tastes almost like home {reserved}

[Skye Malizia]

Today she was a brunette. Actually, Skye died her hair about a month ago from the fiery red to its natural color. Some people colored their hair so frequently they actually forgot what they were born with. But Skye, despite the blonde and red and black, always knew her chocolate locks were the loveliest. Still, the girl had never been able to stay in one place for too long, and if she was going to stay in crazy, hectic New York for a while she had to find some way to keep herself entertained. Switching her hair was a creative outlet so she could venture out feeling like a new person.

Yet despite her longing for continuous change, when she passed the classy Italian restaurant on her way back to the campus from an appointment in Brooklyn, Schulyer Malizia's heart tugged.

She might be an entire ocean away from home, and it felt wonderful to be free of the over-pretentious men and girlfriends with inane gossip, but all the food in America left something to be desired. It was all so greasy and smelly and cheap and vulgar. You could only put up with so much before your stomach demanded you give it up altogether.

So upon crossing Bistro Bellamortè, she was overtaken by this indescribably urge to be spontaneous. Life was beginning to become too routine for her anyway, and what could stop the girl from doing whatever she wanted, in a city infamous for just that? All she had waiting for her at school was a slightly messy room she needed to tidy. Deciding that chore could wait for later, Skye marched up to the sleek establishment and pushed open the door. They already had a steady dinner crowd, and as she looked around at the refined decor, she got a little edgy.

She wasn't wearing anything fancy. It was hot out, so she hadn't even thought about donning a jacket. She was wearing a To Haiti With Love white T and dark wash skinny jeans. And though it was still summer, she had pulled out her favorite leather autumn boots from her closet and sashayed to the garage where her little yellow Fiat was parked. Her car was a good walking distance from the restaurant, but Skye loved walking. The double click of her heels on the sidewalk empowered her and inspired her to walk like a runway model. Most of the time she looked like one too - tall, sleek, stylish. Not necessarily beautiful, but certainly unique. Normally she was quite at home with her appearance, but as she glanced down at herself, then back at the fancy interior, she wondered if 'unique' wasn't an acceptable look here.

But the hostess seemed to decide the girl was appropriate, because when Skye told the woman she was a party of one, the lady asked if she'd like a table or to sit at the bar.

Tables were classier, and easier to eat a meal at. Booths offered privacy so no one would interrupt her. She could have a quiet dinner by herself... or... She could sit at the bar, with the raised stools so she could see all the diners, drink alone with no one judging her, and casually pick at a meal while she people-watched. She opted for the latter choice and was guided to the raised counter and offered a dinner and drink menu. She picked up the drink menu first, and flipped straight to the wines.

Her smile was almost predatory. All tooth, pure satisfaction. The bartender asked her for her order and she pointed out her selection. He nodded, pulling a crystal glass from the ceiling rack and pulling an open bottle of red from the shelf. He poured her a small sample and she tested it like a true Italian (aside from spitting it out). It brought another smile to her mouth and she nodded, allowing the man to pour a full glass for her. This she lifted to her lips and turned slightly, picking up the menu. She wasn't really looking over the choices; most Italian restaurants had similar fare and she knew already what she was in the mood for. Instead, Skye was browsing the restaurant for interesting faces.

[Raphael Romanée]

Raphael sighed. Another day of wandering New York. He was almost always out and about the city, browsing for interesting faces, by interesting he meant beautiful, of course. However, Raphael had a habit of saying things were beautiful just because he liked them. But today, he was looking for some decent food. Or at least, some decent drink. He couldn't find any anywhere he went in the city. And Raphael (having been raised on what had become one of France's most famous vineyards) had a craving for wine. But not any wine - he wanted the lavish red wine of the continent.

As this was America, he was unlikely to find any restaurants that catered to his preferred choice, however, he guessed that if he could find a classy Italian place, (of which there were many) they might have some. It wasn't the same, but he did like the Italian's style.

So that was how he found himself stepping into the Bistro Bellamorte. It seemed classy, almost like a speak-easy from the 1930s. He winked as he said in his thick accent;

"A table for one, mademoiselle." He said, before simply clasping her hand, squeezing it, and walking past to go to the bar, leaving her blushing. He walked up to the long wooden counter, with many stools around it, just in time to hear the young lady's order.

"Ahh un nineteen eighty fine barolo red. Pour me a glass, too, monsieur, I ave tried zis vintage before, it was a magnifique year for ze reigion!" He took the crystal decanter and raised it to the lady next to him saying;

"We shall drink to your health, mademoiselle." he said, before flashing her a charming smile, and sipping the wine. He rolled the liquid over in his mouth several times, as he took in the flavor, before swallowing, and setting his glass down with a clink on the counter. The bar-tender gave him a wry smile, and he winked secretly. Of course, his intentions were innocent. He wasn't chasing this girl for any of that sort of interaction. He could tell that the man was reading the situation wrong, as he walked off to serve someone else.

He turned once again to the girl. She was very pretty indeed. But there was no good thinking that if she was hideous on the inside. Raphael knew that he might seem shallow, and maybe even a little bit of a womanizer, but his dry-spell had been going for a while now. Or, a while in mortal years.

"So what iz a lady like yourself doing in zis city? Not zat you cannot be ere if you wish. To my own eyes, you simply seem like a free spirit. Ze big apple does not welcome our type easily." he winked, before taking another sip of wine. He could be totally wrong, and she might think he was a total freak - not every American had taken kindly to his race. More than once he'd heard; "cheese eating surrender monkey!" being called after him on the streets. He didn't particularly care. But this girl seemed like a wanderer, a little like herself. He could generally recognize them - it was a beautiful weariness and energy in their eye that he found to be absolutely perfect.

{{OOC:I hope that's ok. First response as Raphael, so I'm a little nervous }}

[Skye Malizia]

Skye's eyes widened upon the entrance of the rather flamboyant Frenchman. She was additionally shocked to witness him approach herself and the bar, and ask for the same wine. And then he proceeded to steal her attention away with brash exclamations and would-be smooth toast. Instead of toasting him for her health, she held the wine away from her lips and narrowed her eyes. When he undoubtedly attempted to make conversation, her opinion of him lowered significantly.

"A lady like myself?" Skye repeated, unimpressed. He spoke about free spirits and New York not welcoming them. Skye felt more than welcome in this big, often-times unfriendly city. She kept her head high and her heels shined, and she fit right in with the fashionable crowd. Having a complete stranger insinuate she was an outcast didn't sit well with her, and she placed her wine glass on the counter, the clink of the base contrasting with the silence her outburst created.

"Perdono, but I don't see how you and I are similar." She might come across as a little rude, but she found it highly unpleasant for a man to approach a woman on her own at a bar and chip at her self-esteem. Skye was clearly here to enjoy herself, and he was interrupting and making such a feat impossible. Raphael may be looking for beauty, and perhaps he would find Skye's standoffish reception to his presence unattractive, but the young lady was not looking for someone like him. She had left Italy to get a breath of fresh air from the obnoxious flirtations of European men, and here one was, 'all up in her grill', as the Americans might say.

Because his methods of charming her were so ill-received, Skye was unable to look past his assumptions to see just how beautiful the man was. After being exposed to so many different types of people, the girl was beginning to recognize the unearthly beauty of the fae for what it was. And unfortunately for Raphael, not only had she bad experiences with European men, but she also wasn't very fond of faeries thanks to a more recent experience here in America.

The more she thought of it, the less she liked the male gender as a whole. They were all a pretentious group of boisterous children prancing about believing they had something to flaunt. She looked down her nose at the man in disdain, turning away slightly to enjoy her wine.

{Don't be nervous. Today you get to learn what sort of guy he is!}

[Raphael Romanée]

Raphael looked at her and laughed. She was sharp, like a thorn. But she was a thorn attached to a rose, and Raphael knew very well that to appreciate a rose, you had to suffer it's thorns. He smiled.

"You 'ave fire. Most people would be deterred by such a... heated reception." he paused, raising an eyebrow. "Owever, I 'ave suffered worse from men and women." He said, sipping his wine, duly noting that she had decided not to drink to her own health. He got the feeling that he was very much unwelcome in her company, but, he chose to stay. If he was in a place where no-one accepted him, then he might as well not be accepted by a pretty girl.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed. He missed his home - the verdant fields, and the smell of sweet plants and flowers. A place he could casually pluck an apple from a tree and everyone would simply walk past and wave, whether they knew him or not.

Whereas here, he was stuck with the dirt and grime, and unfriendly visitors and population. There were no fruit bearing trees in the city, and he was given strange glances wherever he went. He hated New York. No; He hated America. He had been around the country before on his travels, and he had been turned away time and time again. THey'd told him to go back to his own country. His customary reply was; "Oui? I'm sure many a cherokee would say ze same thing." More than once he had narrowly avoided a fight after saying that.

He realized that not all of america and it's people were bad. He simply had a habit of finding the obnoxious, unwelcoming, unforgiving ones. And it was not beautiful. Not at all.

"You cannot say zat we are not similar, madame! You do not know me, and I do not like to be judged. You are entitled to ate me when you know you have good reason to." He said, hoping that logic would make her a little more open to becoming frinds, at the very least.

{{OOC:So sorry it took a while, FF deleted my first post and I had no muse. I'm usually a pretty fast replyer.}}

[Skye Malizia]

"I don't hate you," Skye retaliated, trying to figure out why this stranger was trying to antagonize her. He was doing a good job - making an untrue statement she felt dignified to correct. "Like you say, I do not know you. But the same is true for you - you know nothing of me, therefore cannot claim we are similar. Unless these similarities you speak of are eyes and hair and arms and legs."

He was right about that fire though. She hadn't realized how much she'd been missing a good debate. She usually wasn't one for confrontation, but Skye always had a ready opinion of something, and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind when her thoughts were called upon. Raphael was provoking her, but he was also making her feel a little more alive today. A little more impulsive. And a little bit annoyed.

She threw back the remainder of her wine and slid it across the counter, tapping the table top to get the bartender's attention. Skye wanted another one, as it might help get her blood hot if the faerie kept pushing her buttons.

She hooked her heel on the stool bar, as though digging in for a long conversation. The brunette now took the time to examine her verbal sparring partner, noticing that he was indeed very pretty. Perhaps a little feminine. There was something very specifically not human about him. Perhaps he was referring to her being Gifted, when he spoke of similarities. Maybe he had one of those gifts that naturally attracted women. But that wouldn't make sense either, because although Skye found his appearance easy on the eyes, she wasn't going to go out of her way to gush about it. He was handsome, for sure, but he wasn't attractive in the sense that he attracted Skye. He sort of reminded her of...

Oh dear. Her mind made the connection. She'd been right to assume he wasn't human. It was because he was a faerie. Memories of a faerie boy falling in love with her leaped to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps her subconscious was already aware of Raphael's species, and therefore contributed to her immediate distaste for the fellow. Whatever the reason, Skye ceased to dissect it. What good would further analysis of her feelings do her?

[Raphael Romanée]

"Well, it does not seem zat way to me." He said, almost sourly. "An' you are from ze continent, non? You don't seem very... American." He said, with a cough, as she drank her wine too quickly for his tastes. "We are similar in zat way." He sipped casually at his wine rolling the flavour around on his tongue. He carefully looked at her. Maybe he had barked up the wrong tree. Maybe she really did want to be left alone. But the way she appeared to steel herself - it proved to him that whatever she wanted, she expected him to stay, and so stay he shall, he decided.

"An' for ze record, I never said zat you 'ated me. Only zat you shouldn't, just yet." He smiled a simple smile. She wanted to play games - he could do that too. He appeared for all the world to be a blundering French man, but you didn't get to be as old as he was without getting at the very least a little wiser.

"Don't think too little of me, madame." He asked, running a hand through his light blonde hair. The light in the room was a little too bright for his personal taste, so he asked it to let up a little, and it suddenly got a bit darker. Not so much darker that seeing was made hard, but dark enough that his eyes had to adjust slightly to the change. "I am just a poor French man roaming ze world for not ze first time, and ze life a vagabound can be quite lonesome." He paused for a second. "I would not want to you think ze worst of me." he said cautiously, finishing his wine. He shrugged off the jacket he was wearing, before straightening the creases out of his shirt, and folding the jacket, and placing it on his lap.

It was quite old, and the colour had faded a little but he loved it. It was soft, and loose-fitting, but tidy at the same time. The sleeves were lined with golden thread, woven into an intricate pattern, which he absolutely adored. And, of course, the clasps were amethyst, like the subtle ring he wore.

His shirt however, was greyed, and the tie he wore was stuffed full of pins, and had bits of material stitched to it at random. He regarded her archly, almost daring her to comment on his strange style of dress.

[Skye Malizia]

"I am Italian," Skye confirmed, though she wasn't going to go into detail how much her people differed from the French. Every corner of Europe thought they were unique, special, and most often superior to every other country on the planet. The Italians were no exception, but Skye was one of the few that took more pride in her current location than her heritage. She loved being Italian, don't get her wrong, but she loved America and its ways ten times more than she enjoyed living at home. She often thought she was an American girl born into an Italian family.

She ignored his clarifications and requests, inwardly cursing him for ruining the taste of her beloved wine. She usually preferred sipping it slowly, like him, but she was loathe to offer another reason for him to think they were 'similar'. Something about his claims made her rebellious - she wanted to go out of her way to prove him wrong. Because even though she was beginning to like bickering with him, she still didn't like him, and comparing herself to something she wasn't fond of wasn't her favorite hobby.

Before he spoke about being a poor vagabond roaming the world, the lights flickered and dulled. Skye associated darkness with intimacy, and was not a fan of his adjustment. She'd seen something like this before; Aaron Staar, the faerie boy that fell in love with her, had the ability to manipulate light. At least, that's what she assumed he could do; sunlight always followed him wherever he went. So, even more impudent than before, she did her own trick and 'adjusted' the light, inserting the illusion into Raphael's mind to make him think the lights ignored his request and burned even brighter than they had before he interrupted. No one else would notice the bright lights - they still saw the dimmed effect Raphael requested, which wouldn't be odd. Perhaps a light had gone out above them. Skye herself was still in the dark, but her illusion bathed her and the counter top with light Raphael apparently wasn't a fan of.

"Why would I think worse of you?" She answered his question as innocently as she could. The bartender returned to fill her glass, and she lifted it to her lips, wondering how, if this man as as poor as he claimed to be (and his worn and peculiar choice of dress suggested he was), he could afford the lovely Italian wine she indulged in. Had he not looked at the price? Oh no, he'd just shown up, identified the wine she was drinking like a true European wine snob, and asked for the same. She wondered how smooth he'd be once the cheque arrived.

She recognized his removing of his jacket for what it was, and that raise of his eyebrow further invited her to the challenge, but she refrained. Sure, she was burning with curiosity, wanting very much to examine his tie further - was that a small pin of the Italian flag she saw on it? - but she felt that he was likely pompous enough to bring up the subject himself. It was only a matter of time, she decided as she took a small, slow sip of her second glass. The wine was very powerful, and she wondered if she should order a risotto or a traditional pasta dish to go with it. She arched a brow in Raphael's direction.

[Ollie James Eldridge]

Raphael saw the light around him grow brighter than before, and winced. It wasn't that he disliked the light, at all, he loved the light more than anything else, however, he found the level of light in this room to be almost unbearably garish. He sighed with contempt, and gave Skye a knowing look. If she was the one changing the light, then she'd think that he knew exactly how she was doing it. If not, then she'd be totally oblivious to what was happening at all.

The lights around him gave a somewhat innocent flicker, and he shrugged. They seemed to tell him that they'd done what he asked. He looked at Skye, trying to re-asses her. If she had a talent like himself, or a gift, then things might turn out rather differently.

"Because a French man zat comes to sit next to a pretty girl in a bar iz usually up to no good." He declared firmly, in answer to her question. He re-filled his dwindling glass, and sipped casually again at his wine. He was actually rather fond of the wine, and he was thankful that she'd picked one like that.

"Italian, eh?" He said after a pause. "Ze last time I waz in Italy..." He trailed off, tyring to remember when he was last in Italy. "It waz a long time ago now," he said, with a frivolous little laugh, "I seem to remember staying near a master violin maker." He said, wistfully. "It was in Cremona. It was ze best thing to wake up to." He said, with a sigh. This talk of the continent made him long for his home, and a bottle of Romani wine, and a big fire, and a cat, curled up on his lap. It also made him think of children. He wasn't quite sure why, though. He frowned, and drank some more of his wine.

He was on his second or third glass now, and already he could feel the effects trying to muddle his head. But Raphael was an adept at drinking, and he'd built up an ability to ward off the effects of alcohol, until he'd really drank a lot. He assumed also that it might have been something to do with his race, but he could never really be sure.

He played about with his cuffs for a second, buttoning and unbuttoning them, before rolling them up, to stop himself fidgeting.

{{OOC:"Every corner of Europe thought they were unique, special, and most often superior to every other country on the planet." Less 'o that, thanks xD We aren't all like that you know! And wales is tucked away in an especially far-flung corner of europe!}}

[Raphael Romanée]

Raphael saw the light around him grow brighter than before, and winced. It wasn't that he disliked the light, at all, he loved the light more than anything else, however, he found the level of light in this room to be almost unbearably garish. He sighed with contempt, and gave Skye a knowing look. If she was the one changing the light, then she'd think that he knew exactly how she was doing it. If not, then she'd be totally oblivious to what was happening at all.

The lights around him gave a somewhat innocent flicker, and he shrugged. They seemed to tell him that they'd done what he asked. He looked at Skye, trying to re-asses her. If she had a talent like himself, or a gift, then things might turn out rather differently.

"Because a French man zat comes to sit next to a pretty girl in a bar iz usually up to no good." He declared firmly, in answer to her question. He re-filled his dwindling glass, and sipped casually again at his wine. He was actually rather fond of the wine, and he was thankful that she'd picked one like that.

"Italian, eh?" He said after a pause. "Ze last time I waz in Italy..." He trailed off, tyring to remember when he was last in Italy. "It waz a long time ago now," he said, with a frivolous little laugh, "I seem to remember staying near a master violin maker." He said, wistfully. "It was in Cremona. It was ze best thing to wake up to." He said, with a sigh. This talk of the continent made him long for his home, and a bottle of Romani wine, and a big fire, and a cat, curled up on his lap. It also made him think of children. He wasn't quite sure why, though. He frowned, and drank some more of his wine.

He was on his second or third glass now, and already he could feel the effects trying to muddle his head. But Raphael was an adept at drinking, and he'd built up an ability to ward off the effects of alcohol, until he'd really drank a lot. He assumed also that it might have been something to do with his race, but he could never really be sure.

He played about with his cuffs for a second, buttoning and unbuttoning them, before rolling them up, to stop himself fidgeting.

{{OOC:"Every corner of Europe thought they were unique, special, and most often superior to every other country on the planet." Less 'o that, thanks xD We aren't all like that you know! And wales is tucked away in an especially far-flung corner of europe! Apologizes for the mishap}}

[Skye Malizia]

Skye kept quiet whilst Raphael reminisced over his last visit to Italy. She enjoyed being ignored even less than being given too much attention, but she held her tongue and let him carry on with his memories.

It was then that Skye decided she would stay awhile, and she indeed ordered a heavy pasta dish to compliment her wine. She wouldn't purchase another glass - it was fairly expensive, after all - and she slid it away from her so she wouldn't be tempted to finish it before her meal arrived. The young brunette's eyes flickered to Raphael's tie again, and she could feel herself giving in, until at last... her curiosity defeated her pride.

"You have very different fashion sense," The observation might've sounded condescending if genuine confusion didn't color her words. "I have never seen something like this before."

She allowed her eyes to further investigate the array of decorations that were scattered about the piece of fabric. If she were to guess, he'd adopted a trinket from every country on the planet! What must that be like? Skye wondered, imagining the adventures he must have had.

((I'm well aware. Everything I write in rp is Skye's opinion. Strictly IC. Also, there's a delete option if you want to remove any post. Didn't mean to offend, but her opinion sticks.))