[ Less tooth and nail, more fang and claw — though for now both remain retracted to make for more palatable company. Nothing Rafe has ever laid hands on has ever come easy, everything up to and including that confidence more than earned through sweat and blood. (That the blood has only occasionally been his own is a minor detail.) Besides, audaces fortuna iuvat and all. And there's still a lot of fortune he's aiming to get before he's done. ]
Nah. You're looking at a hundred-percent homegrown Americano right here. My parents met this side of the ocean and the rest, as they say, is history.
[ Where Evelyn is fastidious, Rafe tears a piece of bread for a smaller chunk to dip straight in the oil then over to the anchovies, catching a sliver of fish on the jagged edge before popping it in his mouth. ]
And what about your family, huh? I remember you mentioned a brother but. [ His eyes gleam with good humor even as he inquires with all seriousness: ] Am I speaking with somebody a few steps off the throne or does being queen of whatever room you're in just come naturally?
[Rafe knows she has money, can smell it on her from a mile away like a shark catching blood, but his needlessly elaborate courtship is so different from every other suitor who recognized the luxury of her perfume that she can let down a wall or two, to make the garden more inviting. Fortune-hunters who stalk the social clubs during the season have a hunger of another kind, dressing it up with frippery and insincere smiles.
He's quite funny, which is a fact he also seems to know very well, and she wonders whether he pulls out all the stops with every single, pretty face that frequents the bar he manages. He can't be, though - he could, but he can't be, too interested in imperfect perfectionism, every rumple in his suit deliberate, every motion a choice, a cultivation.
Evelyn scrapes a piece of fish from the plate onto her bread with the knife, rewarding the eloquence of his compliment with a smirk.]
Homegrown.
[The taste is fresh, crisp, salty, and followed with a satisfied pull of the wine Rafe selected before she continues.]
We're a little distant from the Crown, but a very old family with an estate in Mentmore, just outside London. With that said- [Here she leans close, a clear challenge.] I also answer to Lady Evelyn.
[ She tosses a gauntlet and Rafe catches it before it can hit the ground, leaning in just as close with a glass in hand and an easy-going grin. His shoe skates higher up Evelyn's calf and he feels it catch on the seam of her stocking. ]
Oh, I can think of a few other things to call you, la mia incantevole marchesa. [ He shifts from one language to the other seamlessly, knowing there's enough romantic crossover for the general meaning to get across without some heavy-handed translation bumping them off track. ] Look forward to runnin' you through the list.
[ It's an implicit promise past dinner, past tonight, and one Rafe has every intention of keeping. Whether Evelyn believes it or not is irrelevant; he already knows he'll put in the time to make it plain enough to dispel any doubt.
Louis reappears then, somehow still manages to saunter while balancing a full platter out to the table. Calamari, battered and fresh out the fryer; clams steaming in their shell and crisp pancetta, served on thick slices of brown bread studded with seeds and drizzled with soffritto; and butterflied branzini crusted in herbs. Louis opens his mouth to explain each dish but Rafe cuts him off with a glare that hardly matches the benign thanks he offers, and the murmured Italian that the boys in back are free to head home now.
The smile he turns to Evelyn is sincere again, almost apologetic for the interruption but pleased to be back on track. ]
Never been to London. How's it compare?
[ Conversational, light, wanting to hear the sound of her voice and hoping it's distraction enough that she doesn't notice the switchblade suddenly in his hand. Branzini are delicious and Rao's does them up right but there's nothing that can kill a romantic mood like choking on a fishbone. ]
[The toe of Rafe Alieri's dress shoe catches, briefly pulling at silk before he skims to cover more territory. As brazen as he is like this, she has to imagine his restraint is legendary - control in most endeavours, a leash wrapped tight around desire until he lets loose the hound. The compliment is sweet, genuine, and deliciously warm spoken in his mother tongue, similar enough to what she knows that it draws an almost shy smile from her.
Evelyn would very much like to hear the rest of that list, and the emphasis has her thinking he isn't expressly here for something quick and dirty. She supposes they wouldn't be having a late dinner were that the case, anyway.
The arrival of the meal is a welcome respite and smells like a Godsend. There are ingredients she recognises through sight and smell, but the preparation is utterly alien and looks more tempting than she can describe. Under normal circumstances culinary explorations of this caliber would run a pretty penny - particularly for foreigners - but he takes to it like someone accustomed to eating in such a fashion every night. Whether he actually does remains to be seen, but-]
It's busy.
[The easy answer, and one she makes as she notices the flash of silver in his hand, a knife that doesn't belong on the table but in a gentleman's jacket pocket. Evelyn refrains from pointing it out and continues, snapping open her handbag. The fish are fraught with little bones.]
There are similar neighbourhoods of different groups - Jews, Italians, the Chinese, among others. The city is very old, but in its age I think it has life rather than austerity. As with anywhere, the docks are full of rowdy sailors and the streets are more and more crowded with automobiles.
[With a small but elegant flick, the blade of an ivory-handled knife darts from her hand and she prises a thin rib from the filet, delicately setting it aside.]
Its singular advantage over American cities is that it hasn't suffered the influence of the temperance union.
[ London must be a little more than just busy if the gentlemen of that town are out packing steel. A lot more for the ladies to apparently be doing the same. Rafe had tried to be slick in his motions, as if it's just another bit of cutlery out the kitchen and nothing to worry about, but then... Oh. Oh, then there's a matching blade in Evelyn's hand and Rafe can't help but stare, his foot going slack against her calf.
The description she offers is taken in a haze as his mind reels, blinking stupidly as this posh little dame with an estate in Mentmore and only some distance from the King of England handles her knife with poise. A hell of a lot more poise than anything Rafe's laying claim to before he snaps back to the conversation and out of the sudden desire to feel that edge press against his throat.
Shit. And he thought that nose was gonna be the death of him. ]
Fair enough, although. You can't deny there are some advantages to the teetotalers.
[ Taking a cue from Evelyn, who clearly has no qualms showing off hers, Rafe spears a piece of fish on the tip of his knife and pops it in his mouth. He takes his time to chew it, and even more time to delicately dab a napkin at his mouth before he continues. ]
Without the local drum, where else would I be finding company like this?
[ There is some small amount of satisfaction to be had in the way the pressure against her calf suddenly freezes, lessens, and very nearly retreats. It's a variety of shock, but a pleasant one. She might even hazard to call it delighted surprise, based upon the loft of his eyebrows and the sudden sharpness in his pale eyes. That very same hunger she recognised across the little table in the gin joint. What a delicious tête-à-tête she can drop offhandedly when she gets home, to her no doubt amused brother. I met an Italian today, she'll say, hanging up her coat in the foyer. Terrifically handsome. Probably dangerous. I startled him so badly I thought I might have broken him. ]
I suppose you wouldn't have met me at all.
[ Evelyn says, tone light and airy. Careless, in the way that the aristocracy is wont to be. Of the two of them, Rafe has the better hand, the greater advantage. He knows the city, knows how to pander to women, but doesn't yet know what sort of dalliance he may be entering. Or perhaps he does, and enjoys the thrill of a challenge. Perhaps he already knows the extent of her interest. It certainly isn't as though she's being subtle.
Evelyn taps the tip of her knife on her plate, a quiet tink tink tink as she mulls over his statement, the circumstances. ]
Judging by your laissez-faire attitude on the subject, however, one has to wonder. How often is it that you get raided by the Treasury Department? Run afoul of the constabulary?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uncalendula) wrote2017-12-07 11:15 pm
no subject
Nah. You're looking at a hundred-percent homegrown Americano right here. My parents met this side of the ocean and the rest, as they say, is history.
[ Where Evelyn is fastidious, Rafe tears a piece of bread for a smaller chunk to dip straight in the oil then over to the anchovies, catching a sliver of fish on the jagged edge before popping it in his mouth. ]
And what about your family, huh? I remember you mentioned a brother but. [ His eyes gleam with good humor even as he inquires with all seriousness: ] Am I speaking with somebody a few steps off the throne or does being queen of whatever room you're in just come naturally?
no subject
He's quite funny, which is a fact he also seems to know very well, and she wonders whether he pulls out all the stops with every single, pretty face that frequents the bar he manages. He can't be, though - he could, but he can't be, too interested in imperfect perfectionism, every rumple in his suit deliberate, every motion a choice, a cultivation.
Evelyn scrapes a piece of fish from the plate onto her bread with the knife, rewarding the eloquence of his compliment with a smirk.]
Homegrown.
[The taste is fresh, crisp, salty, and followed with a satisfied pull of the wine Rafe selected before she continues.]
We're a little distant from the Crown, but a very old family with an estate in Mentmore, just outside London. With that said- [Here she leans close, a clear challenge.] I also answer to Lady Evelyn.
no subject
Oh, I can think of a few other things to call you, la mia incantevole marchesa. [ He shifts from one language to the other seamlessly, knowing there's enough romantic crossover for the general meaning to get across without some heavy-handed translation bumping them off track. ] Look forward to runnin' you through the list.
[ It's an implicit promise past dinner, past tonight, and one Rafe has every intention of keeping. Whether Evelyn believes it or not is irrelevant; he already knows he'll put in the time to make it plain enough to dispel any doubt.
Louis reappears then, somehow still manages to saunter while balancing a full platter out to the table. Calamari, battered and fresh out the fryer; clams steaming in their shell and crisp pancetta, served on thick slices of brown bread studded with seeds and drizzled with soffritto; and butterflied branzini crusted in herbs. Louis opens his mouth to explain each dish but Rafe cuts him off with a glare that hardly matches the benign thanks he offers, and the murmured Italian that the boys in back are free to head home now.
The smile he turns to Evelyn is sincere again, almost apologetic for the interruption but pleased to be back on track. ]
Never been to London. How's it compare?
[ Conversational, light, wanting to hear the sound of her voice and hoping it's distraction enough that she doesn't notice the switchblade suddenly in his hand. Branzini are delicious and Rao's does them up right but there's nothing that can kill a romantic mood like choking on a fishbone. ]
no subject
Evelyn would very much like to hear the rest of that list, and the emphasis has her thinking he isn't expressly here for something quick and dirty. She supposes they wouldn't be having a late dinner were that the case, anyway.
The arrival of the meal is a welcome respite and smells like a Godsend. There are ingredients she recognises through sight and smell, but the preparation is utterly alien and looks more tempting than she can describe. Under normal circumstances culinary explorations of this caliber would run a pretty penny - particularly for foreigners - but he takes to it like someone accustomed to eating in such a fashion every night. Whether he actually does remains to be seen, but-]
It's busy.
[The easy answer, and one she makes as she notices the flash of silver in his hand, a knife that doesn't belong on the table but in a gentleman's jacket pocket. Evelyn refrains from pointing it out and continues, snapping open her handbag. The fish are fraught with little bones.]
There are similar neighbourhoods of different groups - Jews, Italians, the Chinese, among others. The city is very old, but in its age I think it has life rather than austerity. As with anywhere, the docks are full of rowdy sailors and the streets are more and more crowded with automobiles.
[With a small but elegant flick, the blade of an ivory-handled knife darts from her hand and she prises a thin rib from the filet, delicately setting it aside.]
Its singular advantage over American cities is that it hasn't suffered the influence of the temperance union.
no subject
The description she offers is taken in a haze as his mind reels, blinking stupidly as this posh little dame with an estate in Mentmore and only some distance from the King of England handles her knife with poise. A hell of a lot more poise than anything Rafe's laying claim to before he snaps back to the conversation and out of the sudden desire to feel that edge press against his throat.
Shit. And he thought that nose was gonna be the death of him. ]
Fair enough, although. You can't deny there are some advantages to the teetotalers.
[ Taking a cue from Evelyn, who clearly has no qualms showing off hers, Rafe spears a piece of fish on the tip of his knife and pops it in his mouth. He takes his time to chew it, and even more time to delicately dab a napkin at his mouth before he continues. ]
Without the local drum, where else would I be finding company like this?
no subject
I suppose you wouldn't have met me at all.
[ Evelyn says, tone light and airy. Careless, in the way that the aristocracy is wont to be. Of the two of them, Rafe has the better hand, the greater advantage. He knows the city, knows how to pander to women, but doesn't yet know what sort of dalliance he may be entering. Or perhaps he does, and enjoys the thrill of a challenge. Perhaps he already knows the extent of her interest. It certainly isn't as though she's being subtle.
Evelyn taps the tip of her knife on her plate, a quiet tink tink tink as she mulls over his statement, the circumstances. ]
Judging by your laissez-faire attitude on the subject, however, one has to wonder. How often is it that you get raided by the Treasury Department? Run afoul of the constabulary?