Come on, Sprezzatura. Hindsight is 20/20. I am glad that our connection didn’t waver; if someone’s had to remain steadfast, I’m happy it was yours.
[That is sincere, even if Henry does not seem bothered by her vague indignity. She should know him well enough by now; would he really have visited to say “thank you” on the heels of how mentally tilted he was?]
[ she can barely meet his eye when he first approaches, but then she tries to check to see if he's looking at her, and she locks gazes with him by accident, and you can't just play that kind of thing off. ]
[ somehow, it feels as though something has changed between them.
but then again, she's drunk.
with the slow precision of someone already well into their cups, she turns the mug towards her, ceramic scraping quietly on the tabletop. slips her fingers through the handle. brings the mug steadfast to her lips and chances a sip that would burn her tongue if she were any more human, but as it is, only tingles.
[Because he's amiable today? Because their arguing has been at a minimum? He might argue that's a net positive, Sprezzatura.
Honestly: it isn't bad. It isn't mind-blowingly great, either. But Henry watches, quietly, as though seeking out some manner of approval, given his first attempt (which feels so long ago) was less than perfect.]
[The number of sincere instances of laughter can be counted on one hand since his arrival to Reverie. That said, she's been privy to most of them.]
I've been nothing but spoiled by you, my teammates, and a few strangers when it comes to food in this place. The very least I can do is manage a halfway decent cup of coffee on my own.
[Baby steps. This will be a useless skill for him, anyway, should they ever return home.]
Because it is sumptuous! So buttery on your tongue, richness you dream of after. And is it kind of dish that appeals to most, since you were so picky about my draniki.
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[That is sincere, even if Henry does not seem bothered by her vague indignity. She should know him well enough by now; would he really have visited to say “thank you” on the heels of how mentally tilted he was?]
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If we are so alike, why am I always like this to you...
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Probably because we are so alike.
[Henry does not hesitate to cut and sting when he deigns it necessary; it's no surprise that she'd do the same.
Anyway. Two mugs fill with coffee, steaming hot. Henry comes over to her booth with them.]
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...It smells better.
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Let me know if it tastes better, too.
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but then again, she's drunk.
with the slow precision of someone already well into their cups, she turns the mug towards her, ceramic scraping quietly on the tabletop. slips her fingers through the handle. brings the mug steadfast to her lips and chances a sip that would burn her tongue if she were any more human, but as it is, only tingles.
be honest with me. how good is it? ]
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Honestly: it isn't bad. It isn't mind-blowingly great, either. But Henry watches, quietly, as though seeking out some manner of approval, given his first attempt (which feels so long ago) was less than perfect.]
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It is better. [ with a soft, small smile ] You will be quite skilled, soon.
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But she gets away with it. Henry actually laughs lightly at that.]
Well, I don't know about that.
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I've been nothing but spoiled by you, my teammates, and a few strangers when it comes to food in this place. The very least I can do is manage a halfway decent cup of coffee on my own.
[Baby steps. This will be a useless skill for him, anyway, should they ever return home.]
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I should get bottle of good wine, make coq au vin. You would never recover.
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“Coq au vin”?
[Alas, Henry does not know what that is.]
/2
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And why wouldn't I recover from "cock with wine"? [Poor, vaguely sloshed Sprezzatura.]
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It was good.
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I just want you to--
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...Approve?
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Never mind. It is stupid.
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No, it's not. Tell me.
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