Not-Sunday Dinner

Mamoru Chiba's greatest challenge lay before him, and it comes in the form of a brown Welcome mat, a generic medium-rent apartment, and a smiling, smug grinning Hannah-chan. She's in an actual dress today, though she's hardly adverse to them. It's a yellow sundress and sandals as she opens the door, grinning. Behind her? As the young man might have noted in the bar b que, Hannah's Mother and she bear a striking resemblance, with her Father being a stocky man with a set of eyes that he's passed onto his child.

"Welcome Mamoru-kun! Glad you could make it!"

"So /this/ is the young man my darlin' daughter's been tellin' me all about!? You come on in now, hon."

"Now ain't that the picture of strappin' young fella! Git on in here boy!"

Comes the trio, with Boris woofing from all the way in the living room area. Hannah's offering an arm as if for the young man to lead her off! Instead, she'll do the tugging, depositing him on a comfy chair before Hannah grins. She whisks herself off to the kitchen.

"Good luck~."

There's the sound of cooking, and Hannah laughing. Yes, she just abandoned Mamoru to her /parents/ suddenly.

Her mother, Anna Sharpe, is the first to speak. "Well, Mamoru, wasn' it? My name's Anna, and this is my husband, Paul."

The man gives a big belly laugh, all grins, the same kind of enthusiasm Hannah's known for.

"Nice to meetcha! Tell us a bit about yourself!"

"Don't be too hard on him, Mom, Dad! He breaks easy, don't you?" Teases Hannah kitchen-wards. Sizzle sizzle.

He's ALREADY at a loss. Mamoru's sitting down without having greeted anyone, he's still carrying a plastic store bag with a house gift in it, he's wearing shoes indoors, Hannah's parents are loud and friendly and forceful, and she's already abandoned him. He looks up at the two Americans, eyes wide, frozen like a deer in headlights for a moment.

An awkwardly long moment.

Finally it's like someone reset his router, and he smiles an uncertain, pasted-on thing and gets to his feet to offer the couple a bow, then holds out the bag to Hannah's mom. "Sharpe-s-- Mrs. Sharpe, please accept this, it's not much but--" he starts, and then falters because he realizes he's just not doing anything right at all. "I mean-- hello. I mean, hello sir, hello ma'am. I'm pleased to meet you as well. I--"

He laughs nervously, raising a hand to the back of his head and gripping at his hair for a half second. "I have no idea what Hannah-chan has told you."

He won't sit down until they both are, either. Or he's told to. Either way, once he does, he sits a little tensely, very very obviously out of his depth and a bundle of nerves. "I'm afraid I'm not very interesting. I'm an eleventh grader at Infinity and I study a lot-- I'm in Kendo Club..."

Even Boris has abandoned him.

The bag is taken with a smile, and sat right next to her on the end table. "Can I call you Mamoru, Mister Chiba? That's sweet of you darlin'! Didn't have to go to all the trouble just for us!" She seems honestly touched, is the Sharpe matron.

Hannah's dad folds his arms, and gives Mamoru a /look/!

"Lots of things! Most of 'em good, but I see where she's comin' from. You need to buck up. Start goin' through life bein' all nervous like that, people will walk all over you!" Comes the man, his voice edging into 'concerned Father' mode.

Hannah's Mother, then, smiles encouragingly.

"And you're a very brave man who has helped my firebrand of a daughter through tough times that even she won't tell us about." Comes the woman in a much lower, more serious tone.

"And to hear her tell it, you haven't asked for anything in return." Her look grows into a warm smile, all mothery and with a bit of tears in her eyes.

Hannah chooses /now/ to reappear. There's a beer given to her father, a coke for Mamoru, and then she's dragging her Mom off with a wink to Mamoru. She whispers in his ear.

"I believe in you, Mamoru. He's a bigger softie than he looks."

Then the two women are off to the kitchen, and he's alone with the big man.

"Now, I want to learn all about you, son, but I have to ask you this. What're your intentions about my daughter? And don't you dare lie to me, understand?" He asks simply, eyes boring with all that fierceness of a loving Father.

The problem is, Mamoru has literally no idea what to do with any of the following:

    1) Parents
    2) Americans
    3) Adult American strangers
    4) Visiting them in their home
    5) Loud kindness from them
    6) unintentional insults to his strength of character
    7) jfc that question omg

His hands fist on his knees, knuckles white, and the fire of indignation is in his eyes as he levies a Look at Hannah's father. "I don't let anyone just walk all over me, sir," he states, and there's steel behind it. "Not even Hannah-chan. It's just that not everything needs to be a fight."

Then he forces a smile for Hannah's mom. "She's worth it. Her dream is to make the world a better place, and anyone who feels that way deserves all the help we can give them," he says honestly, and that, at least, seems to relax him slightly, and if it can make Hannah blush, damn her conniving social hammers, all the better.

But there's already revenge afoot, and the whisper's answered with this immensely betrayed look--

--which turns into an expression, once he's facing Paul again, of unmitigated annoyance. "She told me she straightened you out on that. We're friends. I'm spoken for."

Hannah indeed blushes. There's a flying rolled up napkin tossed at him. Luckily, her non-henshin'd aim is atrocious.

Paul, meanwhile, doesn't back down.

"I want to hear it from your own mouth. My daughter's not as sharp as she thinks she is. Look me in the eyes and say it." Counters the man.

Meanwhile, daughter and mother look at one another.

"...Am I /really/ like him, mom?"

The Sharpe matron simply ruffles Hannah's hair. Cue a deep sigh from hannah and leaning into it. Goodness that feels good.

Bad aim or not, Mamoru reaches up without looking to catch the rolled-up napkin in midair and places it on the arm of the chair he's sitting in. The unmitigated annoyance doesn't get mitigated, it only roots itself deeper. He's not actually used to being questioned, and on a deep level somewhere inside -- one that says to hell with social niceties and proper behavior for a guest and the kindness of his hosts -- it honestly offends him.

It's with a presence that's almost never seen by Americans, and very rarely by anyone in the modern world, regal and final and refined and constrained to a laser focus, that he looks Paul in the eyes. And the blue eyes he's looking out of are much older than seventeen, are full of an ancient power rooted in the Earth itself, and are stirred by incredulousness and quiet warning.

"We are very, very good friends. My heart and soul belong to someone else. Is that good enough for you... sir?"

It's a savage contest of wills. Paul stares right back, ignoring the sweat forming on his forehead, teeth gritting and his own knuckles strangling the couch arm. If anything, the older man seems more annoyed than cowed at first, rebellion and independence warring with ancient royalty.

And then, just as sudden, it vanishes. The man stands up, grins, and /laughs/ for a good solid minutes. When he can finally speak again, he gives a deep nod.

"And here I was worried you didn't have a backbone. You pass, Mamoru. Keep that strength in your eyes. You'll do a lot of good. And don't ever stop not being anyone's rug, got it?"

He lets out a sigh, and now he looks tired and old.

"Could've used you back in 'Nam, boy. Anyway, stay here tonight, huh? Make up for me..."

Hannah walks right in, and smacks her Father right on the back of the head.

"Being an absolute, unforgivable jerk. Don't worry, I'll punish him later. You're training with me tonight, old man!" Cue a headlock by the daughter, and the two roll to the floor wrestling!

Stay here tonight? Mamoru looks a little on the spot, but covers deftly.

"I was busy," the teenaged boy says drily, sitting back in the chair, suddenly at ease since Paul's backed down, "being nonexistent. My apologies." He watches the ensuing wrestling match with a fair amount of interest, elbow on the arm of the chair and chin propped on his knuckles. "I'll certainly stay for training -- and make popcorn if that's what's still done -- but I'm on call tonight."

On call?

After a pause, he adds easily, "I'm a volunteer EMT with my local fire department."

Paul looks up from vaguely prying his scrappy daughter off after literally rolling over onto her. She might be tall, but the man has the advantage of weight. There's a huuurk from Hannah.

"Great! EMT, huh? Nice, physical work, save lives! Good on you! Need more of them. See, back in Nam, I knew this one medic who..."

Shark-hannah rises, and latches onto her Father, nomming his shoulder playfully and wrapping her legs around his back! Roll roll roll!

The match ends with Boris walking in, and leaping from the couch directly down on the pair! Oomph!

Hannah's mother walks back in.

"Boris wins by technical knockout." She declares.

"Good. Dinner's in ten minutes, you four."

With a slight, lopsided smile, Mamoru nods to Paul: saving lives is, if nothing else, always and forever going to be his business. Thankfully, Hannah rescues him again, this time from a 'Nam story -- one that, truth be told, he wouldn't mind listening to.

He isn't moving much; he's comfortable in the chair there, and isn't inclined to get involved in the pileup on the floor, though he does give Boris an 'I'm not talking to you, you traitor' look. He glances up at Hannah's mom, and the smile he gives her is pleasant, almost charming. "Thank you, ma'am."

Finally he hauls himself up out of the chair and glances down at the floor-ruckus. "I hate to interrupt, but-- where can I wash up?"

All three finally get back up, with the Matron-Sharpe neating up the trio. Boris just grins as he's brushed smooth of his fur!

Hannah points to the hallway where Mamoru came in.

"Down the hallway, past the kitchen, right near my room!"

If Mamoru has a crisis of confidence in his ability to handle the rest of the evening, only the mirror in the bathroom will know.

Once he can't possibly get any more germs off his hands without turning them into stone or something, he's managed to get himself into his usual coping mindset. Show no fear, be polite, be pleasant, he unreadable behind the apparent ease. It's only modified by the removal of his other usual standby, 'aloofness'-- that won't, he's certain, work on these people. They're a challenge. He's good at challenges! He doesn't back down! Woe betide challengers who think they can throw him off his cool!

He won't get thrown again!

No but for real he's going to be scrambling this whole time, which is the really real reason he can't stay over. By the end of the night he'll need to retreat so bad, omg.

When he comes out, it's with enough time left over that he wasn't actually hogging the bathroom in case anyone else wants to use any of the remainder of the ten minutes. "Is there anything left I can help set out?" he asks cheerfully, sleeves rolled up, one hundred percent sociably casual.

Hannah, too, steals the bathroom after Mamoru exits. She throws him a light punch to the back (where she's sure he has a shirt on!), and grins.

"You're holding up well. Maybe my parents won't devour you after all." Wink!

When the family rejoins at the table, Miss Sharpe waves Mamoru into the kitchen.

There's a virginia ham that Paul is busy carving up, which soon is handed over to Mamoru!

"Put 'er in the middle of the table!"

Hannah is already setting out the silverware, with bar-b-que beans, mac and cheese, and then in comes Anna with some okra and some sausage gravy. At least he won't have to eat with his hands. Mamoru /will/ have to contend with an American dinner, however!

After a quick prayer, Hannah and Paul dig in, while Miss Sharpe is a little more sedate. Boris is munching on a ham bone.

"So what're you looking to do with your life, Mamoru? Goin' for more schoolin' after high school, I hope!" There's a motherly look offered to Mamoru. She's clearly banking on a yes!

Mamoru does as asked, sure that he's being humored so he'll shut up about helping, and smiling a little because of it. Soon enough, they're all ready; he's respectfully silent during the prayer, and manages to suppress his itadakimasu.

~

Of course he has impeccable table manners. He's watched enough television and movies to know how to behave at an American dinnertable, after all! The food is all delicious and flavorful, even if he's half afraid too much of it is going to be pushed on him and he'll be caught between the impoliteness of making himself sick and the impoliteness of refusing food...

Relief. "Yes!" he says, wiping his hands and mouth on his napkin, then reaching over for his glass of ... whatever they're drinking, he didn't actually pay attention. "I'm doing the prerequisites for medical school, even if I can't actually start putting in applications to various universities until after finals. I'm hoping if I get enough of a headstart and take a double courseload for preclinical, I'll be able to graduate in four years instead of six, and start residency early."

The good manners meet Anna's approval! She's grinning at him like a very, very proud parent right now. She then glares to the other two in the room.

Hannah and Paul are like wood chippers that somehow manage to not make a mess and somewhat be polite about it. It's a little weird. Maybe Usagi can learn a thing or two from those two.

There's definitely food pushing. Not /too/ much, but there's no way Mamoru is leaving this table not-stuffed. It's good too. He might want to go for a run before the night's over, though. Might explain part of why Hannah's so active.

"Wow. That's going to be brutal, Mamo-kun." Pipes up Hannah after okra goes into the hannah-mouth-buzzsaw.

"Lots of hard work! It'll put hair on your chest, son!" Adds Paul.

"That's a good occupation, darlin'. Saving lives. Maybe you'll find a cu..."

She's cut off by a very, very hard glare from Hannah.

Touchy subject.

"I'm sure you'll do well."

"You know I never think it counts unless I overdo it, Hannah-chan," Mamoru says teasingly to the blonde girl across the table. He's not sure how he feels about the okra, but he'll certainly eat all that he's pushed to eat -- though he definitely takes the initiative to put other things on his plate first if he can swing it.

He almost says something to Hannah's mother, but if anyone does, Mamoru knows from touchy subjects, so he lets the nearly-roused bear go back to sleep and instead asks Paul very, very seriously, "How does hard work actually put hair on your chest? I've heard the same thing about strong coffee and drinking whiskey while walking barefoot in the snow, but I haven't found any clinical trials or evidence of any of it in casual research."

Hannah stops a moment, and gives a more serious reply.

"Just remember, we're here to help you if you need it, okay?"

It's Anna's turn then.

"I'm in the medical field myself. So please, just ask." She adds.

Paul is happy to change the subject.

"See, that there's the problem! You gotta /mix/ the coffee and whiskey, walk /backwards/ in the snow and uphill both ways first! That gets the first fuzz goin'. Like trimmin' a beard! Then add hard work, and you'll be as manly as me one day!" He flexes an admittedly strong looking arm with a laugh.

"And don't those scientist folk know nothin' anyway! Er, no offense hun."

"Don't listen to him, Mamo-kun, my Dad's a big softie bear that has way too many stupid stories."

Paul frowns.

"There's no such thing as a stupid story when you have a fresh audience," Mamoru says with a laugh, finally slouching back in his seat and pushing his plate a little further away from himself on the table: no no no please no more please dear god no more oh god, is the generally accepted definition of that particular gesture.

He offers Anna a smile, eyes actually crinkling a little at the corners with this one-- it's the first truly warm, appreciative, and unreserved smile he's given all night, and it's very slight, but the amount of it in his eyes very deftly conveys its depth. It's a wordless acceptance of that offer, but keeping the apparently touchy subject still away from Hannah.

Then he launches right back into full-fledged trolling of Hannah's dad. "So hang on, though, you were about to say something about this medic in 'Nam you knew -- if you don't trust science, I have to ask, was your doctor a shaman or a witch of some kind?" He asks the question with earnest anthropological curiosity, and if he had a notebook right now, he'd literally take it out and start taking notes.

Hannah is still eating. Anna gives up. It's a competition between Paul and Hannah. Who will win!?

Anna notes the gesture, and as she comes over, she'll try to take his plate.

"I hope you enjoyed, Mamoru." She adds with the sweetest southern belle accent she has. There's a very happy looking mama sharpe walking off!

Paul stops eating, and Hannah finally gives up. ARgh. She'll need a bit.

When no one's looking, Boris is scarfing some ham like a doge-jerk.

"Now listen here! When you're cornered by a squad, got eight bullets in ya, you really don't care. And as a matter of fact!" Troll, meet crazy story spinning Dad.

"'E was a Shinto-Shaman-WitchDoctor-Medic! 'Ad a voodoo doll, some kinda shaman fetish, a priest-hat /and/ the biggest first aid kit you ever seen! He'd poke a pin in the doll, while mumblin' prayers and waving the fetish around. All while shootin' with his m16 with his feet and sewin' you up a needle between his teeth! And if the enemy got too close, he'd throw the voodoo doll right at 'em! Knocked out ten enemy soldiers with one throw!" He says it all with a completely serious face.

Mostly. His eyes are /shining/ with mirth!

Mamoru gives Anna a sheepish look; he hadn't actually realized she'd do that, but again, his conflicting habits and knowledges of guesthood leave him feeling awkward and he just sort of doesn't protest as she takes the plate away.

Also Boris is so good at being doge-jerk, holy cow. Almost better than Luna at being catte-jerk.

It's a huge blessing that Hannah's dad is a crazy story spinning kind of guy who's actually FED by the kind of questions Mamoru's really excellent at dishing out. Paul's deadpan with shining eyes; Mamoru has that glitter of suppressed devilish glee in his own-- Hannah can hear it in his voice; she's certainly known him long enough to be able to hear when he's playing a game. It's the 'oh good this is a rollercoaster I barely need to push' glee. It's the 'heavens, I may actually have found a rollercoaster I can jump in the last car of' glee. It's slowly, detail by detail, turning into the 'ohmigod am I actually going to have to buckle in? YESSSS' glee.

"And the man was Shinto, was he? I see," the boy says thoughtfully. He leans back and taps his chin, then continues with growing levels of absurdist pseudo-academic bullshit as if he were wearing tweed with leather elbows and a bowtie. "That does make a certain amount of sense; he must have had a fascinating life, to have come into contact with so many completely disparate religions and learn to embrace at least elements of all of them. Obviously, whatever he did must have worked-- he clearly must have come upon some secret Hindu rite that allowed him to channel aspects of both Vishnu and Shiva and use all their arms."

He leans forward and asks (windup), so earnestly, "Could he use that magic to heal people with a sort of laying-on-of-hands? Or is that-- what's the word--"

He brightens, then (pitch) finishes, "Hogwash!"

Curveball. He takes a ridiculous amount of satisfaction from the resulting combination of Hannah's sputtering and Paul's launch into an exponentially more grandiose tangent.

Oh they'll be here for hours.