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Post by rina on Aug 8, 2011 13:05:59 GMT -5
rina had never really sat down to think about commitment. gabe always bugged her about settling on one guy and whatever, but it just didn't feel right. and then dylan came along asking her to be 'sort-of-married' to him. what did that even mean? rina shook her head from trying to figure that all out again. she liked him, so why turn it down. the weird part was that when he and indie had come over to celebrate, he would hardly even touch her. no kissing, no anything. it kind of bugged rina, mostly 'cause she was a touchy kind of person. she liked having people around, she liked having them close. however, she had ignored it and stuck with her sock surfing and spaghetti and drinking and throwing ripped up paper as confetti just for the hell of it. it had all been a bunch of fun.
of course, the morning after wasn't so much. dylan and indie had crashed there, and indie ditched as soon as she woke up like usual. rina looked at dylan for a second before standing up and heading into the kitchen, digging for something edible to eat. sometimes rina wondered how or when she ever changed. she couldn't remember putting on the white corset top or the veil -- holy shit, that was her mom's veil. rina paused in place and ran up the stairs, which was definitely a work out since she hardly even walked, let alone ran. she folded the veil up and put it back in her mom's closet before going into her own room to put on a t-shirt and a new pair of boy shorts. sighing, she headed back down to the kitchen and grabbed the leftover cheese ravioli. rina walked back to the basement, plopping herself on the couch and turning the tv on. she hardly paid attention to the screen, too focused on her food and sneaking peeks at dylan, waiting for him to wake up.
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Post by cook on Aug 8, 2011 17:13:18 GMT -5
Dylan mumbled in his sleep before rolling onto his stomache, stuffing his face in his pillow at the sound of someone walking. How could anyone be awake right now? He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the fact he could hardly open his eyes, it was either really early or he was really hungover. Probably a combination of the two. Grunting softly, he brought his hands up to rub at his eyes, that were still smushed against the soft fabric of the pillow. Dylan didn't want to open them yet, he was pretty sure the sunlight would burn them, but judging by the smell of ravioli that was already wafting into the air, he knew it was Rina. Indie surely would have ditched by now- and there was no chance that she'd be eating Italian food for breakfast, anyways. "Jesus, you really are part of the mob," he muttered loud enough for her to hear, before attempting to fall asleep again. It didn't work, naturally, so Dylan was finally forced to remove his face from his pillow.
"Fucking Italians.., " Dylan mumbled, resting his chin on his pillow, before glancing up at Rina. He knew it wasn't what most women would want to hear the morning after their wedding, but Rina wasn't an ordinary woman. And Dylan wasn't an ordinary man, for that matter. Slipping his hands under his chin, he flashed her a wide, toothy grin, before shaking his head, "Kidding. I love you fucking Italians." Dylan rolled back onto his back, pushing off his feet before stumbling to his feet. Instinctively swaying, he gripped onto the back of the couch with both hands for a moment, swearing under his breath, before letting out a soft sigh of relief. "Christ. I feel like a teenage girl who just had her first drink," Dyl joked, letting out a laugh before shuffling along to the front of the couch, stealing her ravioli out of her hands as he plopped down on Rina's lap. Peering at the plate, he nuzzled his head gently into her shoulder, before reaching in and plopping a piece in his mouth. "Mmm, raviola. My favorite- gratziiii, biaaa," Dylan sang, chewing on it for a moment, before freezing. Wait. What if his germs were on his fingers? And what if his fingers had touched more than one piece of ravioli? And what if Rina ate that piece? "Fuck..," he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the plate once more, "Uhh.. that's shit ravioli. I don't think you should eat it. I'll go throw it out."
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Post by rina on Aug 10, 2011 1:13:06 GMT -5
It wasn't like it was freakishly early or anything, at least not that Rina had seen. Then again, she usually wasn't up until three in the afternoon, and she was up around noon. Her head was killing her, but she really didn't care. Nothing more spaghetti wouldn't fix later when she decided to actually go back to her room for her stash, or go steal Boobsie or Gabe's or someone else's. It really didn't matter. The Russo's shared everything, mostly with Rina since she was the middleman with all the fighting and shit. When it came to food though, Gabe or Mrs. Russo were the go to people. Rina was learning slowly, but she was never sober enough to remember how to make the food -- too focused on eating it when her munchies kicked in. Besides, she cared more about business. One day she wanted to take over her mom's Italian restaurant, but she had to finish university first. That seemed so far away.
Rina laughed when she heard Dylan speak, rolling her eyes. Speaking of the mob, she wondered how her dad would react to her telling him she was "married" now. Probably fly out to California just to meet Dylan and give him the "I'm the big intimidating dad, I could kill you if you hurt my daughter" speech, and that's exactly why Rina wasn't going to tell him unless he asked questions. Her mom on the other hand would probably just be happy to see her settle down for once in her life. Rina was always bouncing around, in a non literal way; she was too lazy to actually bounce most of the time. "Better love us fucking Italians." Her accent kind of annoyed her sometimes, but Rina still loved it. Laughing, she rolled her eyes a bit at the teenage girl comment. "Huh. Guess I skipped that feeling. Or maybe I didn't.. I can't remember." Rina laughed as Dylan nuzzled close and took her food. "Hey, who says I was done eating that?" She blinked, looking down at the plate. "The hell you talkin' about? My ma made that ravioli, it's fucking delicious." A pout formed over her lips, staring at the plate in Dylan's hands.
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