and pull the smiles inside
Jul. 16th, 2014 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Ollie scrubs his hand up through the back of his hair as he waits for Mar’i to let him in. It’s not significantly warmer in San Francisco than in Star, so he can’t even pretend that’s the reason for the flushed feeling that’s making him a little overheated even in t-shirt and jeans. He wraps his hand a few times over in the strap of the cloth grocery bag he’s holding, the feeling of the fabric digging into his palm calming him down a little.
Mari takes a bit to get to the door, but when she opens it up the reason is clear: the apartment floor where the open floorplan leads from the tiled kitchen towards the doorway is flooded with thick bubbles. “Dishwasher’s broken,” Mar’i says by means of greeting, even as Poppy zooms by, devouring a line of bubbles in her wake.
Ollie pauses before he comes in, slinging the bag he’s holding (carefully) onto a table before rubbing his hands together. “Okay,” Ollie says briskly. “You got a spare mop? Or hell, even a broom, or some rags? Doesn’t look like the Lizard Queen’s being much help with the cleanup.”
Mari glances over to where Poppy is now rolling in a pile of bubbles near the offending appliance. “Well, I guess they just didn’t have dishsoap on her homeworld,” she shrugs, motioning to where she’s already begun to towel up some of the mess. “There’s a mop in the coat closet, too.”
Ollie bustles over to the coat closet and fetches the mop, swirling it in vigorous figure eights over the bubbly floor. “You need a new one?” he asks, nodding at the dishwasher. “You should get your landlord to replace that thing /and/ pay for cleanup. Only fair to compensate you for loss of use and the mess.” He ducks his head a little, grimacing; he can hear the grampa style ‘stating-of-the-obvious’ words coming out of his mouth, but can’t seem to stem the flow. “I brought you some ramen,” Ollie blurts, eager to change the subject. “I figured you might not have much energy for cooking.”
Mari laughs a little and shakes her head, tossing down a towel near the dishwasher and moving it with her foot. “No, it’s actually my fault. The lid fell off the dish detergent while I was pouring it in and way more went in than I wanted. Besides, it’s only on the tile, so I’m not too worried.” She glances over at the bag, tilting her head curiously. “Spicy ramyun?” she asks, not even realizing how she naturally lilts the word away to a different pronunciation, a different language—the one more familiar to her.
"Tonkotsu, and I ordered it spicy." He pauses in swishing the mop around to grin at her. "I saw that movie Tampopo a long time ago and it made me think that good ramen has to be made from pork bone broth. Also it made me look at eggs in a brand new way."
Mari blinks and continues moving her foot circularly. “Tampopo?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Should I watch that?”
Ollie gives her an impassioned look. “Oh, Mar’i,” he says. “Yes, you should. If you can find it anymore, you definitely should.” He slaps the mop down in a few places, flattening the bubbles, and then leans on it as he looks at her again. “I didn’t mean that stuff I said to you that time,” Ollie tells her, his voice doing the strained, rushed thing that it does when he’s anxious about something and feeling embarrassed. “I thought … I dunno, sweetie, I thought you might be drugged or possessed or something. I thought you might not be you, so I was aiming for the gut.”
Mari snorts. “I can find all the Asian films, man, I have the magic torrent touch.” She pauses then squints. “Don’t tell Bruce I’m torrenting on his tech. That might look bad.” But as Ollie switches so suddenly—a common motif in their interactions—her face changes subtly, shifting a bit darker and quieter as she listens. “You definitely know where my gut is, then,” she says finally, not quite facing him as her foot slows in its path. “But I said some shitty stuff too—tried to throw Dinah at you—and I’m sorry for that, too.”
( and light it up forever )
Mari takes a bit to get to the door, but when she opens it up the reason is clear: the apartment floor where the open floorplan leads from the tiled kitchen towards the doorway is flooded with thick bubbles. “Dishwasher’s broken,” Mar’i says by means of greeting, even as Poppy zooms by, devouring a line of bubbles in her wake.
Ollie pauses before he comes in, slinging the bag he’s holding (carefully) onto a table before rubbing his hands together. “Okay,” Ollie says briskly. “You got a spare mop? Or hell, even a broom, or some rags? Doesn’t look like the Lizard Queen’s being much help with the cleanup.”
Mari glances over to where Poppy is now rolling in a pile of bubbles near the offending appliance. “Well, I guess they just didn’t have dishsoap on her homeworld,” she shrugs, motioning to where she’s already begun to towel up some of the mess. “There’s a mop in the coat closet, too.”
Ollie bustles over to the coat closet and fetches the mop, swirling it in vigorous figure eights over the bubbly floor. “You need a new one?” he asks, nodding at the dishwasher. “You should get your landlord to replace that thing /and/ pay for cleanup. Only fair to compensate you for loss of use and the mess.” He ducks his head a little, grimacing; he can hear the grampa style ‘stating-of-the-obvious’ words coming out of his mouth, but can’t seem to stem the flow. “I brought you some ramen,” Ollie blurts, eager to change the subject. “I figured you might not have much energy for cooking.”
Mari laughs a little and shakes her head, tossing down a towel near the dishwasher and moving it with her foot. “No, it’s actually my fault. The lid fell off the dish detergent while I was pouring it in and way more went in than I wanted. Besides, it’s only on the tile, so I’m not too worried.” She glances over at the bag, tilting her head curiously. “Spicy ramyun?” she asks, not even realizing how she naturally lilts the word away to a different pronunciation, a different language—the one more familiar to her.
"Tonkotsu, and I ordered it spicy." He pauses in swishing the mop around to grin at her. "I saw that movie Tampopo a long time ago and it made me think that good ramen has to be made from pork bone broth. Also it made me look at eggs in a brand new way."
Mari blinks and continues moving her foot circularly. “Tampopo?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Should I watch that?”
Ollie gives her an impassioned look. “Oh, Mar’i,” he says. “Yes, you should. If you can find it anymore, you definitely should.” He slaps the mop down in a few places, flattening the bubbles, and then leans on it as he looks at her again. “I didn’t mean that stuff I said to you that time,” Ollie tells her, his voice doing the strained, rushed thing that it does when he’s anxious about something and feeling embarrassed. “I thought … I dunno, sweetie, I thought you might be drugged or possessed or something. I thought you might not be you, so I was aiming for the gut.”
Mari snorts. “I can find all the Asian films, man, I have the magic torrent touch.” She pauses then squints. “Don’t tell Bruce I’m torrenting on his tech. That might look bad.” But as Ollie switches so suddenly—a common motif in their interactions—her face changes subtly, shifting a bit darker and quieter as she listens. “You definitely know where my gut is, then,” she says finally, not quite facing him as her foot slows in its path. “But I said some shitty stuff too—tried to throw Dinah at you—and I’m sorry for that, too.”
( and light it up forever )