houseofcards_rp | [OTA] Pumpkin Faces

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[OTA] Pumpkin Faces

The weather was somewhat back under control, a little chill but certainly not an unhealthy one. The snow was melting, and the colors were turning, and that made Juan Pedro want to be outside.

His youngest class was in the middle of the afternoon, after school, and he decided that instead of dance lessons, today they would carve pumpkins. He'd purchased a whole bunch of them, and had them set up in the green, and he surprised the kids by claiming a field trip where he took them outside, and presented to them their trip.

Pumpkins, paper, child safe scissors, child safe carving sets, glue, paint, brushes, a whole assortment of goodies to do up some great jack o lanterns. They wouldn't last til halloween but they'd certainly be a fun, creative way to spend an afternoon outdoors. And there were plenty of the orange squashes for more than just his students. If any adults or young people decided to come and join the fun, the better.

To keep in the mood of Spanish dance class, he'd set up a sound system that was playing latin music, as he sat down with the kids to start working on a pumpkin. So far, it seemed a great success.

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He looks with amusement at Kevin and nods, closing the door behind him. He motions for the man to follow. There's enough chairs, and also hot Pumpkin Bean soup to go around. So he's gonna get the body guard a portion to warm up.

"Oh yes? Horses are not smart enough to know humans aren't responsible for the weather." He pulled back a chair for her, at the table. It was covered in newspapers with a pre gutted pumpkin of the larger variety sitting on the table, waiting to be carved.

"Maybe, but it does make a person feel rather godlike, so I suppose we can't complain." She'll sit properly for just a moment before squirming, getting her legs tucked under herself to kneel instead. "But really, I think Evander's just an incredibly judgmental horse who likes assigning blame."

Such is life. What's nice about life, at least, is being settled in a warm kitchen with one of her Sevens and Tens, looking over knives to start attacking a pumpkin.

He chuckled "Of course it does." he supported her statement in that teachery way of his. "I guess not." He scoots her chair in, with her in it, to get her closer to the table before he takes the extra chair outside to rest against the wall of the studio, near the door.

Close, but not to close, as he motions for Kevin to sit and rest in the warmth. He will bring his soup in a minute.

"Why do you think that is? Are horses judgmental, usually?" He hadn't left her the child proof knives that he had given the other kids. He'd left her sharp cooking knives, properly cared for. He knew how smart she was, and he'd be right there in case anything happened. But since he only had to watch one of her, he didn't think letting her have the proper tools would be an issue.

Kevin isn't anywhere close to what Lancelot was, or even where Addy had gotten very quickly. That doesn't mean he isn't completely tuned in when he works. Calm silent appreciation is offered for the spot where he can watch--and murmured thanks will accompany the soup.

Eileen, for her own part, isn't overly concerned. She's always had a shadow, after all, and just because this one would rather sit by the door than get pumpkin guts on his hands isn't the end of the world. Neither bodyguard nor Ace seem remotely concerned as she gives the knives proper consideration before reaching first for a pen. She's been doing daggers since she was ten, after all.

"They're not typically. He's simply an exceptional case."

"How is he exceptional?" he asks as he pours soup for himself into a bowl and re-lids the pot to keep it warm for when she's done or hungry. Whichever comes first.

He takes the seat near her by the table where he can watch her progress, and help with any feedback she may want. As soon as Kevin is fed and situated, Juan Pedro forgets hes there. He's focused on Eileen, the girl with a young woman living in her brain whom he'd rather see just be the little girl.

"What makes him different from the other horses, beyond his reproach."

Can anyone blame her for preferring mini-adulthood to the trials and tribulations of being a nearly-thirteen-year-old girl? It's not a horribly easy time of life. Much better to skip straight over it.

"Not overly much." The drift of the pen over the pumpkin seems light, aimless, but the beginnings of shapes clearly show Elisha's years of tutelage. "He's quite handsome, really, but that's not overly exceptional. It seems mostly that he's got an overt capacity for the sensation and expression of typically human emotions. Like spite."

He liked being a teenager, so he can blame her. But, it was different for everyone. So, its really up to her. But he can't help but feel she's missing out on something vital.

He watches her scratching away with the pen, shaping out what she wants to carve, and grinning around his spoon. "Your horse is spiteful? And beautiful." He sucks on his lip and tilts his head, considering. "It sounds like a lot of the people I used to work with before I came back. I would like to meet him, if you would be so kind as to introduce him to me, Chiquita."

"Absolutely." She pauses just for a moment, glances up from the pumpkin. "D'you ride much?"

He shakes his head "No, I have been on a few horses, for my old job. But I never had the chance to ride, really." He crosses one knee over the other and smiles at her "Do you enjoy it? I should try it at some point."

The last few lines in place--it'll be a Joker, which isn't quite a face the way pumpkins are meant to be, but hopefully he won't object to her expression of herself--she reaches for a thin blade with a nod. "I do. It's such a freeing feeling. Like dance, I suppose, but..."

A pause as she considers, then shakes her head.

"...I don't know. It's just... different. You'll have to come with me sometime."

Its her pumpkin, she can do anything she wants with it. He's just there to help if she needs it.

"That I can understand, and I will gladly accept if you ever invite me to come with you. But I will be a novice, so don't laugh at me if I cannot do it very well."

He chuckles, smiling, completely ok with making a fool of himself, regardless. "I would really like that, Chiquita."

"Really?" This, at least, is something she easily perks up when she talks about. Riding is, after all, a constant that hasn't changed, no matter the trials of the life she's been living. "You mean that?"

He nodded "Yes, really, do you think I am a liar, bebe?" He set down his empty bowl and leaned closer to watch her, smiling warmly.

"Of course I mean it. I should learn to ride a horse anyway" Silas liked riding. It would be a good excuse to spend time with him. "You promise to give me a calm horse I can learn with, and I will be there with the bells on."

"Adults sometimes just say things to children." She knows he's usually much better than that, treats her with decency and respect the way some adults can't or won't. That doesn't make her statement any less true.

Still. She bounces slightly in her seat, just for a second, before settling in and focusing on the first stab of the knife into the pumpkin.

"You'll like it. They've some lovely horses you can learn on."

He smiled, rubbing at is mouth "It's a pity, isn't it? But you are no ordinary child. If I lied to please you, you would know. I would not like to disappoint my favorite 12 year old."

He beams, glad to see her excited, to find something they can connect on that makes her act her age. "I will leave the decision of which horse I will ride, to you. You will know better which will suit me."

Edited 2012-10-12 08:36 (UTC)

Her nose wrinkles just a touch as she sets to working properly on her carving. Good, at least, that some people understood her growing ability to read other people's poker faces.

"Probably one of the older horses," she muses thoughtfully, carefully twisting the knife sideways. "They tend to handle things more sedately. Horses spook quite easily, you know."

He watches her carve, and she's far more adept with a blade than any of the other children. Just another way she was special, better than the rest.

"I believe it." his cadenced English lilted with his accent. "You are very brave, not to be afraid of being thrown or something. But, you are so sweet, I am sure even an emotive horse like Evander would never think of it."

He winked, smiling at her.

"There's much better things to be afraid of than being thrown from a horse."

Admittedly, she's a tad biased, what with Andrew's murder barely more than a year ago; with the attempt against David's life so recent. With the Arcana Embassy coming down; with the sudden freeze knocking out the power.

And really, a person doesn't fear those things half so much when they've spent the last six years learning to properly handle a dagger or a knife. "Besides, Evander and I understand each other. I think-- it's like how you meet some people, and at first you think they're horrid because everyone else tells you they are, but... the more you know them, and the more they know you, the more you realize you've a world in common, and the easier it is to like them. He's far nicer to me than to most anyone else."

Evander did, after all, greatly resemble the man who had given him to Eileen.

"Oh, is there?"

Sometimes, he had an urge to pull Eileen into his arms and tell her everything would be alright. She'd probably hate it, but his heart went out for her, and he prayed for her every night. Because she seemed so deserving of love, and yet so lacking in it from others.

"Do you meet a lot of people like that, Eileen? People whom you think you hate and then find out you can relate to?" And then he laughs softly, rising to get coffee for himself.

"If I was your horse, I would be nicer to you than other people, too."

It's the little things she appreciates more. The fact he'd saved a pumpkin for her; the occasional pat on the shoulder or brush of fingers against her cheek while a scarf is wrapped around her neck. That's all she needs, really.

"A person can't help meeting them here. Everyone's completely contented to rely on the four humours to rule their judgement others the moment they hear a person's Suit, don't you think?"

He'd do a lot of things for her. Not because she was his Ace but because he cherished her. He'd do more but he'd tried bigger things and she tended to balk at them. Little things she allowed. He was learning this the hard way.

"The four humours?" He sat back down, sipping his coffee. "What is that?" She was about 200% more versed in politics and psychology than he was. He was a dancer and a model. Intellectual pursuits were never big for him, even if he did consider himself smarter than most of the models he ever worked alongside.

"Chole, melan chole, phlegma and haima." There's something almost automated to her repetition of the Greek, a slight bobbing of her head like she's been made to say them a million times before. It bleeds away as she continues, moves into words that are more clearly her own. "People used to believe they regulated who people were, which meant that the world could be broken down into four general personality types--choleric, melancholic, phlegmatic and sanguine. It was generally thought that everyone in the world could be fit into one of those categories. Like into one of the four Suits."

"Ah, los humores... ok si entiendo eso." He just didn't know what they were called, but he knew of the four personality archetypes.

"It is a shame that people tend to stereotype the suits though. There are plenty of people who are atypical and very happy being hearts or spades or diamonds, not just clubs." He smiled at her "And you are nothing if not atypical, querida, no one should easily stereotype you."

"Hungry? Thirsty?" he asked, as he sipped his coffee. "It is late, I have soup. Unless you want something to drink, chiquita."

"It's not that there's no truth in archetypes," she postulates with the faintest tilt of her head, knife pausing just a moment to adjust the angle before she plunges into the pumpkin again. "There is. And it's not unlikely that there's influence to being given a single overarching assignation while you're here."

And then the knife pauses again--but this time so she can properly glance up at him.

"...I don't suppose you've got cocoa, do you?"

Who says she can't be a child in her own way.

"Cocoa, pues claro. Piensas, que soy bruto?" He gets up to make her cocoa. He has south american chocolate powder, and he uses milk instead of water. He heats the milk up in the microwave, and then stirs in the rich chocolate, before setting it down on the table beside her, and sitting back down.

"No you are right, there is always at least a little truth in most things, but people's whose opinions are based solely on stereotypes are very narrow minded indeed."

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