Commissioning a Symphony in Awkward [Done!]

[Bee]

It had been some time since Senka had moved out, and Ezra hadn't really known what to do with himself when she left. Darius had gotten pasted, he fiddled about with music, and generally just kept breathing from one day to the next. He supposed there were worse things to do than meander through life with little concern aside from where one's next bowl of noodles would come.

Then he had gotten word from Senka. Apparently she had found someone, and Ezra had been motivated to feel genuine happiness. He wanted his daughter-niece hybrid to get everything she wanted out of life.

So, of course, he had asked to meet the fellow.

"Bring him by anytime," he had written in the telegram. "You know I'm always home."

__



Vishne wasn't nervous, per se, but he did feel the general social anxiety that came with being awkward and meeting new people. From what Senka had told him, there was really nothing to fear with this Ezra person. A Torquehelm with a criminal lack of motivation and a penchant for subsisting entirely on starch. Didn't react to anything. Composed music occasionally. (That sounded promising, Vishne thought. A good topic for conversation if all else failed.)

He just wasn't sure he knew how to interact with a sedate personality. All the people he knew tended to be...er...loud.

[Dark]

Senka didn’t bother to knock; Uncle Ezra hardly ever remembered to lock the door, and there wasn’t anything particularly worth stealing, besides. Senka had forever been trailing after him, locking doors, closing windows, the pantry doors.

“Uncle Ezra, you around?” It was a rather pointless question--where else would he be?--but it did give the man some sort of warning that his house was being invaded. She trotted into the apartment, sparing Vishnu a pensive glance over her shoulder--hopefully he wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown; he didn‘t tend to do too well around new people--and headed for the music room.

It was the biggest room in the apartment, with large windows that overlooked a particularly bleak part of town, and was where they’d spent most of their time when she was growing up; Senka had rather fond memories of the room, and she was pleased to note upon entering that it had hardly changed a bit.

“I brought Vishne.”

[Bee]

Ezra glanced up from the piano upon which he had been absently tapping out a tune, and his gaze met an extremely bright blue and pink canine. He looked like a baby's nursery. Ezra felt that he should be accompanied by a mobile with stars and duckies on it.

"Nice to meet you, Vishne," he said, words a little garbled around the chain in his mouth. "You are very pastel."

"Er. Thanks," Vishne said, a little disconcerted. May as well return the favor in random observation, if that was going to be the social protocol they were following. Or something? He didn't know. "You have very long ears."

Ezra nodded as though that were a very thoughtful thing to say. "Yes. Genetics. Come to the kitchen and sit down. I'll make us all some tea and ramen and you can tell me how my met my niece."

[Dark]

Senka slurped down ramen contentedly, washing it down with a strong green tea that complimented the chicken flavor of the noodles very nicely. There hadn’t been nearly enough ramen in Senka’s life as of late, sadly. She loved Vishne, and he was an excellent cook, but he was also a bit of a food snob and he tended to frown upon pre-packaged food items. Ramen had become her dirty secret, something she snuck in behind his back a package at a time; she had her own small emergency stash, for the days when the craving hit her the worst. For the moment, at least, she had the excuse of being polite; manners were actually useful when she bothered.

She focused on her companions, pleased that Vishne seemed to be holding his own--not that she thought Uncle Ezra was capable of offending anyone, but there was always a first time. Still, she might as well help the conversation along.

“He wrote me poetry on a napkin; it was horrible.”

[Bee]

"It really was," he said, and was thankful that his fur hid the slight reddening of his face. There would be a day, he knew (or, rather, he hoped, in the very darkest corners of his mind), when he would be able to look back upon his former career as an aspiring poet without shame, and would in fact be inspired to such glorious heights of wordsmithing that even the greats of eras past would smile upon him from beyond the grave and sing his praises in the sunshiney afterlife.

But today was not that day.

"But it worked, you know...to get attention...And then we took walks and--" He nearly, nearly let "boinked each other's brains out" escape his mouth, and he was glad it didn't, because then he would have to kill himself in a very real and non-over-dramatic-attention-whore kind of way--"stuff...and now here we are." He finished with bright smile.

Ezra just nodded and sucked at his noodles. "Very good. You aren't eating your noodles, Vishne. They're good for you."

Vishne hurriedly stuffed a big bite in his mouth. Ramen was terrible for you, actually, and he didn't understand what it was about Ezra and Senka's body chemistry that had apparently allowed them to live on it for years, but...He swallowed. That was a culinary argument he never planned on having.

[Dark]

Senka was feeling accomplished--the two most important men in her life had now met, and didn’t seem to dislike one another, which was most excellent; she would have hated to break up with Vishne just so that Uncle Ezra would be happy again. She rather liked having Vishne around.

Overall, the visit had gone well, and she reassured Vishne as much later that evening while exploring his clavicle with tongue and teeth, “He liked you.” Of course, one could never be too certain with Uncle Ezra, but he had[\I] given Vishne noodles--and oh, it had been funny watching the poor man force them down for the sake of politeness--and that was enough of an acceptance in Senka’s book. Uncle Ezra didn’t share his noodles with just anyone, after all.

Which meant that she could ask the question that had been lingering on the tip of her tongue for weeks; she felt almost giddy. “Will you move in with me?”