Food and Conversation

Inside the restaurant the lighting was just slightly lowered, creating a comfortable and intimate ambience that partnered with the fancy but not ostentatious decor. The place was nicer than a ‘brand name’ steakhouse for sure but wasn’t trying to be a Michelin star sort of restaurant, which you assumed made it a good first date location, and also aesthetically pleasing for the photographers.

You could feel the eyes on you and April as you walked in and the host met you at the front and immediately escorted you deeper into the dining area. Realistically you knew it had to be because of the photographers - the other clientele of the place didn’t exactly scream ‘nerds who would recognize April’ to you. It was business and salesmen with their wives or girlfriends, a smattering of older wealthy folks, and way at the back what looked like a big wealthy Greek family with about eight kids and eight adults around a table. The problem was that even though you knew it wasn’t you they were looking at, it still felt like it.

You just felt out of place. In your clothes, in the restaurant. With April on your arm.

The host turned to you as he gestured to a table that was set a little bit away from the others, likely to give better room for the photographers. You stepped forward and swallowed a little before pulling your arm from April’s and sliding out the chair for her.

She smiled again at you, the emotion reaching up to her eyes in a sort of genuine way that made you believe she wasn’t just putting it on, and she sat lightly. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” you managed to say without stammering and shuffled around the table to sit across from her.

Almost as soon as the host left, your waiter appeared and began rattling off the menu for the evening - apparently, it was set and you weren’t getting a choice - though he did suggest wine pairings. As he talked you felt the beating of your heart in your ears drowning out his words, the whump whump whump in time with your nervousness as you tried not to gape at your surroundings, or at April.

“What do you think, Ollie?” April asked you, knocking you out of your head. “Are you a wine guy, or should we go for something else?”

“I- uh- well if you’d like wine then I’m totally OK with that, but I’m not much of a drinker at all really,” you said. “I could do a cider though, that’s refreshing.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect,” April said, turning to the waiter. “I’ll do the same, please.”

The waiter gave a slight frown, just a fraction of a moment at not making out like a bandit since we hadn’t ordered an expensive bottle, but nodded and backed away.

“God, I’m glad you’re not a wine guy,” April said, leaning forward with a little conspiratorial smirk. “I mean, I can drink it, but all I taste is the ****. I never get any of the ‘flavours’ that everyone talks about.”

“Same,” you said and chuckled. “I just don’t have a refined enough palette, I guess.”

“Well, we’ll cheers to unrefined palettes then when we’ve got our pleb ciders,” April grinned. “So, Ollie. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

That made you smile a little. “Well, my friend Hannah decided I had to get on the app and she made my profile for me.”

“Looking for something in particular?” April asked.

You, you thought, but didn’t say it. “Just someone who likes me, and who I can give my all to,” you said instead. “I like people, so someone who isn’t afraid to socialize or anything.”

“So Hannah is shy?” April asked,

That made you bark a laugh. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “God, no. We’re the exact opposites except for that. We’ve been friends since we were six.”

April asked you questions, and you answered them as truthfully as you could. You told her about Hannah and some silly stories from when the two of you were kids, and about Hikaru as well. She laughed along, and you realized that you felt… comfortable just talking. You asked her who her Hannah was, and she named a couple of people, and most of her stories revolved around a woman named Ellen that was her closest friend.

Then April pivoted the conversation and asked if you watched anime, and you complimented her on a couple of her more fringe early performances from when she was just starting out in voice acting. That got you down a rabbit hole about an anime that she’d had a bit part in but that she loved as you worked your way through your appetizer salads.

“And honestly,” April said, “I kind of developed a new hobby because- and I don’t talk about this in interviews so promise me you won’t spread it around- I started collecting the statues of the big mechs, right? Like the ones you have to build. But I didn’t like how some of them were painted or were just saw plastic, so I learned how to paint and weather them and stuff, and that got me into tabletop games.”

“No way,” you chuckled. “What games?”

“Well, I have stuff from the big games, but my favourite models right now are from this company Arclite. I just love the space-fantasy vibe with the magic and the tech combined. And the big mechs, obviously.”

“No way!” You repeated yourself. “I collect and paint the Transhumans. What faction are you collecting?”

April’s jaw dropped. “You’re a transhuman scum?!” she laughed and grinned. “I collect Dragonaughts.”

You shook yourself like you were disgusted, and she scoffed and you both started laughing.

“Do you have any pictures of your army?” April asked.

“Yeah,” you said, pulling out your phone. “Hold on. But I want to see yours, too.”

“OK,” she said and started pulling up her own photos on her phone too. Soon you traded phones and were swiping through the albums. “Oh, Jesus, you’re way better at painting than me,” she said.

“No way, you’re really good,” you said. Her colour scheme was bright and made the dragon-mechs look like they were bursting with fire or lava.

“Yours look so much more gritty and realistic though.”

“But yours are blasting with colour, and you got it really vibrant in contrast to the dark armour. I bet they look great on a table to play,” you said, handing back her phone.

She shrugged a little. “I’ve never actually played,” she said. “I don’t know anyone else who does, and it’s kind of intimidating just going into a shop to buy a kit or two.”

“Oh, I know a place that’s really friendly,” you said. “It’s the shop down on 43rd. Their staff is great and do teaching games for all the big games, and they stay open late pretty much every night of the week if you’re busy during the day.”

“Cool,” she said, smiling happily as she passed your phone back as well. Your conversation halted for a minute as your main courses were delivered - prime rib with assorted vegetables and a smear of mashed potatoes that you were pretty sure were supposed to be decorative - and once the waiter left to get you each a new cider, April looked up to you again. “So, did you read the Arclite novel that came out earlier this year?”

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