2013.08.09 - Warmed Over Leftovers

Another shift done, and Fern has been set free to take advantage of what's left of a beautiful Friday night in New York City. She changed out of her uniform and into jeans and a light t-shirt, before taking the subway back toward home with a bag full of leftovers from Anita Bella clutched like it's a treasure chest. It was lasagna night, who can blame her? Well short of her intended stop, Fern makes a sudden decision to hop out of the train and make her way back up into the summer night. It's a left turn and a few blocks, and she's at the doors to The Dorilton. Luckily, Jake is on duty tonight, someone she struck up something of a tentative friendship with while Fern and Warren were dating. 
 
A slow frown comes to Fern's face as she and Jake talk, and the information comes out that no, Warren isn't home to share leftovers with. He's out with 'friends' again. It doesn't take much for Fern to get a club name, some of Warren's employees share her concern for the millionaire playboy's well being. 
 
So, a short walk later, and Fern turns up at the door of the latest trendy nightclub that Warren and his entourage have found to camp out in. While she can't get past the door, some sweet talking and a cannoli have the bouncer at the door sending someone in to tell Mr. Worthington that there is a Fern here, who would like to see him. Would he like to come out, should she be sent in, or shall she be told to shove off? 
Sure, he talked to Fern some about why he went partying, but he hasn't stopped. As he mentioned to her, he likes the attention and this sort of attention is 'expected' from someone like him. He was good during the week and went to work and went home...mostly...but now it's the weekend. All bets are off.
Of course, the trendy club had to be explored. It doesn't seem to be too different from other 'trendy' clubs aside from the whole 'Arabian Nights' theme which does make the inside quite luxurious with gold, brocades, and hookahs. The line to get in is quite long but one should not underestimate the power of the cannoli.
As someone comes over to tell him that he has a guest. It takes a moment for him to extricate himself from the pile of silk brocade pillows to make it outside the club...no drink is in hand, but he's definitely had more than a couple and there's another scent about him as well -- no doubt he's experimented with a hookah. Blonde eyebrows lift in surprise, "Fern!" He looks her up and down briefly, "Well, it's not really the dress code," he turns to one of the bouncers and gestures to her, "She's with me. Let her on in."
With the bag of food still clutched in one hand, Fern has been passing the few minutes talking to the bouncer, discussing the finer points of Italian cuisine. When Warren emerges she takes a second to say, "Oh, yeah, I do agree. And that's my friend. Thanks, Dwayne, I appreciate your help." The gigantic bouncer gives an indulgent grin, nodding, "Not a problem, Fern." It doesn't take her much to get on a first name basis with people. 
 
Even as Warren is giving her the once over, Fern is returning the look, taking in his slightly pillow-rumpled clothes and the light glaze of his eyes. "Hey Warren," she greets, then reaches out to touch his arm. "It's ok, you don't have to get me in. I just... I had leftovers tonight," she says, lifting the bag to display it briefly. "I thought you might like something to eat. We could walk back to your place." 
Angel tilts his head, birdlike, at Fern's suggestion. He might not be drunk enough yet for his internal editor to be completely absent, but a few more things get through than maybe ought to. "Why, Fern Fiddlehead. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me." Maybe it's the offer of Italian food or the offer to walk back to his place and share said food that does it. Or both.
He actually has to think for a few minutes, weighing some decision or another before he finally decides, "All right. I haven't had Italian food in a while. We don't need to walk though..." his wings flick at that.
Even though she doesn't have feathers also, it's pretty easy to imagine Fern ruffling at Warren's tease. "I'm not flirting with you, I thought you might be hungry," she grumbles lightly. Then she has to wait for his answer, and with each second that ticks off her brows seem to arch just a tiny bit higher. "If you're really tied up with your friends, I don't want to tear you away," she says when he finally answers. "I can just hop back on the subway and get out of your hair." She's not annoyed, just frustrated, but the two sound similar, and there's a press to her lips that usually indicates she's less than thrilled with a situation. 
A drunk and slightly-high Warren is a self-centered Warren...or rather, more than usual. "What? What'd I say?" is asked when Fern seems to be annoyed. "I'm not tied up...it's a cool club, but the pillows are sort of making my ass ache. I mean...sitting on the floor with wings isn't the easiest, you know?" so he's probably had to sit in some fairly uncomfortable positions this evening.
Fern pauses, looking at Warren for a moment. This time the press of her lips is to suppress a grin at the rather un-Warren choice of words he uses. "Alright." She doesn't give him a chance to go back into the bar, so hopefully he didn't leave anything behind, but instead reaches for his hand. "I don't think I want you flying me anywhere. A walk will be good for our heads." Although hers is just fine. "C'mon," she says, more gently. 
If he left anything, they know where to send it. Not that he needed much -- his wallet is always with him. Looking as Fern takes his hand, he lets her lead him away from the club, "You know, you might like that one," he offers, pointing back to it. "It wasn't as loud as the last one. It's a little smoky, but not like cigarette smoke. I think the last one I tried had clove in it." He smacks his mouth a couple of times. "It tastes kind of like Christmas."
"Well, maybe I'll go there sometime," Fern says, falling into step beside Warren, not releasing his hand. It's not that he looks majorly altered, but she still doesn't want him stepping off the curb into the street or anything. "I think if I brought another cannoli Dwayne would let me in, get me into the VIP and pay for my cab home. He seems like a nice guy." Does Warren even notice the bouncers and servers when he's out with his barnacles 'livin' large'? The thought flickers through her mind, but it's brief, dismissed as quickly as it forms. "Was that a hookah bar? What do they put in those things?" It can't be anything illegal, this isn't Amsterdam, after all, but the question confirms that she's never been to one before. 
"Who's Dwayne?" should probably answer her question. Warren doesn't seem to be too tipsy or high, but he's not completely sober either. "It was...and I just took a couple of drags on it. I don't like tobacco...even masked with clove and fruit flavors." He probably had more than a couple of drinks already though. "I think it's just tobacco...like cigarettes. But flavored. How did you even know I was there?"
Fern leans toward Warren as they walk, sniffing lightly at his shirt collar, straightening again immediately without missing a step. "Dwayne is the doorman," she answers. "That big guy in the orange t-shirt back there." She'd motion back toward the club, but she's got food in one hand, and Warren in the other. "It smells a little like Christmas," she observes. Then her brows lift again, "What? At that club?" So she's milking it a little, because she just smiles a Cheshire smile and says, "I have friends in high places." 
Angel glances back at the Club, but they might be too far away by now. "Oh. I didn't really even notice him..." but then again, Warren Worthington III has never been stopped by a bouncer at a nightclub. "I don't mind the whole Christmas smell, but maybe not in August." He does glance over at Fern when she sniffs his collar, "That was a very flirty move." At least to him. He's starting to learn what might just be a flirty thing and what might be serious...mostly from his own interactions with his entourage.
"Psht," Fern dismisses lightly. "I just wanted to smell you." Beat. "The smoke, I mean." She hrmphs softly. "Why do guys always think that being nice is flirting? Believe me, if I flirt with you, you'll know it." But... yeah... probably not. Still, it's said as a firm statement before she changes topics, "Did I tell you I had an audition for a television show this week?" 
Warren's eyebrows lift at Fern's statement about wanting to smell him, but he merely smiles a little smugly at that. "Would I though?" He's not letting go of her hand, though. "You mentioned an audition...was it the one for the television show or did you have another audition too? Did you find out?"
With her eyes deliberately forward, Fern misses the smug smile. Or perhaps she thought it might be coming, so she doesn't look over to Warren's face. "Yeah, it was this audition. I haven't found out yet, but I think it went really well. I'm hoping to hear by early next week." Coming up to a corner, Fern actually slows them to a stop to wait for the light to change, despite that there are others just skirting their way through the slow moving city traffic. 
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. Would it be regular work or a sort of 'guest' thing?" At least it would be something though, right? "What about any Theatre gigs? Anything turn up?" Warren actually seems to look a little confused when they stop at the corner. "Why did we stop? We could have flown and avoided all of this...I'm not drunk."
"Thanks," Fern says, her smile back as she finally looks to her companion. "It'll be a guest shot, but yeah, who knows what it might lead to. If you get in with the right people, they'll tell others." A soft sigh, and her shoulders shrug lightly, "Nothing in the theater. I was thinking about trying for a soap opera spot." His question has her looking across the street at the traffic signal. "It says don't walk," she says simply, as yet more people stream across against the light. Warren gets a mildly skeptical look, "You aren't? I can trust you to get me somewhere without smacking us into a building or something?" 
Angel sighs, "It takes a lot to get me actually drunk, Fern," especially since he's spent the last few years building up his tolerance for one reason or another. "How long have you been in New York? Even I know that you walk if there are no cars coming." But he'll humor her. For now. "Soap operas, huh? They still have those?"
While her tone is chiding, there's humor in it, "Hey, how do I know how much you had to drink already tonight? That might have been your fourth or fifth stop." She stays standing on the corner, diligently waiting for the light, and nods. "There are a couple still on. Or maybe I could get on one of those new original shows that Hulu is making. Or a Syfy movie." Maybe Sharknado Two! Since Warren doesn't make a move to actually get them flying, when the light finally turns his hand gets a light tug as she starts walking again. 
It's not that far anymore, so it almost seems a waste to fly at this point. "It's still fairly early." It's as if to prove a point, really. "Do you really care how much I've had to drink or is it just when I'm flying? Don't drink and fly?" There's a smirk at that before he gets tugged along. "I could have called the limo too..."
"Both." The answer is simple and straightforward, and not elaborated upon. "You could have. But it's a nice night for a walk. And it works up an appetite." Sure, it would be nicer if the air was actually fresh, but it's kind of as good as it gets in the middle of Metropolis. "And it's not that early," she protests lightly. Although, for a millionaire playboy out having fun, it probably is, granted. "I've worked all night, the restaurant is closed, everyone is going home to bed." Blatant fibbing right there. 
Angel tilts his head again, "Except you...because you are walking me back to my apartment for a meal of Italian food." Leftover Italian food, but he manages not to say that. "It's early for New York...for a Friday Night. But for you...I'll call it a 'night' from partying." Just for her. For now. He looks to her holding his hand again but doesn't point it out that it's still, well, being held.
"Well, I was going home to bed," Fern protests lightly. "You're just lucky I'm so darned thoughtful. And you're so gracious, Mr. Worthington." The words are exaggerated, poking at him for the 'for you'. "I told you that you could go back inside if you wanted to," she points out softly. This time she notices his look, but she doesn't release his hand. Perhaps out of obstinance. 
"Oh, I know how lucky I am. The whole city just adores Fern Fiddlehead...at least, they did when we were at the Hellfire Club. I'm assuming nothing has changed. And Mr. Worthington is my dad. If I'm anyone, I'm 'Mr. Warren'. It's how we differentiate." If she's not going to let go of his hand, he's not going to let go either. They approach the building before too long and he opens the door for her since he's busy holding his hand and the food.
His words of 'praise' are rewarded with an eyeroll so intense that Fern is lucky they don't stick that way like her mother always warned. "Whatever, Mr. Worthington." Ok, so she's poking the bear just a little. Fern pauses, then slips through the door when Warren pulls it open, to be greeted by Jake. "I found him!" she chirps, needlessly. Jake nods his approval, his eyes falling briefly to the joined hands, not lingering there. "Good work, Fern," he says, and turns away to be busy at something that really doesn't need to be done. Familiar with the building from her previous visits, she leads them to the elevators. 
Aha! That's how she found out! "Jake! You betrayer!" Warren chides, but doesn't seem to be too serious about being upset. After all, his hand is being held and he's being led back to his penthouse. He's trying very hard not to look deeper into this evening's events. "I think I have some wine to go with the Italian food," is offered as they get onto the elevator.
"Good, you can take care of the wine, and I'll get plates out and stuff," Fern says easily. "We'll probably have to nuke the food. It might have still been warm enough if you'd been here when I first got here, but I'm sure we'll make do." Fern finally lets go of Warren's hand as she stoops to put the bag down for a minute, flexing the hand that had been holding it, rubbing a cramp out of it. 
That's what she gets for holding his hand for so long! Once they get inside, Warren moves to get the wine out of the wine 'cellar' as well as clear the table of whatever he's dumped there. Once things are sort of stashed away, he leans against the wall to just sort of watch Fern as she goes about preparing the food.
Fern unslings the bag that was bumping against her hip as the pair walked, letting it drop to the floor next to the sofa. She knows where everything is, or at least was if Warren took it into his head to move everything around, and she falls right back into being comfortable in his space, as she always was. There's the light clatter of dishes and the ting of silverware as she gathers things up, the hum of the microwave as the food reheats, and when she moves to the table to set out place settings for them, she glances over at him. She doesn't stop working, but asks, "Everything alright?" 
Angel doesn't answer immediately. There are a couple of seconds before he offers, "Everything's fine. You just...this feels so domestic. I'm...surprised. And trying to figure out what to think about it all. I know you're a friendly person and that you'd probably do this for any of your friends..." which is why he's trying not to think of it in any other way.
Knife and spoon on the right on top of a napkin, blade turned in toward the plate, fork on the left. Fern grew up much more simply, so she'd be in trouble if they started throwing in extra forks and spoons, but she knows the etiquette of setting a table. Task finished, she looks up, her eyes finding Warren where he leans. It's undeniable that he's easy on the eyes, but with the way he sometimes frustrates her she certainly wouldn't hang around just because of that. The silence is broken by the ding of the microwave, and Fern looks toward the sound immediately. "I'll get the food. Pour the wine?" she suggests as she starts to walk that way. 
At least she didn't throw anything at him. It's...almost more positive a reaction than what he expected. Moving to the island, he takes out a corkscrew and expertly opens the wine. Red, of course...to go with the Italian food. He's pouring the wine before he pauses and glances over a winged shoulder, "What...kind of lasagna is it?"
He's lucky, too, because that knife was so close to hand. Or she could have winged him with a spoon. Fern opens the microwave, getting out the plate that she'd put the lasagna on to warm up. "She gave me two pieces. One with ground beef, the other is vegetarian." She steps up behind him, her eyes on his wings for a moment, before she steps to the side, to put the plate onto the table. "Nothing with feathers," she says softly. There's still bread in the bag, sadly not rosemary bread but that goes fast and seldom is there any 'leftover', and the young waitress turns to retrieve it, leaving the cannoli for later. 
Angel nods, "Thank you...for remembering. I don't know if many would." His entourage certainly doesn't and he has to remind them pretty much every time they order food. Maybe it's why they mostly just go out to drink? He goes to get some butter for the bread and set it on the table. Standing at the chair, he waits until she's seated to sit.
Fern shrugs as she slides into her chair, already reaching for the spatula she dug up to dish out the food. "It's what friends do." There's a pause, and she adds, "And I didn't even know I was coming over here. It's just what there was. Do you want some of each?" Just because she was offered some chicken Parmesan and took the lasagna instead doesn't mean that she was intentionally planning to get off the train at the stop she did. 
No, of course it doesn't mean that. Not at all. "Sure, some of each would be just fine, thanks." If she wants to serve him, he's not going to stop her. Taking some bread, Warren then puts some butter on his plate, ever polite and aware of etiquette, even in his own home. He was trained quite well. He lets there be a pause before he asks, "How did your shift go?"
Each rectangle of lasagna is neatly cut in half, then Fern doles them out onto the plates. There might be some thumb involved as she gets the pieces onto the plates, and she absently sucks the sauce off it as the spatula gets set aside. Settling back into her chair, she answers, "It was good. Busy, so the night went quick. I was a little sad to hear some of my friends were in last night when I was off." She picks up her fork and wastes no time tucking in. It was a busy enough night that she hasn't eaten anything since early afternoon. 
Angel isn't quite as hungry, but he takes a few bites before he slows down for the conversation. "I'm surprised you don't have friends in every night. I have to wonder if you know the entire city by now! I...envy your ability to make friends so easily." There's a bite of bread and a sip of wine -- he's going to be feeling all of the alcohol tomorrow, but for now he's fine. Still a little buzzed, but the food should help.
Granted, Fern has been a bit concerned that Warren isn't eating properly and has been drinking his meals more often, although that is entirely unconfirmed. "Well, I guess I do have friends in every night, in a way. We have some regulars. That's nice, when people come back." She reaches to take up the wine, taking a sip and trying not to make a face, exchanging the glass for her fork again. "Most people just want someone to be nice to them," she says, her eyes on her plate. 
"Isn't that what everyone wants?" Warren asks as he looks to his plate, taking some more lasagna. He's been eating, but on the weekends, it isn't much. It's been a lot of eating out, but he was never one to be cooking much before. It helps that he's so close to so many places that deliver.
Fern pauses, letting her fork tines tap gently on her plate, shoulders lifting briefly. "Most people," she repeats softly. Her eyes raise, lingering on Warren's face. "Some people are just evil." And then her eyes drop, taking in his plate. "How's the lasagna?" 
"Evil people want others to be nice to them too, I think. They just aren't nice back," Warren points out. At least, that's how he sees it. Looking down at the lasagna he then offers, "It's delicious...as ever. I...stayed away because I didn't want to upset you by showing up at the restaurant."
As she chews she thinks about his words, almost done with her own lasagna already. Fern nods, "I figured you probably just started eating at a place closer to home. You didn't have to stay away, though." She reaches out to snag some bread, tearing a piece off and using it to get some stray sauce off her plate. "I'm glad you like it, though." 
"We've been through this, Fern," Warren points out between bites of lasagna. "Do you want to discuss it again?" He looks back to the food as he kind of doubts she does want to dredge it up. "Most of the Italian restaurants up here are Tourist Trap Chains. Not really interested. All the good stuff is downtown."
Popping the piece of bread into her mouth, Fern stands, gathering up her plate and utensils. "Nope," she says simply. They've covered this ground enough and it won't change things that have already happened. She walks to the sink, turning on the water, waiting for it to get hot to rinse her plate off. 
Angel sort of freezes as Fern gets up from the table while he's still eating. There's a moment before he quickly finishes off the rest of his food so that he's not stuck at the table alone. There's a brief burp before he gulps down some wine and finishes off the bread he had on his plate.
The water shuts off and Fern turns back, seeing Warren gulping the rest of his food down. "Stop that, you'll choke," she says from the kitchen. "Take your time, enjoy your food. I'm coming right back." And, even as she says it, she's moving back to the table, sliding back into her chair. She still has wine to finish. "How was work for you today?" 
"But you got up," Warren protests, but does slow down. "I don't want to keep you overlong or anything...if you have somewhere else to go. I mean, you ate so fast..." but he's also used to having to converse while eating socially. "Work was fine...work is almost always fine. I mean, I could probably bore you with details, but...I mean, we're working on an acquisition and converting some buildings into apartments."
"I don't have anywhere else to go but home," Fern says, pulling her wine glass closer but not drinking. She still doesn't care much for it. "I ate fast because I was starving. I'm not sure when I ate last, but it was sometime around lunch." She does look interested as he briefly goes over his day, and she laughs at the details. "I probably wouldn't understand most of it. But more apartments in the city, that's always good, right? What part of town?" She's completely expecting it to be a posh section. 
The posh sections are pretty much all full unless things are being redone. "Well," Warren pokes some more at his lasagna, "There are all these gorgeous, run-down buildings in Harlem and...I was allowed this as my pet project. We're going to renovate and reinforce and restore and make it into apartments. I'd rather keep these old, historical buildings in the city than build new, cookie-cutter ones."
Red brows arch up in mild surprise, "Really? That's great, Warren." Fern smiles across the table at him, "Maybe I'll be able to move into one someday. If I can afford it." It would be nice to move into something remodeled. While she likes her neighbors and doesn't feel threatened there, it would be nice to have water pipes that don't decide to groan like an elk in mating season at odd moments. "I like that you're keeping the buildings. They have such character." 
Angel shrugs, "I haven't decided if we'll rent them out or...sell them or do some sort of Co-Op sort of thing. I'm still working on getting the proper documents to be able to restore the buildings and working with the architects." He looks over to Fern, "It's somethig to keep me busy, I guess. Out of the way."
"And stop that too," Fern says, suddenly exasperated. "Maybe it's something they knew you'd excel at, so that's why you're doing it. It's certainly good for the city, to keep the history." She stands again, walks a couple steps away, then comes back to stand next to the table. "And if they gave it to you to keep you busy and out of the way, then you show them what you're capable of, and then tell them to shove it." 
Blue eyes blink, "Fern...I've known these people for years. I know this business. I know that they're letting me have this because it will keep me busy and away from other things. It also means that since I'm on this project, my dad won't be able to call me into meetings about other projects. While I appreciate your optimism, I'm not saying it as 'this is what I think'. It's what I know. I certainly plan on treating it seriously, though."
Fern's lips press together as she listens, standing at the corner of the table and looking down into Warren's eyes. She can't argue the point with him, he does know better. "And then tell them to shove it," she adds onto his words. She's angry at old men who are judgmental because someone is just a little bit different, and it shows in her eyes. Unfairness on a grand scale irritates her, and when it's directed at someone she cares about it makes her want to go kick someone in the knee. "You'll show 'em," she says, more gently. 
"Fern," Warren doesn't finish the last of his lasagna...it was a lot of food and he doesn't often eat much anyhow, "I've been walking on glass since I stopped hiding my wings. Just the fact that they let me come back...thanks to my dad's insistence...and the fact that they're letting me take this project and go with it is plenty. I don't need to tell them to 'shove it' because that would be insulting the work my dad did to make sure that they showed me proper respect at work. I'm just going to do this project and hope that it takes off."
Fern takes a couple steps backwards, "Of course." There's a pause, then she turns, going back to the bag on the kitchen counter, calling over to Warren, "Hey, it is getting kind of late, and I don't want to be riding the subway in the middle of the night. I'll leave the cannoli for you, you can have it with coffee in the morning." She folds the bag shut, turning to put it in the refrigerator. 
Angel picks up his plate and brings it over to the sink to be cleaned later. "Have Jake call you a car. You won't need to take the subway home...it's too late for that anyhow." He'd offer to fly her home, but that could get awkward. "Thanks for the lasagna and for coming to find me. That was very kind of you."
When she spins back around from the refrigerator, Fern nearly bumps into Warren, stopping suddenly and stepping back. There's a rattle from inside as she bumps into it, and for once she doesn't argue about the car. "Alright, I will. Thanks. And... you're welcome." She sidesteps to move around him, heading for her bag by the sofa. "Sorry if I cut off your night early." 
Angel reaches out a hand to steady Fern as she nearly bumps into him, "You all right? Too much wine?" Even though she doesn't like it all that much? He...pretty much remembers that now. "Oh. I should have brought out soda...or scotch, shouldn't I?" The wine won't go to waste though. Watching her go to her bag, he offers, "You can stay here if you want." There's a pause, "The couch is really comfy..."
The strap of her bag gets slung across her body, the bag hanging at her hip as she looks to Warren. She knows that the last thing she has to worry about if she stays is him trying to take advantage of the situation. "No... I should go," she says, gesturing toward the door. "Thanks for the company, though. See you soon?" 
"Sure..." Warren moves to open the door for her. "I'm going to call Jake and have him get a car for you..." so she can't just walk off and pretend that she 'forgot' to ask about it. "Sure. You seem to know how to find me pretty easily. Thanks again for the food and...for the company as well."
That's exactly what she would have done, too. At least he knows her that well. Fern can't help but smile and nod. "Alright. Night, Warren." Her eyes drop from his for a second, then flicker back up before she heads out. When she gets to the lobby, Jake is waiting, and she grins, "Looks like he's on to me, calling you himself." Jake laughs, "Well, it wouldn't have been the first time you didn't do what he says." They spend a couple minutes talking until the car comes around, and then she's gone, back to her apartment in Harlem. 
Category:Log