Inked [1x1]

"This was after all the wine," Otto said. "But dessert hadn't even come yet. She probably would have drank more." "Anyway, she's just sitting there, muttering about how strong the glass is, when she fully swings the ladle at the glass." He mimed out hitting the glass with a ladle. "Obviously, it breaks," he said, rubbing at his chin.
 
Otto's date snickered, "Sorry. I shouldn't laugh. I'm sure it was embarrassing." The mirth didn't leave her face, though, as she gestured for him to continue with the story and peeking a glance at her menu.
 
Otto shook his head. "No, laugh, definitely laugh!" He said with a chuckle. "So, glass breaks, water goes everywhere, and the lobsters are pretty much set loose. The girl realised what had happened, and she sobered right up. She left, quick as anything, but she left her bag." He laughed awkwardly. "I wasn't about to pay for anything, so I told them they could track her down with her ID. And they did, and she had to take out a huge loan to cover it." He hesitated. "I don't seem like that good a guy anymore," he said with a laugh.
 
She still covered her giggles with a sip of her water. "No, no. I think that was fair. Paying for dinner is one thing, paying for property damage..." She shook her head and laughed again. "I don't know. I think that might beat the seat basket, but at least you weren't arrested?" Her eyes twinkled, merrily. Perhaps there was a story there, perhaps not. "So, what to order..." she considered the menu again.
 
Otto shook his head. "Dear god, I'd rather die than be arrested, if we're being honest," he said, taking a sip of his own water. He glanced down at the menu. "Well, I've heard good things about the steak pie," he offered, tapping at the item on Laila's menu.
 
"Hmm..." She considered the rest of the menu, gaze returning to the steak pie. "It does sound good. I think I'll get that." She set the menu aside, "So, let's see. You have two sisters and you like to take vandals on dates. What else should I know about you, Otto?"
 
Otto looked to his own menu. "I think I'm gonna have...the bangers and mash," he said, leaning back in the chair. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you want to know?" He asked with a laugh.
 
She mimicked his posture, thinking. "Okay, if you had to describe yourself in three words, without thinking about it, what would they be?" She leaned forward, "And go! No hesitation."
 
Otto's eyes widened in something akin to panic. "Uh....uh...'really really cool'!" He blurted out, obviously not that good under pressure.
 
She ticked off a finger, "Panic's under pressure." She noted with a teasing smile. Their wait arrived and she quickly gave her order before handing over the menu. She waited for Otto to do the same and when the waiter had left, she tapped a finger on the table to think. "Okay, coffee or tea?"
 
Otto narrowed his eyes, just barely covering a chuckle. He rolled his eyes and laughed. "We met in a coffee shop, Laila," he reminded her, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "Coffee. And you prefer tea," he said.
 
'That doesn't necessarily mean coffee is your preference," she nodded, pleased that he had remembered. The rest of their dinner went much like this with her gently questioning him on his preferences. Some of it was fairly standard? "Favorite color?" Hers is blue. Some questions were a tad more random, "Chicken or beef?" She prefers chicken. "Cat or dogs." She describes herself as an animal person. If she could she'd have cats, dogs, birds, an entire farm of animals. "Cookies or cake?" She'd rather have a cookie, but when she does eat cake, it's only for the icing. By the time their food arrives, she's sharing a story about her niece and nephew, six and ten respectively.

"Owen asks me why 'suck' is considered a bad word, because they can't say it at school, particularly. My brother curses in front of them all the time, but they know better. So I explain to him that it's not really a bad word, and I try to explain about context. You can't say that a person sucks but you can say that your day sucked, because those days happen and I went on to tell him that it depended on the situation. It's one thing for him to say suck in my apartment living room, telling me about his day, it's a whole other thing for him to go to school and say it around the teachers and other students." Laila pauses and takes a drink.

"I tell him that he just needs to learn to read the room. Certain things are only appropriate with certain people. They both seem to understand this concept and we move on. Fast forward a couple weeks later and they're staying the night with me. They're telling me about school and I mentioned something about their principle--she has no fans in that household, let me tell you--and my niece goes," here Laila lowers her voice, in order to not disturb the other customers, "'So you mean Ms. Koffmen could have been like fuck you, fuck this, fuck that.' And me and her brother just freeze like... what did my precious little niece just say?" Laila laughs. "She suddenly looks at both of us, open mouthed and confused and I ask her what she just said and, poor thing, she starts crying. Looks between both of us and says, 'but I read the room!'"
 
Otto's answers were nothing amazing. His favourite colour was orange. He could eat beef for days. He preferred dogs, but he still could appreciate a cat. He preferred cookies, but not if they were dry. He hated cake, primarily because of the icing. He avoids eating massive amounts of food as Laila's talking, even though he was pretty hungry. He didn't want to seem rude.

He listened to the story, nodding and making eye contact as much as he could. His eyes widened at the niece's profanity. "Damn. She's got a worse mouth than most guys I've met!" He said, plopping a bit of sausage into his mouth with a laugh. His face softened with pity, with a small shake of his head. "Aw, that's a shame," he said, finishing what was in his mouth before he did. "What did you do after that? Did you tell her dad?" He asked.
 
She chewed over her food while he spoke, nearly finished with her meat pie. "It was an honest mistake, and I had to tell him. It was the funniest thing and her parents thought it was hilarious. She didn't get in trouble, of course, but the shock of it made it so much better. I don't think I'd ever heard her swear until that point. With just a few bites of her dinner left, she let a comfortable silence take over for a short pause so she could finish her meal. It wasn't until they both finished that she prodded, once more, to learn more about him. "Tell me about your sisters. Are they older or younger? Do you have any brothers, or is it just you three?"
 
Otto finished his own meal just before Laila, taking a sip of water to wash it down. He hesitated for just a moment, but then nodded with a smile. "Yeah, just us three. Klara's twenty-seven and she's working as a flayer. Mari's twenty and she's a police officer," he said. "Me and Klara never got along. She bullied me all the time." He laughed, as if it was no big deal, but it didn't quite pass fully through.
 
Laila decided to skip over the eldest sister, "So that puts you in the middle. What about Mari, are you close?" She pushed her plate to the side, full. The waiter arrived, too, clearing plates and offering drink refills and dessert.
 
Otto decided not to bother with dessert, having never been a big fan. He shrugged. "We're okay," he said. "Mari and Klara are the close ones, even though there's seven years between them. They would do each other's makeup and hair and all that sort of stuff and I was left on the outside." He shook his head. "We're polite to each other, at least."
 
She nodded, with some understanding. "My brother and I were never really close until recent years. The age difference, and then he had his friends and eventually I had mine. It definitely could be worse." She was too full for dessert, regardless. When the check came, she did offer to pay for her portion.
 
Otto nodded. "I get you. I don't see how people can fight with their siblings all their lives," he said. He pulled out his own wallet, shaking his head. "No no, let me," he insisted, plucking out money from his wallet and sitting it on the tray. He looked into his wallet and glanced up at Laila, looking a bit awkward. "How do you figure out tips?" He mumbled.
 
"Exactly!" she agreed, quietly tucking away her own wallet. She smiled, "Mathmatically, I have no clue. Easy trick, though, base it off of what the tax was and double it." She was careful to see how he had treated the waiter during their stay. Laila was a firm believer that the way people treat others, particularly those in the service industry, is a good indicator of character.
 
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