the glass of wine. "I just… you're very important to me, Kam, and I want you to be happy. I don't want to do something wrong and I always want you to look favorably on me."

Kam is leaving the cooking for a moment, rounding the separation between kitchen and dining space and coming into full view of Savannah. "I cannot imagine not admiring you, not heaping my every favor at your feet," he says, earnestly, almost solemnly, "but love isn't about perfection or rightness, it's about truth, and the truth always has warts. Darling," he crosses over to Savannah, taking her hand in his, "I love you and your warts," a pause, "…that sounded much more romantic in my head."

"I must be very warty, and you must be very tolerant," Savannah murmurs, looking at her glass of wine. "I think it's romantic, even if it sounds horrendous." She offers him a smile. "I never thought I would be lucky enough to have you Kam, and I just always want you to understand how much I love you."

"That is flattering, but also untrue. I am terribly finicky, and you are as smooth as silk," Kam bends down to kiss Savannah on the lips, lightly, "I do understand, and I will continue to, as long as you keep showing me. And you show me every moment I see you, or hear your voice. So I wouldn't worry overmuch."

"I try, Kam, I do…" Savannah murmurs, then pulling him in for a longer kiss. "I like your finickiness. And how you worry. To be honest… I always know you care because you worry." She laughs. "Makes me feel good about myself."

"You ought," Kam says, as he draws back from the kiss and forces himself in the direction of the kitchen, "to feel good about yourself for many other reasons. But if worrying helps in that regard, rest assured, I don't see myself not worrying any time soon."

"I forget, sometimes, that there are reasons to feel good about myself. You help, Kam." Savannah smiles. "You and your pot pies and welcoming spirit and just… just plain loving me."

Kam is back in the kitchen, cutting the dough, preparing the pie shells. He lifts his voice so it will carry. "With or without me, Savannah, you would have inestimable value. I will try to remind you of that always, but you really must try and remind yourself, as well. For those brief hours we're apart."

Savannah chuckles. "I suffer few the few hours alone." She insists, then sips her wine. "I'm alright. I survived on my own without you before, haven't I?"

"Yes, but that was under different conditions. I told you this city is a madhouse. Only New Yorkers are crazy enough to stay in New York," Kam begins the finishing touches, before slipping the pies into the oven, "so I intend to make sure we survive together. Though if I do have to sacrifice myself for you, heroically, I would appreciate it if you'd live long enough to mourn me appropriately," he pokes his head out from the kitchen, grinning at Savannah, "you'd make a ravishing widow, your blonde and all that black."

"You'd have to marry me first for me to be a widow," Savannah teases, sipping from her wine. "I'll be sure to be the most attractive mourner at your funeral. I will fling myself onto your coffin and someone will have to pull me back while I sob of how much of a hero you were."
"Well, of course, we'd have to have gotten married just before the terrible thing that demanded my heroism," Kam explains, lying out the plot he's set up here, "otherwise you'd have no newly donned ring to turn on your finger in the moving scenes afterwards."

Savannah laughs as she sips from her wine. "Oh, of course. It would be more tragic that way. Kamber Abbot dying to save his new bride, so tragic." She swirls her wine in the glass. "Sure you don't want the spotlight, Kam? It had better be a stunning ring, then."

Kam reappears in the dining space, his own wine glass in hand. He takes a seat across from Savannah, and sets his hand upon the table, inviting hers to join it. "Of course. But no diamonds, I'm afraid. Gem trade's just the worst. I'll get you something really particular. A gorgeous sapphire, perhaps. The right shade of blue would look stunning on you."

Setting hers in his, Savannah smiles. "I prefer sapphires anyways. Diamonds are overrated. Aren't such a lovely color…" She looks back over at him. "I trust your judgement. Make sure it'll look lovely with my eyes and my hair and my mourning garb."

"Don't get your hopes up too high, darling," Kam says, taking a sip of his own wine and smiling, "I'm not so eager to die for the sake of something I wouldn't get to see. However, I will keep sapphires in mind. You know, should it come up."

"Should it come up… sapphires are fantastic," Savannah states, squeezing his hand softly. "I'd rather you live to see that, though." She points out, giving a small nod. "Admire it for a while. I mean the ring, not me, if you're about to be sly."

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