lovemykilt | The Arms Hotel, Pillow Suite, Sunday night

Dinah was at least three drinks behind him, but given how much of a light-weight she still was, she had a mild buzz going that made everything mellow. "Hmmm. Pasta. Yeah. Easy to test, easy to make," she decided, leaning against the counter and taking a small sip of her drink. "What do you want me to do? I can be Sous this time. Your arena, and all."

Priestly huffed a small laugh. "You'd probably be the best sous I ever had." That wasn't even much of an exaggeration. "Grab decent sized pot? There's no reduction on this, so we can start the water for the pasta straight off."

"How is that possible?" Dinah asked, mystified, and then carefully picked out a big pot to hand to him. "I only understood the part about water and pasta in that sentence."

"Well, you're not trying to sleep with the hostess, as far as I know you're not on any drugs, you haven't tried to get high off of any of the cooking ingredients, you're not trying to steal the head chef position from me, and it's been a full minute and you've yet to cut off any body parts." Priestly flashed her a smirk. "So, yeah. Your sousing will be a dream come true."

Dinah smirked back, and shook her head. "I am the hostess, I've had a glass and a half of wine- I think- and I don't think I can get high off garlic. You're a waaay better cook, and-- body parts? They didn't make that part up?" she asked, still only half-believing him. "Good grief. How do you even get any work done? Or food made?" She did start stacking ingredients. That might be efficient, or wrong, she couldn't tell. But it didn't sound like Priestly would take off points.

"Hey, hey, that's the mise." Yeah, 'cause that would mean something to her. Priestly shook his head at himself. "And, honestly? That's a mystery for the freaking ages. I'm pretty sure the producers make sure all my candidates are touched in the head, though."

"Mise. Mise?" Dinah held it up, looking thoughtful. "Do you like any of them? I mean. Aside from the craziness? Or the producers, or, you know, the people in L.A.?" She braced herself for the answer there. At least she loved working with Helena and Barbara, even if she was starting to think it was time to go on sabbatical.

"All of it. Mise en place. The set up, so all the ingredients are where you need them when you've actually got a fire going." Priestly shrugged, gesturing to the area around the cutting board with a wooden spoon and looking thoughtful.

He was taking all this too seriously. He always did. He grabbed another gulp of scotch.

"Ted, the fish guy, he's cool. He doesn't get a lot of air time because he's, you know, level-headed and crap. And a couple of the servers, you know, the ones who aren't always trying to skip out for auditions that don't go anywhere. That one girl, you know, from season one, the one who wanted to go into stand up? She was fantastic. Which would be why she only did one season before moving to New York. I hear she writes for the Daily Show or something, now."

Dinah watched him down more scotch, and frowned, having bad visions of things going up in flames from that combination. He was so serious about this, how could he have ever gotten sick of it? Maybe it really was just the restaurant and the show.

Listening, she nodded at the mention of Ted, then grinned as he mentioned the server. "I liked her. I was sorry when she left, but I'm glad if she's doing well." She bumped her arm into the one not holding anything. "So, you can't hire sane people? No control over that?" She pointed to the herbs. "Should I chop stuff? That's a Sous thing. Well. And making yummy sandwiches, and being the cavalry."

Priestly picked up the cutting board to hand it over, then paused. "You know what? You know what I really wanna make right now?" He grinned a little sloppily. "A Lancer. I haven't made one of those in years."

"Awwwww!" Dinah grinned, then kissed his cheek. "I'd love one. Do we have all the stuff for it? I know we have the right kind of cheese and bread." She swallowed another mouthful of wine. "I am suddenly starving."

God, those casual touches! How had he not noticed how absent those had been? It was absurd.

"Well then, this is perfect. Way faster to cook than pasta with Alfred-sauce." He blinked. That sounded vaguely dirty. He totally needed another sip of scotch. "Two lancers, coming right up. Grab the cheese, bread, and tuna, and I'll get the rest of it ready."

"Sir yes sir jefe' chef sir!" Dinah snapped him a sloppy salute, then TK'd the bread and cheese to the cutting board, and went off to search for tuna through the bags, humming. After a minute she realized it was California Gurls, which always made her think of summers at Santa Cruz, and snickered, taking another drink of wine. "Foooood. Priestly foood. Nom nom nom."

Why didn't any food critics ever use "nom nom nom"? It was a perfect food phrase.

Priestly watched her rifle through the bags while his hands automatically went about setting up a new mise. God, he'd missed her. How the hell did he let five years go by without seeing her?

Right. 'Cause he'd had so much time on his hands, recently. He barely even found time to get back to Santa Cruz, half the time. He looked away again, focusing on cutting the bread, cheese, and veggies, and finding a bowl to mix the tuna salad in. He was drunk enough to know that'd require some concentration -- he wasn't about to be the one accidentally slicing off body parts, here.

"Right, so. With a lancer, I'm thinking a good white wine."

"White, sure. Fish. Also, cheese. So, perfect," Dinah had to agree. She wound around him to put the tuna cans just to his left, hip-checking him slightly and grinning, then wound around to grab the wine and put it out too. She'd forgotten how being around him and listening to him talk had always put her in a better mood. She'd been dumb to think that seeing him after the trauma-drama-incident would be painful or weird. Dumb, dumb, dumb. "I keep wanting to say 'remember when', but duh, of course you do. Why do people do that at reunions so much?"

"It's what they have in common." Which, wow, was that ever sad. "And maybe a little less depressing than talking about what's been going on lately." He kind of really hoped that wasn't just him. He popped open the cans and mixed up the tuna salad right quick, then spooned it onto the bread. The movements were so practiced that even though it'd been years, he barely had to think about what he was doing. It was like a dance, the two of them moving around so neatly. This was what a good kitchen should be.

Holy crap, he'd missed this.

"Alrighty. Now we just let 'em toast for three minutes, get the cheese nice and melty, and we've got ourselves dinner."

"Okay, that is sad," Dinah decided, and frowned. "...maybe it's just that a lot of what happened here was intense. I mean, it's Fandom. There were zombies, as well as awesome plays and running with mooses." Wait. "Moose."

She watched him mix up the tuna, and felt like she was back at the Diner, talking about everything and nothing, and hopped up on the nearest stool, grinning. She floated the wine bottle to herself and carefully opened it. "Maybe just... getting back to when things were more solid. Easier. Too."

"Oh fuck, the moose. I'd almost forgotten about them." And that was a damn shame. Tiny mooses! Meese? "Definitely a simpler time, even with the zombies and invading things. Maybe I should talk the producers into doing a special Halloween episode here or something. The audience'd never believe the 'special effects'."

"As long as it wasn't during one of the weird weekends, or you'd never get anything on tape you could use. Or you'd end up a bigamist." She almost added, Not that that would be a tragedy. "I could float things!"

And floated the salt and pepper over to him, grinning.

"Well, that'd make for good drama, at least." Priestly had gotten very good at recognizing what made for good drama, these days. He pulled the sandwiches out of the oven, set them on plates and held them out. "Bon appetit."

"Thank you for this," Dinah said, her voice a little softer. She floated a glass of wine over to him, and then nudged the scotch away with her TK. "It's... man, I'm so sentimental this weekend. It just -- it reminds me of being safe and knowing things were okay and someone was looking out for me, you know?" She paused and held up her glass of wine. "Which kind of turned into a toast, so, toast."

"Toast," Priestly agreed, taking a sip of wine, and feeling the alcohol more now that he wasn't focussed on coooking. "And I know what you mean. I haven't -- geez, I feel like I've been half-asleep for, like, five years." He winced. "Okay, that sounds dumb."

"No, not dumb. Worrying." Dinah was now definitely buzzed. Time to stop drinking. She put her glass down and bit into the Lancer, eyes rolling with enjoyment, and for the next few minutes there were just yummy! noises. When she could finally talk again, licking her fingers carefully, she said, "You were way more awake. Not just high school, but chef school, working in Santa Cruz-- is this the show? Or what?"

Or what: Selene? The restaurant? Not having piercings, damnit? Dinah reached out and TK-booped Priestly on the nose. "Why aren't you happy, dude?"

Priestly sighed, his own lancer only half eaten. He sat back, rubbing his neck. "I don't know. I just . . . I'm supposed to be, right? I've got the success, the wife, the house --" he froze, his eyes going wide. "Oh holy hell, I've turned into my parents."

Which, naturally, was when his phone rang. Priestly dug it out, looked at the screen, then groaned. "Oh not now, Selene!"

"You aren't Naomi!" Except for, well... how he kind of was doing exactly what she must've wanted, in some ways.

She jumped when the cell rang, then Dinah stared at the phone like it was a venomous snake: narrow-eyed and ready to smash it to bits. "You can turn it off. Tell her you lost it?"

Dinah, that's not a nice way to act toward Priestly's wife.

No, worse: he'd become his dad.

"No, no." Priestly steeled himself. "I'm going to get this. I'm gonna -- there's things that need to be said." And they never would be, if he wasn't trashed. He answered the phone. "What? . . . No, I'm not. . . . I know I said I'd -- would you -- Selene. Selene. I'm not going to --"

Okay, and apparently they wouldn't be said if she didn't shut up first.

"Goddammit, Selene, would you listen to me for once?! . . . Yes, I'm drunk. And I'm staying an extra night and I think when I get back I'm gonna -- yes, a hotel. Yeah, well, maybe we should tell the produ -- oh like this hasn't been coming. Since when? Gee, I don't know, Selene, maybe since you started fucking my pastry chef." There. He'd said it. And he hung up on her squawking, looked up at Dinah, and let out a hard breath. "I'd throw the phone, but, uh, I think it'd just kind of . . . bounce. In here."

Whoa. Dinah stared for a moment, then looked around the Pillow Suite, and back to Priestly, swallowing. Gulp.

"She's sexing up the pastry chef? That guy's a schmuck!" Yeah, you could tell Dinah was a little tipsy by the lack of filter there. "That bitch, I knew I hated her for a reason... I mean. I'm sorry, Priestly." Awww. Awwwwwwwww! That really sounded like the first shot fired in filing for divorce. She slid off the stool and reached toward him, petting his arm. "Are you okay?"

Fun fact: vicarious intoxication was something Dinah hadn't experienced for over twenty years. So she'd kind of forgotten that side effect of her touch telepathy, and leaving her barriers down.

She was doing it again. The touching. She had no idea what that did to him, did she?

Priestly leaned into her a little. "Yeah, I've actually known for awhile." He laughed. "What's sad is? I think they're probably pretty good together." That shouldn't have felt like such a relief, should it? He loosened his tie, then pulled it off over his head. "I fuckin' hate those things. I don't know why I wear 'em."

Not yet she didn't being tipsy, and now edging toward as drunk second-hand as Priestly. But give her a few minutes, and that wouldn't be automatic repetition of something comforting that felt nice.

Dinah kept stroking his arm, peering at him worriedly, and a little more fuzzily, then beamed. "Good. I didn't want to say, but it freaked me out to see you in that. Like you weren't you. Anti-Priestly. I mean. There's limits, you know? Ties. Are one of them." She pouted a little, then grinned again, mood bubbling over to pleased. "So you're not going to be married to her any more? Yay! Kate and I don't have to hijack the show!"

Hmm. Wineglass over there. Oh, right. She TK'd it to herself, and took another sip, teetering slightly.

"You guys were gonna hijack my show?" Awwwwww. Priestly grinned and leaned over to press his forehead against hers.

Touching. Touching touching touching. She felt nice.

"That . . . woulda been kinda awesome. Or, like, 'sorry, Bill, I can't do the show this week, I been kidnapped by my high school friends.' He'd throw a fit."

Awww. Nice. They'd done this, sometimes, way long time ago. Dinah looped an arm around his shoulder and leaned back, smiling. You feel nice too, she thought at him, and then snickered.

"We'd hold you for ransom," Dinah said, working to keep her speech unslurred. "Noooo giving back the chef 'til you get some better sous. And keep out the Wicked Witch of the West Coast." Say that five times fast. She sighed, and stared. "Your eyes are really really green this close. Hmm."

"Yeah?" No one had been that close to his eyes in a while. Well, except maybe someone trying to zoom in on them in screenshots or publicity photos. "Yours are really, really pretty."

A thought occurred to him. A strange one, one that twenty years ago would have sent him flailing into fits of shock. Right now, though, it just seemed . . . natural.

He wanted to know what she tasted like.

"Thank you. Green. And green. We match."

Priestly's thought would've had Dinah of twenty years ago protesting that something was wrong, one of them was crazy, but Dinah of right now had an immediate response of answering curiosity. And thinking that if something looked nice, and sounded nice (and Priestly always sounded nice) and felt nice, then, logically, it would taste nice.

She licked her lips, eyelids drooping. Warm. S'nice. Cuddled just slightly closer. Leaned against Priestly, noting absently that they were a good height for... this. Whatever.

"Were always a good match," Priestly commented, tilting his head a bit closer. It crossed his mind how lucky they were that this was a room full of pillows. No sharp corners to accidentally bump into if they got . . . distracted.

"I kinda wanna," he said, then the rest of the sentence got lost as his lips met hers.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," was Dinah's non-verbal agreement, huskier than it had been when they were teens. Several semi-connected thoughts ping-ponged through her head; the one time they'd kissed during the pollen week, and how good that had been; the pillow thread from Priestly's mind continuing in hers to, and if we fall over, no bruises; that almost six years was a really long time not to do something she liked this much; and finally back to holy hell I'm kissing Priestly and it's really, really hot.

The babble kind of trailed off back to Mmmmmm after that.

Edited 2011-04-04 07:21 (UTC)

Priestly's thought process wasn't nearly so coherent as that, and mostly involved wanting way more touching. And the idea that maybe there was a bit too much clothing in the way. He pressed forward a little more firmly, body moving towards a horizontal position, and hoped she'd move with him.

See, and he was totally underestimating both the telepathy and the telekinesis there. Because as soon as Dinah picked up on that, she sent, Awesome. Yes. Now. Good! and turned to drop back into the nearest bank of cushions, dragging him with her so they'd land without getting hurt. And possibly ripping open his shirt as soon as she had leverage.

Too many clothes! Help?

You know, he'd kind of forgotten that she could literally read his mind. Priestly grinned, thinking a nice, emphatic fuck yeah back at her as he put his fingers to work as best he could, both on her clothes and investigating every inch of her skin.

Things might get more complicated later, but right now, this was Dinah, and he was Priestly, and what they were doing was the simplest thing in the world.

Edited 2011-04-04 07:40 (UTC)

Which Dinah returned with interest, compound and possibly the kind from once-in-a-life-time investments, especially when the clothes finally got flung other places, the pillows finally stopped shifting, and the last verbal thought died in a very, very happy wave of ohhhhh yes.

Dinah threw all thoughts of complicated away, because hey, this was good and happy after way too long of neither and she'd trusted Priestly for how long? And she had his back. Well, all of him. So any bad would be outside forces they could deal with. Together.

Later. Much, much, much later.

The Arms Hotel, Pillow Suite, Sunday night

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