[log] pleased to meet you

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It isn't easy, planning around Argine's health. Now and then, after all, she simply can't keep an appointment, simply needs to stop and sit, simply stops being a Ten and a mother and becomes a woman struggling against her own mortality. There's a good deal of hoping when it comes to setting dinner dates. A good deal of hoping in general.

But tonight was going to go well. The date had been set a week in advance, and was going to stick. The former Queen has been resting all day, her former Ace hovering and attending with nervous energy. The kitchens had been more than happy to pull together an early meal for three, to drag a table up to Argine's quarters and find a comfortable chair for the woman to rest easy in during an extended conversation. Everything is falling into place. Eileen should be ecstatic.

Is, in some ways. And is also starting to get ridiculously nervous, the way a young person gets when introducing their significant other to their only living parent.

So as the hour draws near, Eileen worries. Frets. Helps her mother pull herself properly into the semblance of the regal woman she used to be and get her settled in at the table. Argine's tsk is soft as she smooths her daughter's cheek, tells her to run along and get ready, not worry so much about an old woman.

She barely sees herself in the mirror as she throws on a bit of makeup, runs her hands through her hair ineffectually and calculates that she doesn't actually have enough time to change out of her usual fare.

Goes to loiter nervously at the door and wait for CJ to arrive. Maybe stealing a kiss before bringing him in will soothe her jangling.

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[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

He'd done his best to dress up (http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mch5xcykBm1r0zbgeo2_500.jpg). He'd even worn a tie, which he rarely bothered with, except for church. He was nervous too, meeting the sick mother of his girlfriend. The girl with whom he'd lost his virginity, and whose virginity he'd also taken, simultaneously. It was hard to sit in a room with Eileen, when it was just the two of them. Because he loved her, and wanted to touch her all the time, and kiss her and... other things.

But he'd have to be on his best behaviour, and that was going to be a little tough. He'd manage, but he also was a little nervous as he made his way from his parent's suites to theirs. He'd brought flowers, not roses, that would be too romantic. He'd wanted to get her something vibrant and youthful (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-smzYXOb4oGw/Tgd13HJk8mI/AAAAAAAAB5U/phAU_FXhisE/s1600/flowers+bouquets.+%25284%2529.jpg) but he'd chosen something else, a mix of wild flowers with a lot of greenery (http://thepurpleseed.com/home/myownclo/public_html/thepurpleseed.com/wp-content/uploads/store/prodimages/1629300193433146.jpg) because he knew that Eileen preferred herby things to flowery things. He wanted something prettier than just something almost entirely herby and too plain, like just lavenders (http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumblarge_289/1216113732v39y9P.jpg). But it had been a hard decision to make, once he'd been in the florist shop.

He adjusted his tie, and exhaled as he turned onto their hallway, and all of his nerves melted away when he saw her. She looked more dressed down than him, and he almost worried about that, except he ran the last few feet and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her firmly, letting all his anxiety melt into the embrace.

"Eide..." he whispered against her lips, caressing back her hair. "... Hi"

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Seeing him is a fairly instant sort of relief. Because for all she's nervous, for all she's built this up to epic and painful proportions in her mind, it's just dinner with two of the people she loves most in the entire world. Of course it will be fine. Of course CJ will be his usual charming self and her mother will adore him.

It just helps her to believe it to see him appear around the corner, tie on and flowers in his hand. Helps to have him all but run to her, catch her up in his arms like it's any other day and kiss her the way he always does.

She clings carefully to his jacket, melting into the kiss for just a moment, smiling much more easily as they break apart. "...hi."

And then she has to pull away properly, fix his coat where she's rumpled it, wipe carefully at the light sheen of her lip gloss on his lips, brush at a few errant hairs out of place.

"You look fantastic. It's perfect."

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He grins, chuckling under his breath as she muzzes, tszujes and generally fixes him up. He kisses her fingers, as he rubs the lipstick at the edge of her lips with his thumb, murmuring "Thanks, I messed up your lipgloss, sorry."

He adjusts his collar. "The shirt's ok?" He hands her the flowers, kissing her cheek, murmuring "For you. I hope you like 'em... you're hard to buy flowers for." He winks, and slips his hand into hers, squeezing her fingers and taking one last final deep breathe, sighing. "Ready?"

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"Who cares what I look like, nn?" she tsks, fingers turning to drag through her own hair again. "You already agreed to go out with me."

Or, well. Wanted to kiss her for a year and, after finally doing so, convinced her that 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' were not terrifying words full of voodoo magic that would wreck a person's future and ambitions.

"The shirt's good." Looks incredibly sweet on him, actually; dressy without losing the person she knows he is. The flowers, however, are pushed back lightly as she takes his hand. "Give them to Mother, nn? She'll love them."

And that would be another point in his favour. In a minute.

She needs another few seconds to breathe.

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He laughs, kissing her knuckles "I like you, no matter what you look like. But it's nice that you're so sexy and beautiful. Helps."

He looks at the flowers in his hand "You think so? Should I have gotten flowerier flowers? Or is she the reason you like plants better than flowers?" He raised an eyebrow and squeezed her hand again. Out here was safe, comfortable territory. He'd be happy to wait here with her as long as she wanted, because it meant not going inside, and under a dissecting knife.

He said it again, because he wanted to say it, because he meant it, because he was so happy to see her. They'd seen each other less, since they got back from their vacation, and he was just relishing the nearness. "I love you."

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Out here was more than safe. Out here was what they already knew, the couple they already knew how to be. The pair who had gone to Spain and who watched movies on roofs and who had built models with glue sticks a million years ago.

There's a faint lift to her shoulders. "She'll just like that you brought them at all. And they are gorgeous."

His hand around hers is reassuring. His soft repetition of the three words she was struggling to say is soothing. Maybe she couldn't turn to him now and whisper it back, but she could do this--make him the man who was important, precious, dear enough to her to require bringing home to meet her mother.

"Let's do this, then."

The door is nudged open slowly before she tugs him inside. Argine's quarters are still quite exquisite, despite having stepped down from Queen nearly half a decade ago. Everything is old, antique, luxurious--the sort of rich and antiquated tastes that would have looked at home in the medieval castles of Europe. Much of it is from the Eichelns, crests stamped and lions emblazoned into nearly everything. It's what Eileen grew up with; comforting, in its own way.

Argine herself is seated at the small table, covered in simple and fairly bland food. There will be apologies, of course, but the Ten needs to keep a fairly uninteresting diet. For the moment, there's a cool sort of clarity in the former Queen's eyes, both brows arched in an expression Eileen often imitates without trying in the slightest.

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

He smiled, glad she thought so, even if she didn't accept them from him, even if she wanted him to give them to her mother, instead of her. But she'd get to see them, in a vase, either way. And that was fine by him. Whatever helped his chances. "Okay." Another breath "I'm ready." Now, or never.

He follows, led by the hand, something also familiar. But he's led her by the hand just as many times as the opposite. They've led each other by the hand so many times now, dragging each other into their present, into their future. This is them, helping each other through hard times, through good times, through a life now so blended together. A life of holding hands, kissing, snuggling, sleeping, eating, together as often as possible.

He looks around, taking in the richness. His own family has money, they've been around forever, but his dad isn't a Ramos and while their life is full of things it's not this lavish. They haven't had royal faces in a few generations. They Ramos tree is more about money than political power, more about faith and loyalty, leaning more towards being the strong backbone of the clubs than the powerful heads of it. They're Spaniards, working at the head is more stressful than simply being strong, dependable, good people. Too serene to step up into places that would merit this kind of lavishness and the work that went with it. It's a bit intimidating, and yet the Ramos estate in town is similar to this, with it's own crests of branches and towers which littered a lot of their older possessions. Strength and fertile wealth rather than the ferocity of lions.

He recognizes that expression and it makes him smile, genuinely, as he bends towards the seated mother of his girlfriend, murmuring that it's ok, he's a young man, he'll eat anything because his mother taught him well, and that, regardless, the food looks delicious. He offers her the flowers, murmuring hopes that she likes them and expressing a polite concern over her health.

"I'm Carlos Jose Ruiz Ramos, Señora, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." He says in his most polite voice.

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Letting go of his hand isn't an easy thing. Necessary, of course, so that he can speak with her mother and she can vanish briefly to fetch a vase full of water for the flowers. Eileen's fingers cling just a moment longer than they should before she lets go, moves momentarily to the other room.

For her own part, at least, Argine seems quite pleased with initial impressions. The flowers are accepted with a soft pleased click of her tongue--obviously picked with her daughter in mind, regardless of whom he was offering them to now. There's something reserved, of course, in her expression, never as open and excitable as Eileen often is, but an easily apparent smile on her lips as her fingers move carefully over the flowers.

"You as well. I've heard so much about you, mm?" Years of having served the Suit as Queen are still stuck in her motions, the slightly grand way she gestures to the chair on her left side. "Please sit. Thank you for agreeing to come this evening."

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

He holds just as tightly before their hands separate, and his eyes dart to watch her leave the room before turning back to Argine's face, his smile not leaving his features. And the mother's smile is reassuring, even after that soft click of her tongue. He's done ok, which is as good as he can hope for, and better than he feared.

"All good things, I hope?" he murmurs back. He takes the chair he's offered and plays with his tie, settling it against his chest as he gets comfortable. He pulls at his pants the way his father does, showing off his dark gray socks, the fabric bunching up against his thighs. He's just as much a victim to parental mimicry, here, doing what he sees his parents do when they have company over, when it's a bit more dressy. But its all subconscious, he doesn't know he's doing it.

"Thank you for having me, I know it must be an imposition. Your home is very nice, it's a pleasure to finally visit it." Well, visit more than Eileen's bedroom, having snuck in through the window. Clandestine.

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Of course Argine notes the slightly nervous fidgeting, forces her smile to soften further in response. It's sweet, after all, the way both the young people are clearly fluttering inside with nerves. It had been that way, all those years ago, when Edgar had first come to her own father's home as the boyfriend--and he, at least, had had the advantage of having already come around as the dear friend.

"Only quite lovely things," she reassures, leaning carefully to lift the water pitcher and fill his glass. "Eileen's been quite preoccupied with you."

A good and bad thing all at once. A lovely thing to see her daughter smile so joyfully; a mildly concerning thing to think Eileen might be distracted from her path back up to being Ace properly.

"And I'm certain it's not an imposition, Carlos," she tsks softly as Eileen reappears with a vase, takes the flowers from her mother and moves to the sideboard to pull out a knife and clip quickly. "I'm only pleased my daughter's finally seen fit to bring you around."

"It would have been sooner." Eileen's own voice is just a little tight, spine held with the exacting sort of straightness that looks more in place on the training field than most people hold themselves with family. "But you've been pushing yourself, Mother."

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

He can't help the instantaneous and almost irrationally happy question of "She has?" before he coughs and blushes, rubbing at the back of his neck "I mean... I'm sorry?" What do you say to something like that? He clears his throat "I know she has a lot of plans, Mrs. Eicheln." He stumbles a little on the name, it's not something that comes easy to him, so far from Spanish or English, he did try to practice it, but he still falters.

He raises an eyebrow and looks at her seriously "I don't have any intention of getting in the way of that. She should accomplish all her dreams." He means every word. He's very much infatuated with Eileen, but he wants her to be happy, to succeed at everything she wants, to become an ace. She's busy, and he doesn't pester her, knowing how much work she has to do to make everything she wants happen. He takes a sip of water, to be polite, and because his mouth is suddenly bone dry. It's a nervous gesture.

He blushes harder, grinning with a soft shrug. His eyes move to Eileen, watching her take the flowers, cut them, put them in the vase. He can't take his eyes off her usually, but he remembers her mother is looking and drops his eyes, embarrassed. He exhales, still a little nervous "She's a very serious girl, Mrs. Eicheln. She wanted to be sure, I think, that I wasn't just some guy... before she let us meet." He smiles, eyes still on the tablecloth, as he murmurs "I'm not, though. I care about her a lot." His words are soft, sentimental, before he looks at her for affirmation.

"I really want to try to make her happy... I know I'm very young... we're both very young, but I just want you to know I'm serious. About her... about us." the rosy hue to his cheeks, that goes up to his ears, doesn't go away. But he feels so strongly about this he just has to say it. He looks between them at the tension, and quiets down, unsure if he should interject. But he wants to, to defend Eileen, but he knows he probably shouldn't. So he just stays quiet.

Not sure I've ever mentioned, but Argine took her second husband's name, so she's Mrs Fioro.

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The faint smile doesn't leave Argine's lips as she listens. Quite a lot of parallels, really, to the man who had barely had a chance to raise his biological daughter. A devoted sort of young man, stalwartly Club-like in the best sort of way. Prone to rambling slightly when nervous. Quick to jump to the defense of the woman he clearly adored, no matter how he tried to keep his eyes off her.

Ambition could be encouraged. Comfort could be achieved. They were young--there was time.

Which she affirms, albeit in French, as she fills her daughter's glass with water as well as Eileen slides into her own seat across from CJ. "Un homme bien parlé jeunes, mon petit lionceau."

"Ne pas lui faire peur," comes the easy reply as Eileen lifts the bottle of wine from the end of the table to offer toward their guest. " S'il vous plaît, Mère." And, without missing a beat, continues, "¿Un vaso de vino ayuda con esta noche?"

It's going well, oddly enough. Likely not the sort of familial love he's used to; a more Germanic, standoffish affection between mother and child. But there's the faintest relaxation in Eileen's shoulders, a brighter sparkle of amusement as Argine reaches to begin ladling out soup.

"So," the mother resumes calmly, "tell me about yourself, young man."

nope, you hadn't! Should have had Eileen kick him under the table and mouth to him xD

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

He looked between them. He didn't speak french. He understood maybe 3 words of that, due to the romantic similarities, but the meaning was lost to him in the translation. A good man... something something something? Eileen's response was similarly undecipherable.

He looked a little grateful, and nodded "Si, muchas gracias" as he reached "Do you want me to do it?" His father always opened the wine, so he figured... he should do it? They were clubs, but he felt they behaved almost like diamonds with one another. Almost... standoffish, cold. It was strange to see this kind of relationship, when his own family was entirely the opposite.

"Uh... yes Mrs. Fioro" He cleared his throat and groped at his thighs, trying to think of what to say. "I am a 3 of clubs, and uh... I am a musician. I enjoy reading, building models, cinema. My father is a stockbroker, and my grand father Señor Ramos is the CEO of the bank here. My Uncle is the vice president. Um..." He looked at Eileen, a bit lost in what to say "I'm a catholic. My whole family is catholic."

The image of Eileen with flashcards of her family, quizzing him before bringing him to dinner. xD

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On the bright side, the Spanish seems equally bemusing to Argine. Everyone will have their language to hide in when the tense sort of nerves in the air get to be too taut.

His offer, however, is waved off as Eileen shifts to her feet again to uncork the bottle. He's the man in the room, perhaps, but he's also the guest. He's meant to be served. Another touch of Diamond in them, perhaps. Forged from being one of those hyper-traditional old families, maybe, or simply from the fact that Eileen had always been her fathers' daughter. Had never quite been her mother's top priority, much though they'd tried once the illness began to put in question how much longer Argine could reasonably be expected to stay in this world.

That he's a Three isn't such a horrible thing. That he comes from a well-established family is clearly a positive. There's nevertheless a slight pursing of Argine's lips, fingers pausing on her spoon and head tilting rather deeply to the side. "...a musician."

"A talented artist," Eileen is quick to add, flashing the faintest apologetic smile at CJ as she pours out his glass--and a nice large one for herself.

"I'm certain." Not that Argine sounds it remotely. "And Catholic."

Which isn't a problem, clearly, except that her own daughter isn't remotely a religious human being.

oh brother xD

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

Ok, he won't open the wine, he will just sit there as Argine looks at him and shoots down his 'profession'. He didn't introduce his family, his mother's last name was enough. Ramos. He reaches for his spoon to taste the soup, and sees his girlfriend defend him. He shrugs. It's not being an Ace, but he has to explain.

"My family allows us a certain amount of freedom until a certain age. If we can be successful at something of our own choosing before then, and can be fiscally independent, we are allowed to do it. If we are not, we are trained to join in the financial business that my family operates. My uncle is a dance instructor, and had two other professions prior to that where he was very successful. My other uncle is a priest, and the oldest works for my grandfather. I may not be a musician forever, Mrs. Fioro." If that's any consolation to her. if he'd become a toreador, like he dreamed of when he was a child, or a fireman. Would she also dislike it? More? Less? He can't know.

"Whatever happens, I do intend to be capable of taking care of her, Señora. No matter what I have to do to make it possible." He looks determined, serious. He knows that it's possible he will have to do a boring desk job, working with money. Probably a banker. But if that's what it took, he'd do it. Even if he overplayed his hand by admitting at a young age that he intended to be with her as an adult, married to her.

"Catholic." His religion wasn't an option. His faith in God part of who he was, part of his tradition. It was the root of his goodness, of his honesty, of his strength. But he would never force her to convert, even if his parents and grandparents might. He loved her how she was, no matter her (lack of) religion.

"Do you have anything you'd like to ask me?" he bent his head and placed the spoonful of soup into his mouth, eating quietly.

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It's working well, really, in Eileen's opinion. His explanation is tight, appropriate, exactly the sort of thing that gets her mother nodding along in complete understanding. Clearly going well.

At least until the quietly serious statement that he intended to be capable of taking care of her. Both women's spoons pause then, Argine's slightly lifted and Eileen's already in her mouth.

Of course Argine dips back into French as she murmurs, "Est-ce qu'il vous demande de l'épouser?" Hopefully far enough away from Spanish, although the content can't be overly difficult to guess. The shake of Eileen's head is instant. The press of both women's lips is nearly identical before Argine manages a calm, "I see."

A thoughtful moment of silence is required before she sets down her spoon and reaches for the water instead.

"And you're still in school, yes?"

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He doesn't know what he said, to make their faces both stop and their lips to turn into lines, identical lines. More French, and he raises an eyebrow, as he makes sense of it, before he frowns. "I haven't asked her to marry me." Not yet. He's 17, an adult by deck standards for 2 years now, but it wasn't time. Neither of them were ready. They both had so many things to do before that happened, including age a bit.

"We're dating, but I can still want to take care of her as my girlfriend..." you know? Buy her nice things, take her out to good restaurants, take her on trips to places she wants to see. It was still the same feeling, even if not the same delivery, the same effect.

He eats his soup, muttering to himself inside his mind, before he nods "Yes Señora, A student, in the advanced classes." Which was good for normal people, but nothing at all near the same level as Eileen.

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"And you do, CJ," comes the natural, quick response from Eileen, her lips lifting very faintly in a smile. He's a better boyfriend than any girl could possibly deserve--and still tended to insist he wasn't as good as she deserved. Her foot finds his under the table, nudges just slightly because she can't reach for his hand. "And would even making absolutely no money at all."

Which, really, is the sort of thing a mother has to admit is nice to hear. These two would clearly never be starving for love, but that didn't mean that the impulse, the depth of affection, wasn't important.

Argine hums faintly as she takes another sip of soup, more approving than anything else, particularly as he continues. Most young people didn't quite reach Eileen in academic matters--but then, she was a fairly exceptional polymath with the benefit of having had excellent private tutors. "And you'll be going to university, I expect, in not too long?"

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He did it now, murmuring "I try, I will do better." as he returned the smile. He rubbed his foot to hers but didn't defend he couldn't get her all the nice things she deserved if he didn't make money. Not that he was making much money now. It was also too embarrassing to say where someone other than Eileen could hear.

He ate his soup, blushing faintly. He wished she was beside him, not across. But maybe it's better she's across. Though he wants so badly to hold her hand.

"Yes, in Spain. In a year, after I graduate. Universidad de Sevilla" It was the third highest ranked school in all of Spain. It offered bachelors, masters and PhD programs in a whole assortment of things, including finance. Sure it was 50th in European ranks but it was the school most of his relatives went to. "I will double major in finance and a humanities curriculum. And will remain there for the duration, except during holidays." He sipped water.

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Its rank is unknown to Argine, of course, but there's nevertheless a pleased sort of smile as she nods, carefully sets her spoon aside--of course, only prompting Eileen to refill her mother's bowl. A hopefully more visible display of concern, affection.

"Finance and humanities." Obviously approved of, if the former Queen's tone is to be trusted. "You'll be taking courses in Spanish, then? Are you entirely certain you'll be returning to us once you've completely your degree?"

It's not a particularly intriguing question, but something hearing her mother ask it makes Eileen smile. More than likely it's because she knows exactly what the answer is.

Of course he'll come back to them. To her.

[jovencitobaston.livejournal.com]

Finance was mandatory if he was ever going to do anything at the bank or with his father. Humanities for himself. Music, language (so he could speak with Eileen in more than English and Spanish), and literature so he could talk to her about some of the books she'd already read. "For the most part" he agreed, and the next question had him looking at Eileen as he said rather meaningfully "Yes, definitely."

He wouldn't even consider any other choice. He had to come back, because he had to be with Eileen. And if she was going to be Ace, they wouldn't be going anywhere else.

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It's a nice balance, really, to do half for one's family, for formal expectations, and half for one's genuine self. Something surely both women present could approve of--did approve of, from the bright flicker of Eileen's grin and the more subdued smile on Argine's lips.

And Eileen's face, at least, lights up just a little brighter at the affirmation. Of course she won't lose CJ. Whether this managed to stick as long as they both thought it would or not, one of her oldest friends would be coming back. They'd keep holding hands for the rest of their lives.

Just not right now with her mother watching.

"Isn't that lovely," Argine hums softly, lifting her spoon but not quite taking another bite. "Your parents must be quite pleased. You have brothers and sisters?"

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His lips twitch into a smile, the radiance of Eileen's face too much for him to handle without smiling. She's so beautiful, happy, sitting there across the table from him. It takes a moment for him to snap out of it and answer her mother.

"I think they are pleased." He chuckled softly, "They haven't told me otherwise" at least not about school. About Eileen? They had a few reservations. "I do, a little sister. She is almost 6." She was born the year he'd met Eileen, actually. Just a few short months later.

He finished his soup, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "But I have a lot of cousins."

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And that, really, the two of them grinning at each other for a moment like there's nothing else in the world, isn't something a mother can argue with. Little things can be worked out later. First love is first love.

They'd work on his parents' reservations next. For now? They were doing quite well chipping away at Argine's. The knowledge keeps Eileen's lips curved up happily as she nudges the salad bowl toward him, nods at the shepherd's pie. Bland and not horrible varied, largely starchy, but filling. The sort of thing that would stick well to a person's bones in the more Nordic tradition.

"I'm certainly they'll miss you terribly while you're at school." Argine's eyes flit briefly to her daughter before settling on their guest again. "Have you spent much time in Spain?"

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He takes the salad bowl first, smiling at her as he serves himself a portion, and then a portion of the pie. He doesn't have food phobias, like mixing things on his place. Or any sort of pickiness. He'd eat anything, as long as it was served to him. Even if he did have favorites when he went out to eat and ordered for himself.

He didn't take much of either, his stomach in butterflies, a little too nervous to eat much.

"I will miss them, too." And Eileen, his eyes said. Eileen more than anyone. "I have visited with my family a few times, and the trip we took together." He picks up his fork and spears some greens with the tines. "But not much, overall."