2020-08-21 - 22

It's Grant's birthday. The truth is he'd have missed it if it wasn't pointed out to him. Sure he knows he's born August 21st but that doesn't men he knows TODAY is that day. He's got the year right though. It's progress. Time really seems to be a foreign concept to him, though he blames his father who is 50 and still looks 30 for confusing time until it gave up on this branch of Baxters.

When Friday morning shows up Bax already has exactly what he wanted which is to wake up (a couple times) in Vyv's bed, with him there like a marathon sleeping-in, snuggling , whatever triathlon pro. I mean sure, Vyv has plans for them today, but this is pretty much all he needs or wanted to make for an ideal birthday.

Vyv, however, is never one to say 'sure, that's sufficient' which leaves Grant waking up (third time), rubbing one eye and wondering what is in store for the remainder of the day.

It's true, if Grant ages like his father, Vyv will be both pleased and wildly envious. But that's an issue for another day, and so far this one's been going just swimmingly. Though he very oten wakes early -- for work or in general -- he's taken this day off, and he's dedicating himself to all facets of the morning's sport, the 'sleeping' legs included. There's already been at least one specifically requested gift bestowed; the request probably wasn't actually necessary, but it's always nice to be able to give presents one knows the recipient will like.

There are others, slightly less definite in their reception, and as Vyv idly shifts into the second leg of the third round of the triathlon, he's begun thinking of those more actively. Nuzzling at nebula-shaded hair slightly muffles a languid, "Good morning, darling." A beat, and with a smile in the voice, "Again." Whether this is recognition of the repetition or request for a reprise rather relies on the recipient to reconcile. "Hungry yet?" This too could be interpreted multiple ways. One of them likely involves a period of snoozing all alone, but also probably bacon. There are decisions to be made.

Bacon. There's bacon and bacon is what fuels... well everything. There is something about reading lips at close range that changes context and a quirked grin answers, "Ravenous." All the entandres. With a stretch befitting of the best cats out there he signs, Bacon and crepe? Spell right?" He's guessing on crepes. Vyv made them once and it's like a pancake cosplaying as an omelette and achieving almost being dessert for breakfast. He loves em. "Not difficult right?"// Just because vyv's got skills doesn't mean he's up for abusing those. Not right now anyways. But the light is in the room and he is, for as many times as he reset the morning (because it was worth resetting), now awake. Stealing one last kiss he murmurs, possibly audibly (hard to tell right now), "You. are. amazing. Bacon almost as much so." There's a pause and he decides in highest compliment, "I love you more than bacon." And that decided and declared is time to get up.

Bacon is love. Or an expression of love, anyway. The 'mm' that greets that first answer expresses somewhat earthier sentiments, right along with the way Vyv's gaze travels along the terrain of that stretch. They're only two thirds through that third triathlon, after all; the bacon probably isn't in too much hurry...

But there's a specific request, and the hand that'd reached out to trace the lines of that well-defined torso is reclaimed so that it, and its partner, can reply in kind. «Bacon and crepes,» he agrees, the latter spelt out in answer; «Not difficult.» A bit fiddly, maybe, but not difficult, and would he admit it if it were? Anyway, he has a kiss to allow the theft of, and to strongly threaten to steal right back. It leaves him close enough that the murmur is indeed audible, the addendum garnering not only a breath of a laugh but the flash of a smile before he does, in fact, retrieve that stolen kiss.

"I should hope so. Bacon doesn't love me much," he replies as he sits back, voice and hands speaking together. "Do you want to come along, or shall I bring you breakfast in bed?"

Grant is too busy sprawling and knowing damn well it is really an extraneous effort. It's not going to make him any taller, but hey, he is a stunt athlete that walks and rolls everywhere; he's pretty shredded under all his shapeless t-shirts in that way surfers and skateboarders manage, and the show ain't bad.

This is absolutely pandering at it's quasi-awake finest.

Fingers trace his arm before signing back with a wry grin, eyes rolling to the brightness of the window with a squint and back, <<Rude answer or real one?>> someone's got a cheeky sense of humor today. <<I'll join you. I love>> The hand is stolen from here Vyv was signing his question and a kiss is pressed to the palm, <<to watch you work. Also bacon>> so much bacon.

movement, getting cleaned up and a hunt for his shorts and pajama pants so he doesn't have to deal with sitting on a chilly seat at the kitchen island are found. Ears next. Fingers wiggle to say hi to the fish before he takes up his seat to watch that tall lean chef of his make art...while Bax sits in his designated spot out of arm's reach of anything that is to be included in the cooking. Hes been caught on to, drat!

Vyv has absolutely no issue with being pandered to, at least not by Bax and not like that. Please, pander away. And at present, pander bare. As far as shows go, it's one of his favourites, and he really isn't in any particular hurry to change the channel.

"Oh, both," he replies with entirely false innocence, less convincing than often because this one comes with rather more of smile trying to sneak out than he'd usually countenance. It does, when the kiss finds his palm, close-lipped but still clearer than most are likely to have seen. "All right, then," he says, signing something similar with the free hand, and when Bax moves to partially-dress, he rises as well, drawing on a pair of silk pyjama pants and leading the way out.

He makes a very faint bow to the fish when he emerges, a tiny inclination of head and shoulders, and the betta in particular swims up toward the glass, darting back and forth in a way that makes the long fins trail prettily; Vyv looks pleased by this, and after a moment's pause, steps over and gets a tiny pinch of the food to drop in. Who precisely is training whom could be argued, but at least they're both happy with the current outcome. So are the other fish, as it happens. "I read I ought to get him some bloodworms," he remarks as he continues to the kitchen, "as an occasional treat."

For now, though, he briefly tracks Bax with his gaze to the appropriate seat -- yes, good, the ingredients should be safe. Also, nice view. And for one who likes to watch him cook, that's one too. The first pan of bacon comes first, then a pair of pears, sliced very thin lengthwise, and set to grill with some brown sugar as he moves on to the actual crepe batter. That part is remarkably quick to come together, set aside as he finishes cooking up the pears and bacon and whipping up a small bowl of mascarpone with maple, vanilla, and honey. "We have plans," he informs him as he works, "at about five or so. But until then, and after dinner, the day's all yours. What would you like to do with it?"

Grant is. not. fancy. Boxers and shorts are enough for him to be happy and get by. Vyv's clothes are a social armor and reward of success, and Grant's are...comfortable. In this place that is in appearance way classier than he is in all fairness? Still comfortable.

"Blood worms are cool. I mean the others'll probably pick at it too . I asked the guy and he didn't know nothin, so I asked HIS guy who said kinda feed the other fish first and then put a sinking thing in like brine shrimpies or bloodworms or whatever in. " There's a pause and his eyebrow arches to impressive height. "Dinner 5? Awww, badass. Doooo I get to know where we are going or is that a surprise?" He considers the rest of the day. Wow. What to do with it. "I want to go see that one move we were watching the preview for. The mystery one, and ummm... I dunno. Doooo you rollerskate because that could be fun."

Hey, silk is comfortable! That's why Vyv theoretically sleeps in it.

Okay, that and it looks really good. No reason not to look good any time one can. Especially around here, where the usual reasons of 'for oneself' and 'in case the building catches fire' get joined by 'in case one suddenly finds oneself in some sort of parallel universe, possibly being tasked with saving it. Or running for one's life.' Never go to bed in these parts in anything you wouldn't be caught dead in.

He moves smoothly through the kitchen as he works, the space almost an extension of himself. There's a nod with a little 'hm' to mention of brine shrimp, some amusement in listening to how it's related. "Well, thank goodness for the guy's guy," he says, with a small smile for the question of where they're going. "The new restaurant at the casino. Sitka. Your father's gift," he reminds. "Speaking of which." He leaves the pan to heat for a moment, butter gradually melting across it, and moves to open a nearby drawer, pulling out a small envelope made of heavy, quality ecru paper and handing it over.

Then, setting a plate and cover nearby, he pours the first crepe. "I'm reasonably certain the movie is within our power. And-- I have not worn rollerskates since I was fourteen." Which the alert and pushy might note is not strictly a no, though it does rather suggest he won't have any. Can one really imagine him renting a pair?

Grant is still waking up as still being of an age to be awake forever, or alternately, sleep for forever. Arching an eyebrow with a bob of his head he muses, "Aaah yeah that's right." Amazing the things that slip his mind, but at least what is always there seems constantly new. It brings a smile to his face looking forward to that.

As far as the roller skate borrowing goes? There is am impish smile clearly broadcasting this is me not saying **anything**. "Well, then I... will... have to build a pair, for you Vyvyan, and then? We. will. skate." Because if it has bearings he can build it awesomely. "I'll pull up the supplier later. You can pick out your boot, and what colour wheels you lie and I'll figure out what actual wheels and bearings you want. I got you, boo."

His fingers, taking the envelops and holding it, however, take the moment to assess the weight, and the texture of the paper. "Did you get me a card!?" A thought that is absurd to him as they're face to face, but endearing all the same because they are. No harm or foul either way. He does, however, open it, which is perhaps the best distraction for his hands to keep them away from both the ingredients and the Chef's shiny pants ablating upset to cooking.

Vyv seems unbothered by the need for that reminder -- possibly he's familiar with the time it can take for Grant to wake up, or else willing to take just a touch of drowsy addledness as a tribute to the morning so far. Hey, Bax isn't the only one who can steal compliments around here.

The rollerskating, though, is another thing entirely. There's a small beep signalling that the coffee maker has finished making coffee (usually it does this on a timer, but with a plan of sleeping in to 'whenever', that was turned off today), and he turns to pour some like it might magically save him from the mental image of himself wobbling around on skates, possibly falling. The resulting expression fails not to qualify as dubious. "...where are you thinking we ought to attempt this? The skating, not the construction." There may well be some effort going into not giving the automatic refusal that lurks in there. There's also a cup of coffee, though, passed along as well. Plus the sugar. And, from the fridge, a tiny pitcher of cream flavoured with vanilla and caramel.

As far as the card: "In a way." And indeed, as Vyv returns to making the crepes themselves, Bax will find that there are technically not one but two cards in that envelope, which turns out to be lined with slightly metallic bronze tissue.. The larger is clearly the one the envelope was designed for, a piece of heavier stock in the same shade as the envelope, engraved with a thin border of subtly metallic bronze and the chef's name centered at the top in the same ink and a slim-lined, sans-serif font. The actual writing on the card is in black ink and an elegant and remarkably legible cursive, clearly written using a fountain pen:

Bax —
Tuesday, September 1st, 7pm.
Here the second card comes into play: a business card, neatly stuck to the larger one. It's a stylish-looking thing, and has the name and contact information of, presuming the job title can be believed, a web designer/developer.
Happy birthday.
Love, V.

Grant chuckles and stays out of the breakfast parts for a while as he opens the card and pulls out the heavy card stock. There is a small smile seeing Vyv's name all spelled out professional like that hearkens back to his actual roots of precision manners, but made his own. Reading on the curiosity of the information after catches him.

"I'm... going too need you to stop being so damn amazing for like... five minutes. When you got time later." He turns it over, in case and, also because it's neat, and rereads the card again. "You found me someone who can do up my website?! You're shitting me. this is... so awesome and...useful. Damn... I'm gonna have to work on populating more stuff for it now."

Pushing off the stool where he was perches he walks to the side of the island and pauses in that way one does if they live with cats arresting all momentum on a dime. "Can I set foot in the kitchen to say thank you or do I have to stand over here til you are done?" because he knows Vyv well enough when he goes all Sandra Bullock 'Get behind the yellow line' on him.

Vyv lets the question of skating location lie for the moment, watching the envelope opened and its contents perused with the portion of attention he has to spare while cooking -- which appears to be a fair bit, frankly. He knows the timing for when to check if it's ready to flip or to finish, and in between, well, he has a reaction to watch.

Even he may be victim to that touch of uncertainty inherent in gift-giving, because there's a slight shift of weight that might suggest mild relief before he glances down to flip the crepe. "I hate to deny you on your birthday, but I'm afraid I just can't promise that," he says as he looks back up, allowing a thread of apology into the well-practiced airy arrogance. It's not until a good couple seconds later that the flicker of a smile escapes, and he inclines his head in confirmation. "She did the current version of the patisserie's." He could add that she's quite good, but why repeat himself? "She'll be expecting you to call then."

He moves the crepe to the warming dish, giving them some consideration before catching sight of the movement and arching a brow. There's some challenge in that look, sliding just past really? on the way toward oh, you think so, do you? but the sudden stop and request ease it into a half-smile, the head-tilt remaining but the small lift of the chin turning it into something approving. "Mm. Yes, I suppose I could pause long enough for that. Come here, then," he invites, setting down the spatula he'd been wielding.

The denial gets a long, thoughtful MMmmhmm. Well, It's not like he didn't get to sleep in three times this morning. For someone as busy and punctual as Vyv is it is pretty damn generous. There's a stop there not stepping forward or backward like this is some sort of freeze tag game where the loser gets hit with a hot spatula. There's a faint grins and finally the other foot hits the ground and when there's permission to enter the kitchen proper he wanders over and steals just one kiss... and a slice of fruit thinking he's really damn clever. It'd be more clever if he wasn't being watched like a hawk, but he steals the kiss overtly too. "Thank you, for an amazing, gift. I'll reach out this week." And since Mr. Not stealthy is on a roll he steals a bit of an ass grab on his way back to his just-barely-out-of the kitchen seat. Breakfast is good. "Can't wait to tell me dad about this one. I think he'll be psyched too."

It is indeed most generous, but Bax will just have to make do with continued damn amazingness, it seems. The kiss is easily stolen; the slice of pear, well, he might be lucky Vyv put that spatula down. It might just have given the chef the extra reach to make up for how much faster the skater moves right now, the smack intended for the thieving hand coming just too late. Vyv narrows his eyes at Grant, but that added ass-grab is just cheeky enough for there to be hints of a smile trying to escape.

"Next week," he corrects, pointing toward the card, with its date and time, "you're welcome, and if I'm short a pear slice now it's you who's getting one without." So there. He turns to open one of the cupboards, and takes out a stack of two smallish boxes, the sort jewelry might come in, made of thick matte black cardboard and tied with grey ribbons; there's a second envelope with them, as well. He sets the little tower on the counter and then pushes it over into Bax's proper space with a fingertip before he starts actually assembling some of those crepes with the other ingredients. Crepe, bacon, grilled pear slice, some of the maple-vanilla mascarpone, then rolled up neatly and followed by another of the same. He half-watches Bax as he works.

Grant looks so SMUG with himself! God those eyebrows waggle as he eats that victory slice. "Baby like I'd deprive you of the extra pear slice?" Still it is a sweet thing to be faster even if one is not necessarily more clever. "All those years of narrowly evading trouble are finally paying off." But then, there is as they say, more. He blinks, at the boxes. Plural.

It's a cultural thing really, Jewish culture's own form of sign language as the hand gestures out, palm up in emphasis in the 'what is this?!' gesture. All the implications of 'Oy, bubbeleh you shouldn't have. You do too much. I can't possibly. eeeeh fine you win, but I'm making the point.' Curiosity, in teh end, always wins. If not immediately, eventually. He opens it carefully in case something is fragile or tries to roll out.

"Mn. Maybe, but I suspect your practice trouble's been rather less patient than I can be," Vyv replies, arching a warning brow. It doesn't stop him continuing to put the crepes together, five neatly on the plate to be drizzled with maple syrup and sprinkled with black pepper. He sets the plate where Bax can easily claim it in a moment or two, and leans his hip against the cabinets beneath the counter as he watches the boxes opened.

As the lid and top layer of cotton padding are lifted from the first box, revealing a pair of interestingly faceted octagonal cufflinks in silver and an unusual greyish mottled stone or perhaps metal, he briefly interrupts, reaching over to reclaim the envelope that seems to go with this pair. "Oh, wait. This one's for me," he says as he plucks it back up, and indeed the envelope has his name on the front. In his own writing. The second box turns out to contain four matching shirt studs, as for a tuxedo or full-dress shirt, such as Bax has likely never worn in his life. Yet, at any rate.

He doesn't immediately open the envelope, simply watching instead, and waiting a beat before saying as if it might be part of an explanation, "They're silver and meteorite. Bits of the Gibeon meteorite; it fell to Earth in prehistoric times. And yes, I know you've nothing to wear them with. But I," he brandishes the envelope, then swiftly opens it and draws out the card far enough to theoretically read it, though as it's in his writing he surely doesn't need to, "seem to have been given a trip to go improve the breadth of your wardrobe for my birthday, how very thoughtful."

Grant opens the box, eyes tracking the envelope because he's ADD enough to track movement. When Vyv declares its for himself there's a small nod with a hmm in the manner of 'Yeah, that makes sense' even if it doesn't immediately. He licks his one finger that was holding the pear off and wipes it on his pants before returning his attention to the box opening it, Cufflinks. Well he's not a fancy bloke but they might have to go somewhere in Vyvworld. They are very cool which warms a smile, but then a pause. Hi eyes widen when Vyv explains their origin.

Meteorite. Jewelry.
Space. For him.
In a tiny box.
And the shirt buttons to match.

There is a stillness which might say more than any other metric here. Looking up there's a sigh. Words. He should find then, and he doesn't sign because he's almost afraid to touch them, but does with a lingering brush of his fingers. "You fucking gave me space." Are his eyes full of emotion? Yeah but there's a lot to unpack so everything stays put.

For all that he's being rather flippant -- and, all right, that might actually be related -- Vyv is keeping a definite watch on Grant as things are opened and looked at, and as the little explanation is made. The eye-widening is a good sign, but that stillness is just slightly nervewracking even so, before he looks up and the emotion in his eyes is clearer. Not that that's entirely comfortable either, for all that of course it's essentially what he hoped for.

He meets Grant's eyes for a moment. There's emotion reflected back, along with a tiny, almost fragile smile before he turns his head sharply away, gaze dropping to the stove. "Yes, well." A pause, as he turns off the burner for the moment despite clearly not having cooked it all, and a good deal quieter, "It's something you should have."

Pushing up from the lean in another quick movement, he withdraws one more box from a nearby drawer. It looks virtually identical to the previous two, down to the ribbon it's tied with, and he leans across the closest part of the island to where Grant sits and sets the little box down beside the others. "One other," he says, somewhat unnecessarily, and waits.

This one, when opened, reveals a necklace in essentially a dog-tag style, though it's on a box chain, not a ball one, and the metal of it and the tag's border and back are black titanium. The tag itself, however, is another piece of meteorite, the interweaving of the bands of mineral that make it up bringing up a vague image of scuffed metal or abused pavement as well as their actual nature. In the lower right, a round cornered oblong containing two kanji has been engraved and somehow coloured black to make it visible against the rock. "I-- well. Since I don't expect to convert you to the superiority of french cuffs any time soon, I thought you should have a bit you could wear with other things."

That phrase could mean a lot, to be fair. In Vyv's particular penchant for phrasing it is likely to be everything from please let me dress you to my standards or die trying to something more leaning Space is a part of you and you should have it, but i'm not done with you here yet. Vyvlish is a very succinct language based on high standards,sentiment, and usually some sort of telepathy.

There is fascination. Though when he is handed the last box he tilts his head, "Dude!" but when he opens it there is a quieter and more profound, "...dude." A word for every occasion. The meteorite dogtag take out, fingers tracing the box chain. He puts it on. There is no more hesitation than I am wearing this right now, with the quarter, and his medical alert one. This is staying put.

"Thiiiiiiiiiis is ..." There's sign and it's not words so much as a pantomime going through trying to express the feelings with some sharp punctuation.

This time there's no permission asked to enter the kitchen. Both hands find Vyv's face to pull in for a kiss that does better than words damn well will, and with far less use of the word 'dude'. Thunking his forehead to his Chef's he grins easily ear to ear. "You think of everything. Just... I don't want to go to space without you. it's nice to have it come here." Realizing he's standing with him in the kitchen he glances sideways and myopically back. "Heh. All our favourite things now in one spot. Well done. I think you just won birthdaying."

It's impressive, the mastery Grant has of Vyvlish these days. Baxian doesn't generally require quite so much specific translation, and Vyv spent enough of his formative slang-exposure years in California that he can likely identify quite a few different versions of 'dude' and their specific meanings. This pair seems straightforward enough. It gets another small smile from him, eyes bright, and a small shift suggests if he were closer he'd likely reach over and take over the putting-on portion of the proceedings.

The little smile grows a level at the pantomime, and this time there isn't the warning regarding heading into the kitchen when it's attempted. He slides an arm around Bax's waist as he's kissed, returning it fairly eloquently on his side as well. His free hand slides between them, curling around both quarter and meteorite as if he could use them to draw the younger man a yet further into that kiss. When it breaks, that forehead lean gets a breath of a laugh, and as with the rest, cooperation.

"I don't want you to go without me either," he admits, thumb brushing over the symbols engraved in the stone. "I don't know, I'm fairly sure we've no skateboards just now, and I can't say this is my favourite outfit," he muses lightly, "but I suppose we are doing a reasonable job of it. Of course, if I've won birthdaying now it bodes ill for my performance in future years. ...better enjoy it while it lasts, I suppose." He steals another kiss, somewhat lingering. "Your crepes will get cold," he warns, though he hasn't actually let go.

Grant is a happy birthday camper. 22 is already amazing. This is good as next week is doom and narrowly avoiding death. Right now is amazing tho! "Vyvyan, I wouldn't want to go without you there. Sending you pictures every two seconds like lookit this, and this, aaaaand this would wreck my data plan. Totes more efficient for you just to go." It's responsible! "Aaaand I'm partial to the company." That kiss gets stolen leading to a sidelong look at the crepe. "I am hungry... but I don't wanna move. I have this feeling if I try to make it find my mouth I'm only going to hit myself in the head with breakfast." He leans against him for another moment and then, hunts breakfast. "Can't waste the crepe. Then I'll get dressed and we can head out."

Grant is still turning the dogtag over in his fingers sitting down marveling at it. Thumb rubs the smooth surface of the meteorite as if trying to pick up on the echo of its time in space which doesn't exactly go as planned, but it's the story of his space rock. Still important. Thumb finds the grooves of the engraving and says in earnest, "I can't read it, but It looks ... this... this is awesome." Looking up he asks curious, "That a signature?"

Vyv gradually smiles more during the reasons for wanting him there, until for a moment at the mention of the company it's nearly complete. Back to something more characteristic after the kiss, and he notes, "That's what unlimited data is for. Though there might be long distance tariffs and I certainly wouldn't trust the coverage. All in all, I'd say together is better."

Leaning is entirely encouraged and reciprocated, though he does release first the necklaces and then Grant himself for the sake of the crepes, ambivalent as he may be about doing so. "They'll be better warm," he says, and lets him head back to the plate, moving back to the stove himself. There are more crepes to make -- his, at the least, but quite possibly more for Bax as well, when he's done with the first plateful of the sweet/savoury combination. Turning the burner back on, he gives the skater an intentionally sidelong look and corrects, "But no. Then we'll shower, then get dressed and head out." It is an important detail, apparently.

When the question comes, he pauses, and leaves the pan to warm as he moves to where he can safely lean across and reach the necklace himself. "More of-- I don't know. A dedication, perhaps." Making that lean, he taps the tag delicately with one fingertip beside the top kanji. "Yoi, good." Beside the second, "Kitsune, fox. Together, they're read as zenko, benevolent fox spirits who serve the kami Inari. Eventually, when they're old and powerful enough, they become tenko, celestial foxes, and ascend to the heavens."

Grant goes still as he listens and his eyes squint looking at it upside down, and then turning it so he can see it as intended and repeats, "Space fox in training..." A slow grin creeps up on his face. The impact resonates, but the support more enough so he can only laugh entirely charmed at this. "Vyv, I swear to God next person who calls you anything less than amazing I'm biting.I love it, almost as much as I love you, but I really...really love it. It's perfect." Looking up he promises, "When we are old and powerful enough we will go up and out and ascend...after we eat and go shower and go to the show....and dinner... considerable after today. Today we're too busy to go to space."

Another little smile creeps across Vyv's lips at the further translation and the moreso at the laugh. He looks quietly delighted with it, though he arches a brow, corralling that smile into something subtler. "Tch. Who's been calling me anything less than amazing?" he inquires, before it creeps up at one corner again.

Still leaning in, he looks for a moment as though he might be considering reaching out to wrap his hand around the necklaces and try to draw Bax near enough to kiss again, but it'd be neither simple nor particularly comfortable with the counter in the way, so the temptation's resisted -- for now. "Happy birthday, zenko. Someday, space. But this morning... crepes."