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Aug. 16th, 2009 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinpraEven So
She couldn't help but call him anything but Richard. Despite what her employees thought of her--able to portray a perpetually cool, calm and collected demeanor in the face of the craziest client demand--some things really were beyond her.
The boy didn't seem to mind. They settle on what his actual age was pretty quickly. "I'm 14. I just turned a couple of weeks ago," he told his carrots when Contessa asked him about it. Some mental math put that not too long after his parents' death, so she let that line of questions go by the wayside. Questions about what he was planning to do with his life were out, too, she thought. How he likes living up in the hills or with Bruce in the big musty mansion quickly flee as well.
Bruce could apparently read minds becuase it's right then, right when she realized that all her polite conversation iis horribly trite and polite at all, he looks up from his sole francaise to catch her eye. The look he gave her when he chased his food with a sip from his wineglass was gloating. It deserved more than the glare she gave him.
"You know, Bruce, I've never actually eaten at your dinner table before."
He lowered his glass, a perplexed look on his face? "How is that possible. You've been to parties at the house before."
"They aren't usually sit-down dinners though."
He nodded in agreement. "It's easier to get people out of your house when they're already standing on their feet. Especially when they're so drunk they can hardly stand as it is."
"Just..." she searched for the words.
"Herd them?" Richard offered.
She snapped her fingers. "Exactly. You just herd them towards the door."
"Something like that." He took another sip from his glass as Contessa leaned over towards Richard: "See how he's not smiling at us? Though he might be smiirking. That's a sure sign that he's telling the truth. It's not always the sign, but it's a good one."
Seeming a little startled, Richard looked between Contessa and Bruce. "I'm just telling you what I've observed," Contessa said. Bruce raised one shoulder in a non-committent expression. "Tessa, you've eaten here before," he continued as if the conversation had not veered slightly off topic. "I'm more likely to find you in the kitchen than with my computers."
"I didn't say I've never eaten here before, just not at the table. Now your kitchen table, that I know very well."
"To tell you the truth, I don't eat out here too often myself."
"Why not?" Richard asked.
Bruce shrugged again. "Memories. And it's a lot of table for one person."
"But...you have friends."
Contessa looked at Richard and frowned, though he missed it entirely. Maybe it's a guy thing, she thought, but Bruce didn't seem to take it any particular kind of way.
"Not the kind of friends I usually eat with. And not here at the house, even if we do eat."
Contessa leaned forward in her chair. "So your home is your sanctuary."
Bruce nodded. "To an extent. And this really is a lot of table for one person. Or three."
They looked around the formal dining room. Even crowded near one end as they were, and with the table in its smallest configuration, there was plenty of room for half a dozen more at the long oval. Contessa and Richard were frowning and nodding when Bruce said, "So why don't we move. To the kitchen?"
She couldn't help but call him anything but Richard. Despite what her employees thought of her--able to portray a perpetually cool, calm and collected demeanor in the face of the craziest client demand--some things really were beyond her.
The boy didn't seem to mind. They settle on what his actual age was pretty quickly. "I'm 14. I just turned a couple of weeks ago," he told his carrots when Contessa asked him about it. Some mental math put that not too long after his parents' death, so she let that line of questions go by the wayside. Questions about what he was planning to do with his life were out, too, she thought. How he likes living up in the hills or with Bruce in the big musty mansion quickly flee as well.
Bruce could apparently read minds becuase it's right then, right when she realized that all her polite conversation iis horribly trite and polite at all, he looks up from his sole francaise to catch her eye. The look he gave her when he chased his food with a sip from his wineglass was gloating. It deserved more than the glare she gave him.
"You know, Bruce, I've never actually eaten at your dinner table before."
He lowered his glass, a perplexed look on his face? "How is that possible. You've been to parties at the house before."
"They aren't usually sit-down dinners though."
He nodded in agreement. "It's easier to get people out of your house when they're already standing on their feet. Especially when they're so drunk they can hardly stand as it is."
"Just..." she searched for the words.
"Herd them?" Richard offered.
She snapped her fingers. "Exactly. You just herd them towards the door."
"Something like that." He took another sip from his glass as Contessa leaned over towards Richard: "See how he's not smiling at us? Though he might be smiirking. That's a sure sign that he's telling the truth. It's not always the sign, but it's a good one."
Seeming a little startled, Richard looked between Contessa and Bruce. "I'm just telling you what I've observed," Contessa said. Bruce raised one shoulder in a non-committent expression. "Tessa, you've eaten here before," he continued as if the conversation had not veered slightly off topic. "I'm more likely to find you in the kitchen than with my computers."
"I didn't say I've never eaten here before, just not at the table. Now your kitchen table, that I know very well."
"To tell you the truth, I don't eat out here too often myself."
"Why not?" Richard asked.
Bruce shrugged again. "Memories. And it's a lot of table for one person."
"But...you have friends."
Contessa looked at Richard and frowned, though he missed it entirely. Maybe it's a guy thing, she thought, but Bruce didn't seem to take it any particular kind of way.
"Not the kind of friends I usually eat with. And not here at the house, even if we do eat."
Contessa leaned forward in her chair. "So your home is your sanctuary."
Bruce nodded. "To an extent. And this really is a lot of table for one person. Or three."
They looked around the formal dining room. Even crowded near one end as they were, and with the table in its smallest configuration, there was plenty of room for half a dozen more at the long oval. Contessa and Richard were frowning and nodding when Bruce said, "So why don't we move. To the kitchen?"