Someone To Watch Over Me

[Angelica Jones]

{desc=Vidar!}

Apparel and sweets!

For hours on end Angel stood in front of the mirror. She had to have tried on a thousand different dresses and styled her hair a million different ways. Currently she spun in a small yellow sundress. It didn't exactly look like date material... Lunch material, maybe, but not.. date with handsome avian Vidar material.The small red head fell backwards onto her bed, her comforter bouncing in response. What was she going to wear? What was appropriate to wear? She'd never been on a date before... How was she supposed to know what was the proper etiquette or dressing requirements? Flustered she tried to remember what the women always wore in her books. Well anything by Jane Austen didn't work.. wrong time. Maybe movies instead.

So for the next two hours she fast forwarded through romantic comedies and romantic dramas as a bit of 'research'. By the end of it, and looking at the clock, she was more confused and didn't have much time. The redhead ran to the shower, and once she got out she simply closed her eyes and reached out towards her closet. The dress she removed was lovely, one she'd bought years ago but hadn't ever found a reason to wear it. Nor the confidence. It was elegant. Sleek. True her tastes were always fashionable, but this particular gown had always seemed far fetched for her. Angel stared at it, running her hands over the fabric before finally deciding to wear it.

Why not, she seemed to be trying a number of new things.

Including dating.

The thought sent a shiver through her spine as her nerves roared back to life. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. She would call Vidar and explain that tonight just wasn't a good night. That would be terribly rude, and she quite liked Vidar already.

With her mind in chaos and her body shaking from head to two she sat down on her bed, clutching the dress like a lifeline. "You can do this Angel." She muttered to herself, nodding her head and starting to get herself ready. Her hair would take the longest, she knew that much. And of course she was right. Having chosen a very classic style, that was predominantly used with straight hair. It would take a while to straighten her wild curls and then style her red hair.

She just prayed it wouldn't be a disaster.

After a few more hours in front of the mirror, perfecting her hair and make-up; donning her dress and shoes of course, she headed for the door. The small statured music teacher walked through the halls, her hands wringing each other as students eyed her curiously. She stopped in the kitchen, grabbing the peanut butter and chocolate layer cake she'd made earlier that day and placed one of her famous covers over the top of it.

After that she only had to go to his house...

And knock on his door...

And have a... date.

Angel audibly swallowed, glad that no one was around to hear it. Nor could they see the sheer terror that was plastered on her face. She left the mansion, remembering the directions he'd given her when he'd proposed this date. She followed them strictly, sighing in relief as his bungalow came into view. It was quite a wonderful spot, she thought. Very quiet, put away from the school so he didn't have to worry about bothersome students. Perfect for him.

She smiled to herself as she stepped onto the walkway, her heels clicking ominously. Once she stood outside his door she raised her hand to knock and dropped it almost instantly as she had a mini-panic attack. The small redhead paced for a few moments, trying to relearn how to breath. She stopped, taking a deep breath. "Okay Angel. Get it together. You can do this. It's just a date. You already spent the night with the man. Why does calling it a date make it more nerve racking?" She frowned.

That wasn't helping.

"Just breath. Just breath and smile." She said to herself, her eyes closing a moment as she let another deep breath push between thick painted lips. She knocked on the door, somewhat quietly and gripped the cake in her hands until her knuckles were white. "Just breath.." She reminded herself, her heart racing a mile a second.

She was going to have a heart attack at this rate.

[Vidar Anfinson]

Vidar had been working on dinner for several hours, dressed rather plainly about like he normally dressed. He couldn't see the need to get all dressed up when this wasn't a date, it was simply too people having dinner together so they didn't have to eat alone. That and Angel had provided a meal for him a few days ago, so it was only right for him to return the favor for her. That was what polite people did and, at least towards her, he could demonstrate some politeness.

In thinking on the menu for the evening he had decided that a flavor of his homeland was in order and so he had prepared labscouse and thrown a good deal of shredded Jarlsberg cheese into the potatoes as the main dish and, as an appetizer, mini landgang sandwiches. The sandwiches were already on the small kitchen table and the beef and potatoes were in the oven, which was set on a low enough temperature that things would stay nice and warm without cooking any further.

Glancing at the clock built into the microwave Vidar noted that Angel should be arriving any minute. He took a quick moment to check on his appearance. Tan combat boots, desert camouflage pants with the digital camo, and a tight-fitting brown t-shirt. About like normal, nothing special. He had also showered before getting dressed and beginning to cook, so no worries there.

No sooner had he finished checking himself over than he heard an ever so so soft knock at the door. Moving to the door he opened it and... oh. Realized he was under dressed. Very under dressed. The only thing that he had in his closet that would match Angel's level of niceness was his dress uniform.

"Good evening," he said, just a bit uneasily, as he took in the way Angel was dressed. "The kitchen is just through here," he continued, closing the door behind Angel as she entered and leading the way to the kitchen. "I got a bit carried away with the cooking and lost track of time, give me just a moment and I'll be right back. In the meantime, make yourself at home." With that last remark he disappeared in the direction of his room to change. Damned dress uniform, he hated that thing.

[Angelica Jones]

The door opened and Angel looked up at him nervously. She looked him over and realized that perhaps she had blown this all out of proportion. Angelica Jones, Queen of Misconception. It wouldn't surprise her. It took everything in her to simply not turn and run out of pure humiliation. She was overdressed.. very overdressed. Which always seemed to happen to her. And apparently with Vidar there did not seem to be a good balance of clothing when she was visiting with him. She looked up at him, trying to smile.

"Good evening,"

"Good evening, Vidar." She answered softly, following him towards the kitchen. Her eyes wandered his home, finding it quaint and rather cozy. She watched him disappear into a new room and tried to think of what to do with herself. He'd said to make herself at home. Well that would have been lounging like she'd been the last time they spent time together. But that wasn't exactly an option. She sat the cake down on the counter, her nerves not letting her take a seat.

Angel took this time to think quietly to herself. She had definitely overdressed, the look on his face had said enough. Angel placed her cheek into her palm, shaking her head in embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid? This wasn't a date. She, living in some fantasy world, had thought it was. What a surprise.

"Bravo, Angel.." She muttered to herself. She turned her back to the door, her fingers massaging the bridge of her nose in frustration. Could she seriously not have one day where she didn't make a fool of herself? She heard the door open and made the movement to turn, already speaking.

"Vidar I realize I'm way ove-"

The words were stolen right out of her mouth as she laid eyes on him. Her green eyes widened in shock, grazing down his large form in a very slow and leisurely way. She couldn't help it. The uniform suited him very well... Very well. Angels brain kept telling her to say something, to curb her gawking but her lips made no attempt to move and her jaw stayed slightly lowered in awe. Her eyes lingered on the metals that adorned his breast and the necklet that sat still around his neck. He was in short, breath taking.

And after a few more painfully long moments she had the decency to blush and look down at the floor. Though her eyes did steal another glance before she flushed again. Were she a more confident woman, or more promiscuous, she might have pushed him back through that door and locked it behind her.

But Angel was neither, so instead she had to relearn how to speak English.

She audibly swallowed, rubbing her lips together before meeting his eyes. "S-Sorry." She squeaked. And even as she tried to apologize for her staring her eyes ran over him again and she went back to looking at the floor. This was an unexpected turn of events and she didn't quite know how to handle herself.

As usual.

[Vidar Anfinson]

The feathered man disappeared into the bungalow's small bedroom and pushed the door shut. Crossing the room he pulled open the closet and stuck his head inside. He really only had one thing that was nice to wear, his old dress uniform. He sighed as he removed it from the closet and laid it out on a bed that had been made with military precision. He hated wearing the uniform. Not only was it hot and uncomfortable but with all the ornamentation from the Mantle of the Royal Victorian Order, the various glittering awards from that same Order and the Order of St. Olav, and the sabre it was also extremely gaudy.

Still, he could tell from her reaction that she was uncomfortable with being as over dressed as she was. Dressing up would help to put her at ease, even though he had not had any intention of being this fancy. As he stripped out of what he was wearing and began to quickly, but carefully, pull on the dress uniform he worked, in his mind, on the best edits to make to his evening plans. How was he going to fancy things up a bit more? How did these kinds of things always go in the movies?

The one good thing about the uniform was the pockets in the jacket, and he made use of those by dropping two small candlestick holders and candles into the one of the pockets. It would be easy enough to move the meal out onto his small back porch just behind the kitchen. He could add the two candles for lighting. His eyes darted around the room as he tied the Mantle of the Royal Victorian Order around his neck, the bright blue standing out vividly against the black uniform and white feathers. He hated the way it did that.

Music, music, music.

His eyes lit on one of the few cd's he had, Edvard Grieg's classical compositions. Angel was a music teacher and he assumed she wouldn't mind most kinds of music, and classical seemed appropriate for dinner.

He pocketed the disc.

What else?

He didn't have any fancy dishes, so that was out. There was one other thing he could add, mead.

That left only some kind of excuse for why he was running behind. Of course, he never ran behind. But excusing himself for running behind would put Angel more at ease. He supposed he could stretch a little bit and do that.

"Vidar I realize I'm way ove-"

Vidar watched as Angel gawked at him. He didn't suppose he could blame her for that this time. With the glittering stars of Royal Orders from two different nations and the Mantle he knew he looked like a parrot, even though he felt like a peacock. Even without the sabre it was, over the top, to say the least to his way of thinking.

"No, I just didn't expect you to be on time. I thought I would have another fifteen minutes," he said easily, interrupting her remark about being over dressed. "I find most people that have not served are, generally speaking, late for social engagements."

"S-Sorry."

"For what," he asked, brushing lightly past her as he moved from the living room into the combined kitchen and dining room. "Punctuality is an admirable trait." He took her by the arm and led her to his small couch, which was really more of a love seat, and gently seated her upon it.

"I shall have to be a poor host for a moment, please excuse me and make yourself at home," he said and with a rustle of feathers and a swish of the cape-like mantle he was back in the kitchen. Tumblers clicked as he unlocked the door to go out onto the porch after retrieving a simple white table cloth.

The big man spread the table cloth over the outside table, a slightly difficult task in the breeze. The candles would never light outside and so he disappeared back into the kitchen and placed the candles and their holders into a drawer and retrieved a small vase. Improvise. Quickly enough he filled the vase with a half-dozen fresh red, white, and yellow roses from the various bushes he had planted around the bungalow. He settled the roses in the middle of the outside table and then darted back inside again.

Inside he retrieved a bottle of mjod (Norwegian mead) and uncorked it. Finding two appropriate glasses he filled them and placed them outside with the bottle to one side of the table. Seconds later the finger sandwiches had appeared on the table along with a pair of appetizer plates. Retrieving a small radio with a cd player built into it he put the disc of Grieg's music in and then cunningly concealed it before turning up the volume to an acceptable, but not impolite, level and pressing play. Standing back for a moment he admired his work. Not too bad, it would do. The military had taught him to improvise, when needed, and he knew he could do much worse than the current set up. His only concern was light, but it was still early enough in the evening that he wasn't overly concerned.

Moving back into the kitchen he passed on through and out into the living room where Angel was waiting. "So sorry for the delay, dinner is served," he said, offering a slight bow before helping Angel to her feet and snaking her arm through his. "Right this way."

[Angelica Jones]

She was more than a little glad that he led her to his living room, seating her with great gentle hands. All the while she tried to remember her mantra. Just breath and smile. She had neither down. Her lungs weren't listening to her brain and she was far too immersed in her gawking to remember to smile. He vanished from sight, explaining it'd be a few more minutes. Angel didn't mind, she needed a few minutes just to blink out of her stupor. Now she felt underdressed. With a uniform like that, especially adorned with all of his accomplishments, surely she needed a ballgown to compliment it. She let her hands run over the front of her dress as she sat quietly, her mind running through possible dinner chatter.

She'd never really done anything like this. The closest she knew of dinner conversation was at her old friend Marthas' wedding. The woman had deviously set her at a table full of bachelors. God that night had been a disastrous one. All of them trying to hit on her while she had been completely oblivious. She could remember getting somewhat drunk that evening too, stumbling to the cab to take her to her hotel. One of the men from her table had climbed in with her, saying he too was staying at the same hotel. She had thought nothing of it, but a very blunt and motherly concierge woman had saved Angel the embarrassment of him trying to push his luck.

The look on his face had been priceless.

Though Angel, to this day, was rather confused at what he'd thought he would do. Force himself into her bedroom? She was lost in thought as Vidar's voice broke the trance. She looked up at him and stood gracefully. She took his arm happily and followed him to the porch, though her head was permanently turned towards him. She began hearing the music and hummed along, smiling to herself. She then painfully pulled her eyes from him and looked at the lovely setup he'd prepared. She smiled glancing back at him. "This is lovely!" She released his arm, begrudgingly, and then ran her hand over the tablecloth to grab the glass with the mead in it. She lifted it, smelling it not knowing what it was.

Angel hadn't ever really dabbled much in alcohols. She'd had wine occasionally, but for the most part she only drank beer. Angel gingerly took a sip, her brows raising.

Stronger than beer! Stronger than beer!

She would have to be careful with it. Overdoing it would definitely lead her to have motor mouth. She would no doubt say some of the thoughts that were dancing around in her head. But other than it being stronger than her usual beverage it was delicious.

Also problematic with her plan to be sparing with it.

She looked back at him, her breath catching for a moment once again. "That uniform.." She started before she could stop herself. For a moment she simply stared, but then she realized that she had to say something; lest he mistake her meaning. "You look amazing... When I imagined you in uniform... I.. I.. did not do you justice." She said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She gestured down to his set up and smiled, "And all of this.. It's perfect."

[Vidar Anfinson]

"This is lovely!"

'Mission accomplished,' the Norwegian thought to himself, leading the redhead to her seat at the table and pulling out her chair for her as she unlooped her arm from its place intertwined with his. At least she didn't seem to be feeling so obviously out of place and, Vidar supposed, that made it alright for him to be stuck in a uniform he hated for a few hours. The trick was to not let her know how much he hated the dress uniform.

The winged man moved to his own seat and settled in just as Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor began to play softly from the speakers of the concealed radio. He watched as Angel tested the mead and, seemingly, found it to her liking. Before coming outside Vidar had started another bottle of the mead mulling with various spices over low heat on the stove top and it would make a suitable dessert drink.

"That uniform... You look amazing... When I imagined you in uniform... I.. I.. did not do you justice. And all of this.. It's perfect."

]"I'm glad you find things to your liking," Vidar replied softly, taking a sip from his own glass and noting that Angel was staring at him.The Norwegian was aware that he stuck out like a sore thumb in the uniform, which certainly entitled Angel to stare a bit. In truth the ex-special forces soldier wasn't altogether sure that he wouldn't be visible from space in this uniform. Which was why he wore it so infrequently.

"Please, go ahead and dig in," the winged man said, gesturing to the four small appetizer sandwiches that were on the table. They were cold food and open faced, but the sooner they were gone the sooner the actual meal could begin. Suiting words to action he reached out and plucked one of the mini sandwiches from the plate and took a bite. "Everything tonight is traditional to my homeland."

[Angelica Jones]

Angel took the offered seat, looking up at him as he held it for her. She wasn't used to all of this. Sure Angel had a habit of overdressing but it was never for dates. She didn't date... So having a man, and a handsome one at that, doting on her like this was a bit flustering. The redhead sat down gingerly and watched him as he took his seat. She sipped the mead once more, enjoying the taste. Careful. She had to be careful. But by the time she'd snatched one of those delicious sandwiches up and eaten it she'd already drank nearly half her glass. Problematic indeed. She silently cursed herself, demanding her psyche to slow down on the alcohol. But even now she could feel that oozing warmth that she'd felt only a few times before.

Angel sat in silence for a long while, simply enjoying the fresh air, music, delicious mead, and delectable appetizer. After a few more moments of the devoid conversation she smiled apologetically and stood. "I'm.. I'm awful at chats." She admitted, picking up the chair so it didn't drag. She moved it a bit closer to Vidar, rearranging her area so she wouldn't be in his way but still a bit closer. She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I-I.." She started, green eyes tinging with a hint of fear. "I hope I haven't been rude." She finally choked out.

Angel lifted that glass back to her mouth, already regretting the drink but perhaps liquid courage would help. After All she'd seen many a woman approach a handsome man at the sports bars she would sometimes frequent.

They had bigger televisions, and hot wings.

"Thank you" She said quietly, glancing back up at him. "For inviting me over for dinner. After everything that had... transpired. I was unsure if you'd ever want to see me again, much less speak to me." She rambled on, finally putting a shaking hand over her lips to quiet herself. Maybe liquid courage wasn't helping... And she wasn't even drunk yet! Just had that delightly warmth that came about when you drank something stronger than beer.

[Vidar Anfinson]

"I'm.. I'm awful at chats. I-I... I hope I haven't been rude."

"How would you have been rude," he asked quizzically, arching an eyebrow at the redhead as she scooted a little bit closer around the table to where he was seated. If she wanted to scoot closer that was fine with the avian man. Why would he find that offensive?

"I'm not the best at chats either," he admitted with a small shrug, finishing the second of his two little sandwiches and then pushing his seat back from the table and standing. It was time to go inside and get the main meal. It was true, too. The Norwegian was not big on interpersonal relationships, generally speaking.

As he disappeared into the small home once again he caught Angel taking a another drink of her mead out of the corner of his eye. She sure seemed to be hitting the drink a little hard. Still, if she hit the bottle too hard she could always stay out here for the night. After all, he had crashed in her dorm room so returning the favor was the least he could do.

Inside the house he bustled quickly about the kitchen, being careful not to make a mess of his uniform as he pulled the meal from the oven. Setting the dish on the stove top he grabbed a couple of plates and dished out appropriate amounts of food onto each of them before heading back out onto his home's small rear deck.

"Thank you. For inviting me over for dinner. After everything that had... transpired. I was unsure if you'd ever want to see me again, much less speak to me."

"Why would you think that? Because there was a slight wardrobe snafu," he asked, sliding one of the two plates in his hands in front of her before placing his own plate down at his spot and resuming his seat. He decided it would be best not to mention his own involvement in causing that problem.

Dinner also hardly seemed the appropriate time to mention that he hadn't actually minded the ordeal. At all. Strictly speaking, he was only averse to hitting one of what his roommate during a semester abroad in the States had referred to as a Home Run. Vidar didn't really understand the baseball terminology, still he knew enough to be able to infer the meaning.

"I warned you about the talons, you accepted the risk, and when I accepted the offer of a pillow I also accepted the possibility that there might be some consequences. Not necessarily those consequences... but, as they say, it takes two to tango," he said, digging into his meal and then taking a sip of his drink.

"So," he began, casting about for a topic to change the conversation to, "you plan on doing anything for the cookout to kickoff the school year?"