2024-12-17 - Tell Me Tales

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Hi, this is your secret admirer

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: Batman?

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: kidding kidding. 😀 ... hi Layla, it's nice to hear from you.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Oh I guess I wasn't that secret

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: I haven't received a secret admirer text in the year I've been here. So I suspected it to be you. 😀

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Oh God am I that obvious?

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: A little bit. The meeting at the rink stuck with me. Being obvious and confident go hand in hand.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: I've never been accused of being too subtle, at least

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Do you have a free evening this week? Winter show rehearsals are eating up most of my time but I wanted to see if I could carve out time to get together

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Or if you'll give me a sense of you schedule maybe I'll swing by wherever you work, return the favor

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: I have a couple of certifications to renew.. CPR, First Aid.. etc etc. Standard-issue stuff. I'm never really off-the-clock but I do have time to myself between situations. I could make Wednesday work?

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: God - you're ALWAYS on call?

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Maybe I'll swing by wherever you are Wednesday evening? I can bring dinner

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: I am.. but it's rare that anything REALLY awful happens. There's other medical staff about. 😀 .. and that would be great.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Perfect, just let me know day of where you are and I'll come over after rehearsal!

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: As long as you're okay with me looking very gross and half-dead

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: hush, you'll be just fine. Trust me, I know what half dead looks like and you aren't it.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Oh shit that was a dumbass thing for me to say I'm sorry

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: lol it's fine, promise.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: I'll see you on Wednesday then!!

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: I look forward to it!

Wednesday rolls around.

It's late afternoon when Layla sits down during the break from her rehearsal and texts Mireille again.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Alright, Miss Merry. Where am I meeting you?

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: How about Lucky's?

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: I love Lucky's! I can be there about 8 if that's all right.

It's just after eight PM that Layla arrives to Lucky's, having come immediately after her rehearsal ended. Well, almost immediately - she made sure to shower at the Ice Palace first. She cares far too much about what Merry thinks of her not to get rid of the post-workout sweat.

The raven-haired woman peers inside, glancing around for Mireille. For her part, she's dressed comfortably: on top, a puffy black coat and underneath, a long-sleeved purple top in a tech fabric that's partially zipped up, her black sports bra peeking out underneath, and black leggings. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, with a few black strands framing her face.

[TXT to Layla] Mireille: Lovely. I'll be there in 10.

[TXT to Mireille] Layla: Perfect. I'll grab a table!

The peek inside fetches no viewing of Merry.. but! It doesn't take long for her to arrive just AFTER Layla, who perhaps went to sit off-to-the-side in that awkward place where servers place people when there's no room!

And it is now... 8:05pm.

Precisely when a one Mireille Wright-Auclair comes gliding into Lucky's, and she is as classy and well-put-together as one might expect: a knit Bardot top, the color of an overcast sky; slate gray slacks; compact, tidy flats. Her hair, too, has been recently washed and groomed and for the occasion has been cinched up into a lengthy ponytail that flows along the line of her spine. The nature of her walk, one can see those ballet lessons of long yore are still in practice.

It's not difficult to miss Layla, looking so dynamic and striking in black and purple. She approaches with a fond expression, "Sorry for being a bit late. I hope you haven't been here long?"

When Mireille arrives, she'll find Layla waiting in a booth on the side of the room, tapping away at her phone as she waits. As soon as she spots Mireille, the raven-haired woman stands up and comes out from the booth, eyes widening and cheeks going slightly pinker (already somewhat pink from the chill outside).

"Oh my God. If I'd known you were going to look like this, I would have gone home and spent a few hours getting ready. I look like a barbarian in comparison to you," she moans, looking Merry's outfit over. Layla tries not to ogle but wow - Mireille does, in fact, look good (and very classy). She pulls Mireille into a very quick and light hug before stepping back and sitting in the booth again.

"Sit, sit. I wasn't waiting long at all - only arrived a few minutes before you did. I hope work wasn't too crazy?"

"You look absolutely fine, perhaps I am the one who is overdoing it." Merry hastens to reassure, and she means it. "This suits you. You do not look like a barbarian, mayhaps like a modern day.. warrior princess?" Does that make sense? Mireille is not accustomed to dealing compliments... not out of a personality flaw, but because of her line of work. Always having to be 'on'; professional; calm; collected. Etc etc. But her tone and expression say it all: she means it.

Leaning into the brief hug, the nurse cranes her neck forth into a couple of air kisses just over the performer's cheekbones: one, two, light as butterflies. She also smells nice: Burberry Brit, to be precise.

When bid to sit, Merry does just that, setting her bag and cardigan down at the far edge of her seat. "Today was not bad... it's the calm before the storm of the holidays." Blue eyes twinkle, "Will you be remaining here, over Christmas?"

"Oh my God. You're going to make my ego grow to insufferable levels if you keep saying I look like a warrior princess," Layla laughs, grinning. She pauses. "Well, more insufferable. And besides, out of the two of us, you're clearly more of a princess. I can easily see you as a Grace Kelly kind of princess."

For her part, Layla smells clean and simple - having showered not too long ago, she carries the scent of lavender shampoo. Those cheek kisses don't do anything to reduce the rising heat in Layla's cheeks, which are still pink as she sits.

"Glad to hear it. I'll be with my folks in Detroit for some of Christmas, but I can't spend too much time away this year - the winter show will be up and running, and I want to make the most of it all." Layla smiles, leaning forward and resting her chin on a hand. "That's what I was rehearsing just before I came over. You're more than welcome to come to any of the shows, if you want - I can get you good tickets."

"Well, you do." Mireille persists, her blue eyes sparkling mirth. It's damned-near impossible for this woman to NOT speak with her gaze... but there you have it. And those cornflower blues are affixed to Layla, admiringly. "Grace Kelly! Goodness, that is a compliment! I.." Handwave, "Thank you. I loved her in High Noon.. she was quite a lovely presence in the film industry before she married up." Grin. Merry has no designs on ever meeting (and wedding) royalty!

By now, both ladies settle into their seats and it doesn't take long for a server to come by to collect the drink orders. Mireille, of course, chooses some manner of white wine with a hoity-toity-sounding name.

"I would love to come by, to see one such show. I would be happy to pay top dollar for a seat, if it means supporting your art." Merry tilts her head, pensively. "Your folks must be over the moon, regarding what you can do."

For Layla, her poison of choice proves to be bourbon, served neat. She grins at Mireille's fancy choice, but doesn't comment on it overtly.

"For someone doing everything that you do, I'll get you front-row seats. You're important." She grins, raising an eyebrow. "Has nothing to do with my desire to bribe you. Nothing at all."

Het smile softens, dark eyes meeting the blues of Merry's. "You're sweet. My parents have always been really supportive. Traveled around the States with me when I was starting to tour. They'll definitely swing by sometime to see one of my shows."

Her smile widens, turning wicked. "Maybe I'll introduce you to them. They'll love to meet their future daughter in law."

Blush.

Poker-faced blush, which is even better. Such a Merry-vibe.. which makes it all-the-more poignant.

"You are incorrigible." She manages, and by then the drinks are delivered, "My parents won't be able to make the trip here, so it will be a Zoom visit. But I would enjoy meeting your folks, if they are around and about. I am certain they have stories." Merry's lips quirk up, innocently. "Plenty of them, if I am to surmise."

A slender arm extends, bearing the glass, "Cheers, to our new friendship." Then she pours wine on her fluster with one big gulp!

Poor Mireille. Layla smirks as she spies Merry's blush, chuckling softly. "I know, I'm the worst - sorry, darling." She snorts. "There would be plenty of stories, and few of them good. Maybe I should be careful about when you see them. Might put you off of hanging around with me."

She extends her own glass, clinking it against Mireille's with a grin. "To our new friendship. May it be long and fruitful." Layla takes a deep drink.

"How about we make a trade? You give me one of those stories your parents would tell me, and I give you one in return?"

"That is wonderfully fair." Merry offers with a radiant grin, setting her drink down as she recollects a... 'story'.. from her youth. OK so, what tale would suffice? There are plenty that her parents chew on like a cow would their cud... surely?

Even graceful, composed Mireille was once a bone-headed little kid who did weird shit!

"Dog food." Wait, what? Sipping her drink, she continues, "I was about four, so I'm told. I remember the taste more than the logistics. I had eaten about two fistfuls of dried dog kibble, wanting to see what the fuss was. Magnolia," Pause, "Our family dog," Clarification, "Loved it."

Merry clears her throat. "I did not. I threw up all over the Avon lady when she had come calling that afternoon."

As Mireille tells her story, Layla's lips continue to curl upwards, the delight clear on her face.

The end of the story actually makes Layla burst out in surprised laughter, dark hair bouncing as she shakes her head. "Poor little Mireille! They do make that stuff look so good sometimes."

Her brows knit together. "I mean, the stuff they fed us in the YPJ wasn't that different from dog food..."

The raven-haired woman clears her throat, catching herself. "Anyways. Thanks for the story - I don't think there's any way I could top that." Layla frowns thoughtfully, thinking back. "As for mine..."

She snorts under her breath, shaking her head. "When I was fifteen, I had my first girlfriend. Was crazy about her, and kept her secret from my parents. They thought she was 'just a friend,' and so had no problem with her coming over. One time, we hid in a closet to kiss..."

Her cheeks go slightly pink. "My sister came over and opened the door, and we fell out onto her, with my parents just down the hall. That's how they all found out I liked girls."

One can tell by Merry's body language that telling an embarrassing tale about herself is.. not typical of her. Her back straightens briefly as she studies Layla's reaction; she relaxes, then, at the laughter. Though, even as Layla laughs it up, the young nurse sobers some at the mention of the YPJ. She'll have to circle back to that one...

Layla was in the Protection Units...?

---

As the performer gears up to share her own tale, there is a group sitting two booths down where one of the young ladies in the flock (of about four) exclaims in surprise. "Brenda! It's... it's gone!"

"What's gone!?"

"My toe! It's better!"

"The one you stubbed!?"

"Yeah! How--!?"

---

If Merry overhears the residual effect of her magic, she does not let on. Blue eyes brighten with mirth at the climax to Layla's recollection, and her own laughter peals across the table.

"I hope they were supportive..?"

That laughter Mireille earns a chuckle in return from Layla, her cheeks still rosy. "It took some getting used to for them, but they came around. It used to be the kind of where they were like it's okay for other people to do it, but Kurds aren't queer, you know? But once it was clear that I really was..."

She shrugs. "Then they became supportive. My mom still wants me to settle down with a wife and get some kids, though. She'd murder someone to get grandkids."

Layla definitely notices the people in the booth down from them, glancing back curiously before looking back at Mireille. "How are you and your parents? Do you stay in touch, and have they come to see you out here yet?" She pauses, contemplating whether to continue before evidently settling on fuck it.

"Where you're from in Maine - is it a wealthy area? You totally don't have to answer, it's just-- I don't know. You genuinely have this, like princess vibe. Not in a bad, entitled way, but in this elegant, subtle way. It's honestly really hot." Layla pauses again, cringing. "Sorry. That was too much, wasn't it?"

A serene smile creeps across the medic's near-patrician features at mention of 'kids' and settling down. "Is that something you would like, someday?" Mireille asks with open, easy curiosity. The way she watches her conversational partners, in so personal an exchange, makes one feel as if they are the only two people in the room.

As for her own situation with her folks, her smile grows soft and reflective, "We get on quite well, my folks and I. There were some.. times... in my adolescence where my mother and I knocked heads. She had high expectations of me, but... she cooled down when I hit my twenties." No need to expand upon the 'reason', but did a flicker of.. something.. flit across her features? Uncertainty? Either way, "They've not been here, yet.. but hopefully in the New Year, I can surprise them with travel plans.." Merry trails off, seeing the rumination in Layla's expression... the clear signs of trying to muster the gumption to say something.

And oh, she does.

Merry is one of those wretched people who look lovely doing... most anything. Even crying. Especially blushing. Lucky bitch! Right now? She pinkens, "Orono is a University town, with a bit of old money spread throughout. But I would hardly consider myself to be.. heh, ah.." Blush. "No, it's quite alright. That was very sweet of you. Your life is far, far more storied and dynamic, I must say."

Normally, a question like that would raise Layla's hackles, bringing well-established walls back out. However, it's Mireille asking - which changes everything. Kind, sweet, curious Mireille. When it comes to her, Layla finds herself helpless, telling her anything and everything.

"Honestly?" she starts, glancing away for a moment as she thinks, before meeting Mireille's gaze again with her dark eyes thoughtful. "I used to think I would never settle down or have kids. Neither one sounded like something I wanted, all throughout my twenties. But now that I've gotten to do the things I wanted to do, like traveling the world and doing what I love as my career... Those things sound a lot more appealing. I'm still not sure how I'd do as a mother, but I'm a lot more interested in trying now. As for settling down?"

Her lips curve into a wry smirk. "Would take the right lady to tie me down, but it's certainly possible."

God, the sight of Mireille blushing does things to Layla, continuing to make her fall more and more helplessly for the medic. She's just so, so lovely. How could Layla resist?

"I mean, I'm hardly from money myself, so I don't mind either way or the other. I'm just overjoyed to have found myself a princess," the raven-haired woman chuckles, taking a sip of her drink. "And thank you for the compliment. You end up with a lot of stories when you're chaotic and throw yourself into random things all over the place. Plenty of stories I'm less proud of in there, too."

Blessedly, Mireille is accustomed to 'walls' in discussions and how best to address them. Rarely does it work out to scale these walls, but that doesn't stop her from investigating the masonry.

There is absolutely no ill-intent in the elegant-looking woman's countenance, only curiosity however, when Layla opts to share, Merry sets her glass down and leans in to listen, those otherworldly blue eyes holding Layla's own mysterious, dark ones. A little nod of that headful of honey-brown waves, "It's cliché, but true. It takes finding the one." A gentle swirling of her wine glass, "It's important to go all-in without doubt. No child deserves to come into a union where there is even one iota of doubt."

As for the right lady to tie her down, Mireille leans back and pours another swig of wine on her nerves. "The right one is out there. When you are both ready." Spoken in wisdom, not in a fluffy overly-optimistic platitude.

'Princess' has Merry just about choking on her drink, and with a deep breath she peers up from beneath her lashes. "I played Princesses frequently, in the dance." Wait, what? A breath, "I did ballet... the bread and butter of all moneyed families." A weak attempt at a joke.

Even the miniscule walls Layla erects don't last very long, as Mireille's gentle interest eases any nerves the ice skater might have. Honestly, she finds herself getting lost in Merry's ludicrously blue eyes, missing some of what the other woman says. "Yes. No doubt. Agreed," she echoes quickly, latching on to one of the bits she did catch. "You're sweet, though. I appreciate that a lot. I guarantee that you're plenty of people's idea of the right one."

That glance up from beneath long lashes combined with the flush? God. Layla can barely handle it.

She definitely notices Mireille nearly choking on her drink, which earns another grin from Layla as she lifts her own drink to her lips. "A fellow ballerina! I can easily imagine you as one. You're so elegant and graceful - it explains a lot." The raven-haired woman gives Merry a once-over, looking over as much of the medic as she can with her sat in the booth. "When was the last time you performed?"

Merry? The right one?

With all of her hang-ups and That Unfortunate Business that marked the shifting of her priorities to... to... ahem. She straightens; it's easy to see the manners that were bred into her -- hammered into her skull -- in how utterly neat she is, sitting there.

Her color does not abate beneath Layla's praise, "It has been quite some time." Merry admits, "Since I was.. eighteen? Nineteen? It was before I started med school and therefore had to jettison some hobbies to make room in my mind for medicine." Her smile is rueful. "Life happened, not just school.. and the dance had to be put aside."

"I mean, our winter show this year is ballet on ice - we're doing Swan Lake! The roles aren't all ice-skating-based, so maybe we can get you something!" Layla teases, grinning at Mireille.

"We'll find an opportunity to dance, I promise. We'll make something happen." She winks. "Let's bring some of those hobbies back!"

---

Throughout the rest of the evening, Layla remains overtly flirty, though staying careful to be courteous and polite. She isn't going to scare the flighty medic off just yet.