cribellate | DAPHNE MORALES-KOCCHAR

[Daphne loves London.

She's been before, of course. With a grandmother who lives in Yorkshire it isn't to say that it would be impossible not to have been, but it would have been improbable, at the least. But this is different. This is a job in London, this is living in London with money to spare. This is an entirely different sort of life. This isn't Gran walking through Harrods and oohing and aaahing at the fancy things she can't afford. This is Daphne occasionally using the Harrods food hall as a supermarket.

Living in style is not a bad way to live. If you can afford it.

And Daphne can.

She has a pint of strawberries in her basket, but she's looking at the pine berries, like maybe someone made them up, and she turns to the gentleman next to her.]

Is a pine berry an English secret they don't let the rest of the world in on?

[The fact is that she knows there is a good chance he will ignore her, think her a rude American, or, if he catches the Northern tones to her accent, think her a hick. But she's well aware of what she looks like and it's worth the risk.]

[ john can't resist going to harrods when he's in the area. that means that he's in harrods more often than he should be, because he usually has more important things to be attending to, and a disposable income sometimes leads to just too many temptations. mercifully, he's always been a man of restraint when it comes to most retail matters, if not in anything else. besides, harrods has proven an interesting place in the past to meet other people — tourists, bored housewives, businessmen and women who just happen to be passing through, to list just a few. not that john would ever tell anyone this, but harrods has certainly been good to him in the past.

today is clearly no different.

having a rather international scope to your job helps to ward off the worst of habitual, insular snobbery. of course, that's not to say that john doesn't still consider the british to be just about the best people in the world, and that he wouldn't always consider britain the heartland of all things beautiful and meaningful, but — i digress.

he turns to the woman beside her with a questioning expression, until he catches sight of the berries in question, and laughs lightly. ]

We have to have to have some secrets, don't we? Though admittedly, up until just now I thought they were a myth, but seeing is believing, I suppose.

[Her face changes a bit, her smile blossoming smoothly, as she takes a punnet of them and puts them in her basket. A nice reply, a handsome man - she's never been very good at resisting this kind of temptation. It's too easy, then, to slip into a kind of flirting, to ease into something that could be polite and careful or suggestive and playful, however he wants to see it.

There's no ring on his finger; that's a good sign.]

I hope this isn't the only kind of secret, that's no fun at all.

[There is something there that implies that fun is the best kind of game, something in the twist of her mouth or the way she lets her fingers linger on the next piece of fruit.]

[ it's practically a match made in heaven. john has a capacity to turn most things he says into flirtatious remarks, but at the very least he makes up for that in being able to accurately gauge how the other person is reacting to them. this is not due to being a telepath (which, admittedly, sometimes helps when he's not sure), but simply to having a certain amount of common sense and good judgement. most of the time. some of the people on his list of ex-lovers are definite exceptions.

he finds himself grinning down at some raspberries. how many people have the good fortune of starting off their days meeting gorgeous women in the harrods food hall and almost immediately engaging with them very well? the fates are smiling on him today. ]

Of course not! Naturally, I can't think of any others off the top of my head, but if I could, then they wouldn't be very good secrets. [ he looks at the fruit more thoughtfully for a moment. ] Have you ever tried physalis? Lord only knows if their plural form is the same as singular, but I highly recommend them.

[She does not have any powers, except maybe her utter and perhaps extreme self-confidence, the knowledge that if she took him home and took her shirt off, she could reel him up. It doesn't matter if she's his type or not. It's just how it goes with Daphne. Men so often overlook the package and go right for the ego.

But her package is good, too.]

What could I entice you with to get you to share some?

[She quirks her lips, picks up one of his recommended fruit.]

It looks like a tomatillo. I'm guessing it doesn't takes like one, though.

[ yeah, that sounds like it might work on john just fine. to his credit at least, so far he's appreciating both the ego and the package. it's incredibly tempting to have a quick little poke in her head — it always is, but he never gives in. as soon as you justify doing it once, you'll find more reasons, again and again. it's sort of like a weird restraint exercise he forces upon himself every day. ]

A bottle of wine usually does the trick. Or strawberries.

[ he watches the motion of her hand, the little fruit between her fingers, uttering a small laugh again. ]

Honestly, I have no idea what that is, but at a guess, if it's related to a tomato then — no, it won't taste the same.

Oh, it looks like it'll be pineberries and wine, would that do the trick?

[She turns and looks right up at him, or at least, so it appears. Daphne is not a short woman, but she is one adept at playing her angles, so she has the uncanny ability to make it look like she's peering up through her lashes.]

No, I don't think they're related. Here-

[She takes it and peels it, gives a quick look - no one else is watching them - and she pops it into her mouth. Just like that.]

Oh.

Oh!

[And a laugh.]

Please don't tell on me.

It most certainly would, so long as we stay clear of the rosé. It gives me terrible headaches within just a few hours of drinking it, the kind that put hangovers to shame.

[ he too has a quick glance around, because you don't have to be a mind-reader (ha) to know what she's planning to do. not that he cares if they get caught; he's done much worse in (arguably) finer places than harrods. he says nothing as she peels it, nothing as it disappears beyond her lips, simply smiling at her in a slightly feline fashion. ]

I wouldn't dream of it. [ tilting his head questioningly, his voice low as if someone might overhear them (though there's no one at all in earshot), ] So, how do you like it?

I think a very fine red will do the trick.

[If he had read her mind right there, he would find himself the subject of a very sordid thought dealing with wine and licking, but, alas. Manners.

She tucks the shell into her basket, takes it back, and her smile is altogether feline, like a cat with the cream.]

I think I've found reason to trust your taste-

Sorry, your name?

[She bats her eyelashes, a bit, in a way that isn't forced and that doesn't look utterly absurd.]

Sounds perfect, I couldn't agree more.

[ it just seems like there's so much less fun in the chase if you're keeping yourself one step ahead by snooping in someone's mind. he has enough confidence in himself that he doesn't need to cheat his way into someone's good graces. ]

John, John Buchanan. [ he extends to her a polite hand, tipping his head a little in her direction, his smile absolutely brilliant. ] Connoisseur of peculiar fruits and eternal supporter of cheeky public behaviour.

[She shakes his hand, her own warm and smaller in his, her own smile bright and cheerful.]

It's nice to meet someone so willing to encourage my rude behavior. I'm Daphne. Morales-Kocchar.

[She slips in closer, so she can almost tuck herself into his side, so close she can just smell the hints of his cologne or soap, close enough that if he turned his nose he would catch the scent of the honey she smooths into her hair. Enough for the physical sensualities of scent to infect them both.]

I hope that you'll say yes, now, when I ask you to have a cup of tea with me.

Oh, no, I wouldn't call that rude behaviour. You haven't placed yourself in a strategic position from which you can pelt passers-by with these little things, so I think you're in the clear so far.

[ she smells almost as beautiful as she looks. he makes no move to shift away from her, or allow polite space, appreciating how openly she expresses herself this way. it's a truly fine thing, when the penny drops between two people just right. ]

Only a fool would refuse, and I am no fool. [ pause. ] At least, not when it comes to accepting invitations to tea.

Edited 2015-04-13 16:26 (UTC)

[She laughs a little, just as pleased as he is. It's not often that she gets close to someone this way - physically, that is, it's not always something that's easy. He makes it very easy with his smile, and his banter.]

Well, I'll save that for the second time you see me picking up fruit at an overpriced food hall.

[That's maybe more than just a joke: if it goes well at tea, of course she'll want to see him again.]

Well, then-

[She loops her arm around his.]

Come on then.

[ oxford always gives as good as he takes, regardless of the situation. he's adaptable; no matter what tone daphne could have thrown at him to start with, he would have returned it suitably. mind you, he's quite glad that they've worked out an impromptu date rather than begun a war that involved bombarding each other with unusual fruit. ]

I'll hold you to it, my dear. [ he smiles at her, brilliantly as ever. ] Please, lead the way.

You're going to cause an accident, smiling like that. It gives a girl nothing but mischief to think about.

[She is leading the way - to pay for her tiny haul of fruit, including the pineberries. There are places to get tea nearby, or just here, but she hasn't decided, yet. She'll figure it out as she goes along.]

There's nothing quite as satisfying as knowing someone's walked into a lamp post because of your smile, I must admit. [ he tilts his head, mock-wonderingly. ] I prefer the sound of mischief, though.

Oh, no, or a ditch. It does stroke the ego, doesn't it?

[She tilts her head up, just so she can look at him, that very brief sort of wondering look. Oh, John.]

Yes, you seem the sort.

Do I? [ he sounds awfully pleased with himself. ] I've lived my whole life with people initially presuming that I'm a gentleman through and through, which is to say, a more polite iteration of "boring".

Mm. No.

[She takes another moment-]

If you aren't prone to mischief, tell me now. I'm not keen on wasting time on someone who isn't able to keep up.

I said initially. [ this time, his smile to her is not so much brilliant as it is wolfish. ] That's not an opinion that many people hold onto. If I may be so bold as to say, I'm almost certain I can keep up.

[She barks a laugh, but she's so pleased that if she had a tail, it would be flicking lazily.]

Good.

By the way, what am I interrupting?

Interrupting?

[ he thinks for a moment, genuinely wondering. ]

Nothing, it would seem. I had some time to myself, and I thought it best to waste it all by poking around the many delicacies of Harrods.

[A pause of consideration, because she's really curious now, it's like she opened something up and can't stop until she gets to the bottom.]

Which one is your favorite? Delicacy of Harrods, I mean.

I am ever a slave to the tea, in particular the TWG 1837 Black variety.

[ he looks a little sheepish, but also somewhat wolfish at the same time. ]

Of all the things one can find in Harrods, and yet I shoehorn myself firmly into my country's beloved stereotype.

Oh, you're so English, it's adorable.

If I get coffee, how much will your opinion of me go down the tubes?

[She says that, but really, she wouldn't get coffee. Coffee in the UK tastes like backwater swill - she brings her own from home whenever she's spending more than a month or so in England.]

[ he barks a laugh, shaking his head. ]

I just can't help myself. [ he allows a small pause of faint but serious consideration. ] I suppose I would have to forgive you, the same way I forgive myself every groggy morning that calls for something with more kick than a mug of Earl Grey.

I wouldn't have gotten through graduate school without at least one or two coffees a day, though I am pretty fond of a good cup of tea. It's just that in the United States, I could never get it to taste right.

[She blames the water, whole-heartedly.]

DAPHNE MORALES-KOCCHAR | ORIGINAL

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