2019-07-29 - Two Fugitives In A World That Refuses To Acknowledge That Truth.

A warm summer night, the heat of the day faded to a pleasantly balmy temperature. The perfect evening to share a drink in fact, and so Corey has secured a booth at the Pourhouse, having arrived a few minutes before the agreed time. He's just scrolling through something on his phone, no drink in front of him just yet.

Thankfully there was enough time after work for her to shower and change, because showing up to another bar while still dressed for the first one is awkward. Been there. Done that. Also, because this is officially getting drinks she's opted to wear a nice pair of shorts and a little bit of a dressier tank top with dressy sandals. After looking around for Corey she heads in the direction of the booth he's at, "Hey."

The proto-chef has dressed up a little bit; still black jeans, but these ones are unripped and neatly pressed. A blue button-down shirt, too, though the sleeves are rolled back and there's no tie. Looking up and over, he smiles slowly at Ash. "Hey. I figured I'd wait for the expert to arrive before ordering any drinks," he murmurs, scooting over in the booth so she's got a choice of opposite or next to.

"Expert, huh?" Ash laughs at that, glancing around until she spots a server, waving to get their attention befor she slides into the boot next to him, "I doubt I'd consider myself an expert. But only just barely." When the server turns up she puts in the order for four tequila shots and two beers.

Not arguing with the expert in her choice of starting alcohol, Corey nods to the waitress to confirm there's nothing else from him, at least for now. Then he turns his head, so he can look at Ash. "You look nice," he notes, his smile lingering, his gaze skimming down briefly and then back up as he speaks. "So. Official drinks, huh."

"Yeah, official drinks." Ash replies with a shrug of her shoulders, turning herself around in her seat so that she can face him a little more directly, "Thanks, you look nice, too. But yeah, drinks." She considers it for a moment before putting her reasoning out there, "It seemed like you might be interested, so I took the chance."

"Mm. What gave me away, the incessant babbling or the impromptu strip-show?" Corey asks, smile shifting to slightly lopsided, almost boyish. He lifts one hand to rake back through his hair, though doesn't look away from his date. "I'm glad you did, anyway.

"Well." Ash starts, pausing only to wait for the waitress to drop off the shots and the beer, "It was pretty obvious." She reaches for the first shot, but continues with her thoughts before knocking it back, "See, you came right out with the babe. Which, sure. Could be creepy, could be eye-rolly, could be hot. But then the babbling, sort of. More like, content of the babbling, plus the impromptu strip-show. That was a pretty dead give away you wanted to get naked around me."

Ducking his head slightly, Corey reaches out to take one of the shots. "I note with disappointment that you've not called me 'stud' lately," he murmurs, lifting the clear shot and inhaling deeply before knocking it back a moment later. Coughing once after swallowing, he turns his attention fully back to Ash. "Honestly, I wasn't sure hitting on my new neighbour on like, moving in day, was a good idea. That kinda thing gets a guy run out of town. Or at least, off the street."

"Haven't I?" Ash thinks back on it for a moment before she shrugs her shoulders, knocking the shot back with a slight cough, setting the empty glass in the middle of the table. "You might still get run out of town, or off the street. Especially if I start crying ugly tears over dead plants or something." She reaches a hand over to his shoulder, giving him a pat before she laughs, "Sorry, god...no. I mean, you're safe. I know I'm fucking hot as hell, who could resist?"

"You are hot as hell. Anyway. I figured you couldn't resist my moose-noises," Corey replies, his grin returning in full force. Setting his empty shot glass down next to hers in the middle of the table, he takes up one of the bottles of beer, lifting it as if to toast. "To not being run off the street."

"Yeah, it was totally the moose-noises." Ash reaches for her beer, lifting it as well before she takes a swallow from it, then she sets it back down, "I can say, honestly, that I've never had a guy make moose-noises to attempt to be impressive. Flex, lift shit, dance, I mean, I've seen a whole lot in my years, but never seen that. It was an original."

Sipping from his beer, Corey allows, "A genius move, no doubt." There's an undertone of humour there, his eyes crinkling a little at the edges. "So. In the name of 'getting to know you', tell me something about you, Ash. What's your guilty pleasure of choice?"

"Whoa...going right for the hard questions, aren't you?" Ash reaches for her beer again to take a swallow, looking thoughtful for a moment, "Drama. I mean, not in the lets create drama talking shit about people behind their backs kind of ways. I'm just dramatic, it's funny. I guess maybe others don't find it funny when you throw yourself at someone's feet and beg for them to tell you something. Or run across a beach yelling save me...But I do. And the house does. So, that's probably one of my biggest guilty pleasures."

"I consider myself forewarned!" Corey replies, expression lighting up as she describes her flavour of drama. Another sip from his beer, and he continues with, "Your house is full of crazies, so I guess that works." Not that his housemates are any saner, really. Just less of a known quantity to outsiders.

Ash laughs, "Yeah...it really is. We went to the beach a earlier this month, and I got dumped in the ocean, then Astrid beat up Marius." She lifts an arm up, wrist resting against her forehead as she mock-swoons, "So sexy."

There's an amused snort from Corey at that. "They've got a thing, have they?" he interprets, taking another sip from the bottle, then setting it down on the tabletop. "You ready for another hard-hitting question?" he then prompts, teasing a little bit, almost daring her to say yes.

"They've got something...but it's supposed to be really secret, because I'm pretty sure they don't even admit it to themselves." Ash rolls her eyes in amusement at that, "It's pretty funny watching them, though. So we just all let it go, and figuratively eat popcorn. Sometimes literally, too." At the question on if she's ready for another hard-hitting question she raises a finger, then downs half her beer before she nods, "Alright, hit me."

"Pineapple on a pizza. Hell yes, or hell no?" is Corey's next question, and clearly he's getting down to the important stuff now. The things that can make or break a budding friendship. He doesn't give any indication as to his own preference, watching Ash and reclaiming his beer, lifting it to take a drink while she responds.

Ash narrows her eyes at him, watching him like she's hoping he gives her a hint, but then she sighs, a hand coming up to cover her eyes so that she doesn't have to see his face as she answers. Quietly, so that no one else in the bar hears the answer. "Hell yes."

"Risky, babe. Risky. But I'm on team pineapple," Corey allows, equally quietly, giving the admission the respect it clearly deserves. "We're two fugitives in a world that refuses to acknowledge that truth," he then asserts in a more dramatic tone. There really should be a wind machine or something to ruffle his hair, or at least some dramatic backlighting.

Ash laughs at that, dropping her hand from over her eyes, "Better than fucking anchovies." She makes a face at that, "They get anchovies on the pizza, and it's just like. Nope. Nuh uh. So not touching that. Gross." She waves her hands in front of her like she's warding something away, then she leans forward, lowering her voice again, "Do you dip your fries in your milkshakes?"

"Uh-uh. No way. I've got nothing against salty-and-sweet combos, but I'm not sullying a delicious milkshake with a mere french fry." Clearly, Corey has strong feelings on the matter. "Though I'm with you on anchovies. Delicious in pasta or with a strong red meat dish, but ugh. Too much on a pizza."

"Okay, well, this was a great date. But I should really go find someone that has all the same food loves, and unloves, as I do." Ash picks up her beer, working on finishing it. Clearly, though, she's probably not serious about leaving over a dislike of fries in milkshakes.

There's a low laugh from the chef. "Whether or not I like your food loves, pretty sure I can make them all," Corey decides, waggling his beer-bottle slightly in her direction. "So, what is your favourite food anyway? And your least favourite?" If she's not leaving, then there's time for more of this getting-to-know-you stuff.

"I don't really have a favorite." Ash shakes her head before she sets her empty bottle back down on the table, making a bit of a face for having drank it so fast. "But, like, I hate anchovies. On anything, or in it. I guess there might be food I've eaten that had it and I never knew, but...they taste horrible. Not a fan of mushrooms, either. But I can stand them if they are tiny."

There's a rueful smile on Corey's lips as he admits, "I could probably ruin half a dozen great foods by telling you they had anchovies in." But he won't, because he's better than that. Or maybe it's a threat for later. Who knows. "Mushrooms I'm a bit hit or miss on. Some have a great flavour, some are just.. eh."

"That'd be cruel." There is a sigh at that, her head sinking down so that she can rest her forehead on the table, arms curling over her head, "Okay...let me have it. Ruin my life." She waves a hand floppishly in the air over her shoulder, braced and fully prepared for her favorite foods to now be ruined. "People say portabella mushrooms are meaty, I just think they are chewy."

Shifting a hand over to rest on Ash's back, just below the nape of her neck, Corey leans in to murmur, "I'm not that cruel, babe. Everyone should be able to enjoy--.." he trails off, having been about to name something with anchovies in, no doubt, then stopping himself just in time. "...their favourite foods. Though I'll fight you on portabella mushrooms."

"Oh god...what is it in, like ice cream?" Ash peeks up from the shelter of her arms, her eyes widening, "Please tell me it's not in ice cream, or...ranch dressing, or steak." She unfolds her arms and straightens up, grabbing the front of his shirt to shake him, lightly, "Please tell me it isn't in alcohol!"

Laughing even as he's shaken, Corey takes in the wide eyes, the dramatic demands, and leans in to distract Ash from her enjoyable drama with a kiss. Just a brief one, barely a brush of lips against lips, before promising, "It's not in alcohol. That I know of." Grave, sober, like a benevolent god promising peace. "Though you'll want to avoid Caesar dressing."

That is evidently a really good way to shut her up, brief as it is, and also to get her to stop shaking him. One brow twitches upwards before she grins, "Well, good thing I don't like Caesar salads, because then that might cause a problem. Also glad they aren't in alcohol...stupid little salty fishies." Ash releases her hold on his shirt, straightening the new wrinkles, "So what about you, favorite and a least favorite foods."

"Least favourite is parmesan cheese," Corey admits, after a long moment of deliberating; easy lie vs awful truth. Because for a chef? That's like.. blasphemy. "It just.. it doesn't add anything, and it smells like cat piss." There, his crime is laid bare. "Favourite changes on a weekly basis. Currently, it's crepes."

"See, I like parmesan...good parmesan has a nutty salty flavor. It smells more like dirty socks than cat piss, though. If you ask me." Ash sits back up, leaning back against the booth, propping her feet up on the seat across from her, "Crepes are good, though. I like the apricot ones, speaking of horrible smelling food. Dried apricots reek."

"Yeah, I can see that. Sweaty gym socks." Corey nods, taking up his beer to sip. "I don't think I've ever tried or used dried apricot in anything. Dried mangos, banana chips, but never apricot. I'll take your warning to heart," he promises soberly. "You could probably make do with apricot jam, to avoid the smell," he adds, before finishing his beer and taking up one of the two remaining vodka shots.

"I had this summer job once, where we made these little fried pies, and we used dried apples and apricots. The apricots smelled really, really bad." The label on her beer gets picked at with a thumb, starting to peel it off, "So you asking me what my favorite and least favorite foods are because you're going to invite me on an amazing picnic and cook all my favorite foods for me?"

Corey knocks back the vodka shot, then laughs. "Oh I get it, you're angling for amazing food, for free," he teases in return. "Though I could be persuaded to cook dinner, maybe." He extends one arm out over Ash's shoulders now that she's settled back; casual, not pretending to rest it on the back of the booth, but also not making a thing of it. "If you bring the drinks, anyway. I can do wine pairing, just about, but I imagine your ideas would be better."

"I'm just thinking of your studies." Ash bats her eyes at him, "Making sure that you're well versed in cooking of things for classes. Right? Very kind and caring of me." She reaches for her shot, but doesn't take it yet, instead twisting it around between her fingers, "Yeah, depending on what you want to make I could probably come up with a few things. Even could make things with wine if you want. Sub out the usual alcohol for the right kind of wine, maybe."

That eyelash-batting gets a lopsided smile in return. "Very kind," Corey agrees, eyeing Ash's shot as if he might swoop in and steal it while she's thinking about drinking it, but deciding against it at the last moment. "Sure. Though I have no idea what kind of wine goes with crepes." Alas, his education is incomplete.

"Moscato." Ash decides after a moment, then she lifts the shot to down it before she adds it to the empty things in the middle of the table, "I can make a bee's knees with moscato instead of gin. Should work if you're going to make me crepes." She turns herself around again, her shoulder leaning against the back of her seat, "But if you're making dinner, that wouldn't be crepes would it?"

"It absolutely can be dinner. One of the joys of life is being able to eat food in whatever order you like. Cake for breakfast and cereal for dinner, crepes as the main course and soup as the dessert, if it so appeals," comes the lazy reply, and with the hand currently on Ash's far shoulder, he doodles idle patterns with his fingertips. "Unless of course you'd prefer something else for the main?

"Doesn't really bother me if that's what you're making. Just seems more like a breakfast thing to me, but you are the culinary student. I'm just going to eat your homework." Again. "So I can make moscato bee's knees and we can see if that works out for your crepes." Then Ash takes a gamble that probably isn't much of a gamble, a hand moving to rest on his leg as she leans in to give him a brief kiss this time, "Unless you'd rather just make me breakfast."

Tilting down to meet Ash halfway, Corey pursues that brief kiss to draw it out a little longer, playing maybe, nipping her lower lip before she can get away. "Bold of you to assume you'd still be there at breakfast time," he teases, though doesn't seem at all opposed to the idea. "I guess crepes for breakfast is traditional." That seems to be an agreement, at least.

"Bold of you to assume I didn't just mean I'll come over one morning for breakfast." Ash counters with a laugh, "I guess that means we're both pretty bold. So far I guess it's working out. I get crepes, you get alcohol. Win-win, right?"

"Win-win," is Corey's agreement, his laugh low and easy. "Though I should warn you, I'm a morning person." Which to some people is inexplicable, but there we go. With the drinks done - at least, his are - he digs his free hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet, retrieving a few bills to cover the cost and a tip. "More alcohol, dancing, or onwards?" he asks openly.

"I'm not a morning person, but I'll try to not drown you in a cup of coffee." Ash offers, lifting her hand up to hold up three fingers, then two, then back the three before she gives up, instead just saying, "Scout's Honor." The fact he's paying already causes her to laugh before she starts to scoot out of the booth, "Onwards, I guess."

Well, there's no point staying here, even if the destination was for more alcohol or dancing. Corey is just being efficient, clearly. He slides on out of the booth once Ash is standing, pocketing his wallet and gesturing for his date to go ahead of him, following towards the door. "You were never a scout," he accuses faux-suspiciously, as if catching her in an important lie.

"I wasn't. Not a girl scout or a boy scout, or a scout out the best place to sit during the football games scout either." Ash shakes her head, a hand raising to her heart, "Sorry for the lie." She isn't sorry. But then she heads right out through the door without any more apologies for her lying ways.