A Doll's House (PoW: Angelina Tarrant x Madeleine Citronelle)

[Malkavia]

Never had steak? Madeleine tilted her head, smiling at Angelina while the Countess folded her hands on the tablecloth. If Madeleine's guest relished the opportunity to expand her culinary experience, it didn't show in the...slow way she prepared her plate. Her knife scraped across the surface of her plate with each thin, vertical cut across the meat.

Skrk...Skrk...Skrk...

Madeleine bit her lower lip. Her thumb squeezed, then released the other thumb. Her stomach felt painfully hollow but—the guest always gets the first bite, n'est-ce pas?

She felt the itch more than once to say You don't have to cut the entire steak before you try a bite, sweet. She distracted herself by listening intently to every...painfully slow word out of Angelina's mouth.

The robot would be friendly, one-of-a-kind, astonishingly high-end. Good branding. Yes yes—the usual requirements corporate committees put together. She waited for something more, something brilliant.

And she got it.

A feline animatronic with AI-directed voicework. She imagined something magical—a kind of plastic-feline fairy. A character from an anime. Smart, and friendly...helpful as you like. The technical world's next iteration on God's greatest feline creation. Madeleine stared past Angelina, imagining this automaton with its long black tail, crooked at the end. Friendly and happy to see you! Yes, something like that—those wretches at Disney would choke on their coffee the moment they saw something like that come out of Jouets!

Just as Madeleine was breathing in this fantasy, however, her stomach let out a long, loud growl—a noise that seemed almost to echo through the vast Citronelle hall. Grrrrrrrrrgrgr. Like an engine.

Madeleine froze. Blushing. Then, after a pause, she reached out abruptly, grabbed Angelina's plate, and yanked it to her side of the table. With a few quick flicks of her own knife, she sliced the steak into an even grid of bite-sized pieces. Leaving nothing to chance, she provided the condiments and garnish as well. A pinch of salt. A dusting of pepper. All with clipped efficiency that saw the meal prepped in under twenty seconds.

Clack. She set it down in front of Angelina, then speared a rectangle of steak. Swirled it in the fat gathered on the plate. And held it out for the Kitten to bite—all without breaking her tight smile.

"Please. Try your first bite of steak, sweet. I'm dying to hear what you think."

[Monsy]

Dying, huh…
Guess the pressure is on. In front of her, there were several options. Ninety-five percent of them were scrapped off for being dumb, stupid or dumb-stupid. She stared at the piece of meat, began processing the effort it’ll take to make that swallow-able. How her body will react. Would she be allergic? Ruin her body’s image with this new imbalance of fats? Maybe she’ll get addicted, and that’s just wasted time upon wasted time, minutes lost over days and years could be weeks if she started liking this over her supplements and powder. One piece of steak was probably worth a ten minute run to burn off. That's another net loss of time. And it’s not like—

“A-Alright… Here… Goes.”

Angelina leaned forward just a bit. Her shoulders were stiff along with her back. Her face was sinking in. But she was committed, took the stake in her mouth then settled it between her teeth on the left side. She bit down, divided it in two, which the fat now oozed onto her tongue and made a particular, almost flavourless gravy type texture that accented chewed bits of meat. After the first chew, there was a second, third and then picked up. She wasn’t a fan of imagining her mouth full of grease or bits of steak. How it was going to sit between her teeth. She was annoyed how long it took to finally get into small enough ribbons that she could throw it back, swallow and be done with it.

Angelina, meanwhile, was in a trance that stared at her plate, concentrating perhaps harder than she should be. How was it? she expected the next question to be. And to be honest, she was so focused on just getting past the hump and solving the challenge of chewing and getting past her qualms, that she didn’t really process the taste so much. The texture was passable, but it didn’t beat the efficiency of powder and supplements. Veggies and salads.

When she was done, she collected her thoughts, then looked at Madeleine with a smile. “Six-point-six plus… three-point-three. It’s a ten.” Then she took her own fork, speared another piece, then did the same for Madeleine. She held it out towards her mouth, elbow on the table and an expectant look on her face. “Now it’s your turn. I chose this piece with extra special care. The best steak chunk you’ll evah have.”

[Malkavia]

Technically a nine point nine was a thought that ran through Madeleine's head, but she didn't really feel annoyed. Quite the contrary. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure as Angelina praised her steak.

She didn't take the bite Angelina offered her immediately. Her glance flit to Angelina, then back to the good. She bit her tongue, suppressing a grin. "I didn't take you for a romantic, Ange."

Yes. Charlotte had been the problem, Madeleine decided, as she leaned forward and closed her mouth around the bite of steak. But then children never did mix well with romantic evenings or quiet dates, did they? Next time, she'd need to see to a babysitter.

Madeleine chewed, swallowed, then dabbed her lips with a white napkin. "If you think this is a ten, sweet, you should come back on a night when I'm more prepared. Mmm. Yes, I think I'd really like to share one of my staff's patented five-course meals. Perhaps tomorrow."

She nudged the silver tray back towards Angelina, then leaned back in her chair and watched her partner. For a moment, she was quiet. Thinking. Then, she swallowed and continued in a new, slightly tighter tone of voice.

"So. Shall we talk about Charlotte, sweet?"

[Monsy]

“Didn’t think I was either. Guess I have you to blame.”

She was content with the risk of being rejected. It was fun enough to watch her reactions. Little bits and cues she stared into. The flinch of a grin. Suppressed. Angelina watched with a tilted head, seeing her take it and then having her chest glitter the same way when she stole a loaded wallet. Mission: success.

She had an elbow on the table with her cheek against her fist, now content with her food intake for the evening and listening to Madeleine talk. She couldn’t say openly that she was dreading the idea of stuffing herself over five-courses, let alone the one course she’s currently content with. Fatty chunks of liquid grime. So instead, she just nodded, “Sweet.”

Angelina’s fork was tilted down towards her array of cut pieces. The fork slowly sunk in. She wasn’t planning on another bite. Not unless Madeleine really insisted and she needed to keep appearance. But it seems to be the least important subject right now…

Charlotte.
Her brow raised, flicking her gaze from the steak to Madeleine. The fork was clenched in her hand and straightened to point across the table. She held it with a fist. As casual as she can make that look.

That name. It shouldn’t exist at this table.

“Who?”

[Malkavia]

Despite the praise Angelina heaped on the steak, Madeleine found it chewy. The more she masticated, the more the meat formed a leathery ball, expanding in her mouth, growing frayed, almost furry. She chewed, and she chewed, and she stared on Angelina. Then she swallowed. Put down her fork. Pulled out her phone.

When she thrust the phone towards Angelina, it was open to Instagram. A picture featuring the Marauder. She was standing, grinning, atop a roof towards the top of the Tokyo skyline, mugging for the camera with impish glee that befit her thorny, black horns. Her hair blew out behind her, silhouetted against the golden sunset. Pretty. Cute. Much like the snow-white rabbit that she propped up on one arm, posing him against her cheek for the shot.

Madeleine smiled at Angelina. Thinly. "You know, most people. Most fans. They assume you're keeping him as a kind of...flex. A way to kick someone while she's down. But me, I think you have a genuine soft spot for the rabbit." She cocked her head to one side, sighed, closed her eyes, then leaned forward, resting her chin in her palms. "If you returned him, I could buy you a replacement if you want. A special rabbit just from me. Or perhaps you'd prefer a cat?"

[Monsy]

After initial tension in her hands, she relaxed and started cutting her steak into rectangles by dividing the square in half again. Couldn’t do that as fast. She needed to stabilize the squares before cutting them precisely where she wanted to. Then repeat. And repeat. Messing up would just mean more time wasted on resetting, continuing and preparing. Triangles, she thought. When she was done making these into quarters, then she’d start cutting them into triangles.

Mhm. And by the time that was done, Madeleine would’ve finished and they’d move onto the next activity. Hopefully somewhere with less dancing, moving or anything that involved putting her feet up. Anything but being shown a picture of herself with Thistledown. She looked good, she reckoned. Nice picture and composition. Her hair was right. Thistle was happy, albeit tired, if she remembered the moment correctly. And the rabbit wasn’t in Shimmer’s hands, which was about ninety percent of the joy she felt revisiting the picture. She stared at it blankly, then at Madeleine. Her head shook.

“I don’t care for animals very much. They don’t like me and I don’t like them.”

Her eyes drifted down to what she was doing. It was about time to start the triangles now. She froze for a short time, musing. Then, audibly, she breathed in and straightened up her back. Her gaze settled back on Madeleine, more serious than before.

“Shits fake. Shimma is feedin’ ya ‘shopped pics.”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine pushed away from the table, bit her lip, and performed half of a laugh that caught in her throat and turned into a scoff. "Wow. OK." She breathed out, ran her hands over her her forehead, and through her hair. She bit her lip, then glanced at Angelina's plate. How small was she going to get those slices?

"So you think I'm stupid enough to fall for one of Charlotte's forgeries, Angelina?"

She shot Angelina an icy glare, seething inwardly, but her brain-matter was heavy. Thinking was like wading through sludge. But keep smiling! said some part of her, so she did. She sucked in air through her teeth. She planted her hands flat on the table. But she kept the smile—wider and wider.

"Why don't you say that directly, sweet. If that's what you think. OK—yeah? Look me in the eye, kitten. Come on." She gestured with her fingers, impatient. Come at me. "Look me in the eye, Angelina, and tell me I'm an idiot."

[Monsy]

Her gaze went down. The longer this went on, the more she just wanted to focus on the steak and pretend it was the only major obstacle. The rectangles were now smaller cubes. She concluded: that was too quick. So from then on, she’d stab one cube, approximately one to two fork prongs max, then pull it aside to divide it meticulously into right-angle triangles. Then she placed each one back. Started over with another square.

“I’m sayin’ that ya should trust me on--” And it was hard to see why that wasn’t coming to be. It was like Madeleine enjoyed easily ignorable problems. Just let it die. Fuck.

Though she wasn’t in any position to throw the cards out. She was being asked something. Cued. Her brain flickered between two binary answers and she bit her tongue on one of them. Her utensils were thrown with a terse wrist-flick at her plate as a set of four fingers went up and touched her cheek, nursing it.

After a few moments of this, looking down with a head tilt, she looked back at Madeleine, shaking her head. “Fine. You’re a fuckin' idiot. Happy? That all you want me to say?”

[Malkavia]

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

Madeleine's hands clenched on the tabletop, then slowly spread out until all five fingers splayed out, flat on the marble as she breathed.

"After all the sacrifices I made to give you a memorable evening..." As she stared towards the kitchen, over all the magical locomotives she had shared especially with Angelina, she felt her pulse behind her eyes. It throbbed, and she felt the start of a headache coming on. It was enough to make her eye twitch. "Well, I guess that's over, isn't it? Soooo much for the weekend."

The first instinct had been to slap Angelina. Or to punch her in her gut. But Madeleine's bones were tired—painfully so—and anyway. It was always best to think through violence. Violence just prompted adrenaline. Fight or flight. It lacked the character of real punishment.

Madeleine sneered, glancing back at Angelina's dish. She had carved the steak into about a hundred tiny specks. It might have been easier to eat with a spoon. In other words, she was avoiding the meal like a toddler chopping veggies.

Madeleine shook her head and picked up Angelina's fork. Click. It sank into one piece of meat, sloshed it in the sauce, then lifted it. She let the meat hang there, not exactly in front of Angelina's face—just far enough she would need to lean to reach it. "Well?" The longer the Marauder sat there, looking stupid, the tighter Madeleine's chest grew. "What...Not hungry?"

[Monsy]

You fucking baby.

She squinted at Madeleine's animated hands, then back up. Angelina was much more stationary. The inside of her mind was quiet, thinking it over on a loop. The evening. The weekend. Shimmer. It was her doing this. SHE was--

Madeleine took her fork. Angelina's attention flicked down. Her hands tightened—too late, so opened. Then in the centre of her vision, there was steak in all its saturated fat and calorie dense mushy glory, drooling with runny tar Madeleine called sauce. Angelina’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

“I bet ya already gave our weekend away to miss pink bitch.” She looked Madeleine in the eye as she said it, then doubled down on the theory in her head. She looked at her lap. The dress she wore. How her legs were situated. After a couple seconds, she looked at the meat piece again. Her stomach cringed, curled into itself and nauseated. Now her body firmly decided that if she had that piece of so-called food, then she’d throw up or catch a disease of some kind. G.I tract needed to adjust to the different bacteria of the region… Or something.

She turned her head for a side profile. Her elbow propped on the table and the chin rested on the palm to fix her head’s position.

“Give it to the cats.”