Bon Appetit (closed)
Sept 9, 2011 22:19:02 GMT -5
Post by Bradley Reeves on Sept 9, 2011 22:19:02 GMT -5
Earlier that week, Bradley had passed Sean in the hallway and realized it had been a while since he’d had his friend over for dinner. The two weren’t extremely close, but since they had both lived in the area for a while and both worked at Hammel they talked from time to time. Since Bradley considered the man his friend, he made a point to invite him over for dinner and/or drinks every now and then. He enjoyed spending his evenings in the kitchen preparing full meals. But since he lived alone, he wasn’t always able to finish all the leftovers or enjoy others complements on his cooking. So his solution was to invite others over whenever he could.
He told Sean to feel free to bring along a friend or two. But that he wasn’t aloud to feel like he had to bring a dish of any kind. Of course, he was more than welcomed to bring along a bottle of wine or something similar. Although Bradley kept a selection of wine and liquor in his kitchen, he worried that he wouldn’t have something his friend might want.
He had told Sean to arrive around seven, so by six forty-five Bradley had fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers, and bruschetta sitting out along with small plates and napkins. That way his guest(s) could sit at the barstools in his kitchen and enjoy the appetizers while he put on the finishing touches to the pollo fantasia and the penne vodka. The table was set and his place was spotless (of course). The sounds of Billy Joel were coming softly from the record player in his living room. Bradley was so excited he had even put lit a few candles around his place.
When he heard the doorbell, he couldn’t help but run around his apartment quickly to make sure everything was in order. As much as he enjoyed inviting company over, he did tend to get a little anxious about it.
He opened the front door and realized at the same moment that he was still wearing his kitchen apron. “Entri prego,” he said, blushing slightly about his appearance. “Spero che abbiate fame.” He started to blush even more, realized that he was speaking Italian.
“Sorry,” he said, walking towards the kitchen. “I hope you like Italian. I’ve set out something to get you started.” He mentally kicked himself for starting off the evening on a bad foot and immediately wished he hadn’t. He often worried about his inner dialogue when Sean was around. The price of having a telepath as a friend.
((OOC: I'm still decideing how to show Bradley's powers, since I don't speak every language he can.
Right now I'm using Babelfish, so sorry if I butchered his Italian, just assume that he said it right, even if I didn't.))
He told Sean to feel free to bring along a friend or two. But that he wasn’t aloud to feel like he had to bring a dish of any kind. Of course, he was more than welcomed to bring along a bottle of wine or something similar. Although Bradley kept a selection of wine and liquor in his kitchen, he worried that he wouldn’t have something his friend might want.
He had told Sean to arrive around seven, so by six forty-five Bradley had fresh mozzarella, roasted peppers, and bruschetta sitting out along with small plates and napkins. That way his guest(s) could sit at the barstools in his kitchen and enjoy the appetizers while he put on the finishing touches to the pollo fantasia and the penne vodka. The table was set and his place was spotless (of course). The sounds of Billy Joel were coming softly from the record player in his living room. Bradley was so excited he had even put lit a few candles around his place.
When he heard the doorbell, he couldn’t help but run around his apartment quickly to make sure everything was in order. As much as he enjoyed inviting company over, he did tend to get a little anxious about it.
He opened the front door and realized at the same moment that he was still wearing his kitchen apron. “Entri prego,” he said, blushing slightly about his appearance. “Spero che abbiate fame.” He started to blush even more, realized that he was speaking Italian.
“Sorry,” he said, walking towards the kitchen. “I hope you like Italian. I’ve set out something to get you started.” He mentally kicked himself for starting off the evening on a bad foot and immediately wished he hadn’t. He often worried about his inner dialogue when Sean was around. The price of having a telepath as a friend.
((OOC: I'm still decideing how to show Bradley's powers, since I don't speak every language he can.
Right now I'm using Babelfish, so sorry if I butchered his Italian, just assume that he said it right, even if I didn't.))
