2020-07-17 - Second- or Third-Best Behaviour

When you are Vyvyan Oscar Vydal there may be all of 43 people one may have respectful concern to be nervous in meeting. That said Chris Baxter is not the Queen, the Queen Mum, NOR an 87 year old baking master come to pass judgement into Vanillahalla. And yet here they are. This dinner thing is happening on near no notice but that Grant once said it should happen. Spontaneously now it is.

And Grant? Well the list of people he is sensibly concerned about is not nearly long enough that one can have faith in his self-preservation skills. It really should be broader, and yet? It is not. From all that's said Chris is everything is son is not: Ambitious, driven, focused, organized, academic, and indigenous to wearing suits. For all that Grant maintains his dread-love relationship with optimism and in this? Eh, he's more excited than nervous. This is not to suggest that he shouldn't be though.

6:30 pm, Friday night dinner. Friday nights are for family.
Grant is already there waiting for Vyv to arrive on Sycamore.

This is not a Bay St. home. It's two story, classic, in good repair, and likely the house that Grant grew up in being it was honestly not all that long ago and the basketball hoop is hung on the gable above the garage and has seen its share of use. Very classically PNW Suburban really. There is though a BMW in the driveway in a mice midnight blue, and without dents in it.

Even if one didn't know Grant didn't drive, one would be unlikely to peg that for his car. It makes the Jag look less out of place when it adds its sleek, British-racing-green lines to the local scenery for a while. Vyv does not look particularly more native to the environs, but hey, it's not like we're talking Huckleberry here. There are other indigenous wearers of decent suits about, after all.

Vyv's, as always, is rather better than decent. He's gone with the tan-and-white seersucker suit today, warm mid-summer that it is, with a warm-brown gingham shirt, chocolate-brown knit tie, and equally-chocolately paisley pocket square. The accessories are aimed elegant and fairly simple, sticking with the darker brown and some antique gold -- watch, nice loafers to dress things down a touch, tiger-eye cufflinks. Continuing a theme, he has in fact also brought chocolates, a small box from his store, also in its usual elegant and simple design, along with a bottle of (rather good, of course) wine. Because guest.

Possibly somewhat nervous guest. Probably, really. But appearing cool under pressure (or indeed at any given time) is definitely in a highish position on the chef's list of 'likes', and thus far he's got it under control. He is also, of course, on time. Unfolding from the car, he spots Bax waiting, and gives him a small, slightly wry, but genuine smile. "All right," he says by way of greeting, "Unless you've failed to warn me we're going al fresco on the porch or either of you have wisely changed your mind, I suppose we ought to head in, mm?"

Grant watches Vyv come up coming down a step and complimenting in sign language "You did all this for us? Beautiful, V." To a point Vyv always dresses this sharp. To Bax he sees it as Vyv's effort to pair what in his vast fabric arsenal to the event arriving at a gift of its own design. Thus this outfit of fabulous war, is the armor of the day. It's Bax's best guess. Like the Victorian language of flowers there's an algorithm and subtext. There's also a kiss, while brief, in both the grin and the greeting.

A side nod silently, with all the casualness the amusement elemental Grant Baxter is composed of, ushers him into the house. The house though smells pretty damn fine. Notably the smell of challa almost done really stands out. And there is what lives as some 50 year old iteration of Bax's future self, hi father Chris Baxter. Unlike his offspring the slacks are neat, pressed, and charcoal grey. Sleeves of the linen shirt are folded back and back again to the elbow, not rolled. "Vyv Vydal, glad you could join us. Chris or CJ." There's a pause and he looks from the chef to Bax being all very pleased with himself, and back to Vyv. "I had a feeling he escaped the yard again. Dinner as a finder's fee?" The smile though as hand comes to greet Vyv, shows where Grant likely gets his good intent from. "Please, come on in."

Vyv does indeed virtually always dress this sharp... and likewise, he almost certainly did put particular thought into which ensemble precisely fit this exact occasion. The right degrees of formality vs casualness (Vyv version), trying too hard vs not caring enough, banality vs being outshone by one's own clothes. The right design and subtext. The right armour for the day.

This does not mean he's going to admit in the slightest to there being an 'all this', of course, but the compliment does get a tiny smile, even before the kiss that follows. Brief is fine. It's enough. "A bottle of wine is hardly 'all this'," he murmurs, likely intentionally misinterpreting, and he's easily enough ushered on in. After all, no point being on time and still being late!

It's probably a relief that the house smells as fine as it does -- not that Vyv expected it to smell unpleasant, mind, but the scent of something baking (and specifically something that isn't in his personal area of specialilty) is a pleasant greeting. The actual greeting greeting's good too, and the chef's automatic visual appraisal is both more subtle and more favourable than usual. Clearly there's hope for future-Bax, sartorially speaking.

"How do you do," he replies to the introduction, his usual formality with strangers, "And thank you for inviting me." That glance he follows to Bax and the remark that ensues get the corner of his mouth quirking upward and a slight crinkle at the outsides of his eyes. "He does seem to do that. Perhaps one of those invisible fences?" he suggests, in that tone which so often leaves people uncertain just how serious he might be; the sidelong glance that slides Bax's way and back with the end of it is a better indication, perhaps. "Dinner sounds quite fair," he adds, shaking the hand, "...if you won't mind taking these off my hands as well. I hope you'll enjoy them later."

Grant gives them both an incredulous look with the distinct I am standing right here vibe. He does, however let his dad, with all of his dry, if not genuine humor accept the gift like it's a ritual. While dressed as such Chris seems to be standing on no formalities. "You didn't have to do this, but it is appreciated." Letting everyone move past the foyer he walks it into the kitchen and says "I think we met previous, and briefly at one of the Historical Society events. Our firm went to support the downtown repairs last summer, and I think I saw you briefly at New Years."

There's a pause and the challah comes out of the oven with the sides turned off on the stove top now that everyone's present. Turning and signing with Grant in what is decidedly a pidgin signing in home use, but speaking as to not alienate their guest he notes, "You missed the little swans, Grant. I think you'd have had a hard time wanting to eat them."

Bax's eyes get large, eyebrows up, and head swiveling back to Vyv. He blinks. Answering with hands and words he inquires,"There were swans? Like the ones you rode around on?" Let's not think too hard on that statement. Really though Bax makes to give him the immediate area tour. The home is an older home and it is by no means Bay St. upgraded. What has been furnished has been done so a while ago and it is lived in, though being able to claim the space as his own (finally) it is neat and well kept. The office is behind glass french doors and is modern, minimal, has exactly one plant enduring being there, and too many books and the back shelf piled with things he's working on.

The dining room is in the open concept and the table mostly set with some insistence to actually meet over there. Chris takes a moment and pauses to do say, and sign, the Shabbos blessing. It's not something he does every Friday, but he has mentioned that he does try to hang out with his dad on Fridays at least for a bit when they can and try to keep up with tradition as best as they are able to. Some traditions are important for the sake of having something to hang onto. To that point this part is short and Chris nods, satisfied and "We eat. Dig in. Grant, please leave some for the rest of us who are not a human food compactor."

Indeed, Bax is standing right there. When exactly has this stopped Vyv from initiating that sort of joke, let alone going along with it? Some might even say it's preferable to behind his back! Though okay, plenty others would probably argue for 'not at all', it's true. One hopes Grant's confident in judging the affectionate version from the genuinely catty one, given Vyv's more than capable of both.

Accepting the gift like a ritual is appropriate, really; it is a sort of ritual, and one that helps make the chef's inward landscape do a somewhat better job of matching the outward calm. "Ah, yes, I think I recall," he says, giving the statement a half-second of consideration. He was, for one reason or another, a bit distracted for parts of both events, but with all of it solidly in the past, it's easier to dredge up the somewhat-vague memory when prompted. He can't really help the way he watches the bread be extracted and assesses the loaf itself -- or perhaps he could, if he consciously realised he were doing it. It's too automatic, but at least the reaction is hard to read... which probably means it's reasonably positive.

The remark on the swans draws a breath of a laugh, even as his head tilts slightly in interest and faint confusion at the signing. Not good enough to parse that yet, and not enough experience to be sure he oughtn't be able to. Still, now that his hands are free and there's been that little reminder, he does his best to sign along with his own words, which might well end up pidgin in bits, but not the same one and not exactly on purpose. "Little chocolate swans," he answers Grant, which sort of answers the question while almost entirely sidestepping it at the same time. A neat trick. "Ms. Robbins was quite set on them, and that they have perfect unbroken necks." A tiny pause. "Which ought to go without saying, really. What self-respecting confectioner would provide flimsy broken swans?"

He takes that tour with interest, looking the place over. Okay, it likely isn't quite his style, if only because his style is Bayside-expensive and absolutely not child-friendly in virtually any way, but neat and well-kept go a long way, and the office in particular it's likely clear enough to Bax, at least, that he approves of. Modern, minimal, and full of books? Yes, good. He asks questions about a thing here or there as he's being given the tour, and while he's definitely on -- well, probably not his best behaviour, but possibly second- or third-best -- there's not much in the way of tiny signs that any real effort is going into withstanding the place. Bax's trailer would be unlikely to be able to make that claim.

At the table, he takes the seat that appears to be meant for him, and watches with some interest as the blessing is made. It may not be a thing he's seen before; he certainly hasn't in ASL. Handy, though (no pun intended), since at least he sort-of-speaks that. He watches quietly, and waits a second or two after it's clearly complete before observing, "It smells lovely. Thank you." There's clear amusement at the admonishment to Bax, too, though this time at least he doesn't join in. Yet. "What sort of law is your focus?"

For the most part Grant seems rather unaffected by the banter at large. Look, it's a weird form of affection but it works and he will dish as good as he's dealt. There is a pause, early, where Chris watches Vyv work at signing while he's speaking, and it's not fluent or great, but it's an effort and serviceable and it seems to win all patience from the 50 year old lawyer who does not sleep nearly as much as he'd like.

Grant watches his while he loads his plate, and hen more, aaaand then bread. Aaaand then stops remembering there needs to be enough for three. Right. Whoops. Continue all!

Chris looks up to Vyv and makes a few signs that include the one for family which Grant did teach him, and a sign for law, which he did if you call a lawyer law-person like he does. Others are finger-spelled out with a sign designate for it for the sake of brevity. "I started in Constitutional Law but spent the last eh 10 years ish practicing Family Law. My part of the firm works for child advocacy in difficult legal cases or when people should be doing their job aren't." plainly put.

There is all manner of questions without the third degree when did you decide you wanted to be a chef? Grant says you're from California. How'd you decide to move up here. and the like Though he does ask "How did you two even meet? I'm praying it's not through your roommates, Grant. Please...just no." There's some opinions on that he's not even bothering masking though he does ask them both, "I heard a lot about Pasadena. What was your favourite part? Thinking about going back? You should enter something like that. I'm honestly surprised you haven't." The questions carry on and probe his interests to listen to opinion rather than get fact to decide its context.

It does somewhat explain Bax's knack for interpreting certain facets of Vyvlish, certainly.

Vyv resists the urge he might give in to were it just the two of them at his place, and does not stick his fork over and pointedly claim any portion of that pre-remembering-to-share serving of Grant's. Some-level-of-best behaviour, after all. The youngest at the table does get a sidelong glance and quirked brow, instead, with just a hint of teasing in it. For his part, the chef takes a perfectly respectable serving of what's available, neither greedy nor insultingly small, and though he definitely watches Chris's hands while the lawyer speaks, it helps an awful lot to have the spoken words to work with too.

He can't sign with silverware in his hands, but then, he's not talking with his mouth full, either, so it's just a break from eating entirely with each answer he gives. Makes the meal slow, but not too unreasonably. When he decided to be a chef gets a subtly enthusiastic answer; the Holiday Cookie Incident is a fairly good memory, and the discovery of patisserie another. The memories tied to heading here rather than remaining in California are somewhat less so, though the answer is practiced enough that the only little oddity is the way a random glance toward Bax lingers an extra fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth curling faintly higher. Like it might on passing a rose bush and catching sight of an unexpected, almost-hidden bloom, or something.

The question about the roommates gets a breath of a laugh, and Vyv shakes his head. "I've not even met them, actually. Just heard mention. It's still possible they're some sort of cunning hoax. No... we both ended up at a gathering a mutual non-roommate acquaintance arranged, and got to talking. About art, mainly. It was," the pause is tiny, but includes another flicker of a glance Baxward, "unexpected." He considers briefly before adding, "Roommates that bad, are they?" A point of view that isn't Grant's seems worthwhile warning on the topic.

The mention of Pasadena makes him smile a little, and the look he gives Bax at the assertion he ought to enter can only be translated as See? And that's before he says aloud and by hand, "That's what I said. He ought to enter next year." A brief hesitation before he admits, "Watching him watch them work. And discuss it. That was my favourite part." Of, let's be honest, quite a number of parts he very much enjoyed, though a good several of them can just stay not outlined to his boyfriend(!)s father. "Did you tell him your plan?" he asks Bax.

It's really in how the questions get answered that Chris watches Vyv light up not missing the look of wonder and total focus Grant gives him pushing for the details like Tell him what you told me about the first time you tried that. Grant doesn't prod him on Cali or his family. That sort of thing needs to be freely given.

Chris watches the excitement pass between them and says nothing more on it. IT's not a bad thing. Grant adds in support tidbits by pointing out "Yeah Corey works for him. while he's going to school and whatever." It's not the same event but hey, it really puts some perspective on this. Just as quickly does he bust up the ruse with truth, "We ran into each other again at that LGBTQ event thing back after new years. It was really cool."

"Did you wear the shoes?" Chris knows about the rainbow doc martens. The snorted reply in crescendo of 'Hell yeah I did!" follows. Chris stabs at a few beans and points to Vyv, "So long as it's his co-workers and not yours? Fine." OH the opinions there.

There's a pause with expectation for Grant to elaborate. He looks to Vyv and shies a grin and sets his fork down. Mouth is wiped with a napkin and he sits up straighter. It's pride. The guy who will pretty much agree to anything is taking some personal pride in this one. "Ummm, so we were talking and thinking about maybe renting out Addington Park, block off the squares and allow people to just reserve a square and make it, you know, better for a while. Chalk and still life. Nothing permanent. V said he'd help me figure out how to contact city hall and stuff or whoever and organize it, but... yeah I think it'll cheer a lot of people up. Get them creative. Something for the news that's not all Bullets over Broadway."

When Grant lights up it's often like Broadway neon; Vyv's is more like the reflection of that display across the night sky when you reach the suburbs. Obvious with proper darkness as a contrast, but subtle and even missable against the brighter radiance. Or maybe like banked coals, the way the fuel of Grant's enthusiasm maintains the faint glow.

The mention of Corey gets a nod, and the detail thrown in about which gathering has Vyv mostly-masking an amused look with a bite of the challah (which appears to meet with approval, for what it's worth; bread qua bread is a step outside his specialty area, and Jewish bread one further, which hurts not at all his ability to enjoy it when decently made). It's not as though he expected any shock over the specific event -- fair to say that at the point your son's bringing his boyfriend over for dinner that ship's pretty thoroughly sailed -- but there's just something about Grant first adding to the more tactful framing of how they (relevantly) met and then promptly swerving right in the direction of the blunter one. He does not, however, take this as a goad to blunt it further.

"Corey's one of my better employees," he allows when the student chef is mentioned. High praise, gasp! But it's okay, it's not like he's there to hear it. The shoes get a decidedly more ambivalent reaction. "The rainbow Docs. Yes." Not, perhaps, the biggest selling point. Still, he doesn't strive to give the impression they caused him actual pain. Which he absolutely has regarding other articles in Bax's wardrobe, and likely isn't above doing again here and now. "...and I'm getting the feeling there are all sorts of roommate and coworker stories I'm not privy to with only him as a source," he notes, quirking a brow slightly at Chris.

Like the general lighting-up, his own spark of pride in the plan is far subtler than Grant's -- and quite possibly in Grant; in the discussions they've had thus far about how he hopes to handle things. "A bit like that snowman competition last winter, I suppose," he muses, "but warmer."

While he tries to take things in life as they happen it's true that the youngest Baxter has zero chill and no poker face when it comes to things he loves like a busy little bee in motion. It's sown in the life in his signing, his animation in his expression and the passion in which he goes into detail. Mostly there's focus; solid focus.

Chris watches this without interruption asking small questions about cost and logistics. People bringing their own materials seems like a good lead though he proposes, "If you need help to pay for the permits I can talk to the firm about chipping in. You might talk to local art supply and such and see if they're interested in the endorsement. Might give registered persons a discount on materials. Worth asking."

Chris looks from Grant to Vyv getting more of the puzzle. "Stories. Evidence. Who am I to say?" He's not saying he's just saying. Much to Grant's chagrin. It cools off Grant's social high there substantially at the small dig on his homies from work. It comes back a tad when Grant tells Vyv, "I remember that." Looking to Grant the easy grin he inherited returns as he admits, "Some of the guys at were were discussing your global warming snowman all weekend. I didn't tell them it was yours, but man it got a discussion going. Good job on that one. Really you should do it."

Look, Grant's lack of chill regarding the things he loves is weirdly adorable, which Vyv is only able to avoid openly acknowledging because he generally has quite a good poker face, and a fair if occasionally neglected stockpile of chill. So the joy in watching it is decidedly subtler than the joy being watched, just a hint in the small smile as he listens and eats.

He lets Bax answer the questions and get into the details, a silence that declares this Grant's project, simply one he supports. The suggestion the the law firm might be up for helping with any payments, and the mention of art supplies, though, has him looking thoughtful. "It's not a bad idea, thinking about sponsorships," he agrees, clearly thinking about it himself. "I wouldn't expect a lot to be required, but aside from any permit costs, it could support getting the word out, and, I don't know, perhaps arranging for music as the Pasadena festival did."

Stories or evidence. Vyv wants to know! The eyebrow says as much. There is definite temptation to pry into just how said homies have made that level of bad impression. But there's also that chagrined look on Bax, and the contrast it makes with the discussion from a few moments before. It's possible the improvement thinking of the snowman causes would have tipped the scales if the rest didn't startle Vyv into a small, just-audible laugh. "That one was yours?" he asks Grant. "I seem to recall it was my favourite."

Grant cuts a wry, proud grin and signs fast. this is where mental links and contextual agreement come in handy for Vyv to catch the context having to do with memes lately inspiring his 'change my mind' display for the snowman. There is a look to Vyv surprised, but not calling a bluff when he asks, Really?? which is more startled compliment than questioning him knowing Vyv is practically allergic to blowing sunshine up people's asses.

It's an encouraging remark that has all the underlying barbs that are to be expected when Chris implores in word and sign, "Yes! Now you just need to focus and use that as publicity to push your work so you can move out of that mobile violation and continue this trajectory, Grant."

Pausing, Bax rubs at one side of his face revealing part of what has been a very long many month discussion. "They're not that bad, Dad."

Chris arches one eyebrow and very formally points out, //"It's single-handedly trying to compete at doubling the city's crime rate. I didn't raise you to be someone else's 'yes man'. You're smarter than that. Hell you're better than that. I know you want to be loyal to your friends and do right by them but not all of them do right by you. They use you. This doesn't have to be discussed right now, but it's something you need to think about for your sake. The Jones twins? Ully? They're making something of themselves.
They look after you but this other situation?"//

There's a long pause and he signs to Vyv "Sorry." Taking a deep breath he pauses picking up on Grant looking kinda low-key pissed and withdrawn. "Son, I love you but I seen too many kids get hurt letting the wrong people drag them down and you care and I worry for you. This?" He looks to Vyv and back to an annoyed skater, "This is really nice. And I am happy for both of you, and I think your priorities are in order. Enjoy this. End of fatherly lecture."

It does require Vyv to repurpose the portion of his thought and attention that was going to eating toward parsing out what Grant's saying, at first, even with context; the imagery that gets pushed across helps, however, and he does manage to get through a bit more of the meal as he watch/listens. At the really?? he just gives a little tilted half-nod, along with a slight smile. Indeed, the odds he'd have said it if it weren't the truth are probably somewhere around the odds of him going out in shorts, and the odds of doing so without even some definite incentive toward manipulation are down around going out in a ripped and paint-stained pair of Grant's cast-off cargo shorts. So, yeah. There's no detail forthcoming, but: really.

To be fair, he probably entirely agrees with at least the general idea of Bax putting some more focus into art as a livelihood, and if he knew some other friends and roomies in question, he'd probably agree with the elder Baxter's assessment there, too. But he should not be amused by the chiding, or the glimpse at its likely-long-running nature, particularly when it clearly makes Grant upset. ...sadly, there's very little he can do about his psyche, but if nothing else he can do a pretty good job of keeping the expression neutral and silently eating while he avidly watches the conversation. It is, at least, not much different from having to watch closely to be sure he picks up the signs in any case.

Still, he doesn't like seeing Bax unhappy. He takes another bite, his free hand dropping down as if to rest on his own leg, or possibly wipe fingers on his napkin; the movement suggests the latter, and in fact technically qualifies, but any cleaning of his fingertips is secondary to the feeling of a light stroke down Grant's back, the fabric pressing against skin as though invisible fingers were sliding along it. "It is quite nice," he says, reclaiming his hands for signing purposes, "And thank you." For dinner, probably. Possibly for the general approval. Disapproval would've been unlikely to drive him off, granted, more likely just turn things spikier and several degrees less warm, but this is... well, yes. Quite nice.

At least with things said and done Chris is willing to let it rest. If there's more to say it's in the category of smart safety concerns. No one fights so hard for their kid's well-being and enjoys seeing them making questionable life choices because they'll agree to anything to be 'helpful'. The topic goes back to Pasadena, and what they learned and what they liked about that experience that they hope to bring to this one.

Further topics include Chris, with interest asking, "Vyv, did Grant tell you about building his own business? Yeah I was going to save it for a surprise for your birthday but, I mean I might as well tell you I picked up a domain for you so if you want to break off Etsy eventually you have the domain reserved. You'll need someone who can set up a webstore."

Grants eyebrows hit his hairline signing No shit?. He blinks warming a grin, quietly speechless and watching the explanation. Lawyer or not making time to understand what Grant's trying to do and skater concepts in broad strokes is on the list of information he's made time for so they can at least talk about it. Dinner gets turned around and he does add, "There's also a new restaurant at the casino. I think you should both go for your birthdays. I'll take care of it. It's been a busy year and I'd like for you guys to be be to do something nice without worrying about it."

The rest of dinner goes off without interruption and the like, and Grant content enough to talk about projects and hang out with his dad and his dude in a nice island of what should be normal for people. In Gray Harbor it's a luxury.