it's just 2500 words of your linkedin timeline [rp/blind date]

TWINE:

"...I'm not late, am I?"

It's asked as a convenience, more than a genuine question— the clock strikes five the moment Twine takes his seat, almost unnervingly so. If he was worried about missing a date, it certainly didn't show; it'd been lackadaisical at best, the snail's pace he'd taken to make his way towards their table of two.

If he'd wanted to show up a couple minutes early, he could've put in the effort. All signs point to a conscious decision. "I would've hated to keep you waiting. I know my profile says I'm interested in long walks on the beach, but 'punctuality' really is a close second."
-

BERNINA:

Table opposite, Bernina had indeed arrived a couple minutes early. 04:58:00 PM, to be absolutely precise—where five minutes would have been excessive, a round collection of 120 seconds was perfect. Not for their date's sake of course, but their own.

Praise fails to escape them as they address Twine. "Yes, I wouldn't be here otherwise. A second later and I would have excused myself." Their tone is serious, it's a good thing indeed to be punctual, but the threat of their departure is one they could still act upon, depending on how the next ten minutes went. "I'm going to order a salad." They push a menu towards their date. "Pick something too."
-

TWINE:

"I already know what I'm going to get."

It's a polite refusal, as he steeples his paws on top of the table, but he doesn't even spare the menu a glance. Instead, he continues to stare at Bernina, unblinking, as if expecting something else from them. His face is pulled into a smile, and its' matching expression seems just as kind, albeit a little empty.

It's one of someone who's used to practicing restraint. If he'd wanted to address the sudden tone shift, he would've said something else by now.

"What kind of salad, then?", he asks, as if to redirect away from his own order. "You seem like you'd like something with a strong vinaigrette." (Because they're sour, clearly.)
-

BERNINA:

They regard this answer with a little hum as they gather up their two menus, lining them up and stowing them to the side. "A pear salad." With spring greens, blue cheese, and walnuts, the best one on this establishment's offerings.

It also, of course, has cider vinaigrette. But nobody is reading the menu right now.

Determining they'll hear the other's order eventually, they move on. "Your profile didn't say much about what you do for a living. Elaborate on that."
-

TWINE:

His response is taken fairly well, Twine notices, as he nods in agreement. He doesn't like to budge on his assumptions, but he supposes some salads are just as sweet as they are sour. Now that he's thinking about it, a pear salad doesn't sound all too bad.

Blinking for a couple seconds, he doesn't dawdle otherwise. Punctuality, again, seems to be key. "Public service," he responds, with a wolfish smile— the kind that might drive you to doubt someone's intentions.

What he follows up with doesn't really help his case, as he leans in a little closer, paws still pressed together. "I know where you work."
-

BERNINA:

"Okay." So they're both public service. Maybe even the same train line. That's simple enough.

No need to smile like that though. They throw on a, "Me too". He's not special for working in the sector.

They put their own paws together and lean back. They steeple their hooves even. "What is your five year plan."
-

TWINE:

—Whatever the hell Twine does with his life, it, more than anything, is probably causing the general public a headache. His date definitely doesn't need to know that.

"I'd prefer a six-year plan," he counters, one of his ears twitching. "I don't like odd numbers."

Straight, to-the-point, and weird— but only in a way that's just barely tolerable. This, evidently, doesn't seem to be his first rodeo. Or, probably, his last.
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BERNINA:

Their nose scrunches up at the thought. "What do you need the extra year for? If you don't have an answer, you don't have an answer."

Even numbers are better than odd though—but they're still determining if compliments are even due at all, so their muzzle remains pursed. "How about kids? What number?"
-

TWINE:

"It could be a four-year plan, too," he hums to himself, as if being intentionally obtuse; they've clearly already moved on. "I think I'd like to invest in better working conditions, but I don't really know if I'm suited to a trade union. A trade union might help."

This is not the face of someone who would be a bearable, genuine contributor to any trade union. Or train union, for that matter.

"...As for kids, I'd like one, maybe two. One is an odd number, but it's even in philosophy, the same way two feels odd, because it's prime." ...Where's the waiter when you need them?
-

BERNINA:

A long moment is spent genuinely considering the philosophy of two as an odd number. Maybe if both children turned out to be duds, it might as well be like having zero. Which is neither even nor odd.

"That just doesn't make any sense." The wait staff being busy during Matentines makes a little more sense, it will be tolerated.

Bern crosses their arms. "What's your credit score?"
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TWINE:

"840." He's not questioning why they asked. They either have a good reason, or they're psyching him out— all the better, that Twine's able to respond with a smile and a nod. He's anything but perturbed.

"A little low, right? I don't take out a lot of loans to pay back. I don't really find that I need them." His hooves clack together for a second, almost like the heel of a shoe against the floor. "Honestly, I just prefer debit."
-

BERNINA:

They cross their arms harder.

"Mine's 850." But even saying this, they nearly feel bested. It's perturbing, as an individual striving for excellence, 'nearly' is cutting it too close. But as a single seeking a befitting date, they simply have to stay.

Glancing up, they lock eyes with a waiter and flag them over. It's 5:11:32 PM and they will begrudgingly see how this evening progresses. And just as quickly they return to locking eyes with Twine, like they're in a battle of wills. "Tell me about your hobbies."
-

TWINE:

"...My hobbies?" Once again, Twine twitches at the question, this time his nose, as if he has to think for a moment— as if the stitches lining his fur aren't too much of a dead giveaway. Like a respectful young man, he's giving Bernina a moment or two to think.

(Though, really, 'young' is debatable; the creases underneath his eyes say otherwise.)

"I like to stitch things up." Awfully suspicious way of wording it, but it gets the point across. "It's relaxing."

"It's not all that rude of me to assume you like trains, I think. Asking for your hobbies doesn't seem like a good use of time."
-

BERNINA:

Bernina wastes neither of the two moments on pondering the answer. It didn't seem very productive when, like the answer to their date's impending appetizer order, all the necessary information would file in with due time.

Instead, they give the waiter another near-glare to ensure help was still en route.

"Do you?" Their eyes travel to judge the needlework on display, the soft stitches across his ears versus the sure steel of Bern's own ear piercings. The corners of their mouth press together. Not quite a frown, not quite a smirk. "I like hiking also." What did he know.

A turn as their waiter arrives to the table. "I'll have the pear salad."
-

TWINE:

"Do you hike a lot, on the job? I imagine you're taken a lot of places," Twine hums. Likewise, he doesn't seem all-too interested in trying to decipher his date's expression, not when the interest lies in the mystery itself.

"—That there's plenty to explore, wherever you can go by train. It's a very scheduled life, but it sounds a lot more free than you'd expect." It's said with a smile that only halfway reaches his eyes.

By the time the waiter's arrived, it's still on his face as he turns to meet them, ordering right after Bernina does, without a beat skipped.

"I'll take the pear salad, too." The mark of a bastard— a liar, a cheater, and an order thief.
-

BERNINA:

Pause.

One of Bern's ears flop onto the table, with the angle at which they tilt their head.
They're at a loss for two seconds. Which is a shame. "Why did you copy my order?"
-

TWINE:

A questioning look is returned, head turning back towards his date as if Bern had just asked him something ridiculous. What kind of follow-up is that?

“You said you liked it,” he replies, chuckling to himself— though he doesn’t break eye contact, as he does. “So I figured it wouldn’t cause any problems between us, if I picked it, too. I like sour things.”

This poor waiter.
“It’s the logical option.”
-

BERNINA:

This is actually a flawless argument. Their head unquirks from one side. Of course everyone ought to agree that their opinion over what was best was crowning authority.

They strive for excellence in all things, and two pear salads was, in fact, as excellent as it got. They shoo the waiter away, lest they wait any longer.
"Sour things?"
-

TWINE:

“The vinaigrette.” It’s spoken lightly, but with an air of confidence, as if he was waiting to correct them. “—There’s one on the salad. It’s sour. I knew you’d like it, too.”

A pause. He turns his head for a moment, to make sure the waiter’s walked away, before glancing back towards Bernina with a small nod.

“…It’s tax season soon. How do you feel about that?”
-

BERNINA:

"I always win." Nodding.

The horns curled around their hat, the clock faithfully spinning to a minute's tick to their side. That should be obvious.

In the realm of the less obvious, "What makes you think I like sour things?"
It's not accusatory. Or maybe as accusatory as every preceding question.
-

TWINE:

"It's not a competition," Twine offers up, with an expression that's turned just a little sly. "—But if it were, I own my own home. It's a good investment."

Still, he seems to otherwise respect Bern's rightful place as Tax Season Winner. It's not his right to judge. Maybe their stock portfolio precedes them.

As for their next question, though, he's not as snappy to answer.

"I think you seem like someone who enjoys bold flavors. Something obvious to the tongue. I like little details, but it's important not to get... what is it, again? 'Lost in the sauce'."
-

BERNINA:

"Perhaps some individuals travel too much to say the same, but it is not out of a lack of capital or skill." They don't roll their eyes, because they are above that. But they think about it.

All things considered, shouldn't a creature obsessed with excellence desire it from a potential partner, also? That's why the minutes continue ticking, and they still haven't found the time spent to be squandered.

"There's nothing bolder or more direct than a salty dish." But the pear salad's appeal is in how strong each of its components are individually, let alone in one leafy medley where each bite is distinct.

An idea travels behind their eyes, which sparkle with a sudden plot. "Order the entree. I'll get whatever you get." And implicitly, they'll derive some kind of judgement from it.
-

TWINE:

"Maybe the equivalent, for you, then, would be owning your own train," Twine murmurs with a grin, tail flicking behind him. "If you'd like something to save towards."

If he'd been able to peer into their thoughts, he'd agree with the fact; there's nothing wrong with seeking a partner who was equally as interested in the finer things of life— or perhaps the more mundane, considering their riveting conversation about each other's credit scores.

Either way, they're direct and methodical. It's something he can appreciate.

"So that's a challenge to order something salty, then? You're not all too difficult to read."
-

BERNINA:

Not a bad idea. "A train. Maybe." The tip of their own tail twitches just once. Okay, maybe twice.

They have to keep a level head in a moment like this. Congratulations on a good find couldn't be doled out to themself just quite yet. A hitch could come at any time, eradicating all of the respect they'd accrued for their date.

Figuring that Twine understands the assignment, they continue forth until their waiter returns. "Beyond four or six years, what's your retirement plan?"
-

TWINE:

They really are keeping their eyes on the prize, aren't they? Twine really does have to commend them for keeping it direct.

"Hm." A direct statement, like he wants Bern to know that he's really thinking about it. What did they say they liked to do, again?

"If it was possible for us to grow old, I think I'd like to spend my later years traveling. Picking up a backpack and leaving somewhere, with my investment funds intact. You can't really have work without play, but it's best to leave most of the fun for when you're too old to work anymore."

"...You know, like hiking."
-

BERNINA:

They nod sagely. It's a bold statement to imply that running a train is not the funnest thing in the world, but they understand many have the misfortune of not being conductors. A sad but ugly truth.

"You picked the option I'd agree with again."

Scrunching their nose again, they weigh out the consequence of a lie. If he gets winded a mile into a hike for their approval, it'd be utterly his loss and none of theirs. Always good to want their approval, also, everyone should be more like their date.

"Where to?"
-

TWINE:

For just a moment, Twine's tail thumps against the edge of his seat.

"When you say 'where to'... I don't think we've lived all that long enough to make an informed decision. It's a little disorganized, but I'd like to think that I don't even know a tenth of the places I could go, yet. It'd be rash to pick it now."

A nod, as he passes the question back towards Bern. "The way you asked it makes it sound like you have somewhere you'd like to go, though."
-

BERNINA:

"The highest peaks of Burrowgatory, where you can reach out a paw and touch the frost on the stalactites."

Their eyes shine, unsure of if such a point, where one could place a finger upon the ceiling of their home, exists. But it would be fascinating to know.

Bern judges their date's reaction. Perhaps for the first time, over his answers. "It would be perilous to climb."
-

TWINE:

"...Is that so?"

He's been smiling for the past couple minutes, despite its dishonesty— but his expression in reaction to their heartfelt admission is blank, as if he hasn't yet figured out how to react. There's something genuine and earnest in their eyes, something he can't quite place; and with a gentle exhale, he glances to the side, unable to meet their eyes.

"...I wonder when our appetizers are coming."
-

BERNINA:

Bern crosses their paws again, mouth creasing itself into the smallest of smiles. "We have no choice but to wait a bit."  

"Go on, you ask a question now."