Oracle is pretty insistent on keeping me in one piece, for some reason. Might have to delay dinner in that case
--
Later
Helena had joked that she'd given up crossbow bolts to the knee for Lent. The night's earlier activities hinted that she maybe wasn't entirely joking when she'd said that. Or there had just been a lot of really easy shots. There were also a lot of broken finger bones, probably mild-to-moderate concussions and broken noses. The Huntress didn't have Daredevil's elegant martial arts training- though she'd been training with Dinah for a bit. She fought like the people, the family, who raised her.
But hey, no internal injuries, and nothing her Oracle-approved first aid kit couldn't handle. Which meant they were on for dinner.
The pasta had been made fresh ahead of time, the wine was "cheap, but good, I promise" and she figured going mild on the garlic and spices was probably a good idea, as well as sticking to organic produce.
She also insisted on eating in the apartment's living room, insisting there was no way she was setting a formal table after that kind of night (and also not wanting him to notice the purposefully missing chair at the table and putting anything together about Oracle's identity).
"Okay," she said, realizing just how much she'd made. "You might have a couple lunches worth of leftovers." No cannoli for dessert, though. She generally tries to avoid any food specifically mentioned in the Godfather.
The night had gone well. Matt was getting used to working in a team instead of going solo and it had the upside of less major injury. The worst he was sporting after the tonight's mission was a bleeding nose. Nothing broken, though. A few scrapes and bruises on top of that. All in all, he felt really good for taking on nearly two dozen armed thugs between the two of them.
Not fond of sitting around and doing nothing, he assisted in whatever ways he could with the food preparations, commenting her on her good taste in ingredients. (It was the preservatives he liked to avoid as much as possible, but lab-made GMOs had a different taste than the organic stuff.)
He sat down on her sofa, waiting for her to serve the food. "If it'll smell half as good tomorrow as it does now, it'll be a great lunch."
Maybe he'd be a good friend and bring some by for Foggy to try.
"Yeah, I figured with your... sense... thing," so tactful, Helena "heavy spices and tomatoes that've been groped by half the city probably wouldn't cut it," she hands him a plate, and sits down next to him on the couch. Wine is poured generously into glasses.
Feed Foggy the food before telling him it was made by the last known member of a Mafia dynasty. One imagines Helena's past might be something of a issue for him. Let her win him over with the fennel-and-orange salad before he has a chance to prejudice himself.
Matt's actually used to a lot worse when it comes to tact. People don't always take well to people who are different and prejudice, while it doesn't bother him personally, can take some pretty strange forms. Helena, on the other hand, is being sympathetic in a way he doesn't usually experience.
"It helps, yeah," he agrees, smiling and resting the plate on his knees. "I use fresh ingredients at home, but there's not many places I can eat this way when I'm out. I'm used to the taste pollution."
He picks up his fork and waits for Helena to do the same. He's not the sort of Catholic that says grace before every meal, but he knows that Helena's faith runs a little more traditionally than his own. It's her apartment and her cooking, so he'll give her that choice.
Helena's been working for with Barbara Gordon long enough to have done away with any particularly stupid habits when it comes to people with disabilities- like Foggy, she doesn't give off any waves of pity or that weird discomfort some able-bodied people never seem to get over. Mostly since Babs would probably kick her ass three ways to Sunday if she started treating her like glass. That woman is just plain dangerous with a couple escrima sticks in her hands.
She take a moment of silence for Grace, but doesn't pray aloud. She's not the sort that likes to be... showy about her faith. Especially since she eschews a lot of the Church's dogma, particularly in regards to sex & sexuality. And, well, pacifism, obviously.
"Taste pollution. That's a good way to phrase it. I like that," she agrees, thoughtfully. "And it's worth fighting the caterers and restaurant chefs at the farmer's market to avoid it. And they can be pretty vicious."
One of the things Matt's fond of about Helena is that she'd never once treated him like he had a disability. It hadn't just been because he was Daredevil (and God only knew how Oracle had linked Matt Murdock to Daredevil). He'd assumed that she must have had someone close to her who was in a situation similar to his. Family or friend. Maybe one of these days he'll put all the pieces together and understand the whole picture, but it hasn't hit him yet.
He picks up some of the pasta on his fork, sweeping it through some of the sauce. "Go at sun up," he suggests, lifting the bite up to his mouth. He nods and utters a pleased hum to let her know he approves of the flavor. "Not many people like to go that early and you'll have the best selection to pick from."
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malionette
Did you want to RP out the crime fighting and/or dinner or stick to text?
Date: 2016-03-31 12:49 pm (UTC)Not sure about you, but I'd still be up for the pasta.
My brain is so not up to a whole lot of action this week, I'll write a jump to the Food
Date: 2016-03-31 11:57 pm (UTC)--
Later
Helena had joked that she'd given up crossbow bolts to the knee for Lent. The night's earlier activities hinted that she maybe wasn't entirely joking when she'd said that. Or there had just been a lot of really easy shots.
There were also a lot of broken finger bones, probably mild-to-moderate concussions and broken noses. The Huntress didn't have Daredevil's elegant martial arts training- though she'd been training with Dinah for a bit. She fought like the people, the family, who raised her.
But hey, no internal injuries, and nothing her Oracle-approved first aid kit couldn't handle. Which meant they were on for dinner.
The pasta had been made fresh ahead of time, the wine was "cheap, but good, I promise" and she figured going mild on the garlic and spices was probably a good idea, as well as sticking to organic produce.
She also insisted on eating in the apartment's living room, insisting there was no way she was setting a formal table after that kind of night (and also not wanting him to notice the purposefully missing chair at the table and putting anything together about Oracle's identity).
"Okay," she said, realizing just how much she'd made. "You might have a couple lunches worth of leftovers." No cannoli for dessert, though. She generally tries to avoid any food specifically mentioned in the Godfather.
Yeah, I don't blame you. Action takes a specific mood.
Date: 2016-04-01 12:39 am (UTC)Not fond of sitting around and doing nothing, he assisted in whatever ways he could with the food preparations, commenting her on her good taste in ingredients. (It was the preservatives he liked to avoid as much as possible, but lab-made GMOs had a different taste than the organic stuff.)
He sat down on her sofa, waiting for her to serve the food. "If it'll smell half as good tomorrow as it does now, it'll be a great lunch."
Maybe he'd be a good friend and bring some by for Foggy to try.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-01 01:26 am (UTC)"Yeah, I figured with your... sense... thing," so tactful, Helena "heavy spices and tomatoes that've been groped by half the city probably wouldn't cut it," she hands him a plate, and sits down next to him on the couch. Wine is poured generously into glasses.
Feed Foggy the food before telling him it was made by the last known member of a Mafia dynasty. One imagines Helena's past might be something of a issue for him. Let her win him over with the fennel-and-orange salad before he has a chance to prejudice himself.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-01 03:55 am (UTC)"It helps, yeah," he agrees, smiling and resting the plate on his knees. "I use fresh ingredients at home, but there's not many places I can eat this way when I'm out. I'm used to the taste pollution."
He picks up his fork and waits for Helena to do the same. He's not the sort of Catholic that says grace before every meal, but he knows that Helena's faith runs a little more traditionally than his own. It's her apartment and her cooking, so he'll give her that choice.
oh god poor Father Lantom if she's going to the same parish for confession
Date: 2016-04-01 04:50 am (UTC)forwith Barbara Gordon long enough to have done away with any particularly stupid habits when it comes to people with disabilities- like Foggy, she doesn't give off any waves of pity or that weird discomfort some able-bodied people never seem to get over. Mostly since Babs would probably kick her ass three ways to Sunday if she started treating her like glass. That woman is just plain dangerous with a couple escrima sticks in her hands.She take a moment of silence for Grace, but doesn't pray aloud. She's not the sort that likes to be... showy about her faith. Especially since she eschews a lot of the Church's dogma, particularly in regards to sex & sexuality. And, well, pacifism, obviously.
"Taste pollution. That's a good way to phrase it. I like that," she agrees, thoughtfully. "And it's worth fighting the caterers and restaurant chefs at the farmer's market to avoid it. And they can be pretty vicious."
Father Lantom gets the best ultra violent super hero stories, doesn't he?
Date: 2016-04-02 04:32 am (UTC)He picks up some of the pasta on his fork, sweeping it through some of the sauce. "Go at sun up," he suggests, lifting the bite up to his mouth. He nods and utters a pleased hum to let her know he approves of the flavor. "Not many people like to go that early and you'll have the best selection to pick from."