Dinner for Two

Dinner for Two
Date of Scene:	23 July 2014
Location:	Soul Eater World
Synopsis:	After her victory in her exhibition match with D, Medusa wants what was promised her.
Cast of Characters:	22, 232

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Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    The message had been short and precise. New York on Earth 4242564. The world that Medusa herself comes from. Along had been an adress right outside of the city, along with instructions on how to get there, as well as when he should be there. Right after sunset. A simple matter for a man like D to get there, as there appears to be no dangers on the way as he finds his way to the water front, to an old house, an old inn by the looks of it partially hidden by tall oak trees. The noise of the city itself is some distance away, but the area is far from desolate. But somehow, it appears that there is no traffic to the old inn.
The old stone building is lit up inside however, a clear indication for the hunter on where he should go and where he can find the winner of the exhibition fight from the other day. She isn't hiding after all.
    The dining room is somewhat simple, yet elegant. There is soft piano music to be heard, and there are pleasant smells lingering in the air. There is only one person in the room however, and she is simple enough to spot where she sits in the middle of the room at a small table. Even at a first glance, it's clear that she takes this entire thing seriously, as tonight she is clad in a formhugging red dress, leaving her back bare. The bracelets adorning her wrists are not silver today, but gold. For now she's calmly looking out of the large windows overlooking the bay and the last rays of sunlight as they break the monotone darkness.
    In front of here, there are two covered plates, two wine glasses as well a bucket with chilled drink.
    It looks like the two are very much alone, a sad fact for D perhaps.

D (232) has posed:
    Honor compels the Hunter to meet Medusa Gorgon at the selected time and place. If there is any other cause fueling his motivation, he does not speak of it to anyone, least of all to Medusa herself. There is no shred of joy to be found in his icy countenance, no hint of anticipation. He appears before her as silent and frigid as a winter shadow, giving nothing of himself to her save his physical presence.

    He is not surprised to find the restaurant all but empty. Medusa would not want there to be anything or anyone else who draws D's attention from the image of her beauty. There is nowhere for his dark gaze to wander except along the crimson fabric flowing along her body, or the equally sinuous patterns formed by the ink etched into her bared skin.

    "Miss Gorgon." Soft, flat, and low, his voice bears no warmth for the serpent whose table he joins.

    Unlike Medusa, D wears nothing but his usual -- the travel-stained and travel-worn black garments of an experienced nomad. He has not even removed his spurs, and it takes a moment or two for manners to prompt the removal of his hat.

    "You look lovely tonight."

    The words would have more significance and emotive value coming from a programmed computer.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    Even as the hunter approaches the table, it appears that the witch is still occupied with looking out of the window and at the approaching night. But to think that she isn't paying attention to her surroundings would be quite foolish. Didn't she mention how she had survived for centuries? How many people have been out for her life, her very soul to feed it to their weapon? Far too many to count, if one were to ask Medusa herself.
    But as he takes off his hat and comments on her appearance, it looks like she manages to look away from the sunset, setting her golden eyes on him and offering him what is surely a practiced smile.
    Thank you, dear. I thought I would make this somewhat more bearable for you, considering you clearly appreciate feminine beauty," she chuckles, watching him through half closed eyes.
    Her nails are still black for the evening though as she gestures to the covered plate in front of him. "It's fresh out of the kitchen." But by whose hand was it cooked? That isn't something Medusa seems intent to answer. The scent is delicious however, and when uncovered the first course is clear. Chilled gazpacho.
    The witch picks up the napkin from next to the small bowl on the plate, then places it carefully in her lap. "Would you be so kind to pour us something to drink~?"

D (232) has posed:
    "Very well."

    D lifts the chilled bottle from the ice bucket. Time is taken to open the bottle, more time than is truly necessary, but not because the bottle is difficult. His slowness is owing only to his conscious avoidance of the dinner date's more taxing requirements such as 'conversation' and 'maintaining eye contact.'

    After the glasses are poured, D regards the food. Gazpacho. He waits for Medusa to begin eating first, and thereafter follows, taking a polite spoonful or two before setting the spoon down with no intent of picking it up again. His wine glass is similarly ignored. He has no desire for either libations or gourmet foods.

    Starlight. He is surprised to see any stars in a sky so brightened by the city's ambient glow.

    The view over the water is only briefly taken in before he returns to watching Medusa. He is silent, uninterested in helping improve the tense atmosphere, but Medusa is no doubt content to wait for D to crack. Finally, he does -- but likely not in the way she expects.

    "Do you wish to have my friendship, Miss Gorgon."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    One might suspect that he thinks she is out to poison him.
    But Medusa only smiles, amusement lingering on her lips as she watches him after she's taken her own spoonful. Or perhaps he's merely being a gentleman. Who knows? Honestly, she doesn't particularly care. She herself eats slowly, content to savour the taste of the food. It has been meticulously prepared for tonight, so why not enjoy it? Then again, it's not as enjoyable as her dinner date's company.
    Even if it takes time for him to talk.
    But once he does, Medusa smiles warmly, a pleased look in her eyes as she watches him with normal pupils, not trace of any serpentine features. Yet.
    "I can wish for many things, but that doesn't mean I will get them. And even if you agreed to these terms should you lose the match... I am not so young and naive that I will hope for miracles."
    Still, she cants her head as she watches him, her spoon resting in the cold soup. "Still... are you offering it? If so, I can't imagine that it will be offered without some demands..." What could they be? Her ears are open, even as she reaches out to take her glass and take a sip. As he isn't touching his glass, she can't help but narrow her eyes in a look that doesn't look entirely innocent.
    "Are you not thirsty for wine?"

D (232) has posed:
    "You've told me on several occasions you always get what you want." D is not afraid to meet Medusa's gilded stare. He is not disturbed by her obvious self-satisfaction, or the reason for their meeting, or the way the conversation is spinning into uncomfortable territory. "Your luck seems to be holding. You defeated me in the arena, and here we are tonight. If it isn't my friendship you desire from me, what is it you are after?"

    The Hunter takes his wine glass in hand, and lifts it to his cold, dry lips. A small sip is taken, to demonstrate his willingness to be cooperative even in situations where he does not benefit. Wine is not to his liking; there is an expression among his kind...one not to be repeated here.

    "I do not expect I can make reasonable, answerable demands of you. I do not expect I am in the position to make demands, whenever it is apparent your own personal desires take precedence over mine."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    "That's right~" Medusa responds in a half purr, fondness in her eyes as she watches D. "Luck isn't everything, you know. And I was prepared to lose that night and hand you the vial," she admits with a casual shrug of her bare shoulders.
    Still, this conversation turned rather interesting all of a sudden. That much should be easy to read off of her face as he talks. Every word is listened to and taken in, considered. Only when he is finished does the Confederate nurse reply, at the same time as she finishes up her soup.
    "I desire your company. Whether your friendship is included... well. You have stated your distate for what I am before, and I am not foolish enough to try and trick myself. Would you offer me your friendship, hmm?"
    As for what he can gain from this... Now that makes her chuckle, her laughter bubbling up in a light manner that is rather deceptive, considering just what lurks inside that gentle facade of hers. "You know me better than most then, beloved~" she finally says, her voice light with a softness that he might recognize from before. "But by all means, you are more than welcome to make requests. Perhaps I will indulge you, as I am in a pleasant mood tonight~"
    Her eyes do turn snakelike as she watches him from across the table, however. There is a clear sinister undertone to her voice as she continues speaking. "Wether it be answers or something else."

D (232) has posed:
    Yes, he knows her very well by now. Well enough to understand what she means by her last remark, and why she's grown so excited.

    "Your blood has as much interest for me as this wine." Unlike a more melodramatic brand of vampire, D does not shatter his wine glass by tossing it to the floor; instead, he sets it back on the exact spot it was resting before he made his polite gesture. His hand returns to his lap, skipping the chance to pick up his neglected soup spoon and return to the meal.

    Could he be lying? It's impossible to tell. His voice is so flat, so calm, and his face so devoid of expression, he is as impossible to read as the unrippled surface of a mirror lake. But, as well as he has come to know Medusa, she must know him at least half as well, too. He may hide behind his rigid mask, but even after four thousand years of practice, he is not perfectly able to disguise his emotions from discerning eyes.

    Something disturbs him, something deep. If he is a mirror lake, his disturbance is the oily tentacle lurking far below, out of sight except for a shadowy glimpse of a menacing /thing/ in the murk.

    "I do not know what I could gain by befriending you, in truth. I do not think you could give me a satisfactory explanation if I asked. Instead, I will ask you what you intend to do next. Our battle is over. Here we are, sharing your celebratory dinner. I have kept my word. What will you do now?"

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    His reponse earns a slight laugh from Medusa, who takes a sip from her own wine. "So you say..." Yet, she can still remember an occasion where he hesitated. And she /did/ consider leaving a scar when she treated one of the injuries he inflicted on her during their match.
    Why call him out on it? What matters is that she said it. That the words have consequences.
    His comments are well thought out and worded, she will give him that. His question is considered, and Medusa smiles as she leans back in her chair. "Excuse me while I fetch the next course." Then she rises from her chair, gathering the red, flowing skirts for a moment. For a moment D is left alone as she wanders ino the next room, though she soon returns pushing a small trolley with mode covered plates. The soup plates are exhanged for new ones, and Medusa moves back to her chair, even as she watches D. "How often do you meet others who are as old as you are?" the witch asks. "Surely your kind is just as distrusted as mine."

D (232) has posed:
    What an odd question.

    "A dhampir, as old as I am? I've not met anyone equal my age. The Sacred Ancestor is the oldest among us, and I have met him many times. Other vampires are far older than myself. If they have half-human children, I've not met them...but then, most dhampirs have surrendered to their Noble hunger before achieving half my years. Some of the vampires I met may well have been dhampirs. There is no way to be certain, at a glance."

    Once more, he ignores the plates in front of him. He sits back in his seat, and pulls up a leg, resting his right ankle over his left knee as his arms fold over his chest. His eyes have wandered back to the view through the window, his thoughts far away for a long but temporary moment of silence.

    "Yes, most dhampirs are distrusted. There are a few who have managed to find solace in human society, but such a standing is rare, and very difficult to win. To sustain it requires repeated demonstrations of your trustworthiness, for human generations come and go too quickly for your deeds to be remembered for very long."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    Somehow it appears that Medusa does not find the question odd at all. Rather, she pays attention to D even as she sets the covered plates out, one at her seat and one in front of him. This meal appears to be steak. Medium rare, still somewhat bloody. Covered partially by a sweet smelling sauce, as well as small potatoes and vegetables. Once the main course has been served, Medusa moves to sit down in her seat again, replacing the napkin before she picks up her knife and fork.
    "It's only to be suspected," she finally says, her tone soft as she begins cutting up her steak, though her eyes never leave his face. It's a good thing it healed up properly after that kick she planted there during their match.
    "That's just one of the many ways we are alike, beloved."
    Her eyes glance down at her plate for a moment. "I can't say that all of the other witches are too fond of me. Some of them dislike Crona for some reason..." Or perhaps what she has done to her child.
    "Also," she continues, a wistfull sigh leaving her, "no matter what a witch does, she will never be trusted by human society. Even if she has never done anything wrong, we are still fair game to those who seek to take our souls."

D (232) has posed:
    The endearment recalls D from his faraway thoughts. Sitting up straighter, he uncovers his plate, and concentrates on eating what he can before his appetite refuses any addition trials. Three precise pieces are sliced from the steak's body, each one taken and eaten before the next is cut. He begins a fourth, but cannot finish cutting it before he has set down his utensils again.

    Yes, it's a very good thing his injuries have healed. As damaged as his face had been, she might wonder if he had been forced to take his preferred style of rest. Is that why he had been slow to return her call?

    "I will ask you not to call me that any longer. After tonight, I am putting an end to our contact. As I said earlier, there is nothing to be gained from allowing your harassment to continue, as you only permit me to take from the relationship what you think will benefit you. Any contact we have in the future will be in the course of our mutual duties."

    He is cold, and determined to ignore her sighs over her own kind's plights. Instead, he comments on her apparent sadness over the treatment she receives from her fellow Witches. "I can well imagine why the other Witches may find you reprehensible. It is easy to revile someone with as black a heart as you possess. You will harm your own child for the sake of your ambitions; to what lengths might you use another, who isn't even your blood relation? I would keep away from you, too, if I was a Witch."

    Strangely, though his words are cruel, his tone is hard to describe as anything other than listless, like he is carrying out a particularly dull task by trying again to push Medusa out of his life.

    He seems not to have any hope he will succeed.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    Medusa too seems to cut small pieces of her steak, But not for the same reason as him. Instead she takes small, careful bites, eating with as much finesse as one can expect from a malicious witch. At least she has proper table manners.
    His request does make her arch an eyebrow. "Is that so?" she inquires, an undercurrent of humour tinging her words. Somehow she doesn't appear to be disheartened by his words, even if she listens intently as she partakes of her meal. Oh, the other witches do hate her. Most of them at least. All because she is ambitious and does what needs to be done. "My blood isn't black, though~" she says softly, a smile teasing at her lips as she watches him.
    Her fork and knife are put down, and then she witch one again rises from her seat, never moving her eyes from his face. Slowly she makes her way around the table towards him, moving to stand behind him. And then, should he allow her, she seeks to tenderly wrap her arms around his shoulders. "Does it disturb you so much when I call you that...?" she whispers, her breath tickling against the back of his right ear as she leans closer. "I can't recall not giving you what you have asked for. As a matter of fact, I did bring you something today. Considering your moral victory..." Her right hand moves a bit tighter around his chest as it touches the bracelet on her left wrist.

D (232) has posed:
    D might as well be carved of stone in truth and not only appearance. His shoulders in her arms have no warmth, no give. His skin prickles at the touch of her breath, but he doesn't otherwise react, giving her the same satisfaction she would receive from an inanimate figure. His beating heart and gentle breath, both almost imperceptible, are at first the only reassurances Medusa receives that D has not been replaced by some eerie automaton.

    Eventually, his head turns, and he lifts his right hand to her left wrist. "I thank you for the offer, but I will not be accepting your cure. My affliction is not debilitating enough to warrant the risk, and I have every reason to believe that either my carbuncle or my very nature would reject the substance you've concocted, anyway. You display generosity by offering the cure at all, yet I can only find it suspect. I feel no real gratitude, only yet another episode of skepticism, doubt, and a nagging need to know /why/."

    His hand surrounds her wrist, and guides it away, his grasp firm but not harsh, and likely able to be resisted. His head turns further, until he is able to look her mostly in the eye, his gaze not far from her own. "I'll be leaving now."

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    So cold.
    She does not stop him from taking her wrist, nor does she seem startled. Instead she remains still, leaning into his back as he talks. Even so, that smile remains on her lips. His suspicion is cute, something brought on by harsh lessons and many centuries of experience, no doubt. No matter his supposed reason, she can't help but chuckle, the sound low and close to his right ear. So he will be leaving now. Why, they haven't even had dessert yet. As he moves her hand away, he might feel the pulse in her wrist against his fingers. The witch does not resist, allowing him to move her left arm away from him. Her right hand however is still there, her fingers splayed across his chest. And then he looks at her, and Medusa leans closer, her amber eyes narrowing. "Then answer this question for me, at least," she whispers. "Why did you agree to the match if you did not want the prize?" As close as they are, one might wonder if she's about to close the distance between them. But for now Medusa remains still, watching him.

D (232) has posed:
    The restaurant windows shudder as a violent gale sweeps through the dining room's interior. Together, Medusa's perfectly set table and its romantic meal for two crash to the floor in a shocking clatter of broken glasses, tableware, and splintered wood. Thick red wine stains the carpet a garish hue, the growing puddle creeping steadily closer to the spurred heel of the man now towering above it all, above Medusa, his hand a burning shackle around her slender wrist and his other reaching to tangle into her hair.

    If caught, Medusa will find herself twisted into an uncomfortable angle an instant before she is discarded to the floor like another remnant of their poisonous meal. D will not pursue her; it seems all he wishes to do is toss her down at his feet. Even if the Witch stays upright at all, to outside eyes she will seem small before the powerful and imposing presence D has become. The aura surrounding him is a chilling force. His eyes gleam, not red like she might expect, but with the keen sharpness of a sword's naked blade.

    His glare angles down the bridge of his aquiline nose, and he looks at her like she is nothing more than the unpleasant leavings of vermin.

    His voice is as steely as his gaze.

    "To hurt you."

    D turns on his heel. He bends to recover his hat, and begins to walk away, his cloak like a billowing stormcloud behind him.

Medusa Gorgon (22) has posed:
    The closeness between them comes to an abrupt halt with the gale and D's towering form, and for a moment Medusa's eyes glimmer with slit pupils as she /stares/ up at him. But even so, the tattoos on her arms remain dormant. And there are no black arrows shooting out of her back. Surprisingly enough she ponders letting herself get caught, but in the last possible moment she turns her head, barely avoiding him grabbing her hair. But she is thrown back, still standing upright even as he glares down at her. Her breath catches in her throat, and she shudders. Even that look...
    The glare and the sharp tone in his voice does make the witch leer, even as she chuckles in a sinister manner. "Yet you yielded, dear. When you could have hurt me so much more."
    If he dislikes being referred to in such a manner... it's really sad that he displays his weaknesses so /openly/ for her to see. But she does not pursue him as he turns and begins to walk away. The mess left behind by his outburst does not bother her, as she is still smiling as she watches his retreating back. "Thank you for a lovely dinner. Until we next meet... beloved~"