Commence the most awkward sort-of-date

[keephimtalking]

Who: Aranea and Lantar!
Where: Movie Theater!
When: Night!
What: Valentines event! So movie date? Sort of date?
Warnings: Nada! Will add if something comes up.

[Closed to Aranea]


When glaring suspiciously at the envelope doesn’t resolve his problems or get him out of the cold, Lantar eventually gives in and peels it off of his door before quickly stepping inside.

He sets the groceries down and tugs his scarf off, turning the little piece of paper over in his hands before slicing through the top of it with his thumb claw, turning the contents out on the dinner table. The movie ticket garners an even more suspicious glare. The note gets another one for a good measure because it’s not like he has a shortage of glaring power going on here.

Now, Valentines is not a Thing that Turians celebrated. He doesn’t even remember anything about it from the his memories of growing up in this weirdass town. The closest he’d come to hearing about it was from Montague once, as a… joke? No. He remembers an awkward attempt at helping Ripper woo Weaver with a ‘Valentine’s’ letter. The Asari ended up setting in on fire along with a bit of the man’s hair for a good measure.

Which doesn’t really bode well for any of this.

And yet, somehow, he finds himself at the local theater a bit after his shift ends, a few minutes before the allotted time. He’d let Malia try closing for the night and kept his cell on vibrate, just in case anything went awry.

Just using up the free ticket, Lantar tells himself. It’d be a waste otherwise.

There’s an awkward moment where the man kind of just- hovers ominously near the entrance, fidgeting with his scarf. He can feel the staff watching him and heat crawls up his neck. Eventually, the pressure gets too much and he just sidles over to go peer at the movie posters instead.

At least Aranea isn’t going to have a hard time spotting her, er, ‘date’.

Comments

[unweaving]

Coming as she does from a place where saints Aren't A Thing, Aranea has no such trepidation about a Valentine's Day invite. The day means nothing to her; what does get her attention is free, which just so happens to be one of her favorite things. It's also weird, just like so much other stuff about this place, so she can't help taking the bait. Best case scenario, she finds something out. Worst case scenario... hey, free's free.

Of course, she damn near forgets about looking into things when she spots the guy (???) hovering near the entrance. She comes to a stop mid-stride, damn near tripping over the heel of one of her boots in the process. Shiva's frosty nipples, what?

"Uh, wow. Hi."

[keephimtalking]

The fringed, bird-like head swivels sharply around and Lantar peers down at this new human from somewhere above the mass of fabric obscuring most of his cowl and face. The gaze is suspicious initially, perfectly paired with the equally suspicious momentary bout of silence.

And then it shifts, slowly, to something a bit more awkward and unsure, eyes slipping groundwards and sideways, breaking line of contact.

"... Hey."

There's another pause here, the man shifting his weight uneasily before sighing quietly and eventually.

"You got the other ticket?"

[unweaving]

Well, that's unsettling as all hell, but also -- she has to admit -- kind of cool. Even his voice sounds a little strange, but she figures that makes sense coming out of a mouth that clearly isn't human. And he's acting like everything is normal, which is enough to get her to tamp her curiosity down a little and at least try to be civil. She can't read his face, but the body language says he's uncomfortable. Wouldn't do to have him taking off before she finds out what the fuck he is, so she pulls a ticket out of her coat pocket with a little smile.

"Sure do. Aranea."

[keephimtalking]

"Lantar."

He's still getting weirded out by the local humans acting like they've never seen a Turian before. As far as he could remember (and it was still pretty patchy) he'd always been something of a background fixture. Background to Corstine here in the Pines. Background to the various gangs that came and went through the drinking hole he'd worked at on Omega. Background to... to...

Blue. He remembers blue. The name's on the tip of his tongue, on the edge of his mind. He can feel the shape of it against his teeth. Try as he might though, Lantar can't... piece it together.

Shaking off the sudden, peculiar sense of disconnect, he refocuses on Aranea.

"There's 'Dumb and Dumber', 'Titanic', 'Urban Legend' and 'Mimic' " he says, jerking his head in the direction of the posters. "I'm leaning 'Mimic' just for the non-human costars."

[unweaving]

"I've lived Dumb and Dumber," she says, eyes settling on the poster, words popping out before she really has time to think why. And that's a pain in the ass, but sadly not unusual these days, so she shrugs. "It's not as much fun as they're trying to make it seem. Mimic. Let's do it, Lantar."

Which is, really, the best she can do as far as trying to act casual. Whatever he seems unsettled about it's not himself, and contrary to popular opinion (there it is again, a little thought that escapes before she can run it down; popular with who?) she's not actually in the business of being a jerk just for the sake of it.

"You want popcorn?"

[keephimtalking]

That makes Lantar crack a smile. Or, well, the Turian equivalent of a smile. His inhumanly bright eyes slant at the edges, head tilting a bit to the side.

He can't really comment much on the subject: he's pretty sure he'd been the 'Dumber' of the number for the most part, somehow.

At the offer for popcorn, he shakes his head.

"Go ahead and get yourself some. Nothing here's dextro-friendly."

The ways Lantar says it makes it sound like he's talking about the everyday peanut allergy.

[unweaving]

"Well that's bullshit. You should have the same access to crap that tastes like buttered styrofoam as the rest of us."

It's a joke, but there's a little part of her that's genuinely ticked off on his behalf. Who arranges something like this and then sends a guy somewhere he can't eat the food? Although...

"Might be a stupid question, 'cause I don't know what dextro is, but can you drink the same alcohol as humans?"

[keephimtalking]

That's a bit out of the blue there. Arching a brow-plate at her, Lantar is quiet for a few beats, trying to figure out what she was asking.

Was she asking what sort of alcohol here that he could drink? Or was she asking if she could drink alcohol at all? That's a bit weird. Of course he can drink alcoholic stuff: all known species could drink alcoholic stuff. That was pretty common sense... wasn't it?

"... I can drink vodka?"

You know, water and ethanol.

"Alcohol's, uh. Neutral? For dextro and levo? Except for the ingredients that are in the drink." Rubbing the back of his neck, he puffs air through his teeth. Yeah, Lantar's never really gotten a formal education, much less anything chemistry related.

"Dextro's like, opposite of levo. Or something. Like, we're made of different stuff. I mean, basic rule of thumb is that you don't eat things that come from another planet unless it's specifically labelled as your species friendly, you know?"

[unweaving]

For all the stopping and starting through his explanation, she's nodding along, genuinely interested in what he's saying. And she might give herself away a little when he says another planet and her eyes twinkle -- bingo, he is an alien, Prompto's going to flip when she tells him -- but all she says is:

"That makes sense. I don't mean to be an asshole about it, it's just where I'm from we haven't had... what do they call it in sci-fi? First Contact?"

And that trips her right the fuck up, because she's from here. Right? But there's something pushing there, a memory of somewhere colder that she can't quite grasp. She shakes her head like that'll clear it, and shrugs at him.

"...I have no idea why I said that."

[keephimtalking]

"... But... I've always been..."

Here.

... Right?

Lantar's expression closes off, mandibles tense against his jaw. The suspicion creeps back into his eyes, but it's not directed at Aranea this time.

Of course they'd had First Contact. If they hadn't then he wouldn't be here. There's no way, it's not possible for humans to not know about Turians when he was standing right in the middle of one of their freezing, backwater human towns.

Right?

He closes his eyes and slowly, quietly inhales. All the staring, all the people asking him what he was, the nurses, the doctors, the other patients-

"I don't think they're going to allow drinks in the theater," Lantar remarks very, very quietly. "If that's what you're asking."

[unweaving]

It's deeply unsettling to see her own discomfort mirrored on a face so different from her own, but in a weird way it's also strangely comforting. She's never seen anyone like him, but he'd shown no signs of feeling out of place in anything other than an awkward social way until she'd fucked up. Selfish, but seeing a reaction at least tells her she's not crazy.

"Right," she says, almost wishing she was the kind of person who's good at comforting people. It's only a token effort, but: "I probably shouldn't be drinking anyway. Got in an accident, hit my head pretty hard."

That feels like a shitty sort of a lie, though, so she shrugs and inclines her head to where that creepy notice is posted. The same notice that's in all the businesses around here -- hers included.

"Well, no popcorn, no booze. Hope it's a good movie."

[keephimtalking]

His eyes slide towards the sign and he stares at it for a long while before sighing and turning away, running his hand over his head wrap and fringe.

"Oh," he murmurs absently, thumbing the scarred-over exit hole in the side of his temple, hidden under the fabric. "Didn't know you were supposed to avoid booze after a head injury..."

A little awkward that, considering his job.

Idly tapping his mandibles against his jaw, Lantar drops his hand down to his hip and nods in agreement with her, glad for the topic shift. This movie night was going downhill before it'd even started and he's not entirely sure how to salvage it. He's not entirely sure a movie's going to distract either of them from the sudden, howling existential crisis, but at this point, he's willing to give it a good try.

"We've got, uh, ten minutes?" A quick glance at the scheduling confirms it. "We can go grab some seats."

Not that there's a lot of competition for seats at this hour. He's seen all of two people milling around the theater outside of the stray, bored looking staff.

[unweaving]

"Oh, it's not a medical thing. It's an I'm already making an ass of myself, better not push it thing."

She's not going to pretend she doesn't like to put people off-balance intentionally from time to time, but shit. It's gotta be hard enough walking around here looking like that without her putting her foot in it on top of things. It's her version of an apology; that and dropping the subject, nodding easily when he suggests finding seats. And that's about the extent of her manners, which she demonstrates by striking off and clambering into a middle seat towards the back rather than asking his preference.

"So tell me: what's a valentine, and why's there a whole day for it?"

[keephimtalking]

There's a beat and then Lantar puffs a very soft laugh as he drifts after her into the theater proper.

Alright. Weird apology accepted.

"Far as I can tell, it's some kind of Terran couple's... thing," he shrugs, folding the armrests up before sliding into the seat next to her, careful to make sure his arm didn't end up in her face. "Don't really know anything about it otherwise. Not really a thing I grew up with."

Both in his memories of Pines and his memories of Omega.

The leg room was pretty terrible: Lantar ends up half curled up with knees pressed against the backrest in front of him hard enough to make the chair creak. Whelp.

[unweaving]

She watches him folding himself up into the seat with something bordering on admiration; it looks like it's taking a lot of admiration to cram himself in there. There's a half-moment where she considers suggesting moving to the front, but nobody likes sitting in the front, right?

"Just stick your feet on the seat in front. There's like three other people in here.

If it's a couples thing, why is someone sending out invitations to people who don't know each other? Seems kinda creepy. Plus, I'm married, which seems like it would have been a kick in the pants if you didn't look like there were about seven places you'd rather be."

[keephimtalking]

Lantar grumbles and refuses to stretch out his legs.

... It lasts about ten seconds before being followed by another bout of heavier grumbling and then more creaking as he stretches his feet out over the backrests, careful not to shred anything with his spurs. He doesn't look any less awkward, but at least he's comfortable.

"You're asking the wrong person about that," the man sighs quietly, resting his fringe against the top edge of his cowl, watching the trailers roll. "I'm just and alien trying to make sure the ticket weren't going to get wasted."

It IS creepy though and especially with her admission of being married. Last he checked, humans weren't so culturally receptive to polyamory and the people who organized this clearly know that Valentines was a Terran couple's day. So what the hell?