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PSL for dreadnaughtfist

Pembe had had a series of unfortunate happenstances - that had ended up with him rather... homeless, and then taken in by a rather overlarge man. ... While there were several problems Pem could have really had with this arrangement, he'd done his best to take it all in stride. He was used to sudden change - it was how he'd lived his life up 'til now... though he'd hardly interacted with the other man other than polite introductions and a bit of idle chatter after convincing him that him staying there was better than a shelter. It'd only been a day or two since he'd... "moved in" (which was such a stretch of the phrase, considering the most he'd done was bring his clothes, camera, a small box of particularly random junk, and his cat... Assuming Potemkin had no problem with animals, of course. Gren was a fearless little scottish fold, as it were. As irresponsible as he felt moving around so much with a cat in tow, Gren seemed to bear it just fine. Pem generally didn't have much more than that to his name - he'd yet to actually find a job he could settle at, and freelancing had only encouraged his already natural drifter tendencies.)

Of course, Potemkin had... tried to get him to go to a shelter first, but as the cards had laid, it wasn't a particularly good option for Pembe. While he'd considered it, shelters were, for one thing, not a good place for cats (and in spite of it all, he was damn attached to his cat), and two, he was definitely not a fan. It'd taken a bit of convincing; Pembe had had to emphasize that while his things were meager, they were still expensive, and he was willing to assist as a housemate however he could in exchange for a place to stay where he wouldn't have to worry about having someone steal his camera... but he thought it'd gone well, considering that Potemkin had let him stay.

Though he'd promised to assist however he could with Potemkin's daily life... he did feel particularly useless at the moment. His current situation had him on a couch, with Gren bedding in the (now emptied, though it still hadn't had much) aforementioned box of junk. So, instead of giving in to the impulse to continue being useless, Pembe opted to take another option: start trying to do as he promised earlier. Potemkin would soon find himself hunted down by the big ball of pink that was Pembe - hair dye, glasses, and shirt making him... very pink. Pembe was large by most's standards, considering his height of 6'3", but Potemkin sort of outstripped him by leaps and bounds. It was a strange feeling - he rarely had to look up at people. But if he was going to room with Potemkin for long - which he was sort of hoping, given the area was fairly ideal - he'd have to get over it.

"Hey!" He greeted, throwing up a hand in a sort of wave when he caught Potemkin's attention. "I... uh, I was thinking I should get started on that whole business I offered earlier. Chores and all." He suppressed the urge to say he'd felt like a useless lump just because he hadn't started immediately, "You got laundry or... y'know, something I could help out with?" His smile was awkward - living in a house with someone you barely new was always destined to be awkward - but Pembe... was hoping he could at least get to know him, anyway.

Lord only knew if Potemkin's living style was clean and tidy or an utter mess... Judging from the man's bearing, Pem could've bet on either or.

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Pembe would be glad for Potemkin's inability to notice, honestly. He was getting more comfortable with letting it show a bit - every time Potemkin didn't seem to mind his little direct affections, he swelled a bit inside.

He wasn't only attracted to the man's appearance, but the man's size had been an immediate draw - the personality had just simply been what cinched it. Potemkin was, in his opinion, pitiable and yet kind and well-adjusted in spite of it, and also in healthy need of someone to assist him in some things... like ironing, and formal wear, and learning how to play with cats. Pembe was more than fine with being that person. He was finding he just was genuinely happy to spend time with Potemkin, even when he wasn't quietly admiring that physique and letting his thoughts grow dirty.

He chuckled at the man's attempt to assuage him, patting his chest again - not that his hands had really left. "Potemkin, I'm a journalist, remember? I know I mostly have casual wear, but I have some formalwear tucked away." He grinned, "I just haven't had a reason to wear it. But goin' out with you sounds like a perfectly good reason."

Pembe had found his job meant that sometimes appearances were more important than other things, like food, or shelter. A suit - even a particularly cheap one that he reinforced and disguised with other cloth to help it last in his lifestyle - was a necessity.

Potemkin stopped suddenly like he was shut up, but he accepted that explanation. It was true that Pembe managed to live for a long while on his own (plus Gren). He didn't need to baby him after already inviting him into his home. Potemkin needed to remind himself of that again. And again.

It didn't take long to find something happening nearby and soonish. The city's concert hall had its orchestra of fair renown performing, and Potemkin had poured over the music in the way of an avid listener looking his best (very very best, as Pembe would word it). They walked out to the discovery that the sun had set during the show, and what peered to them from beyond the glass doors was a dark sky lit with the sharp glow of nightime lights.

Potemkin walked slowly; he always tried to not be too much of a stand out presence in public (even though his size made that unavoidable to an extent), and he's not in a rush to go outside into the no doubt chilly night. He took the time to look down and check with the man he came with.

"What did you think of that?"

Pembe was fine with being babied, honestly. If Potemkin had gotten him something nice, he still would've worn it rather than his normal formalwear. But he also figured that Potemkin was more than going to trouble himself over it, when really there was no need - plus, he didn't particularly want to know how much a fancy suit like that would cost.

He'd put together his formal outfit rather nicely - a nice black suit (though he wanted a pink one, he'd figured a pink one was far too eye-catching for a journalist) with a white undershirt... and a bright pink tie, of course. He couldn't have an outfit that didn't have pink in it. (Plus, he still had his glasses.)

He spent most of the time in the audience switching looking between the orchestra and Potemkin, though he at least tried to be subtle about it. He couldn't help the smile at the man's heavy focus, really. He was a fan of more modern styles, but he could see the charm in orchestra, too.

He smiled up at Potemkin as they exited the main hall, hands sliding into his pockets. "I liked it." He chuckled, "I mean, I don't usually listen to that sort of thing, but I enjoyed it. How about you, huh? What'd you think?"

Said intense focus got in the way of Potemkin noticing the way Pembe looked at him. Only the grand experience of something on the scale of the sound of an orchestra could have distracted him enough to not catch something like that, but that's what happened. Potemkin would have questioned it if he knew; he did not have a high enough opinion of himself to think his appearance was inherently that interesting, aside from his unique height (which Pembe should have been used to by now).

But he didn't, so Pembe's enjoyment was all that was on his mind. His answer left him content, and he closed his eyes and nodded his head.

"That's good to hear. It's precisely because something like that is so out of the ordinary that makes it good for a person," Potemkin gave an almost fatherly lecture about building character.

Pembe probably would've been more subtle if he thought Potemkin might stop focusing long enough to catch him, really. The focus alone was interesting enough for Pembe, though Potemkin's enjoyment also rested on his mind, as well. He chuckled, however, at Potemkin's declaration, shaking his head with a grin.

"You sound like my dad." Pembe didn't sound at all peeved about that - he actually sounded like he found the comparison funny. "It builds character, right?"

His smile was wide as he leaned back, looking up the mountain of a man before him. "Do you go to this kind of thing often, or was this an out-of-the-ordinary experience for you, too?" It was a little insensitive - he knew Potemkin wasn't the best at accomplishing the formal flair, or he wouldn't be needed to help him look his best - but Pembe was curious if Potemkin went anyway.

A few lapel pins and a tie were hardly necessary for an orchestral performance - even if they looked nice. Though it was a bit hard to imagine Potemkin trying to achieve the casual sort of look men in suits without ties did...

Potemkin's eyes came open at that. Once again, Pembe predicted what Potemkin wasn't seeing without even meaning to. 'Builds character' was definitely where that was leading. He didn't put up the slightest argument, and only affirmed what he said, with another nod.

"Normally I would say something like I'm too busy, or have too much work - I guess we all need some impetus," Potemkin admitted that he was no exception to his lecture.

Not living alone anymore meant he got those sparks and drives more often, just from having someone around to think about. Which led into what Potemkin felt was due, a credit to Pembe. "Which in this case, means you."

He'd heard the start of that lecture quite a few times before, so he'd had little trouble predicting the ending. He looked pleased at the nod, and chuckled at the comment about needing some impetus.

"You're flattering me," Pembe replied, almost accusingly - though that was offset by how pleased he looked to hear that. "I'm glad to hear it, though."

He softened a bit, trying to diffuse the anxiety within him, before looking back up at Potemkin: "Would you complain if I were a bit more of an impetus? I know a good café around here 'cause of work, and they've got booths you could fit in..." He pretty much guessed Potemkin wasn't one to go out places; even considering their formalwear, a café was just classy enough to have them not look too strange.

Well, stranger than they already were, considering Potemkin's size.

Potemkin looked down at Pembe, curious but not confused by the suggestion. He actually did not go out to eat that often, with or without company. If Potemkin wanted to work long hours (and he always did), he was either stranded at the workplace or rested as soon as he got home.

"I don't think I've stopped by such a place around this part of town. I would be happy to join you there."

Potemkin just spoke of self-improvement through challenge, but the idea of braving the cold night to go straight to home was not a very comfy one. He's a little glad at an opportunity to take their time (and maybe prepare themselves with a warm drink first).

Pembe's grin remained as he nodded, "Great, then! Just follow me." He led Potemkin along into the cold, making a sort of noise - he really did wish he'd brought a scarf or something. He led the way a little ways further from their house - though thankfully not too far - to a building with a doorway that could just accommodate someone of Potemkin's size, along with a higher roof, and large booths.

It was actually rather nice - the booths were big enough they could (with a bit of shifting) accommodate someone like Potemkin without too much of a problem, and the atmosphere was rather calm and muted. It seemed like the place tried to embody the idea of a café in a building two sizes too big for it by sizing the booths, tables, and overall area up as well.

"Here we are!" Pembe offered, looking back to Potemkin with a less bold smile. "They had me reviewing some local places for work, and when they asked me to review this place, I thought it'd suit you. Plus, the coffee's really good." He chuckled at his own interjection, "What kind do you like?"

Potemkin in the meantime had pinched a menu with his fingers and was delicately flipping through it, reading the items with curiosity. When Pembe asked for his taste, he looked up from the paper.

"Black. But at this hour - "

Potemkin flipped the menu to face Pembe, fingertip pressed right above the object of interest.

"I think I'll go for hot chocolate."

Pembe couldn't help but chuckle a bit at Potemkin's choice in coffee - more because he'd sort of expected the answer, more than anything. Still, when Potemkin turned the menu around - he was kind of amazed by the dexterity Potemkin had with the smaller menu - he nodded.

"I haven't had that here - but it does sound nice, let me tell you." He grinned, "I'll get some, too. I was thinking about coffee, but it'd probably keep me up." He leaned back and looked over some, off into the wings - before offering a wave to someone.

A waitress moved over from where she'd been, off to the side - managing to remain polite and courteous (though she clearly was a bit frazzled, though if it was Potemkin's size and his suited appearance, or Pembe's own size, appearance, and persistent warm smile was anyone's guess,) in spite of the rather present distractions as Pembe placed their orders. He was polite, if not overly friendly - this was apparently a trend of his.

Once she'd left, Pembe settled back in his seat. "'m glad you reminded me hot chocolate exists, though. I haven't had it in sooo long." He chuckled again, "Coffee's the only hot drink at the office. You forget there are others, after a while."

It's a statement that disclosed quite a point by itself. Potemkin knew that Pembe always pushed himself, all while keeping his signature light air, so while Potemkin found that admirable, he was also a little comforted to see him getting a break.

"You're welcome," Potemkin said as he watched the waitress leave. In the meantime there's nothing else to do but wait (and enjoy being inside where there's a heater.) He laid his hands on the table, as much of them as would fit at least, and rapped them idly.

If Pembe knew how Potemkin thought of him - well. He'd probably have been really happy. Everything considered, he ran himself ragged - and while he'd happily picked the life of a journalist, with the ups and downs that came with it, it'd been a while since he'd actually gotten to settle in at a cafe and order something that wasn't caffeinated while working his way through another writeup.

Much less with a friend, but that digressed.

He settled back in his chair, relaxing for a few moments - just enjoying the cafe - and the sight in front of him, if we're being wholly honest. He let out a heavier, relaxed sigh, before leaning forward again. "Hey, Potemkin." He started, "What do you like most about the orchestra?" He had the feeling he knew, but a little conversation didn't hurt. He was clearly trying to make conversation, at least.

Potemkin wasn't going to turn down a chance to talk about music. He almost pounced on Pembe's lead. "In live music you can hear the purest expression of an artist," he went on entering a self-centered sort of reverie. Pembe didn't have to do much more than be a listening post for Potemkin to be appreciative.

"A piece of their soul is given in every sound they create. That is what elevates it into being exquisite. I am not a musician exactly, but I think everyone can appreciate beauty in a form that is so direct to the senses. I think you would be familiar with this, through your photography?"

Pembe didn't have much of an issue - if any at all - with being a listener to Potemkin's reverie. He chuckled at the man's comment, leaning in on one of his arms as he listened. "I've heard the kind of thing you're talking about, yeah."

He shrugged, "I... well, most of my photography's of things I want to remember, or things that make me happy. I think that's enough." He chuckled, awkwardly, "I wouldn't call them art, or beautiful, or anything. I like 'em because they're mine."

If Potemkin had seen any of his personal pictures before, he could probably tell that Pembe was taking them mainly for himself. They were mostly pictures of smiling people or nice sceneries, or more often selfies of the same, after all. "It's different when I'm taking them to be published, but I just kind of try and take pictures I'd like." He chuckled, "Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"You must have liked those images for some reason," Potemkin said, partially questioning. It might be a little naive, and strange to come out of a man who dealt with some intense stuff in his line of work, but his belief in Pembe is sincere.

"That alone adds the quality of 'yourself' to your pictures," Potemkin said with satisfaction. He might not be the best at expressing it, but he's all for more of Pembe being himself.

Pembe chuckled. It did sound a bit naive - and, a little missing his point, Pembe thought, but that was okay. He chuckled, "I guess you're right, on that one!" He leaned back, smiling some.

"I usually liked those pictures because of the people in them, or the look of the season, but I mean. I guess that's as good of a motive as any, from the sound of it." He chuckled, "I don't really look that deeply into if my pictures are art or not. The label comes with a lot of critical eyes."

Potemkin chewed on that for a moment. He usually disliked the idea of shying from analysis and criticism, since to him that seemed like a way of avoiding potential greatness. He knew that he would be a far way off from his current life if he had made the choice of avoiding the mentors in his life. But that it's Pembe makes him reconsider. Would Pembe be able to exist as he is, if he did feel constrained by watching eyes? It's a contradiction for something to be good for him but not.

Potemkin mulled on the paradox for long enough for their order to come in apparently. In what is one unbroken swirling motion the waitress swooped her arm with their drinks to their table and left on her heel before Potemkin even finished reacting.

"Oh!" Potemkin picked up his cup in his giant hands and started blowing on its top.

If Pembe knew Potemkin's quandaries, he probably would have laughed. He didn't shy from criticism itself - not that it was so easy to describe - but he knew that many people got too critical over what was essentially nothing. He didn't care to deal with that. Pembe certainly couldn't have become himself from avoiding criticism, but he certainly never laid himself out for unasked for criticism.

That was his premise - and he didn't set out to explain it to Potemkin, just watching him work at the idea that clearly had stumped him with a gentle smile. It was honestly endearing.

Pembe was as quick on the pick up as the waitress - giving her a nod and a thank you and taking his cup from her directly, even as she twisted and turned away with a polite smile and a nod in return.

Pembe grinned up at Potemkin, not bothering to blow too much on his own before taking a long drink of it. He let out a low almost rumble, grinning some. "Man, I missed this." He took another sip, "If you'd told me there were drinks that were sweet instead of bitter a few days back, I'd have called you a liar." He was clearly joking, from the grin on his face - but he did mean it, even if it was a bit facetious. He'd missed hot chocolate, as much as he hadn't realized it, and he was dang happy to remember it again.

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PSL for dreadnaughtfist

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