[This was everything Ray was not, and it briefly crosses his mind that he'd much prefer being in some log cabin in the middle of Canada, patching up the place or fixing one of the snow mobiles, dirty but working, than he ever would spending a night in a place like this. He gets it now. Gets Stella's frustration at him never 'aiming higher', at her never understanding why he was satisfied with an average wage and an average life, her arguments about him never striving for more. He was happy with who he was; the son of a working class family who worked every damn day of their lives. He could never match up to the sort of family she'd been raised in.
He feels like he should be angry or upset or feel something beyond gradual realisation, but he's just standing there with a face full of chocolates, staring at the plush room like he's had some sort of epiphany about his whole damn life; Kowalski and Stella were never going to be happy together, not if this was the life she'd always wanted. They were two kids from two different backgrounds and maybe love really can't conquer all, because it sure as hell didn't conquer class differences and money issues.
But Fraser didn't care about class. He didn't care about money. He didn't even care if Ray put smarties in his coffee or covered an entire meal in ketchup or preferred cheap pizza from fine dining. Maybe Ray should start trying to find himself a Fraser with tits, rather than constantly aiming for women who wanted what he couldn't give them.]
Nah, it's kinda hokey. They just charge the big bucks for somethin' that tastes like watered down, cheap wine with a bit o'fizz.
[Stella would probably hate him for that opinion too, but hell, he's more of a beer and whiskey kind of guy. Champagne was beyond his level of reasoning, even if he was all for drinking it on special occasions.
While Fraser settles himself onto the bed- vaguely surprising Ray in the process because of their invasion into the room... maybe it's an Inuit thing, like the 'what's mine is yours' sharing amongst tribes- Ray grabs for the champagne bottle, the two flutes, and the chocolate box, dripping water behind him as he shifts over to the bed and drops onto the edge heavily.]
So, what you gonna carve?
[The box is opened and shoved towards Fraser, a finger briefly jabbing towards the nut based chocolates before he turns his attention to the champagne. The flutes are set aside on the covers, the glass clinking as they roll together, giving Kowalski both hands free to twist off the foil covering, the wire bracket, and then carefully ease off the cork, clutching it in the palm of his hand to avoid it flying.
It opens with a satisfying pop and thankful lack of bubbles spilling forth, instead merely offering that brief show of 'smoke' that curls from the bottle. He pauses long enough to sniff at it and then, apparently satisfied (although totally clueless), he settles the flutes between his legs for balance and pours them a glass each, offering one out to Fraser.]
no subject
He feels like he should be angry or upset or feel something beyond gradual realisation, but he's just standing there with a face full of chocolates, staring at the plush room like he's had some sort of epiphany about his whole damn life; Kowalski and Stella were never going to be happy together, not if this was the life she'd always wanted. They were two kids from two different backgrounds and maybe love really can't conquer all, because it sure as hell didn't conquer class differences and money issues.
But Fraser didn't care about class. He didn't care about money. He didn't even care if Ray put smarties in his coffee or covered an entire meal in ketchup or preferred cheap pizza from fine dining. Maybe Ray should start trying to find himself a Fraser with tits, rather than constantly aiming for women who wanted what he couldn't give them.]
Nah, it's kinda hokey. They just charge the big bucks for somethin' that tastes like watered down, cheap wine with a bit o'fizz.
[Stella would probably hate him for that opinion too, but hell, he's more of a beer and whiskey kind of guy. Champagne was beyond his level of reasoning, even if he was all for drinking it on special occasions.
While Fraser settles himself onto the bed- vaguely surprising Ray in the process because of their invasion into the room... maybe it's an Inuit thing, like the 'what's mine is yours' sharing amongst tribes- Ray grabs for the champagne bottle, the two flutes, and the chocolate box, dripping water behind him as he shifts over to the bed and drops onto the edge heavily.]
So, what you gonna carve?
[The box is opened and shoved towards Fraser, a finger briefly jabbing towards the nut based chocolates before he turns his attention to the champagne. The flutes are set aside on the covers, the glass clinking as they roll together, giving Kowalski both hands free to twist off the foil covering, the wire bracket, and then carefully ease off the cork, clutching it in the palm of his hand to avoid it flying.
It opens with a satisfying pop and thankful lack of bubbles spilling forth, instead merely offering that brief show of 'smoke' that curls from the bottle. He pauses long enough to sniff at it and then, apparently satisfied (although totally clueless), he settles the flutes between his legs for balance and pours them a glass each, offering one out to Fraser.]