Participants:
| Scene Title | My Dear Lady Disdain |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A frazzled Lynette and a calm Dante meet at a sushi joint. |
| Date | August 19, 2010 |
Located in the Upper West Side, West Side Sushi is a small sushi bar and restaurant that caters towards a medium income though manages a more upscale environment. The decor is tasteful and modern, vibrant in the tone of wooden floors, reflective glass bars, tricky lighting fixtures and artwork on the walls. A winding bar occupies one side of the building, the other devoted to private, comfortable tables with booths and armchairs. A decent range of Japanese cuisine is offered, from light meals to proper dinners, with a focus on sushi of varying prices. A full range of liquor is also available, including sake.
It has a trendy kind of vibe that implies temporary success and limited lifespan, but while it's in its prime, it's a nice place to go, with a casual if still sophisticated ambience with prices that aren't out of reach of the common man but quality that doesn't guarantee it will be overlooked by the wealthier patron.
Someone once told Dante that, to be a true New Yorker, you have to have an eclectic palate. That's the rationalization he's giving himself for being at a sushi bar today for lunch. Tucked into a small, two-person booth, the swarthy, athletic man is leaning over a packet of files on the table in front of him, his fork speared through a half-eaten California roll while the conveyor belt of dishes slides silently by his left shoulder. He's still, not chewing or going to take another bite, and the only part of him moving are those intense, pale eyes flicking over the text on the page.
There's sort of a ruckus as Lynette makes her way in. For one, she's carrying several bags that appear to be from somewhat expensive boutiques in the area, and for two, she looks upset. Like she's been crying recently? Or perhaps yelling a lot? What used to be a scarf has been cut in half and is now wrapped around her knuckles. Perhaps it's some new fashion. But, the woman herself seems to be trying to act as though it's a normal day as she walks over and takes the booth next to Dante's. Her chin is lifted. Her walk is poised. But it's all a little forced.
Dante looks up involuntarily at the noise from the front of the room. It's just a glance, not even enough to indicate interest. Damn his attentiveness, though, as his mind immediately hones in on Lynette and all those little details about her. From the forced casual walk to the scarf around her hand. The hawk-faced man frowns deeply, eyes now following her with the same intensity that they were scanning the page a moment ago. When she sits behind him, he's peering at her over his shoulder. Trying to be discreet…and failing miserably. He looks extremely thoughtful, gaze running down over her.
There are a few odd details. Like her hair. It's short, but that must be a recent thing, as her hands still move as if to tuck it behind her ear, only to find it no longer reaches that far. And sitting closer, he can now see that there are bloodstains under those wraps on her hands, over her knuckles and fingers. She isn't even looking at the menu, but she seems distant and distracted.
That is, until she notices Dante looking at her. "What?" she asks, half paranoid and half belligerent.
Dante blinks as he's noticed and the newcomer spits that question at him. Oh yeah, he's not invisible. Frowning a little more for a briefly moment, he gives her one more good once-over before turning more to the girl sitting behind him. "If you need help from the police," he says quietly, "I know a few people who can do discreet investigations. Get in a fight lately?"
Lynette's first reaction is a bit of cynical bitterness at the mention of the police, but after a moment, her features relax. Soften, even. "Thank you, that's very kind. But I'm quite sure this isn't a police sort of situation."
"Mmmm…" Dante's eyes narrow for a moment, a briefly suspicious look angling his features. "Well, good luck dealing with it," he says curtly, turning back to his files. And his forgotten sushi. hmmm… *munch munch* Hey, not bad.
"Thanks," Lynette says before she lapses into silence again. After she gives her order, she turns her attention to those knuckles of hers. The scarves are slowly unwrapped, an uncomfortable hiss when she's having to peel the fabric off the cuts on her hands. Her napkin is dipped into her water glass before she starts trying to clean them up a little.
Dante's bowed head rises a little at Lynette's hiss, his head tilting just a little as she starts to clean up. Eventually, there's the clink of a fork on a plate and Dante turns around again, eyeing the cuts on her hands. "Do you need a first aid kit?" he asks plainly.
With a bit of a frown, Lynette looks up at him again, biting down on a lip to keep it from quivering. She couldn't bear that sort of shame. "Yes. Please," is her eventual answer. "You carry a first aid kit around?"
"Not on me," Dante says plainly, turning forward again to flip his file folder closed, "In my car. It's parked in plain sight of the front door, and the kit is in the trunk." Pulling out his wallet, he glances back at her again. "You'll feel better than trying to clean it in public, with a wet napkin."
Lynette looks out that way, then back at him, then down at her hands. "I suppose I would." She stands from her chair there, leaving her things behind as she steps over toward, but not too close. Wary. "It's very kind of you."
"Not terribly," Dante says with a small pull of one corner of his mouth upwards in a half-smile, "You've had people watching you fearfully since you arrived. They'll be much more comfortable after you've cleaned up a bit." A twenty gets tossed out on the table and Dante looks over his shoulder, making sure Lynette is following before he starts to head towards the door. Avoid eye contact, don't scare her anymore than you have to, Dante.
And follow she does, trying to look… unassuming as she does so. She didn't notice any of the other looks, but she does now. And it's hurried steps that carry her out the door. "Sorry. Just been… having a rough week. This city," she says, waving a hand as if that should explain everything.
On their way out, Lynette can see people staring at her out of the corner of her eye, though when she glances over they quickly look away. She's definitely the center of attention. Dante is holding the door open for her, leading out to overcast and slightly windy parking lot. "This city," he says, seeming to agre with just those two words. "It's good to see you weren't just a victim. Should I see the other guy?"
Lynette doesn't respond to those words right away. She glances away, fighting back tears as she follows this man to his car. "Yeah," she does drop eventually, "You should see the other guy." Considering 'the other guy' is a recently exploded facility on Staten Island… he probably has seen it. Although that part she doesn't mention. <.<
Here's hoping that Dante doesn't make that connection, or Lynette could be in for some awkward questions. Instead, he just nods along, graciously giving Lynette only periphery attention at the moment. At least until the get to his car, which is a black Nissan sedan. The trunk opens with a chunk and a clunk, swinging upwards to reveal a pretty nasty mess. All sorts of automotive oils, cleaners, parts, and random bits of clothing tucked in and around the mess. From under a rain jacket, Dante extracts a red and white first aid bag, a big white cross emblazoned in vinyl on the side. "Is it just your hands?" he asks, slamming the trunk closed and setting the kit on top, starting to rummage around inside as he turns a questioning gaze back to Lynette.
"Yeah, just the hands." Lynette doesn't step closer until the trunk is closed again, glancing down to those hands of hers. Upon closer inspection, those cuts don't look like they were acquired in a fight with another person, but rather by someone hitting a wall or some such action. Hitting it a lot, perhaps.
Dante comes up with antibiotic and wet naps…and frowns when he finally gets a closer look at her hands. "Hmmm…" The baleful look he gives Lynette is much less sympathetic. Oh, so they're /self/-inflicted, hmm? He doesn't move to help her right away, instead just staring at Lynette for a moment, pale blue eyes following the lines of her face and the slightly puffy look around her eyes, briefly tearfilled. Presently, however, he sighs and reaches out to take her wrist, fighting his urge to be carelessly rough as he carefully cleans her cuts with the wetnap. "So what happened? Is the other guy the wall at your house?"
"Don't look at me like that," Lynette says, a frown on her face. "You don't know anything about me. Don't judge." She, in her turn, fights the urge to yank her hands away and storm off. "Perhaps I'm in a self defense class." She's not in a self defence class.
Ferrymen> Dee is for Delicious Delilah rolls to a stop.
"You're right. I don't know you at all," Dante says flatly, not meeting her gaze. "Perhaps you are," he says, still in that same flat tone. The wet naps sting like crazy on those open cuts, though Dante's hand on the underside of her wrist is warm and his thick skin is soft. Surprising for a guy who looks like the type to get his hands dirty.
That sting barely gets a reaction from the woman, but his words do. Notably, a frown. "Yes, exactly." Lynette lets out a huff, silent for a moment or two as she defaults to just watching him. "What's your name?" It's… sort of a polite question. >.>
Dante can't help but smile mildly as Lynette huffs. Oh, he's very familiar with that attitude. There's not much cleaning that needs to be done to her hand, and he brushes away stray debris from the wounds before laying out a cool line of antibiotic goop along the cuts before pressing clean gauze to her hands. "Dante. Yours?"
"It's Lynn," she offers before she looks up from her hands to his face. "Are you always so… strange, Dante? Or is today special for some reason." She leans a hip against his car, looking a touch wry as she takes a moment to look him over.
Dante's brows furrow with another look up to Lynette, his smile thinning at her question. "I'm strange? How am I strange?" he asks, with the tone of someone who naturally thinks he's perfectly normal. The gauze winds its way tightly around her hand, relieving a bit of the sting as her wounds get cut off from the warm air of the afternoon.
"You offer a girl first aid, but insist it's for the comfort of the bystanders. You seem to think fighting is okay and even encouraged, but venting frustration in a physical way gets disdain." Lynette tilts her head a little as if studying him. "But then again, you help anyway."
"First off, it's utilitarian," Dante says plainly, tucking the beige gauze in on itself, fingers pressing into Lynette's palm. "It's more important to focus on the needs of the many than the needs of the one. Secondly, sometimes you can't avoid a fight. But there are better options for venting frustration than punching a wall." He looks up to Lynette's tilted gaze, eyes narrowing. He rolls his shoulder uncomfortably, now that he's the one being scrutinized. "I said I'd help you. I'm not going to back out on that."
Lynette listens to all that and it doesn't seem to be changing her mind about his strangeness. "And I'm not ungrateful. I'm sure the poor, huddled masses are grateful, too," she says with a nod back toward the restaurant.
Dante's attitude is turning a bit sideways, and he rolls his shoulder again, still put off. Strange? How is he strange? He's not strange…is he? He's worked very hard to be not strange. "Uh… They've probably forgotten about us by now," he mutters, taking Lynette's other hand and starting on that one as well. "So what was with all the shopping bags?"
At the mention of the shopping bags, Lynette glances back toward the Sushi place. "Ah, they say pampering yourself is a good way to ward off stress. I'm testing the theory. A lot." And perhaps rebuying a wardrobe after losing weight due to months in captivity. But who's counting. "It's alright, you know. No one's normal, hun."
"So I've heard. I've found the best way is through physical exercise. Hitting things that don't destroy your hands." Dante smirks a little, his eyes still on his work. "Do you actually take self-defense courses?"
"Oh sure, be sensible about it." Lynette smirks at bit at that last question and she lets out a sigh. "No, I don't. I mean, I can throw a punch, but… it's not formal or anything."
Dante's smirk mirror's Lynette's, though her sigh makes him chuckle a little. "You should look into it. For me, I was relieving stress while improving my physical fitness and learning important skills." Yep, he's the sensible one. But he's also strange. Strange and sensible. Are those mutually exclusive?
"Yes, dad," Lynette says, but teasingly as she straightens from his car. "Thanks for the help. Now, I'm going to try not to scare people while I go eat." She steps away at first, but turns back to wave him along with her. "Come on, you can tell me all about how self defense training is Right For Me," she adds with a smirk.