need a little sweetness

#vintage vendor #damn she does NOT have the upperhand in this conversation #LOL

A “marker”? A “warning”? That sounds dire. [And it does. Aren’t pet names supposed to be for fun? She had never fathomed them having utility beyond sounding cute before...] I mean, I get what you’re saying, but that’s an...odd way to put it. [Scratches the tip of her nose.] What if someone were not to heed your warning? What then? [Narrowing her eyes.] ...Would you attack them?

[She glances to the long forgotten slice of cake and winces at the sound of “honey-wumkin sweetie-pie.” Honestly.] ...Honestly...? [Grumbling:] Are you for real right now...? There is no way you’ll ever get me to say those words.

[Looking at his fingers, she reluctantly nods. Apprehension swells in her gut.] Fine. What is it? Hit me with it. [She sits back in her chair.] A-And make it a little more fair this time...!

Here Comes the Anxiety [Mistel/Dolce]

[Too good, too good! That flush of color, that flustered reaction– that’s exactly the sort of thing he misbehaves for! He nearly cackles with delight, shifting in his seat - scooching a bit closer, but tamping himself down all the while. A pleasant smile, a serene sort of casual calmness - that’s how this game is played, after all. Keep it up, keep it up!]

“Fluffy stuff.” [He repeats the phrase, as though trying it out in his mouth. Is he better at “fluffy stuff” than she is? Sounds like a jab to his masculinity when put that way, really. What exactly does “fluffy stuff” entail? His mind supplies the alternative: romanticism, ah yes, that’s something he’ll admit to ascribing to in droves, thank you very much.]

That’s fine, of course. I’d expect nothing less, one ought to supply a pet name for a pet name. And look– listen how easily it rolls off the tongue: [He clears his throat.] “Oh, I don’t know, kitten. What do you think?” [He bats his eyelashes, pleased with himself thus far.] And you’ll reply– “That’s just fine with me, wookums.” That’s just the way it’s got to be, I’m afraid.

[Scratches the side of his nose again. So solemnly.] I suppose I’ll also settle for “prince charming.” Ah– or “stud muffin.” That would do nicely, as well.

#vintage vendor #daaaaaarliiiiiiiiing

[She wants to crawl into a hole and just. Live there forever. That or shrink into herself, somehow, some way. If someone could just brew up a potion that’d let her do just so that’d be great right about now...]

“Wookums”... [she mutters.] My gods. That’s worse than anything I could ever have imagined--

[She shakes her head at “prince charming.” Then “stud muffin.” She scowls deeper than she’s ever scowled in her life.] --How do you even come up with this stuff? No “prince charming” I know could ever force a lady to say -- to say “stud muffin” to his face. In a public place, no less. [She pouts.]

...Don’t you have any other preferences for names? Something reasonable. Like. I don’t know -- [Tugging on her earring.] H-Honey? Or -- sweetie -- [Ugh, how gross to say those words out loud! She purses her lips.] ...Darling...?

Here Comes the Anxiety [Mistel/Dolce]

[He’s a little surprised she agrees to his insane demand - and he wonders, casually, quietly, his expression a calm, level smile all the while: how far does he have to push to get a reaction? How much pushing will she allow before she pushes back? It’s a wildly inappropriate time to be curious about this sort of thing, but he’s already indulged his lack of willpower thus far. It’s harder to put something wild back into its cage once it’s been set free, after all.]

[Ah, the justifications one makes for being an awful person! But even under the twitch to misbehave there’s a quiet buzz of insecurity that wonders, softly, annoyingly: isn’t it good to push too far now to avoid heartache later?]

Oh, no, visiting hours and types of food are all well and good– for a clinic, perhaps. But I’m not a clinic. [He smiles at her refusal to be a puppet, scratching the side of his nose idly.] Well, certainly. A relationship ought to create rules in a mutually beneficial fashion. There’s the implied, of course– that to be exclusive means exactly such, without flexibility, that sort of thing. But what I mean to get at is..

[He pauses for a moment, trying to craft a silly rule on the fly. He hadn’t even thought of anything up until this point, had never even conceived of an actual rule he even cared enough about to enact, and now his brain casts around for something ridiculous to prod her with. After a moment, he continues just as sincerely as before.] … Well, for starters, I’ve absolutely got to have something to call you. “Ms. Dolce” simply won’t do, so it’s got to be something that lets others know you’re off limits to them, yes? A pet name. I’m thinking– [And he’s reaching for top shelf levels of ridiculous, now:]

… “Kitten”. [Nods solemnly.]

#vintage vendor #debated the pet name 'fluffy honey boo boo bear' but i just #couldn't do it

Right. [She nods in agreement to his first point, which is just practical. Very necessary indeed. She would be as happy with an open relationship as he would, which is to say not very happy at all.]

[In anxious silence, looking at her hands clasped before her, she awaits his next point. Gods, what’s taking him so long to spit it out? Her eyes dart to his face, and that’s where they stay when the next rule spills from his mouth. Which she most certainly is not staring at. Which just uttered the most -- ridiculous word she’s ever heard--]

Wait. What? [Her brows furrow as the word “kitten” echoes in her head.] What? I -- I -- [Words fail her, and she can feel her face start to burn at the sudden number of images that flash across her mind. An accessory shop. An inconvenient arousal. A tease here, a blush there-- ] I--I--

[She starts to shake her head for good measure.] No. No. Common pet names, nicknames, okay, but-- to literally call me that? A-And in public? No. Absolutely not! Unless -- [Unless what?? How can she counter such a name? She reaches, her startled mind almost too paralyzed and confused to conjure up an equally horrendous pet name for him.]

Uh -- unless you let me call you -- I -- I don’t know! Something equally embarrassing! [She gnaws on her bottom lip.] It’s not fair. This isn’t a fair game at all! You’re -- you’re way better at this -- fluffy stuff -- than me.

Here Comes the Anxiety [Mistel/Dolce]

[He stares quietly as she produces an obvious lie - and smiles, slightly, as the truth follows it a moment later. It’s all very interesting, he thinks, this lying– this nervousness for lying, or for simply being near him, perhaps. He’s not sure what exactly he’s doing that’s lending itself to so much nervousness, but he thinks it probably has something to do with his own uncertainty.]

[Her rambling is interesting, too - and for some reason, her obvious disease puts him more at ease. Thank goodness for things that make life easier, even if they’re at poor Dolce’s expense.]

I think I’d be awfully impolite if I said I’d prefer you’d craft a gift after my own preferences. I ought to be grateful for the gift at all. And for your company. [Smiles wider.] Which I am, by the way. Both are a very lovely surprise, and most certainly welcome.

[There’s a moment where he visualizes two roads splayed out before him - the more sincere, more genuine of the two inclined toward making his guest– and girlfriend, he reminds himself– feel more at ease with him. He’s a hospitable person; he always has been. He knows good etiquette, knows how to be a good host, knows how to make someone comfortable in his shop and in his home. He likes very much to think of himself as having an enormous skill for it, in fact.]

[Who knows why he takes the other road, then, diverging almost violently from that first path. The temptation is too great for his stunted sense of willpower, perhaps.]

Though you’re right, you know. It’s probably very important that we focus on how you ought to behave, now that this relationship has become somewhat more serious. [He leans back in his chair, setting his fork down in favor of folding his arms in front of his chest - smile not even so much as twitching out of place as he flawlessly feigns sincerity.] In fact, I’m glad you brought it up. There are quite a few new rules we ought to establish, don’t you think?

#vintage vendor #laughs #what is this

[There’s relief in hearing that he welcomes her company. Ah, such sweet relief. So her surprise trip isn’t a burden, and he doesn’t resent her for imposing upon him for no other reason than to just...see him. To look at his face. Gods. What a stupid notion that is, to visit someone just to look at them? Even though looking at them is anxiety-inducing, what with all these fluttering sensations in her stomach.] Oh, good. Good. Good...

[She waits on bated breath when there’s a slight pause in their conversation. Then she looks at him, watches as he starts to speak again.] Uh... [Oh, shit, he’s setting ground rules now? Is this--is this normal in a relationship?] Oh. Right, of course.

[She shifts in her chair, discomfited by the seriousness in his tone.] Okay. Yeah. Rules. Like -- what kind of rules? About visiting hours? Because I can call or text ahead next time. And if you have special requirements regarding what foods you’d prefer, I can do that. [She pauses, wondering briefly on why she’s being so accommodating. It’s not normal (again with that word, “normal!”), but perhaps it’s just the nearness of him that’s getting to her. Again, she can’t seem to think straight now, sitting next to her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who’s in total control of the conversation -- ]

...But, of course, I get some say in creating this new rules. Don’t -- Don’t think you can dictate all of my behavior. [she manages to say, crossing her arms.] Um. I’m not a puppet on a string, ready to bend to your -- your every whim.

dannysgroceries

[Danny/Dolce]

dannysgroceries

The girl looked cool under the shade of her parasol. Danny couldn’t help but be a little jealous for the amount of shade she was getting. It was pretty warm out today. He had nothing against good weather, but when it got hot like this, it wouldn’t be long before he could become unsociable.

“The general store huh? Yeah I guess that’d make sense. Since you’re going there anyways, it’d be helpful if you brought me there. It’s not far from here, is it?” Ah, well, it wasn’t like Danny could do anything about it even if he did have a long way to go. He extended his hand, deciding to introduce himself properly. “The name’s Danny by the way. Who are are you?”

#oh man i'm sorry i missed this!#dannysgroceries

She shook her head. “No, it’s not far at all. It’s just a couple of blocks down.”

She met his extended hand with her own. How formal an introduction he was making! It certainly left an impression on her -- he was much unlike the usual sweaty, tired traveller she’d bump into around town.

“It’s nice to met you, Danny,” she said.” I’m Dolce. I work at the clinic.” She readjusted her grip on the parasol’s handle. “Follow me.”

Starting toward the store again, she looked to her new walking companion. “Where are you from?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you in town before.”

[Mistel/Dolce]

[He’s taken aback slightly by the tumble of explanation that comes along with his light prompt to share. He stares for a moment, his smile fading slightly around the corners - the hand holding his fork hanging awkwardly in the air in front of him. It seems curious to explain so much - even more curious for Dolce to be doing so.]

… [He takes another bite of the cake he, too, has little appetite for - and he ponders her as he does so, ponders her even as she turns her explanation into a question. He’s slow to reply for how deeply he’s pondering, taking his sweet time in forming a response.]

[Finally, at length:] … I’ve been well, thank you. I’ve had quite a lot of free time to spend thinking, and I’ve been doing my fair share of it. [He watches her as he talks, then continues fluidly, casually, conversationally:]

I’m making you a little nervous, aren’t I?

[She’s satisfied to hear he’s doing well, though isn’t that what normal people reply normally to a normal question? She frowns slightly at her own overthinking of this situation, her anxiety only amplified by the fact that he doesn’t seem to be feeling out of place at all. There is certainly nothing in his tone to suggest so.]

Uh...no. No. [She lies, for it’s easy to lie. But she doesn’t really have a good reason to lie other than not wanting to admit that he’s right.] ...Okay, yeah. A little. I don’t know. [She fidgets a bit in her seat and stares at the cake. Tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.] I’m not sure I know how to...behave, now. I mean -- what have you been thinking about? Is it even alright for me to come visit you out of the blue? And gods, I shouldn’t have brought cake -- you’d said once that you didn’t...prefer sweet things if you could help it. What’s your favorite food? Not that I care...but I do.

[Yikes. She’s rambling, and she can feel warmth spread around her neck and chest area. Is this a natural reaction to have to another person? She can’t remember. When was the last time she had been this...sensitive to another human and his presence? She decides to just not talk anymore. Perhaps the fluttering in her stomach will resolve itself that way.]

[Mistel/Dolce]

[He lets himself relax once he’s tidied up a bit - making small, neat piles on one side of the desk, turning the area into a table for the contents of her box. He pulls up a chair as well, to sit beside her - feeling a little odd for sitting in a spot he’s not especially used to despite this being the desk he sits at every work day. But then again, this whole thing feels a little odd in its own way– it’s hard to pinpoint the source of the strangeness to any one source.]

Ah, thank you. [He takes the fork up from the napkin, leaning over to examine the cake before having a bite. His appetite has plummeted out of his stomach since the moment she’s walked in, despite how oblivious he is to her lack of appetite, as well - but it really is a lovely cake, and lovely of her to bring it, too. It would be rude not to eat now, especially if she’s got the fork ready.] It looks delicious.

[He takes a bite obediently, savoring it, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he does so. He wonders while his mouth is full - how the process went, how much Dolce’s would-be-mother knows about him. The conversation they may or may not have had while said cake was baking. How intentional was it of a gift from all parties involved? Curious, curious.]

It is delicious, [he concludes after swallowing. And smiles.] Too delicious not to share. You’re not sharing with me?

#vintage vendor #ups the awkward ante

[She tries not to watch as he takes a bite -- that’s a rude thing to do, after all, watching other people eat. And there’s something to be said about how steady her self-control has gotten, for she doesn’t even sneak a glance. She stares at the piece of cake he had stabbed into instead, and when she hears his assessment of it, she smiles.]

I’m glad you like it. [She looks to him now and swallows.] Ah -- um, I’d like to, but I think I’ve had my fair share already. [She pats her stomach and then glances at the cake.] ...Besides. I don’t really have an appetite right now. I don’t know why -- [The words sort of spilling out:] -- I mean, I still enjoy dessert, but sometimes I have difficult concentrating on eating all the other meals of the day. Not that I’m sick or anything. [Though she supposes it’s a kind of sickness, isn’t it? The awkward anxiety of being away from someone whom she spends a great deal of time thinking about and is now only amplified by his presence.]

Um.... How -- How’ve you been? Since I last saw you?

[Mistel/Dolce]

Not at all, go ahead–

[He takes a step back, hovering awkwardly– before turning and heading up the stairs after a slight delay. It’s a few minutes before he reappears, looking no better for having taken a few minutes to compose himself– yet still, he sets a steeping mug of tea down on the counter for her when he comes back.]

[He then spends a few seconds tidying his desk, pushing the puzzle and a few of the things he’d been working on earlier in the morning to the side - his own tea warming his hand as he does so.] Sorry for the mess– here we are–

[She takes a seat and waits a few minutes in contemplative silence for him to return. The vibe of their reunion had felt a bit awkward, and she wonders for a moment on whether he wants her to be there at all. It’s not like she had interrupted any event of import -- and she’s here now, and she’ll have to brave the awkwardness.]

[When he returns, she looks to him.] Oh, thank you. [Wraps her hands around he mug and takes a sip as she watches him tidy.]

It’s not a problem. [She sets her mug down and reaches for her basket. Pulls out a box, within which is a large slice of red velvet cake. She also takes a fork out, which she sets atop a napkin in front of him. She considers taking another fork out for herself, but in the moment, sitting next to him, feeling tense, she can’t seem to find her appetite.] Please, enjoy the cake.

#outfit of the day #aka dolce's #wardrobe #is a bottomless pit

[Mistel/Dolce]

Oh. [He blinks, looking down to the basket as she lifts it - and repeats:] Oh! [And threads his fingers through the hair on the back of his head.] That’s– very kind of you. Both of you. Thank you.

No– no, not busy at all. [He smiles, awkwardly– picking up the puzzle he’d been playing with before the knock had come at the door.] I was trying to solve this, actually. … [Thinking better of it, he puts it back down again with an awkward laugh.] Shall I fetch something to drink from upstairs, maybe?

Oh, yeah, it’s nothing. We bake all the time. But it wouldn’t do for us to eat it all ourselves, so...

[She looks to the puzzle, an eyebrow cocked. She doesn’t question its presence or the fact that he had been solving it, however; she’s well aware of his love of all things brain-twister.] I hope I didn’t interrupt your chain of thought, if you were onto something.

[Nods.] That’d be great. [Sets the basket onto the counter.] Do you mind if I have a seat?

[Mistel/Dolce]

vintage-vendor:

[The knocking catches Mistel in the middle of attempting to solve the three dimensional puzzle his sister had given him - and he’s confused at first as to where it had come from. After a second or two of thought, it seems likely that it’s the front door– and a second knock confirms that.] Oh–

[He sets the puzzle down, standing to check on the shop’s visitor (a delivery, maybe? Who would knock?)– and subsequently is caught standing awkwardly behind the counter as Dolce opens the door slowly.]

… Oh– [Smiles. Blinks.] Hello–! Hi! You’re, ah. Hello. [Remains standing, looking a little like he’s unsure what to do with himself.] I had no idea you were visiting.

[She stops in front of him and returns is smile rather sheepishly.] I’m sorry for showing up unexpectedly. Um. It’s just that I had baked some cake -- well, not me, but Nancy had with me, helping -- and I wanted to share some. [Lifts the basket slightly.] It’s red velvet.

[Clearing her throat.] I...figured bringing you food was a good pretense to visit, too. To. See you. [Looking to her feet.] ...Sorry again for barging in on you. [Glances around the store.] I hope you weren’t busy...?

#lol awk #vintage vendor

Meow [Mistel/Dolce]

[He bobs his eyebrows briefly.] Ah, yes. Or one could simply trade “blackmail” for “sharing”, in that case. It works just as effectively toward that end, I think.

[She doesn’t react much to his prodding - and he runs his tongue along the front of his teeth, a little dismayed by it. Something to think about, he decides, how to ramp his behavior up a touch– it’s not a good sign that she’s so used to him already. And to think that their “relationship” is just starting out– in name, at least.]

[Spontaneity, that’s got to be the key. Surely it must be. That, or he’s not laying it on thick enough.] Careful. I might read that as a challenge.

[He comes to a stop as she does, glancing up to the door and back to her.] You’re welcome. [And he runs his fingertips through the back of his hair, soothing the scalp he’d been so recently protective of - still feeling somewhat at odds with the events that led to him standing here, feeling the sort of things he does. The discomfort still lingering definitely needs sorting out. After a short pause, he clears his throat.]

I’ll see you soon, then. [Smiles, then takes a step back.] Sooner than later, I hope. [And another.] Do think about the, ah– [He points to the space above his head, grinning widely.] –the headgear. I promise not to be taken quite so off guard next time. ♪

[And he snickers, before turning to take his leave.] Have a good evening!

[The thought of Mistel taking her up as a challenge is thrilling, she must admit. She’s also certain she’s not going to be able to match him eventually, when the challenge gets out of hand -- just the way it had a few moments ago, with him threatening revenge and her having nowhere to hide.] ...Nope, still not scared. [She licks her bottom lip.]

[She watches him touch he back of his head, and she’s tempted to reach out, touch his hair. There are a few strands threatening to obscure his field of view, and she’d just like to sweep them away. But she refrains.]

Yeah. I’ll see you soon. [Her lips twitch into a smile.] I’ll sleep on it.

[She waves at his retreating form.] Bye, Mistel.

Meow [Mistel/Dolce]

[He’s silent for a moment, his mind dipping into uncomfortable places in his recent memory. Then, he offers gently:] I suppose you’re right. Then again, good chemistry isn’t necessarily any indication of a promise of exclusivity.

[He’s surprised momentarily by the redirection of her touch - glancing to her curiously as she touches the back of his neck, rather than his arm. It’s not an area people often touch– indeed, people so rarely touch him at all– that he’s surprised at the sudden impulse to pull away, to protect the scarred scalp just slightly above her palm. He quashes it, of course, doesn’t so much as flinch - but it’s a curious feeling just the same.]

[But then he smiles, to be called an “idiot” again. He laughs, too.] Why on earth would you want to go and learn a thing like that? It’s a waste of a skill if you ask me. What possible benefit can come of it? No– it may make me an idiot, but I’ve already decided never to share a blessed thing that’s mine, so long as I live. And I suppose you’re now among the things I’ve no intention of sharing, then. ♪ [Grins.] Just a bit of forewarning.

#vintage vendor #much appreshuate

[She rolls her eyes at the warning. It’s not like she hadn’t already suspected he’d be a handful, though that term “thing” is...interesting, to say the least. What a way to describe a girlfriend -- though perhaps he had simply been using a turn of phrase and hadn’t meant anything by it. She decides not to mention it anyway.]

Sharing can be a good thing, Mistel. It can earn you favor in the eyes of other people, for instance. It can make people feel they owe you something -- which in and of itself isn’t a good thing, but it can be useful...

[Shrugging.] But I suppose -- sharing a partner in, uh, in a relationship isn’t for everyone. [She returns his grin with a cocked eyebrow.] I’m not intimidated by your threats, in case you were wondering. You can’t possibly be worse than Pico.

[At the clinic door, she stops and turns to him.] ...Thanks for walking me home. [A pause.] ...I appreciate it.

heaveninawildflower

Decorative cover of ‘Mary Jones.’ Published by the American Tract Society (1848).

archive.org

#sweet things #queue

naoiminka-blog

#wardrobe #outfit of the day

Meow [Mistel/Dolce]

[He’s happy to give her his arm when she takes it, happy to be allowed the pleasure of escorting her, despite how awful he’s been. As she begins talking again, however, he leaves his “awful” act behind. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to tease her about something like this, exactly.] …

… Um. [It doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable to be so blunt about it, though - even if he feels she deserves it.] I don’t think it’s wrong to be traditional. I like that you’re traditional. I like to aspire to, ah– being traditional, myself. But, um.

[Frowns.] … I think perhaps if you’d have wanted to see other people– in this day and age– you’d hardly owe me your commitment unless you’d actually offered it. And given, uh– the circumstances– surrounding that night– [He frowns harder.] … I think I’d come to expect that maybe– taking things slow meant– figuring out if you’d still be just as interested. Without. You know. The potion thing. I thought maybe we were waiting to see if that’s where this was going, I think. I guess.

… [Sighs, composes himself, and presses forward. And while his tone is lighter, it’s no less serious.] Though, to be completely honest with you, I’d be quite bitter over the whole thing if you’d have seen someone else. I’d have pouted, very probably. Refused to speak to you for a while, certainly. Despite knowing full well what you’d owe or wouldn’t owe. I– … don’t like to share.

[Ah. So that’s what he had been thinking regarding the labels thing, and now that it’s all out in the open, she breathes a bit easier. Thinks a moment in silence on how to answer. When she finds her words, she looks at him again.] Oh. I see. I guess I just thought...um, that with what we’ve experienced, potion or not -- that the, um, the chemistry was real enough for this to have been, I don’t know -- a label-worthy relationship from the moment we decided to take this slow.

[Shrugging.] Not that it matters now. Since we’ve reached that point. Of labels. [She clears her throat as she sees the clinic draw nearer, nearer in her field of vision.] ...Thank you for explaining your side of it, though. Really. I guess I hadn’t realized how...how differing two people’s opinions could be on their relationship.

[She smiles at the thought of him pouting. What an adorable mental image. She gently unlinks her arm with his and reaches for the back of his neck, squeezing there softly, affectionately.] You’re an idiot -- and you do give off the “I don’t like to share” kind of vibe. I guess...I’m kind of the same. I never had to share anything growing up; it’s a skill I’m still trying to learn.

Meow [Mistel/Dolce]

Hmm. [He follows her gaze toward the almost-sunset, pondering what time it must be– agreeing, he supposes, with her assessment that it is getting late, and is probably time to be thinking about going home. Parting ways. Returning to the slog that is travelling. How sad– but how equally appealing it sounds, to spend the next several hours of transit letting his memory have at it with that fine toothed comb after all.]

I suppose you’re right. [Smiles to her.] Some time to think on it will undoubtedly improve upon the poetic justice of it all, no doubt. It won’t be quite as satisfying if it’s not severe and appropriately fitting.

[Thinks for a moment, then clears his throat.] I don’t suppose it’s out of the question to suggest I walk you home, however? ♪ I promise this request is entirely unrelated to said revenge.