2007-03-11: Egg Cream is Excellent


Samantha_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif

Summary: After Date Three at a karaoke joint, Samantha and Namir head back to her apartment for some homemade egg creams. Samantha talks about Activating Evolution and how she plans to set up an appointment with Mohinder after discovering that he lives and continues his father's work in New York. Namir mentions that he might like to meet Mohinder at some point, if all goes well with Samantha's meeting with him. Offers of teaching Samantha to play on the XBox are tossed around.

Date It Happened: March 11, 2007

Egg Cream is Excellent

Samantha's Apartment

Karaoke was perhaps, about as miserable as Namir expected, but also surprisingly more fun. There was no need to fear Samantha's efforts on the stage for the thee numbers she ended up signing up for; 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' was her opener, and throughout the evening, she also offered a very snickering rendition of 'People' (because Jewish girls totally gotta sing Bawbra, dahling!) and before they left, Blondie's 'One Way Or Another'. And if Namir happened to be indulgent in not being offended by her partaking of a glass of wine, well. All in all, a nice evening. At her door, she's reaching in her coat pocket for her keys when she says lightly, "I'd offer you a nightcap, Namir - but. How about I fix you an egg cream instead?"

No, Namir is never offended when those in his company partake of alcohol; he simply does not indulge in it himself. Despite his reservations about the evening, he wasn't pressured to get up and sing and it /was/ at least /somewhat/ fun, so he did enjoy himself to a degree. At least he's grinning as he stands nearby, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. "I can't say no to that," he chuckles, "though I think that man's butchering of The Rose was almost enough to drive me to drink." He winces a bit at the memory. /That's/ an image he'll never be rid of.

"It's not generally a song you hear a straight guy singing." Sam admits with a laugh as she opens the door. "He was very drunk. And probably just broken up with his girlfriend. That's the only plausible explanation. But weren't those frat boys singing 'We Will Rock You' hilarious?" She steps inside, standing by the door and curious to see if he's going to excuse himself or come in.

It's only after a moment's hesitation that Namir does indeed step into the apartment, smirking as he glances around the place as before. It probably hasn't changed much since he was last here. "I was fully convinced they /would/ rock me," is his joking response. "The entire /building/ was rocking, actually. I had to tune them out a little." And by that, of course, he means softening the noises around his ears. He is rather protective of his ears, oddly shaped as they are. "I must admit that I had a good time tonight. Are you surprised?" He is.

Not at all, and Fiyero looms from atop the couch. "You can take your coat off." she advises him, shucking hers and draping it on the foyer credenza. She takes off her shoes too, and strides into her kitchen, more or less expecting him to follow her. "I'm not surprised. You're generally willing to have fun if presented with the opportunity. Though I don't think you've ever put forward the idea of something you like to do." She reaches for something on top of her fridge - an old fashioned seltzer dispenser bottle. Who keeps those things?

Good question. Apparently Samantha does. Namir does shed his coat and, having no place else really appropriate to leave it, he sets it on the credenza as well. He pauses a moment by the couch to hold out a hand to Fiyero and give the cat a rub behind the ears, if he's allowed, but he soon ultimately follows after Samantha. "Oh, the things I like to do in my few hours of spare time don't really constitute much of a date, unfortunately," he chuckles as he pauses in the doorway to the kitchen. Best to stay here and keep out of the way of things, for now. "Unless you enjoy playing XBox, reading, taking walks, or cleaning a rat cage. I /did/ enjoy the trip to the museum, since I do like museums." He lifts an eyebrow curiously at the old-fashioned seltzer bottle. One really /doesn't/ see those around often.

Sam's pulling stuff out of the fridge now. Milk, and a bottle of Fox's U-Bet chococlate syrup. Accept no substitutes. As she's reaching overhead of the counter to pull out two tall glasses, she remarks, "I'm partial to walks and reading - I read 'Activating Evolution, by the way' - and I've never played an Xbox so you could potentially show me, and I think I'll skip on cleaning rat cages." Fiyero permits a bit of head scratching, and then makes his merry way to the terrace doors. "Did you know the author passed away? But his son lives in New York, and is continuing his research."

It's not his kitchen, but Namir hates standing by doing nothing when he could potentially be of some help. When Samantha reaches for the glasses, he steps forward and moves to retrieve them with a quiet, "Let me give you a hand." There, now he's not worthless, and it's probably an easier reach for him anyway. After passing the glasses to her, he grins. "Aw, cleaning the rat cage is the most fun of all. You are really missing out. And if you're interested in learning how to play XBox, I would be more than happy to beat you mercilessly at any and all games under the sun until you figured out how to work the controls." Gringringrin. But he shakes his head at the mention of Activating Evolution. "I had no idea Doctor Suresh even had a son, truthfully. You say he's continuing his father's research?" That /really/ interests Namir.

That puts him next to her. "Mmmhmm. I'm going to be scheduling an appointment to meet with him, in fact. I found his email address from the university who taught at in India, and it apparently forwarded to his home here." She seems pleased by the prospect. "Pour the milk? About halfway in each glass." Since he wants to be helpful. "I think you're discounting my capacity for manual dexterity, sir. I'm good with my hands."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Namir is aware of the proximity, but he's doing quite well in /not/ noticing. Not really. He doesn't move too far away when he obligingly sets the glasses on the counter and begins to portion out the milk, but his eyes are on his work rather than Samantha. "Let me know how that goes," he states. "I might want to meet with him myself." If he can contribute to helping research this phenomenon /and/ can learn a bit more about himself in the process, Namir is more than happy to do so. The seriousness slips away, however, at that last statement and he grins again, cocking an eyebrow playfully as he looks over at the doctor. "Are you? Then why am I the one pouring the milk?"

"Because not being useful drives you batty." Samantha susses matter-of-factly. She adds syrup - and she's pretty heavy handed with the stuff - to each glass, and then picks up the seltzer bottle, clenching the grip and senting a shot of seltzer water into each glass, giving each one a foamy, frothy top off. "I'll let you know how it goes. Do you want me to mention you to him, or would you prefer I didn't?"

"No, feel free to mention my name and anything else." This said with a nod of his head as he moves to the refrigerator to put away the milk. When he returns to the counter again, he turns his back to it and leans his hip against it, picking up his glass once it's ready. As for the remark about his going batty if he's not given something to do?: "Mm-hmm, right." Namir /disbelieves/ this excuse. Or at least he pretends to. He is still grinning. "Even if you /are/ good with your hands, you need good eyes as well, and a killer instinct to succeed at my games. And there's no screaming when you lose, either. That's the one rule I have." Which he just made up five seconds ago.

"You know, it doesn't happen every time I make a loud noise that comes out of my mouth." she says wryly. A spoon is brought out, which she momentarily wafts him like she's going to bop him in the nose before laughingly using it to stir both egg creams. Sam tosses the spoon in the sink, offers him his, and picks up hers. "Cheers." she salutes, adding slyly, "L'chaim." Sipping hers, she seems satisfied, but she's waiting to see how Namir will take to the practically sanctified experience that is a properly made egg cream.

Naturally, the Muslim flinches back at the threat of being knocked on the nose with a spoon, his grin growing even further. The Hebrew salute gets an even bigger grin, and he replies with, "Fisehatak" before he takes a sip from his own glass. It doesn't take much mulling around of the concoction for him to realize that it really /is/ quite good, and he 'mms' approvingly with a bob of his head, his eyebrows going up in surprise. "Excellent," Namir clarifies once he's able to actually speak. "I'm not even very fond of chocolate, and I like it. You've clearly put something addictive in it."

"Not fond of chocolate!" Samantha presses a hand to her heart as if he's wounded her deeply. "Oh, my. Everything else, I thought I could get over. The religion. The rats." A hand flutters to her forehead. "But you don't like chocolate. Doomed, I tell you." she quirks a grin. "Then again, you like the egg cream, so all is not lost." And ho hum, just like that, all is normal. "I was kidding about the rats thing," she assures teasingly. "I'm sure they're adorable." Fiyero would probably add yummy as an adjective, too. "Are we going to stand here in the kitchen, or do you want to come sit down?"

Namir watches the melodramatic display with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk, rolling his eyes good-naturedly the longer it goes. As he turns to take the suggestion of moving into the living room to sit, he aims a tickling pinch at Samantha's ribs. Crazy woman. "Actually, I would think my distaste for chocolate would be an advantage. You'd never have to worry about me eating all of yours — except for the egg cream, of course. You'd have to make gallon jugs of the stuff so that I could have a handy supply." Hmm, egg cream slavery. "The rats /are/ quite adorable. You should come meet them sometime — but you'll have to leave Fiyero behind. I don't think they would get along too well with him."

"Don't spill!" she cautions, when he tries to tickle her and manages to gulp down some egg cream with a bit of laughter as its chaser. She sets it down. "You're going to actually let me into your apartment? I can't decide if I'm shocked or delighted. Though you're right, Fiyero would have to stay home. Further doom, cats and rats. Did you hand pick me as the most adverse woman in New York you could possibly take out?"

Once in the living room, Namir takes a seat on the couch and steals another sip from his glass before setting it on the coffee table. "Aha, you've figured me out," he chuckles as he settles back with a sigh. "Ever since I was young, I've had but one thought: to find a woman with whom my life would almost completely conflict and date her. What's dating if not a challenge?" He waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Of course I'm going to let you into my apartment. I'm not going to bring my XBox over /here/ to play. You'll have to put up with my— " his eyes get wide, playfully horrified "— bachelor pad."

"Can't be worse in what I've seen of the co-ed dorms at NYU." she says cheerfully. "Even in the frat houses." Samantha's babosity factor totally would have gotten her into frat parties. She takes another long gulp - well, a rather unladylike chug of the egg cream, but can one really blame her? And then snickers at her own choco-milk moustache, gingerly wiping at it with her fingers. "Just promise to hide the porn."

Samantha isn't the only one snickering at her moustache, and though she attempts to wipe it off herself, Namir also leans in with a grin to offer his own help and thumb to the cause. "What," he laughs, "you don't want to see my copies of Muslim Girls Gone Wild?" It's only after the chocolate moustache is eliminated that it dawns on him that, uhm, the proximity is a bit close. Awkwardly close. But he doesn't draw away immediately, and instead stares into the doctor's face a moment, pondering something.

"I can just imagine that. Girls without veils. Girls showing their elbows. Girls showing their ankles, or if they're really tawdry, their knees." She grins at him. "Oooh." She stares back with her small smile, and doesn't say a word. She just quirks one of those eyebrows inquiringly, a silent, 'Well?'

Hm. This is awkward. Namir feels the sudden urge to be elsewhere — like at the other end of the couch with his hands between his knees being a /good and perfect gentleman/. But now that he's here, well, it would just be /silly/ to pull away, and it's not as though he's doing anything horribly wrong. He smirks a bit before moves in just a little hesitantly for a gentle kiss. It's been … let's not say how long it's been since he kissed a woman, but damn it if he's not going to do so /now/.

Samantha has been…well, a little more recent about things. Admittedly, not very recent - and oh, well let's just say we'll skip how long it's been since she's gotten kissed. Affection in the form of a rescue pet is a poor substitute. She's got soft lips, and they're curved into a smile when he finally leans back. "I was wondering if I was going to have to issue an engraved invitation." she admits with a faint chuckle.

He doesn't lean too far back and still remains within the realm of Awkward Proximity, but it's not really so awkward now. Namir exhales an amused sort of breath from his nostrils and grins. "It might have helped, actually. A nice big invitation pasted right in the middle of your forehead— " which gets a kiss too, before he presses his own forehead against hers. "It's been a while, anyway," he adds a little more seriously.

"Dear Namir, three dates is certainly well enough to be able to at least have a makeout session reminiscient of a pair of 16 year olds in the back of a 'vette. Ta, Samantha." she quotes, still grinning. "That said, there's no hurry. Try kissing me a bit more, so you can go home worked up and I can stay here worked up and eventually I'll come over to your place and we can work out our mutual frustrations…on your xbox."

Namir's eyes widen briefly at that, as though Samantha just suggested that he go kick a kitten or something equally monstrous. "Mm, I hope you don't mean literally /on/ the XBox; I'm sure you don't weigh too much, but we still might break it if we tried, and it would be very uncomfortable anyway." But another grin indicates that he is, of course, joking, and another kiss indicates that he's more than willing to go along with the outlined plan. Sure, it's been a while, but as they say: it's like riding a bike. An old and rusty bike. That's been sitting in the backyard since college.

"Your literal priveleges are revoked." she informs him, kissing back. Repetition is a part of learning, and she encourages repetition a lot. At least long enough for her to necessitate eventually sending him out the door with the sort of emphasis that involves door re-opening for about five more minutes, and then, no, really, go HOME, Namir. Left alone, she looks at Fiyero, who stares back with an air of betrayal. "Oh, you be quiet." she tells him, and goes for a wine glass.

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