Swirling Thoughts, Iso: Tangy Delight

[Tangy Delight]

A stomach pump? Was he really going that far as to suggest her cooking would make him end up in the hospital! Yes, he was teasing her, but still! Ella had only suggested that food prepared by her would not have such an appealing taste, not that her mere presence would poison the ingredients. She rolled her eyes as he spoke, pushing away his hand from her lips. Seriously what part of ‘I’m awful at it’ did he fail to comprehend? Maybe he thought she was just being modest, most girls did have a tendency of doing so to avoid bragging. Maybe Dean wasn’t really hungry and he just found it particularly amusing to torture her. Or maybe there was just some sick instinctual yearning in men to have women cook and take care of the house and perform other stereotypical duties (helping them feel more in control and such).
Either way it was frustrating as hell.

Ella could see it now, the situation unfolding like an old movie reel in her head. After a good two hours of fussing over a hot stove, or fire, or whatever the hell she could manage to put together on a damn beach, the concoction would be served. The guy would take one damn bite… laugh… throw in some lame one liner hinting that she really wasn’t kidding about how awful she was, and then they would end up eating somewhere else or he would walk off and eat alone. Well, Ms. Bradley was not about to let that happen.

Ella then gave an over exaggerated sigh, just so that he would know she was aggravated. She could have put her foot down and just plain out refused to cooperate, but he was suggesting that choosing to do so would be cowardly. Sure, it was childish, but her pride would never let her take on such a title, even if she knew it to not be true. It would have bothered her too much if Dean thought such a thing, why this was she didn’t exactly know, but she would not give him the pleasure in winning this one. “Ha! I have no fear of practicing my culinary skills; I was merely trying to spare you! I accept your challenge under one condition…you have to finish the whole thing, I mean wipe the plate clean. Oh, and you have to tell me that you love my cooking.”

She began to wonder off in one direction thinking he would have the common sense to follow her when she sharply turned back around toward him. A harsh tone entered her voice as she raised her brow and challenged his suggestion with her own onslaught of questions, “Wait! What exactly do you expect me to cook? How on earth am I supposed to make something without a single utensil!? what do you think I am, a miracle worker?”

[Periwinkle]

"I accept your dare, I'll gladly eat every bite of whatever you concoct and fawn over you after to boot." Dean gave a smug smile. She was going to get him good, he just sensed it. Whatever he ended up eating, he might regret. Dean saw this experience going one of two ways; Ella, infuriated by his teasing, would make something vile for him to eat. Or Ella, overtaken by pride, would cook to the best of her abilities and he would see if she was truly awful or not. Dean hadn't actually expected her to agree to his little challenge, so he had never paid heed to how far-fetched the whole thing was. There were no utensils, no oven. No ingredients, no pots & pans. He felt bad for her, she was so eager to make him eat something nauseating, and he'd left her so ill-prepared.

Inwardly, his mind wrestled with itself. Should he invite her to his little shack, or should he leave the matter alone? Dean had never let another human set foot in there, not in his run as its owner. Did he really want to invite someone else in to sneer and over-analyze every little thing? To find pictures of Perce and Leylah, his albums scattered on the floor? "Alright, you have a fine point about the lack of supplies," Dean gave in with a sigh. "I'll tell you what, I have a run-down little place on the beach. You're allowed to use its food, oven, and supplies if you don't ask a single personal question about what's in the house."

He saw her blink in confusion at him, but Dean shrugged it off. His mind was made up. He could not even believe that he had thrown out the invitation. Dean was still so afraid of the world, even Ella. He was meant to be alone, not socializing this way. If the selfish, eager side of himself would just accept that, life would be so much easier.

"Is it a deal? It's not too far off."

[Tangy Delight]

Don’t ask about what’s in the house. Sure, it was a simple enough request, but she couldn’t imagine what could possibly be laying around Dean’s shack that would compel him to issue such a warning. All that was in her home (when she had one) was furniture, at least downstairs anyway. Was the guy really tacky and didn’t want here nagging about who decorated? The whole thing didn’t make any sense, but Ella was able to concoct two theories.

First, that Dean was a crack addict. Well, a recovering addict anyway. He had mentioned the death of his mother and not knowing where his best friend or lover had gone when they first met. Maybe, after losing all the people close to him, Dean didn’t know what to do with himself and so he reached for the first thing that would allow him to get away from it all. The drug soon took over his life, causing him to detach from the world around him. He was obsessed and didn’t bother leaving his house for three years. He didn’t want her asking about the random syringes scattered across the place.

The second, he was a CIA agent. The enemy had stumbled upon his true identity, murdering his mother and taking his girlfriend hostage. Dean and his partner in the force were on a mission while all this havoc was unfolding. When word got out about his identity his partner ditched him because Dean was now a danger to them and the case. In an effort to hide out, Dean went to feather, going MIA for three years. He had top secret packets on the coffee table and didn’t want her to get involved.

Yes, they were farfetched, and she was only toying with the possibilities, but they fit the description. Plus they explained why he looked like such a mess and why he had a tendency for acting bipolar. Seriously who says, don’t ask about what’s in the house? There had to be something out of the norm in there. So Ella just nodded, “Yea ok…no questions…I promise.”

[Periwinkle]

(sorry for such an uninspired post :p)

If either of those two theories had been true, Dean Allister would have been one awesome dude. Alright, not so much if he was a drug addict --- but a CIA Agent? Damn. If only he'd been smart enough to concoct a brilliant, elaborate lie like that. He'd never even bothered. Instead, Dean was a broken man, with some sniffling story, and he certainly was not even remotely cool. Dean nodded in response to her agreement, and satisfied, he began leading the way.

It was less than a mile's walk, tops. His little shack was just a blip in the scenery, and eyesore one was best off just ignoring; and with the lack of space it took up, it really wasn't that hard to. It couldn't be said enough, Starshell Cove was beautiful. It took his breath away for a split second every time Dean set foot outdoors, more so after his years of hiding. The creamy, smooth sand, the pollution-free waters --- how anyone took it for granted was beyond him.

When they arrived at Dean's humble (very humble) abode, he opened the door and gave a little bow. "Master Chef, your grand kitchen awaits."

[Tangy Delight]

((no worries it happens))

Well, this was it, his home. A quaint little place off the water’s edge and as she looked around there didn’t seem to be anything that out of sorts. Why he had made such a big deal about not asking questions was beyond her because the current surrounds were very, well… average. There was no hidden mystery poking at her curiosity and no odd aspect that demanded explanation. Sure, maybe it wasn’t super tidy, but it wasn’t like Ella was such a neat freak.

Either way there was no time for her mind to delve further into why Dean was overly secretive. No, she had to focus on the task at hand, dinner. It wasn’t as if cooking was hard. There were plenty of dimwitted girls out there who could still manage to whip up a mean soufflé. No, no it wasn’t that at all. The cooking wasn’t the problem; it was Ella (and that uncanny knack of hers of ending up in uncomfortable situations). That odd tendency of making a fool of herself did not fail to follow her when she walked into a kitchen. One way or another she found a way to mess up the meal to where the food just didn’t taste quite right. Not uneatable, just not as good as it was supposed to.

She took in a deep reassuring breath before responding, “Ok well just point me in the direction of the kitchen and I’ll take care of the rest. I guess you can go ahead and set up the table while I’m busy in there. By the way are you craving anything in particular? I'm equally bad at all types of cuisine, so really it’s whatever your in the mood for.”

[Periwinkle]

Dean shrugged at Ella's question. It seemed like she kept asking him things, coming up with information she needed before she began. She seemed nervous about preparing the meal, which filled him with some deluded sense of self-esteem. She's worried about actually poisoning me, she doesn't want me to be harmed! Yes, that was what was giving Mr. Allister a rush. An acquaintance who did not secretly wish him dead. After all, it wasn't exactly like the village had the biggest crime squad. Accidental death due to cuisine? Who was going to ask? There were tons of would-be-homemakers in Maple Village. That didn't mean all of them were good.

"Cook me one of your favorite meals from back home." The two had only met twice, and it seemed like they spent the majority of their time together trying to avoid answering prying questions. Dean knew he was being evasive, and he knew exactly why. Ella was more subtle about it. She simply didn't bring the subject up. Truth be told, he hadn't been the most prying. Dean was so concerned with trying to appear cool, calm, sane that --- well, not only was he failing miserably, but he really had nothing to show for it.

"I don't know much about you. Not even your favorite color. Might as well start by trying your attempt at a favorite dish." He paused, thinking for a minute, "That is, if I even have the supplies for it." Dean Allister did not have a magical kitchen. It did not dispense everything it needed to cook any sort of dish under the sun. If she wanted to cook Chinese food, she was just flat out of luck. "Otherwise, uhm...I don't know. I don't want to give you anything easy like pasta or grilled cheese, that seems like a cop-out. I want something challenging to stomach."