Pre-Christmas Dinner

[Violetta Crouch]

Standing in the kitchen with her hands clasped around the body of her wine glass, Violetta waited calmly for her date. The knock at the door at the door seemed to take forever, but at last it came. The mature woman approached the front entrance, unlatching the mechanism after a halting moment of peering through the spyhole. The man of the hour had arrived.
"Do come in," Violetta beckoned, her sense of hospitality never too far off. The man stepped inside the house, wiping his thunderous feet against the scrubbing bristles of the welcome mat. He nodded his thanks, the ring which hung from his nose twisting forward and back as he did so.
"I trust your journey was a swift and safe one?"

Violetta stepped back to allow the door's closing. The weather outside remained fresh and calm in the wake of this muscular man. She watched him passing her by and heading straight towards the coat rack, lifting off his jacket and drawing flowers from within. He proceeded to present these as a gift.
Violetta fluttered her lashes, a rosen smile laid heavily across her cheeks. "They're beautiful," she shined, gracefully accepting the bouquet, "thank you."

Leading him into the open-plan space of the living room, Violetta motioned invitation for him to sit, before summoning two glasses and a bottle to her side. "Wine?"

 

[Deimos Ares]

It was something of a novelty for Deimos to have experienced more than three dates with a woman of similar age to his own, but somehow it had happened. She was divine in both beauty and nature, and though she lived and worked in a very restrictive area, Deimos did not find it to be off-putting. In fact, it made her all the more attractive for his own condition. He had worried so much upon their early meetings that this charming woman would be drawn away from him for his struggle with the lunar cycles. But Violetta was a wonder. She knew all about him, and yet they were now to meet again for their seventeenth date.

All a bundle of nerves even now, Deimos knocked lightly at the door. His black suit and heavy leather shoes gave him the look of a refined businessman. The door opened. Deimos stepped inside to a warm welcome. Having removed his jacket, the wizard present a fresh pastel bouquet to his date, and was relieved to see her smile.
"Indeed it was," he responded to her question, "I'm glad you like them."
He had never known what flowers to give, but the professional plant lover seemed to adore all gifts he offered. She had respect and dignity with it.

Deimos followed on after the witch, joining her upon the settee and making himself comfortable as she summoned over their drinks. "Please," he replied politely, taking up a glass and supping lightly at the crisp white vintage. "Cheers."
Just as he had spoken, the werewolf seemed to give a growl. But it was not the beast within which grumbled. The promise of dinner and the over-sensitive nature of his sense of smell had allowed Deimos to detect the delectable odour of a freshly cooked chicken warming tauntingly in the oven.

 

[Violetta Crouch]

Violetta was only too aware of what condition the man, with which she sat, suffered from. His struggles with the full moon was of such a nature that several of their previous dinner dates and pre-planned evenings together had required a brief calendar reshuffle. Such was the reason for their evening meal falling before the date of Christmas. The lunar cycle had already made certain that the pair would not be spending Christmas night together.
Still, Violetta smiled on with her smoothed pink lips, glancing occasionally over towards the oven to check for any signs of a singed meal.

Straightening her back so that her spine fell in a more symmetrical upright position, the middle-aged woman blinked slowly at her date.
"I hope you're hungry," she chuckled, noting the sudden grumble of his stomach as she forced herself to stand back up in the tips of her toes, pacing elegantly across the wooden floor towards the kitchen. "I know you have a certain fondness for chicken." Especially with the moon soon to be up, came a less welcome after-thought.

When she had first learnt of his condition, the blonde had been a little taken aback; the wolf was not easily to be recognised beneath the bulked muscular shell of 'mister suited-and-booted'. He had always come across such a gentle giant of a man, and his occupational position held, gave even less clue as to his true nature. But he was what he was. The wolf would howl, the beast would claw, the blood of cattle, of deer, of fowl, would fly unless the precautions were taken.
Deimos had never hidden his condition from her. He had been an honest man of his own good word from the very start, and that was why she trusted him. Besides, how many men had shown such vivid interest in her own hobbies and practices such as himself?

The chicken slid crisp and brown from the oven. A honeyed glaze gave it rich overtone, and Violetta stationed it upon the side.
"Not long now," she beamed, reassuring the rumble of Deimos' stomach.
She began to dress the pre-prepared salad, and plated the lot up in a most festive telling manner. The dishes were then levitated into the air and sent hovering slowly towards the dinner table, settling gently down upon the polished mahogany surface. And that was where they sat, waiting as patient torment to the senses.
Violetta started towards them, nodding to her guest.
"Mister Ares, would you care to join me for dinner?"

 

[Deimos Ares]

Apologetic for his stomach's rude vocal interruptions, Deimos waited patiently as the dinner was served up and dealt onto plates. He could feel the saliva building in his mouth, oozing out towards his lips. The wolf gave another long growl, but he suppressed the urge to leap forth across the kitchen counter and set upon meal as a hungry lion may pounce, snarling, upon a gazelle.
No, the beast must learn its place, and obedience. If Deimos ever wished for a relationship to work out then he must control the desires of both the wolf and of himself. So he waited, and he waited. The seconds ticked by like minutes, but at last the dinner was ready, the table was set, and the mood of invitation allowed for the beast to finally reach its target. The hunter would feast.

There was a definite cliché of romance wafting through the air as the witch and wizard sat opposite one-another, enjoying a delicious festive meal together. The chicken had been beautifully presented, and though some may have felt an alternative form of poultry was more appropriate, the divine woman had certainly grasped and correctly gauged Deimos' preference as to his preferred fowl meat. Chicken would, and had for many years now, reigned supreme.
The dish did not need to suffer long upon the plate, for it was devoured within moments by the ravenous beast, who then smiled apologetically up at Violetta. She did not seem offended to be left slowly crunching away at her salad, sampling at tasting small slices of meat at a time. Deimos had hardly realised what a greater size in portion she had dealt him, and felt even more awkward for his hurried consumption.

Pushing aside his embarrassment and playing the cards of conversation of the table, Deimos decided to press the thoughts of his mind and chest to the kindly woman he had already felt many a keener feeling for.
"You really are a magnificent cook," he began with praise, hoping she would take this well, "but an even more magnificent woman."
She flushed a neat shade of pink at his words, and Deimos watched as her eyes batted slowly towards him, flashing streaks of gleaming blue mingled with the effectively applied eye-shadow she wore.
It seemed as though she had felt the intended compliment, and so he went on.
"I.. I really can't quite thank you enough," Deimos gave a nervous laugh, "you just.. You're just.." The words were failing him, his speech was rolling out like quaffles on an empty pitch.
"You're you."

 

[Violetta Crouch]

Violetta sat back in her chair, resting the silver for she grasped, against her plate. Her eyebrows were raised, and her head tilted with crooked angle. This was not, of course, in judgemental manner, but more in one of amusement at the werewolf's misplaced words. She sat like this for a good moment or two, suppressing a laugh. The poor man so often seemed to lose control of his tongue in Violetta's presence, and she felt that perhaps she knew why. And if that was so, the feeling was of mutual taste.
"Well," Violetta began her reply at last, still suppressing her initial knee-jerk response of amusement, "thank you, Mos."

Allowing him to sweat a little, cruel of her though this was, Violetta sipped sweetly at her glass of wine. Thoughts of the future, of two-thousand and thirty-four drawing swiftly to a close. She was not growing younger by the day, and while witches, such as her grandmother, had lived far longer than muggles do, her biological clock still ticked on as that of any woman, possessing magic or otherwise. It was of this fact that Violetta was only too aware, for it was now, as she his later and later age, that her desire to have children had finally started to kick in. There was but one slight snag with this desire, which now was to drive her thoughts to a possible, lengthier future with the man she dined.
They had been friends for many years- her ability to grow and brew potions had lead to their paths inevitably crossing.

"I am glad you appear to have enjoyed your meal," Violetta pitched, breaking the silence when she deemed it right to do so. Her thoughts only caused internal stress and strain. She really did feel strongly, passionately for Deimos, but she had never openly spoken of these feelings to him, and he had not taken charge in stepping forth and making his own feelings- or lack of, particularly clear, either.
Violetta skewered some more chicken at the tip of her fork, forcing salad to join in the piercing, and popped it tidily through her parted lips. She really wished to blurt many thoughts and feelings to Deimos, but she hadn't the courage. Or perhaps it was stupidity? It was unlikely he had fallen for her as she had for him. It had been a long time coming, but in the last months of the year, the nauseas waves of passion had washed over her, drowning her with emotions.
"I hope you are not planning to 'dine and dash', this evening?"

 

[Deimos Ares]

"On the contrary," Deimos was quick to respond, thankful that the conversation had progressed as such, "I was rather hoping the evening light would be ours to keep." He stared at her with his dark liquid chocolate eyes, a smile creeping onto his face with a cheeky and hopeful nature.
In their time together, Deimos had grown only too fond of Violetta, even to the point where he now concealed his eager affections which screamed out to be set free upon the world.

Standing from his seat as he had been gestured to do so, Deimos raised his muscularly built body, and the pair rejoined in the comfort of the living room sofa before an enchanted fire which kept the room at perfect temperature, but added an aroma of sweet scents.
Deimos leant back where he rested, his longs legs outstretched, arms curved behind his head. He relaxed into the atmosphere and his primes nose indulged in the heavenly fragrance emanating from the fire. Once again, Violetta had joined him upon the sofa, her smooth and elegant legs crossed towards him. The flickering of the firelight emphasized her age, and yet it seemed to bring out more of her beauty. She only wore very fine amounts of make-up; Deimos knew this as a fact, for he had sniffed out the lightly powdered scent of her cheeks within their first moments of meeting. Her lipstick was the most noticeable in scent. She brewed and mixed and blend of herbs and spices and plantain to create all manner of make-up, though lipstick was definitely her forte. She knew exactly what chemicals would respond with one-another, and in what effect this could induce.

Smoothing a hand over his shaven head, Deimos glanced to and from the fire, as though he may call upon it for inspiration. The fire crackled, but it retained the words he longed to speak. Eventually, the silence was broken. Deimos opened his mouth, and the werewolf let him speak.
"Do you ever think about the future?" he began coyly, smiling towards her with amorous gaze. He could only assume that her response would follow that of her usual, measured nature. It was her level consistency which he craved in a world of tension and constant struggle.

 

[Violetta Crouch]

The progression from the dining table to the living room was one of swift nature, but the clock seated readily upon the mantelpiece showed that time was still eluding them. At this rate Deimos would most certainly have to spend the night in Violetta's company. And what a shame that should be, the blonde thought sarcastically.
They sat in the merriment of the embers flowing up the chimney from the hearth where burning logs lay. Violetta had no idea what words were to tumble so casually from the mouth of the man accompanying her, but when they came she had to wonder if he had truly intended to speak them. Such gravity they could hold, and more so that of her response.

"It is only natural to sometimes contemplate the future, yes. Or are you suggesting something more specific?" She eyed him cautiously, though her long thick eyelashes began to flutter with greater rate than they previously had done. Excitement beat within her chest.
Now the conversation and the evening was to turn thrilling.

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