954/Dinner

Dinner
Date of Scene:	14 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Feral

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Ares has posed:
    In that small Cape home in Queens, John Aaron appears upon the porch, walking from the extension that held some of his fitness equipment. For a time he holds the door, waiting for the young woman who had helped him get answers from the ever elusive Rover. It had been a rough fight, the two were-beings had torn into each other terribly, but she had emerged victorious if tired. But she awoke to her wounds being tended to, and what clothes that had been sullied were tossed into the laundry. That wasn't part of the deal, however.
    The deal that had been made between the incognito Olympian and the wild Vanya was that she would do what she could to help him, and in return she'd get a good home-cooked meal, some cash to cover expenses, and perhaps a few tricks of the trade learned from the tall man himself. All in all it might have seemed a good deal for either of them.
    So it was that he led her across that deck, pausing again at the swinging door that leads into the kitchen, one hand holding it open for her as he leans back a bit. "I was thinking grilled marinated eggplant, an arugula-cranberry-pecan salad, and perhaps some chocolate if you are not adverse." He cocks an eyebrow at her, curious as to her reception of the planned menu.

Feral has posed:
    Stepping out a few strides behind him, a woman with unkempt brown hair makes her way across the deck barefoot wearing a very ill-fitting change of clothes. John's spare t-shirt hangs off Vanya like a curtain, the broad collar arrested by her shoulders rather than her neck and open enough to expose the white cotton of her bandaged and padded injury. The fabric of his shorts swishes between the wild woman's knees as she plods over - but at least she pulled the draw string tight enough that they're staying on. Small cuts are still running down the brawler's forearms but they've healed enough to close.
    Giving an eager smile at the mention of food, Vanya licks her lips while ducking inside the kitchen. "Ooh chocolate is good. Have you got any potatoes or grains?"

Ares has posed:
    "Got some sweet potatoes," He says as he steps after her, closing the door behind them with a faint whumpf of displaced air from the door brake. He steps after her and walks past, moving towards the island in the middle of that kitchen. And, to be fair, it's a pretty nice kitchen. The square footage is nice, enough for probably three to four people to work and prep if they needed to for the holidays or the like. There are two sinks, and a fine set of appliances. The decor is mostly marble with some stainless steel, dating it most likely to a decade ago or so. But still, it's clearly a place that sees regular use.
    It's to a drawer in the cabinets he goes and pulls it open, grabbing the aforementioned sweet potatoes and tossing the bag of them to her without even the courtesy of a 'think fast'. But then he heads to the fridge to start gathering ingredients. "Prick them and toss them in the microwave if you like, I'll start chopping."
    And he's as good as his word, pulling out the cranberries, pecans and the cucumbers. From a block of knives he pulls out a wide blade and starts to show a pretty decent hand at knifework as he begins to chop the nuts. "I figured a light meal, and then we'll throw down out back. Would you like something to drink? I have red wine, maybe some Sangria."

Feral has posed:
    Vanya lets out a low whistle as she looks around the kitchen and back out the door, just in time for the backdraft to blow a thick bang across her face. "You're into something big," she half-praises and half-wonders, lifting a hand to brush her hair aside before flying vegetables interrupt her thought. As John might expect, the were-woman's reflexes aren't about to lose to a bag of potatoes and snatches them deftly with a momentary look of surprise.
    "Heh... da, da," she replies with a smirk to the instructions. Vanya wiggles the fingers of her free hand as their tips grow pointed claws, then she jabs them into the bag to spear the first potato.
    "Why? Do you want a handicap so you're stuffing me with food and drink first?" the were-woman jokes as she pierces and deposits sweet potatoes into the microwave.
    "Sangria, please~."

Ares has posed:
    "Construction," He answers her with no hint of dissembling, even as he goes about his business of chopping up the nuts, and then slides the debris off the side of the blade before applying it to the cranberries as well. "Though, to be fair, I have made some good investments."
    That much is true as she can tell from the decor that his interests are wide and varied. There are some paintings upon the wall that are primarily dark browns and reds, shaped by a modernist hand and by someone with a flair for imagery that conjures introspection. Yet there are also antiques that might be of curiosity to her. A book shelf that lines one wall past the kitchen into the dining room has a variety of old blades, some rusted and pitted, others bright and sharp. On one wall two Roman swords are crossed with a heavy scutum hanging in front of them.
    But an inquisitive creature such as herself will assuredly pick up on the signs that he does not live alone. There are some toys on that shelf as well, and an action figure that's stuck to the refrigerator door as well as a graded paper with an A+ written on it, held there by a ninja magnet.
    Those cranberries chopped he cleans the blade again then walks back to the fridge. A glass is taken from the cupboard and he opens the door, finding a pitcher and tilting it on its side to pour a decent serving of sangria, a few slices of apple and orange falling into the glass as well.
    Taking it back he sets it down before her and then grabs the arugula to give it a good washing, "Well, I figured you should enjoy dinner first, since after you might be too sore." His lip twitches as he pours himself a glass and then lifts it to her, "Skol." He waits for the clink.

Feral has posed:
    It doesn't take Vanya quite as long to load her potatoes into the microwave and it gives her more time to look around. The Russian's eyes begin to lose their dark colour as she looks further towards the living room before returning to John. Leaning herself against a counter, she stays at ease and doesn't press her host. It wouldn't do to look a gift horse in the mouth after all.
    Vanya laughs quietly to herself at the notion of more wounds. "If you're going to be that rough on poor, little injured me, how about a full dinner and we spar before bed?" she suggests as she takes her glass and slips it under her nose for a pleasant sniff.
    The choice of cheer draws a quirked eyebrow, then the were-woman smirks as she replies with her glass. "Za zdarovye."

Ares has posed:
    "Could do that," He takes a long drink from his glass then sets it down upon the island. Then he takes a few knife strokes through the arugula, just to give them some consistent size cuts, and then begins to consolidate things into a large bowl. He takes some cheese and begins to grate it, enough to color the greens a touch, but not too much to overwhelm them. He takes up a silvered pepper grinder and gives it a few twists then turns his back to her to step to making the vinaigrette.
    "Though what makes you think you're staying the night?" He asks over his shoulder, smile a touch wry as he shakes up a container of the oil and the seasonings. "I might kick poor little injured you to the curb, shaking my first cruelly and without pity at your terrible plight."
    Still his back is to her, it might be hard to get a read on his straight delivery, but she might be able to catch the smile in the reflection of the window just a moment before he turns back towards her with a slice of cucumber that has some cheese upon it and a bit of the dressing. He holds it up to her, "Taste." He says with eyebrows raised to see what she thinks of it.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's sangria fares no better and a large portion is gone when her glass goes down a little ways from John's. She sighs heartily in relief as the cold drink works its way down and laughs a bit more animately. "Who said I was? I never asked to play room mate, I just woke up half-naked on some guy's table with his hands all over me." The were-woman smirks gamely, about as hard to read as a neon sign before another piece of food is offered and her eyes zero in on the cucumber. She leans forward and bites it right out of the tall cook's fingers.
    There's a brief moment where contemplation spreads across the free-spirited woman's face before her taste buds finish their report, then she smiles broadly and swallows. "Mmm~, you make my kind of salad."

Ares has posed:
    "Good," John half smiles back to her and then steps back and to the side, reaching for the pitcher long enough to refill her glass and his, though he doesn't take another drink quite yet. Instead he starts to toss that salad, just a few times to spread the dressing and distribute the cheese a little better. Then it's back to the fridge where he pulls out a large plastic bag filled with sliced egg plant that's been marinating for a good chunk of time. He grabs a baking tray and begins to assemble the 'entree' portion of the meal, spreading the slices upon some aluminum foil. "So are you going to tell me you didn't care to be awoken in such a way?"
    His smile is amused as he gets the oven going, but then must wait a bit for it to heat, so he leans back against the island, dark brown eyes upon hers as now he chooses to sip his sangria again. "Was I mistaken in hearing those quiet little purrs and mews?" The tall man meets her eyes and seems entirely curious as if he could be so terribly in the wrong.

Feral has posed:
    "Pfft!" Vanya has to cover her mouth for a moment and when she stops bothering to, her host can see teeth again. "I can think of worse ways but don't make that a habit," she laughs, doubling over from her spot against the counter. As the mirth finishes burning through her, hot but fast, her eyes lock onto his and stare intently - the colour of molten bronze with burnt edges.
    "Who the heck are you? You just watched someone grow fur and out-wrestle a werewolf, and you carried her home for a massage and dinner..." The were-woman's tone is mixed like her drink, with sweet fondness softening the bite of disbelief and probing curiosity. Her showing canines are just a little too pointed to look normal.
    "I think I like you," she purrs.

Ares has posed:
    A breath is taken as he folds his arms over his chest. For a moment he worries his lower lip as he looks askance towards the oven and it gives him no help, no saved by the bell from there, so he looks back and meets those suddenly so tantalizing bronze eyes, such eyes as he has not seen before save in the face of those creatures of the dark who frightened ancient man so so many years ago. Those eyes that would hover at the edge of the campfire and threaten them with a death granted without malice nor mercy.
    Yet he meets those eyes with a smile, the smile of a man who would meet such head on, and even now finds the temptation of danger, of violence entirely impossible to resist. "I'll make you a deal," He steps towards her, one hand scooping up the pitcher of sangria as he steps to stand opposite her with the island between them, letting him lean against it with his face a few inches from her own.
    There's a faint gurgle as her drink is refilled, then he takes out one of the discolored apple slices, taking a bite of it and chewing as he leans closer to tell her, his voice a low rumble of something akin to a growl. "I was going to say that the loser of our sparring match makes breakfast." He touches that small slice of apple to the corner of her mouth, offering yet withholding as his eyes remain on hers. "But we can also say that the loser must answer whatever the winner asks..."
    There's an edged smile as he then fully offers that small sensuous wine-soaked slice of fruit to her, even as he murmurs into her smile, "I know I like you, Vanya."

Feral has posed:
    Vanya's body stills and the hair on the back of her neck bristles as John draws closer. Her eyes stay bound to his, glimpses into a feral soul that are teasingly dark at their edges before they melt into something bestial at the cliffs of their black depths. Her breaths come small, silent, almost hidden and the smile on her face grows quietly wider.
    Her focus is too tightly on the man before her and his aura, the sangria is in another world until a token of it brushes against her lips.
    Vanya very nearly purrs as grey fur exposes itself along the edges of her face, framing her and then crossing her nose like a jagged tattoo as she leans forward slowly, exposes a mouth of visibly sharpening teeth, and places them on the apple slice. There's a pause and a moment of tranquillity before her jaw closes with a quiet crunch and she draws back. Her lips just barely brush John's wine-wetted fingers and her gaze never so much as twitches.
    "I like that deal," she truly does purr, a low, rumbling backdrop to her words. "You'd like that more than my cooking anyway. And you have me at a disadvantage too," the feral woman notes, glancing away just a moment to her bandage.
    "It should be fun..."

Ares has posed:
    "And you seem to have a few advantages of your own," He never flinches, never wavers, even as this edged, muscular, and /wrathful/ woman who came so close to tearing the throat from her opponent hovered so terribly close to him. "We'll have to see how they come together when we face each other,"
    His own smile grows faintly, just a bare moment as she turns her head to the side, her eyes leaving his only for that instant. But it's enough, for when she glances back he has closed that distance, barely the space of a shared breath. Just enough for him to lift a fingertip to he cheek as if to let her know of his intention the moment just before. And if she does not draw away his own eyes will close and he'll touch his lips to the corner of her mouth.
    It is hardly an aggressive thing. Barely a flicker of sensation, the feeling of his breath along flesh in a slow controlled exhalation, perhaps the smallest catch to his breath drawn back inwards.
    But then it is over as he draws back slowly, nostrils flaring to take in her scent, to enjoy the purity of her, a warrior who is intent on naught save the effort of being a warrior. It is as if she were a heady nectar that he could only barely taste.
    And then the oven /dings/ as the pre-heat is done.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya glimpses out the corner of her eye as John steals half a kiss. There's a moment for her to stop him - at this distance a moment where she could do far more than that - but the fighter doesn't fight. This is a different kind of game...
    Her eyes narrow pleasantly, almost shutting, and her fur-tipped nostrils steal his lingering breath from the air before she drags her tongue across her lips. It's too long and too rough to be truly human but just right for scraping up the faint flavour he left behind. There's a thought in her head; a word or an action preparing to answer. There's no letting that go unchallenged...
    
    *ding!*
    
    The were-woman jumps with a start and glares at the intruding appliance with a brief growl.

Ares has posed:
    The instinct was there, to linger, to draw closer. There was no shortage of desire, and it almost seemed as if his lips were parting to give murmur to his own word, meant to be offered in a husky exhaled breath. But then the clock breaks the moment, breaks the mood, and as she growls his eyes lower and a wide grin spreads over his features as he takes a deep breath again.
    For him the scent of her, the burning warmth of her nearness is a palpable thing. But her with her senses, she can almost /taste/ him, sense the melange of scents that make up this enigma of a man before her. There's that haze of a masculine musk, the smell of effort and exertion, the tang of steel and blood that somehow lingers. It is as if he were in some ways her counterpart, but what is more she can truly feel that subtle wash of attraction, desire, almost intoxicating.
    But then he looks up at her, smiles and says quietly, "One second." With that he turns away from her, showing that trust, that understanding of this predator in his kitchen. He takes up that tray and pulls open the oven, sliding it inside and then closing it. The clock is set again for twenty minutes this time.

Feral has posed:
    Vanya can't help but snicker as frustration runs its course through her, the wild woman's downturns lasting as long as any other mood. The man who smells of blades and butchery has had his spell broken by a little screaming speaker a couple inches across. "Forget about it. You can have dessert when you earn it... and certainly not before dinner."
    Taking a moment to flick her hair over one shoulder, the barefoot woman takes her refilled drink from the island and looks between its ruby depths and her host. She can't hide a smirk. "Besides... I'm not *that* hungry."

Ares has posed:
    Turning back towards her she can see him looking at her through hooded eyes. For some reason it might strike her as familiar, the way his brown eyes hang upon hers. The way he gives a slow glance along the supple curves of her athletic form. For a moment he moistens his lips then shakes his head as he steps away, pulling a stool from the breakfast nook area and offering it to her, even as he draws another one for himself so they can sit and wait in comfort.
    That way his eyes follow her movements, the shift and tensing of her limbs, the way her neck turns just so as she looks at him. She might recognize it then, for the way he looks at her is perhaps the same way she looks upon her opponent in the ring. The same heightened moment shared between two, the same curiousity, but perhaps without the same outcome. "Mmm,"
    He reaches over for the bottle of sangria only to see a bare small bit left in the carafe. Yet he avails himself of it, pouring the last bit into his glass, but then downing it with a tilt of the stem. "We could go outside," He cocks an eyebrow, "Could turn off the oven, and we could see what there is to be seen about each other."
    He looks back, "And then come to dinner with a strong appetite."

Feral has posed:
    There's a playfulness in Vanya's eyes that shimmers at the man of war's suggestion, at all the small details about his movement, body language, and being that mesh with the feral thoughts crossing her mind. It's there, it's tauntingly without filter, but within the bronze-eyed woman's whole it comes up coyly short.
    "You'd need a shower, I'd need a shower, and we'd both need more bandages," she notes mirthfully before cooling herself with a sip from her drink. Only afterwards does she take the offered chair, settling with a thud as her tired legs decline to soften the landing. Vanya smiles apologetically. "I'm a big girl if you hadn't noticed."

Ares has posed:
    "Well," John rubs at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully as he leans upon the island, meeting her gaze again with that wry expression. In so many ways they are like two panthers slowly stalking around each other, padding lightly over the paths each one is trodding in search of the other. Everything is a subtle jockeying for position, everything between this right now... and most likely forever more between them will be an effort to gain dominance, to gain an edge, and perhaps in the most tantalizing ways. "You can have the shower, I'll use the hot tub."
    His eyes hood at that as he toys with his empty glass, but then with a smile that is so terribly felinian she might well think he's a shapeshifter, he leans forwards and touches his hand to her glass, fingertips brushing hers for a moment...
    As he then tries to ever so politely and all the while holding her gaze... steal her sangria.

Feral has posed:
    For some it might be a battle of wills, a conscious contest to commit to, an effort to be made of one being against another... For Vanya, it's just part of the package.
    A frown of light-hearted indignation contorts her wolfish features at the prospect of their trade. "I didn't even know you *had* a hot tub. It must be the size of your car if it fits you," she cracks, meeting John's quiet, predatory mischief with boisterous calm.
    Her eyes dip as she feels him brush her hand and the were-woman's grip on her glass tightens. He might also notice, her claws have gotten bigger again. "Hey, hey, I'm not done with mine," she chastises, tugging jealously to keep her drink.