thecapitol | It's a Date

Entry tags:

It's a Date

Who | Commander Jane Shepard, and Venus Dee Milo
What | Fancy shipper-baiting dinner date at
Where | a suspiciously loud restaurant
When | TWO-KNIGHT
Warnings/Notes | canon-typical language

The restaurant was a high-end replica of some wealthy Capitolite's idea of what a London dive-bar looked like. It was too clean by half, full of wood beams polished dark and thick wine-reds and navy blues. The brass was real, but untarnished by the supposed age proclaimed by the signage, and the beer tasted like shit, too weak and watery. You'd think with all this money, they could at least get good fucking beer. The whole business reminded her of nothing so much as plastic silver cutlery, functionally one thing, but only a child believed it to be what it was trying to be. Hell, even the food was off; she'd spent long enough in London to know exactly how much grease should've been soaked into these chips and this wasn't it.

The only authentic thing in the place was the volume. Vidscreens broadcast some mutant descendant of football and the enthusiasm of the patrons hung around like smoke from green wood, liable at any minute to rise up and choke you.

And all that suited her purposes just fine.

So Shepard perched herself in good view of the door, more than dressed for the occasion, and waved Venus over when she made her appearance. Soak it in, girlfriend, the beer might be piss, but the greasy, inauthentic shepherd's pie is still damned good no matter what's in it. Romantic as fuck.

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Venus shows up a little dressed up, having figured out a little bit of what she hopes Shepard's trying to accomplish. It means she's a few minutes late, but while Shepard may be used to a military schedule, Venus has always been a little more carefree when she hasn't had agents, managers and team leaders to herd her.

"Nah, water," she says to the waiter. "Or soda with a straw. Can't rot my teeth if I can help it."

She slides on the bar next to Shep, sitting on the counter rather than a seat because really, the bartender's not about to kick her off and it lets her show off her ridiculous shoes.

"Hey, sexy."

"Very nice," She can be sarcastic if she wants, "But you don't really think your teeth are gonna be an issue do you? Hell, you might not even have 'em long enough for enamel wear to matter."

But she says it with a smile, only loud enough to be heard. Not that it's hard, you'd have to really shout to get over the sports din, and he posture is all casual interest, shifting her seat a little to lean a forearm dangerously near Venus' thigh. We're all adults here.

"Ever had shepherd's pie before?" She'd been on leave and had found the pun clever enough when posed to her by the then-current flavor of the month, but really there was no substitute for the pure calories imbued in a meal that could pest be described as potatos and cheese on top of just everything.

Plus, double-entendres were always par for the course.

"Hey, you never know. I might win this. I almost won the candyland one." She gets her soda with a straw in it and chews on the end, adopting a funny voice to say "and I would have gotten away with it too, if not for that meddling gladiator."

You know. After she impaled Shepard's forehead.

She grins and crosses her legs. "I don't go home with girls on the first date, if that's what you're asking."

"You're just full of scintillating first date conversation, aren't you?" And, funnily enough, she got that reference. Six months in lockup and she hadn't had much to do but vids and books and endless crunches. It was even odds as to whether a copy of that particular classic even still existed, back home.

"You might have to make an exception, since we're both staying in the same suite," she won't acknowledge defeat by calling it 'home,' "It's food, damn good food. Are you really watching your weight right now? Because I'm a biotic and that's going to be a little rough."

"Hey, I could spend this whole date talking about my ex-boyfriends." She rubs the back of her neck and pops her knuckles.

"It's a little easier to watch my weight now that I get reset at the end of every Arena, but if I go in with that attitude I've already admitted I'm losing the next one. So no, thank you, pass on the ranch dressing." Besides, her newfound tastebuds aren't savvy to the difference between corn syrup and aspartame yet.

"Alright, your call," Shepard shrugged goodnaturedly. Dealing with Venus was an odd beast, but if she wanted to sit there and pick at a salad while Shepard did her best to crush the waning requirements of a biotic metabolism in time for the arena...

Ah, here we go.

Fifteen-hundred calories was the standard daily ration for a desk-jockey, back home. More for someone a little more active; for a biotic that would be starvation rations. The tray, when it arrived was loaded down with nothing less than nirvana in the form of minced beef, potato, cheese and a healthy helping of cooking grease. It was enormous. Shepard gestured at Venus with a skeptical spoon, handle-first. A peace offering.

"Combat biotics calory requirements," she said, by way of explination. Oh, this smug bitch, "...D'you wanna know what I eat when I'm not watching my weight?"

Venus raises an eyebrow, then looks over Shepard as if expecting to see some sort of black hole generator around Shep's gut. No such luck.

"I think I can take a wild guess and say an entire poached rhinoceros." Venus eats all the tomatoes out of her salad first when it arrives. She loves sweet, loves fruit, loves sugar. She gets herself another diet soda, too.

She gestures back with her fork at Shepard's spoon. The olive branch is accepted.

"So. What was this hot gossip you had?"

Try a little higher, Venus. The black hole generator is housed in the implant at the base of her skull.

"Eh, just romantic scuttlebutt," Does she chew? Well, maybe you don't have to; it's not a particularly solid version of this particular dish, "That hairy Alternian bastard in our district's been flirting with me. Asked me out for drinks."

All the dates, Venus. All of them.

"You?"

"The Initiate?" Venus nearly spits out her tomato at that, then covers her mouth to laugh. "Did he do it like this?"

Venus takes a deep breath and swallows, then does a rather accurate impersonation of the Initiate. "A Messiah cannot be single forever. DID A MOTHERFUCKER BE SINGLE? Had been seeing you around the District. SEES THE SISTER LOOKING VERY FINE. Would be wanting to get coffee? MAYHAPS THE MOTHERFUCKER AND THE SISTER BE CAFFEINATING AND PLAYING HIDE THE CINNAMON STICK."

She settles back down, rubbing the base of her throat as if that's blown it out. People in the bar give her a bored look when she's done. "Are you fishing for what's up with me and our resident political wonk?"

Edited 2014-01-28 05:25 (UTC)

Shep happens to have just had her newest pint arrive and ends up having to stop and remember how to breathe without choking. Dammit, Venus, don't do that when she's trying to drink.

"Ahh, something more along the lines that he'd need to be drunk to put up with me. Alien romantic bullshit," What this calls for is alcohol, or at least a drink to wash down her earlier sputtering, "Aliens're weird. But hey, you never have to worry about getting pregnant."

She doesn't know if she's more hoping Venus won't ask, or hoping she will, just to see the reaction.

"Enjolras? Nah, I can see you two just fine from where I've been sitting. Unless you want my advice."

Venus, unfortunately, doesn't question the alien sex bit. She's from a universe where aliens and alternate realities and clones and all that are just about common place.

"Go for it. I could use all the advice I could get with cracking that nut." She rolls her eyes. "You know what, think I might join you on drinking if we're going down that road, though."

If Shepard knew the first thing about Venus home-verse, she might've been relieved. Finally, someone with a life crazier than hers.

"Have you tried just straight-up tell the guy you want to sleep with him. People like to get caught up in all the politics of emotional entanglement and I've never really seen any point in it," She nods and gestures emphatically at the bartender, thumbing to indicate Venus and just like that, she's got her own. Let it never be said Shepard doesn't provide, "It's always worked out for me."

"I grabbed him and kissed him and he told me he wasn't looking for a wife." What a bro Shep is, making sure Venus can get her drank on. Venus shrugs and pulls a face. "I'm pretty sure that's the 19th Century version of friendzoning."

The drink is, mercifully, delivered. Venus doesn't even care if it's low-calorie.

Again with the aspirating of barley spirits. Twice in half as many minutes, damn.

"That's uh— that's not exactly what I meant. You need to use your words, for starters."

Isn't that a fine mental image? Enjolras, leaping from impassioned kiss to...marriage. Geez, who knew that he was such a sap? Weren't the French supposed to be experts on this whole light-in-love concept? What a load of shit.

"Second, for the love of god, you did make clear to him that you're not proposing, right? I mean, sure, you like the guy, but..." Most adults can separate the notions of love and sex into different categories. Ideally, you try for some measure of both, but tolerances do vary, "I mean, we're all adults here."

Edited 2014-01-28 06:22 (UTC)

"No, Shep, I leaned him back, slipped a ring on his finger and told him I planned on naming our first baby after my grandmother." Venus rolls her eyes. "I nearly made the face you just made when he said he wasn't looking for a wife. Marriage wasn't even like, a blip on the radar. Not even like, a baby blip. A blippy."

Use your words. What is this, kindergarten. Venus scowls and takes a drink, which leaves her with a little foam mustache.

Edited 2014-01-28 06:29 (UTC)

"Mazel Tov, I'll see you at the baby shower," Because apparently this is kindergarten, and smirking into her beer is therefore more than appropriate.

"Are we sure he's not gay? It's possible, you know."

"Don't jinx it!" Venus blurts out, then knocks on the wooden countertop. Her bottom lip pulls back so all her teeth show. "He could be! But no, I don't think he is. I think he's just really French and really obsessed with like, Kant and shit."

You can't snarl at someone who parties with Krogan and think she'll be impressed by flat omnivore teeth.

"Well. Ask him about Kant. You wanna get with a killer, learn to shoot well. You want to make out with the world's fanciest straight guy, talk the talk. Hell, Venus, you might just have to find something else to do with your time," And then, Shepard had an idea. An awful idea, "Unless... You know, we are on a date."

A wonderful, awful idea.

It's not a snarl so much as a "heeek that's a situation I don't want to contemplate" face. With exactly that sound effect.

She bats her lashes a bit. "I want to say 'are you thinking what I'm thinking', but since it's coming from you I'm about twenty percent sure it's something more vulgar."

Edited 2014-01-28 07:09 (UTC)

"Hey, I would never be vulgar, I am an exemplary professional. They had me on recruitment posters and everything," Sincerity is overrated anyways; she can't even keep a straight face, "Think he'd actually react to a little competition? Because you're cute and all, but I'm not planning to keep you."

Venus snorts again, then kills her soda and takes a sip of her stronger drink.

"Honey, as far as you know I don't even date women. As far as you know." She props her chin on the back of her hand and grins. "But I'll try not to be offended. I don't think he will, anyway. I went on a date with Zelos and he didn't even notice."

"I'm starting to suspect you of bad judgement. Honey," A tip of her beer, for foolhardy ways and bad choices made in men, "Least when I pick a target, I have the grace to make sure they like women, first."

You wanna be mean, we can make a few catty noises over here. Still, Jane's got an answering smile pulled on by halfway only, like pants that no longer fit— but she keeps trying. Sometimes fitting into the person you used to be is just a matter of effort, no matter what reality wants to say.

"So, to recap, he's blind, stupid, possibly not into women, or all three at once? And you're sober? Braver than me."

"I have terrible judgment. I'll own that." She rubs her nose, as if trying already to figure out if she's drunk despite having not had nearly enough time or alcohol to even get tipsy. "But are you saying that you're not the kind of person who likes a challenge?"

Generally people like that don't join the military, but Venus supposes it doesn't have to extend to every piece of someone's life. After all, her own confidence is far from all-encompassing.

"I like professional challenges. Impossible odds, suicide missions, galatic fates hanging in the balance, I could tell some stories," Lord, was that an understatement, but confidence was a way of life for Shepard, not a play-act she put on, "But when it comes to sex? I got enough stress in my life, thanks. I'll take the easy route any time you ask."

Besides, everyone likes Asari, right? Shepard is confident of this fact, at least in her own experience. Not for the first time, she feels that twisting pain of wishing tow contradictory things at once; Liara would have mustered out of the Hunger Games first thing, and thrived in the Capitol.

"Sometimes, a couple of hours with a classy courtesan is pretty much exactly what you need."

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It's a Date

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oooh I like that line about the pants

sometimes, I get it right.