Dave is nervous.

He hasn't actually had many relationships that got serious enough for him to meet the girl's parents, and it's mildly intimidating. (In a way that makes him want to get back on his motorbike and head back to Bayfield as fast as he can.)

Their overnight gear is packed in backpacks. Of course they came on the motorbike - he doesn't have a car, you know.

And Dave is looking at Violet's parents house with an expression of dread.

"Well. We're here."

"Yeah. I guess so."

Violet is slightly less nervous than Dave. She's almost certain her parents won't like him - they've never liked anyone she's brought home before, friends or otherwise. Still, they're just her parents. Nothing too terrible can happen, right? Of course right.

"We'd probably better go in..."
Sigh.
She runs her fingers through her hair, anxiously trying to neaten it a little before they approach the house.
"Sooner rather than later..." For all that she's the one delaying.

Well, as long as they haven't abruptly turned into demons or vampires or something terrible like that...

"Yeah."

He reaches over and puts his hand on hers.

"You look fine, babe."

(She could be dressed in burlap and wearing her hair in dreadlocks, and he'd think she looked fine. However, it's sweet of him to say.)

"Thanks."
Violet offers a tight little smile, and lets her hand drop away from her hair. She squeezes his hand and, reluctantly, starts moving towards the house.

He follows, carrying both bags because that's what gentlemen do, you know?

Apparently they are supposed to knock on the door now.

So he does. And waits.

A respectably brief amount of time elapses before the door is opened. Both parents are standing there, looking somewhat neutral.

"Violet! Welcome home, dear."
Her mother smiles, and steps aside.
"Come in, come in. And this must be - Donald?"

"Dave," Violet corrects, pauses, and reiterates, "David."

Mrs. Vendredy smiles faintly, and nods. Mr. Vendredy doesn't look all that impressed, and his expression falls just short of glowering.

"Um. Dave? This is my mom,... and dad," Vi falters. " Mom and dad - this is Dav-..id."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Vendredy."

He offers a hand to Mr. Vendredy to shake. (They already disapprove. Fine then, says the faint hint of steel behind his eyes.) He's daring the older man to be impolite.

Go on. Dare you.

The older man takes Dave's hand, and shakes it firmly.
'I'd break your hand if it wouldn't upset my daughter' firmly.

"Nice to finally meet you, as well," he says dryly, for all that they hadn't actually heard of Dave until recently. This is the boy their daughter is living with (news which also didn't reach them until recently)?

"Well, come in, come in..." Violet's mother ushers them further inside, and somewhere along the line Mr. Vendredy takes the luggage and disappears with it upstairs.
Vi's goes to her room, Dave's goes to the guest room. Guess why.

Dave's smile is only an inch away from baring teeth and warning that he's going to rip out Mr. Vendredy's throat. His hand is dry and calloused and let's remember that at least part of his job involves construction. It's by no means a weak grip.

"Nice place."

Reminds him of certain stuffy relatives of his, who practically live in a museum.

He's going to be polite if it kills him.

Violet, seemingly oblivious, is looking everywhere but at the space occupied by her parents and Dave.

"Thank you. Now, would you kids like something to eat? It must have been a long drive," Mrs. Vendredy offers, gaze straying involuntarily to the window, through which she can see that oh-so-dangerous motorcycle.
She will mention it to Violet later, see if she can't get her girl to persuade this Dave person to switch to a more suitable vehicle.
"And we can all get to know each other," she adds.

Violet looks ill.

"Sure. Thank you, ma'am."

He catches Violet's hand and gives it a squeeze.

So far, he's only been given disapproving looks. It can't be that bad. Right? Of course right. He has, after all, lived through much worse.

She squeezes his hand back, and at a curious look from her mother, lets go.
"Sounds good, mom." Smile. See, we're all friends.

It's at this moment that Mr. Vendredy chooses to cough and interrupt, starting with, "I'm sorry, but I can't stay." He gives a thin smile. "I promised I'd man a table at the fundraiser this afternoon. I'll be back later, and we can talk then."

"Oh." Vi blinks. "Okay, dad. When are you going to be back?"
So she can be prepared to keep Dave out of his way.

"Late, probably." He grimaces, and pats her lightly on the shoulder. "I wish I could stay, but, well, I did promise."
And he's gone.
Vi relaxes slightly. The tension in the room has lowered considerably.

Dave is of the opinion that his girlfriend's father is an asshole. He is not going to say anything of that sort, because this isn't like Dr. B, when he didn't really care what the other man's opinion was.

He wants the Vendredys to tolerate him, at least. For Vi's sake.

He smiles tightly at the older man's retreating back and does not mutter 'Good riddance' under his breath.

"Lead the way, Mrs. Vendredy."

"Oh, none of that. You can call me Patricia, everyone else does."
Even Violet did, for a time.
It used to be 'Patrizia', you know, but people so often mispronounced it, she went and changed her name.

"You kids have a seat, I'll fix you something."
She leads the way to the kitchen, fussing about the fridge, taking out plates, etc.
Vi looks at Dave from across the table - they've been seated with one empty chair between them - and rolls her eyes.

Dave shrugs and mouths 'No big deal.'

He brushes her foot with his under the table and grins his little boy grin. If her parents think they can keep him from being affectionate with his girlfriend, they'd better think again.

"Thank you, Mrs... uh, Patricia."

He's trying to be very polite.

Violet represses a giggle and lightly kicks him on the shin.

"Oh, you're welcome, dear."
She doesn't quite like you, but you're welcome.
"So, David," She sets various snacky objects on the table in front of them, and sits herself between them. "Where are you from?"

"This little suburb by Toronto. I went to Keaton for uni and just kind of... never left Bayfield."

He nudges Vi's foot with his again. Silly girl, kicking me.

"Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking."

Violet hides a mad grin behind her hand, and pops a cookie into her mouth to further repress the grin. She stretches her foot out a little and runs her toes lightly down his shin, meanwhile pretending to examine her placemat very intently.

"Oh, I'm from Vancouver. Well, close enough. It's on the way there, if you're coming from the east." Patricia shrugs. "Not much of a place, really. What did you say you took at university?"
Because you did get a degree. Or else you're still going to uni, right Dave?
...Come to think of it, he does look a little old to be dating a girl Violet's age, doesn't he...

"Tech theatre. Minored in English Lit."

Pause.

"I'd kinda like to design sets for Broadway sometime. Any of the big name theatres, really. Or run the lights for Cats or something."

Aw, he's an artist! Isn't that sweet. (And, for the curious, yes, tech theatre actually comes with a paycheck.)

He rubs Vi's shin and ankle with his foot. His smile is much more genuine than it was ten minutes ago.

"Oh, isn't that interesting."
He gets points for the ambition. But he's still just a tech, and Patricia's not sure that that means he'll ever get anywhere.
"So, you work in...?"
You do work, right?

"In the Bay Street Theater. mom," Violet interrupts, smiling, though not for reasons immediately obvious to her mother. "I thoght I told you that."

"That's right."

He loves it. He wouldn't give up his theatre for the world, for all his talk of designing and working on-and-off Broadway. He's put more into that theatre than they've ever paid him for.

Dave gets ambitious and tickles Vi's knee with his foot.

"It pays pretty well." In that he has enough to live on and pay for what Arty and Vi need, and a little pocket money.

"Oh. That's nice."
Again, points.
Though Patricia's still not sure it's a very respectable profession.

"You should come see one of the shows sometime, mom. They're really-" Eeee, her knee tickles! - "-really good."
If she is confident in the respectability of Dave's work, then Mother Dear should be too, yes?

(Vi shoots Dave a look. This is terribly fun, but she doesn't want to get in trouble.)

"I might," Patricia says, giving Vi a sideways look. "I just might."

Dave tones down his grin and resumes rubbing Violet's foot instead of her whole leg.

"You should. I can get free tickets for a couple people, usually."

He probably should be able to get more, but hey. It's a community theatre run by a committee. It's not like it's huge or professional.

"I'll consider it." Patricia smiles, but it's very clear that she really is merely considering it. It would have to be worth her time.

"Um. So." Violet finally manages to get the grinning under control. "What have you been up to, mom?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. I want to know more about what you've been up to." She smiles at Dave. "How long have you been riding that motorcycle of yours?"
Pause.
"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Since I was sixteen. I've only been down twice." Which is pretty good, all things considered. "Pretty much when I first started learning. It isn't really any more dangerous than a car."

Unless you're stupid.

"You just always wear a helmet and go really slow in bad weather."

Patricia's eyes are wide. Then she winces a little.
"Not that I don't think you're a responsible driver, but...is it really safe to dive with a passenger?"

Vi gives a small goan, and says meekly, "Mom, Dave knows what he's doing."
She is ignored.

"It's perfectly safe, promise. I'll take you for a ride if you want, even."

Wouldn't that be an interesting sight.

"You could borrow Vi's helmet."

...Violet actually has a helmet?
This earns her a sideways look from Patricia.
Just how often has she been on this motorcycle?

"I don't think so," Patricia laughs. "Too much excitement for an old girl like me."
She blinks at her watch, and gives a small, not entirely real gasp.
"Oh, my, look at the time. Kids, I've got to go... I'll be back in time to make supper - don't spoil your appetites."
She pushes back from the table and begins fluttering about, finding a coat, makeup, etc.

Violet looks at Dave when her mother isn't looking, and rolls her eyes again.
This frantic coming-and-going, in this house, is common as dirt.

Dave doesn't want to risk his darling's safety with an ill-fitting helmet, so he got her one when it was definite that they were going to be a serious couple.

"See you later, Patricia. Don't worry, we'll be good."

... good as in he's going to capture Violet for a makeout session as soon as the opportunity arises.

The door closes. There are sounds of high-heels clacking away on the steps, on the walkway...and then Patricia is gone.

Vi lets out a huge sigh of relief.
"Thank god." She collapses in her chair. "See why I only come visit every couple of months?"
She doesn't like the feeling of being constantly graded, nor does she like watching it happen to her boyfriend, whether he knows it or not.

"Your dad's a dick. Your mom reminds me of one of those prim professors who dress sexy and hit the boys with rulers for looking."

He comes around to her side of the table.

Kisses her cheek.

"They don't know we sleep together, do they."

"...Well, I haven't told them." She leans against him. "I'm not sure that they don't know."

Her father might not have thought of it, actually. His little girl would never do that.

"But anyway," she adds rebelliously, "It's none of their business."

"Nope."

He kisses her nose.

"I think we should get a two-bedroom apartment, so that Arty's got his own room. Doesn't seem fair for him to sleep on the couch all the time."

She giggles, and returns the kiss - but he gets it on his cheek, instead of his nose.

"Aw. But I like your apartment."
She pokes him in the ribs.
"God, you're so sweet."

"Well, so do I, but I figure it's not fair to Arty that he's got to sleep on the couch. He's gonna be living with us for a while, so... He needs a room."

That's just fairness.

"We can go apartment shopping monday, if you don't have class."

"Yeah, I - that sounds good." Pause. "I have some early classes, but we could go in the mid or late afternoon."

Yet another pause.

"I hadn't thought about it that way. Not the sleeping on the couch bit, the,...well... he is going to be living with us for a while. I don't know why I never thought of that before."

Grin.

"Wow, I'm being more sensible than you. It's gotta be the end of the world." Pause.

"Do your parents know about him?"

"What? Of course not."
Sigh.
"What would I tell them? Even without the supernatural pieces, it's hard to believe. And they'd think I'm crazy, besides."

"... yeah, guess so."

He frowns.

"They're gonna find out sooner or later that there's a kid living with us. What do we say?"

"Well, he's too old for you to be his dad,..." she muses, "Not that that's something I'd want to tell my mom anyway."
He chews her lower lip, frowning and staring into nowhere.
"We could tell them that he's a foster child - ...no, that wouldn't go over very well, either. We could pretend he's your cousin or nephew or something?"