POETIC JUSTICE, PUT IT IN A SONG// CARA

[Francesca Zabini]

[ooc: I'm soooo rusty. Sorry, love. Didn't want this to suck lol. Hope the set up is okay!]



Francesca Zabini wasn't the best cook in the world; her childhood of opulence and luxury had afforded her many things, including a bit of a handicap in the domestic area. She had maids and servants, she didn't need to learn to do certain things for herself; things that others learned early and knew like the back of their hands. Laundry - the maid did it; cooking - the house elves; cleaning? Elves again. But when she'd moved out on her own she'd sworn to herself that she would do things on her own, and some without magic. Of course the 'without' magic bit didn't last long - as many fires as she'd started trying to cook on her own, but nonetheless, even though her father had offered plenty of support. He'd all but begged her to take a house-elf the last fire she'd started, but Fran, ever the hard headed woman, denied. And she'd made due.

Which is exactly what she was doing now.

Having gotten off work a couple of hours prior, Francesca decided to put herself together, cook a meal, and owl Cara Finnigan. Cara was a sweet girl, a bit wet between the ears, but sweet. Francesca had met her a couple of months back in a pub outside of Bristol. They'd hit it off instantly, and quite nicely, although they were quite the polar opposites. While Fran came off as indifferent and cynical at times, Cara was sweet, and nice they'd bonded over their shared love of their siblings, and a mutual attraction to one another. Although they'd bonded, however, their relationship was just that - well at least on Fran's end: Friendship and sexual favours. Fran felt like she could be open with Cara and hoped the girl felt the same. She also hoped that Cara could forgive her cooking skills. If not, well Fran planned on snogging the daylights out of her and playing every inch of Cara's body like a finely tuned piano until she did forgive her.

She was in the middle of pulling something akin to macoroni and cheese out of the oven, with a fresh bottle of wine on the table, when a knock at the door signaled her attention. Dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized top, curls piled on top of her head and an apron around her waist, Francesca paddled over to the door, a smile on her face as she answered it.

[Cara Finnigan]

Cara once again regretted her, in retrospect, totally stupid decision to wear kitten heels. To be fair, a dinner invitation to the house of an extremely attractive woman who'd essentially ravished her after a night in a pub was deserving of Cara's sleeveless blouse and neat skirt, but kitten heels and cobblestones a good combination did not make. She juggled her foot back and forth for the third time that evening in order to get it out from between two really determined cobblestones, and then continued towards Fran's house.

She really ought to have Apparated, but she'd bought a tray of pasties for dessert - since Fran's personality basically screamed spoiled-and-not-really-equipped-to-live-without-an-army-of-House-Elves and Cara was a little suspicious of her cooking skills - and had been worried she'd lose them while Apparating. To be fair Fran's personality also screamed will-kill-if-offended and temperamental-and-deadly, too, so Cara was just going to say that she'd had that pasties from beforehand. She couldn't help the anticipatory shiver that ran through at the thought of Fran - though she was polished and immaculate as a painting, Cara had realized that Fran was more like a minefield of potential surprises - from her sexuality, to the kind look in her eyes when she talked about her sister. Cara thought fondly of her own younger siblings, and then pushed the thoughts out of her head as she neared Fran's flat.

She climbed up the stairs carefully, giving herself one last once over to make sure she hadn't gotten any stray paint smears on herself, and then balanced the tray of pasties in one hand before knocking on the door.
When it opened, she burst out, "Sorry it took me so long, but I come bearing -" before actually taking in how stunning Fran looked, "-pasties. Hi." she finished, a little breathlessly.

[Francesca Zabini]

((ooc: you accurately describe Fran. Polished but underneath a minefield. Perrrrrfect. Also this really sucks, i'm sorry!))



The smell of sweets flooded Fran's senses as soon as soon as she opened her door, causing a slight laugh to leave her lips. The pasties looked amazing, to be honest, and luckily she hadn't even thought of dessert. She'd actually figured dessert would be something much more of the x-rated nature that included less clothes. Coyly, Fran gazed at Cara, starring at her underneath the fan of her dark lashes. Merlin, Cara looked exquisite. A beautiful ensemble of neatness and plain adorable. God how she just wanted to pull the other woman through the threshold of her apartment and take her right then and there. She'd settled on nice and slow for the night, however. Well as nice and as slow as she could go.

"Hi, love," she spoke, her voice coming out far more airy than she'd meant it to, "come in, the place is a mess, and so am I, but dinner's ready!" she announced with a flourish, taking the dish from Cara with one hand, and grabbing Cara's hand with her own free hand. A bit of pride rose up in Fran at the prospects of dinner being completed - and she hadn't burned anything! A real fete for her. Most nights she she either grabbed food from the hospital cafeteria or take out from a restaurant. She lead Cara in and then pattered on into the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home!" Francesca called from the kitchen, she placed the pasties next to the macrooni, and then began to sort through her cabinets for wine glasses. She'd gotten her hand on two glasses finally and poured two glasses, setting them on the table with the food. "Right," she said to herself, taking off the apron and tossing it onto the chair in front of her. "I've got this domesticity thing down. . ."

[Cara Finnigan]

(ooc: it's the first description that occurred to me, and I guess to cara too)


Cara couldn't help but return Fran's delighted laugh as she handed over the tray. She also felt more than saw Fran's calculating gaze and felt her heart give a little butterfly pulse in her throat. Dinner first, dinner first. she thought to herself firmly. But she couldn't help admiring how beautiful Fran looked, even in the more casual outfit she had apparently been cooking in. She hoped that having all of dinner to look, but not touch would make the other woman as eager as Cara would undoubtedly be.

Cara laughed again at Fran's tone of voice and then tried to stifle it before Fran could get too offended. She let Fran pull her further inside and gave their joined hands a little swing. "I feel like I need to answer that by saying something like 'La, darling, what a marvelous spread,'" Cara said with a silly, radio-worthy accent. "Everything does look marvelous, though," she added more honestly, after catching sight of the table. She gave Fran a self-deprecating grin. "I have to confess, I was really suspicious about what your cooking would be like. I had you down as a takeout type for sure."

Cara continued to watch Fran as she wandered through the flat and presented Cara with a full glass of wine. At Fran's comment about domesticity, Cara laughed for a third time. She worried that she was coming across as foolish, but she couldn't help it. As odd as it sounded, being around Fran, even if it was while Fran was pretending to be harmless and domestic, made her feel bubbly and a little wild herself. "Fran, you are about as domestic as a wildcat. Wearing that apron isn't fooling anybody."

[Francesca Zabini]

The observant side of Frannie took over as she watched, from the corner of her eye, Cara paddle into the kitchen after her. She listened with a keen ear, grinning at Cara's comments about her cooking. She had to laugh, absolutely had to because, while Fran hated it when most people pegged her correctly, there was something about Cara's sweet nature, and just all around approachable persona, that stopped Fran from bearing her claws and withdrawing. Instead of doing either and letting her fight of flight instincts take over, Fran opted for removing the clip that kept her brown waves pinned to her head, and nodding in agreement. She pined the clip to her shirt and then laughed openly at Cara's statement about her cooking. "Confessions can be a dangerous thing," she played coy, as her laughter subsided, throwing Cara a wicked grin as the other women took the wine glass. "But in this case you're confession has some merit. With my shifts at Mungo's and my utter lack of home training in areas of practicality - I'm a disaster in the kitchen." Fran shrugged her shoulders and then picked up her own glass of wine and sipped from it.

"Yet," she began, pulling the glass from her lips, "I can make pasta. That's the one thing I know how to make without fail."

She listened as Cara laughed, the sound music to her ears; Fran loved when women were flirtatious with her. "Well, good thing I'm not trying to fool anyone . .. " she wiggled her brows, apron gone. "Good thing you know what i can really do." Fran started, crossing the room and taking the wine glass from Cara's hands. She pulled out the chair in front of Cara, and guided her down onto, letting her hands linger appreciatively on the other woman's shoulders for a small moment before letting go. She then took the seat across from Cara, her eyes falling trailing down Cara's legs. She knew those legs intimately and couldn't wait to know them again. "Nice shoes, doll . . . wear them especially for me?" If Cara was going to flirt, then by merlin Fran was going to one up her.

[Cara Finnigan]

Cara knew she was looking a bit too much at Fran's laughing face, so she ducked down to take a sip of the wine. She closed her eyes to savor it and then glanced at Fran with a grin. "Oh, this is nice," she said, " I want to be surprised you've got wine this good, when I've got to make do with the cheap stuff, but I really, really am not." Cara guessed that, judging from Fran's continued gaze her way, the woman was not one to deny herself many pleasures if she didn't have to.

Cara continued to watch Fran as she shook her hair loose, and then tucked the pin at the neck of her shirt, and cleared her throat. She took another sip of the wine and said "Lots of things can be dangerous," before her gaze shot back to Fran. She laughed at Fran's admission and said, "Oh, don't worry, I grew up on loads of home cooked meals and I'm still not very good. Pasta is a very good thing to know, though," Cara mused. "It's very flexible."

Cara started when Fran reached out for the wineglass and then pushed her into a chair. Maybe it was just the intent look in Fran's eyes, but even this small touch felt intimate. Cara crossed her legs and shifted in her chair when she noticed Fran's appreciative gaze. "Oh, these? I -" she broke off to laugh again, "I think I wore these so that I could get stuck in the cobblestones. Point of advice? No kitten heels anywhere near your house." She cast about for a more harmless topic than what she was wearing, worrying that if she let Fran any further with her line of questioning they'd both be out of their clothes before dinner.
"So... Work," Cara managed, "Anything exciting there?"

[Francesca Zabini]

"Benefits of daddy's money," Fran replied, nonchalance and honesty lacing her voice when she was anything but. Very rarely did Francesca bring up her parents, to anyone. They were a sore subject even though she was living in their flat. It'd been a compromise between she and Blaise, who'd all but downright refused to let his "princess" go out on her own, even though she had a job and a sense of purpose as a healer. Blaise didn't know that the real reason Frannie had left the proverbial nest was to get far away, very far away, from her mother. It'd been six since her mother had found Fran on the floor of her bedroom with another girl, and six years since Pansy had said anything other than 'Francesca, you'll find the right boy soon.' Fran never wanted a boy; she didn't favour that anatomy. But she was too scared to tell her father, though if she had to guess, she knew that Pansy knew what she got up to on her own. Fran also knew that Pansy was holding out hope that her daughter would come to her senses and be a good pureblooded girl. That was never going to happen. Ever.

Knowing that she had Cara's undivided attention, Fran bit down on her bottom lip, pinching it between her teeth as she leant over the table slightly, cursing her current attire. She should have worn less clothing. "Well, I am Italian, if I couldn't make a good pasta - I'd be disowned. . ." At Cara's next words thoughts of an un-pure nature soared through Fran's head, her thoughts focusing on the word flexible as she studied Cara's mouth, then her trailed down the other woman's body. "How flexible can you be, by the way? For scientific purposes that is. . . if you don't know, well we can find out soon." Her words were blunt and her tone teasing; suddenly the confident seductresses began to make its way to the surface, and she wanted nothing more than to fuck Cara senseless.

The conversation shift to Cara's footwear and Fran nodded. That hadn't been the answer she wanted, but she could tell Cara was trying - and failing - to play innocent, a bit hard to get. And Fran would let her, but once she got Cara, she was going to make her pay for her coyness. "Next time you should just show up in trainers and nothing else then . . ." she added with a wink. "And work's fine; it's the usual. Exploding cauldrons, stupid people playing with things they shouldn't be . . . I see you're still painting. You've got a bit of stray paint specks on your neck . . . I could help you get it off?" she suggested as she eyes a very minuscule paint drip just below Cara's jawline on the right side of her face.

[Cara Finnigan]

Cara gave a rueful smile at Fran's response. "Mmmm, wish I knew what that was like," she said with a teasing smile. It was clear that Fran had her own hang-ups about her parents' money and reputation, but Cara couldn't resist the temptation to remind her that there were other ways to have money problems. She wouldn't trade a single second of her childhood for Fran's money - well, maybe a few seconds. There'd been a couple incidents where Cara'd been shanghaied into things by Tommy and Brigid that she'd gladly forget about, but even though she loved the way she'd grown up, finances had always been tight for them, and a small part of her envied the easy opportunity-filled childhood Fran must have had.

Of course, any thoughts about her childhood fled from her mind when Fran leant over the table with her lip between her teeth. She felt her mouth quirk upwards at Fran's blatant fishing for a sexual remark. "The only thing I'm interested in finding out is how your authentically Italian pasta tastes," she said, trying to sound stern, but knowing that she was near laughter all the same. Cara found herself thinking suddenly about the last time they'd been together, and realized that Fran's libido wasn't the only problem in the room.

She reached for her wine and took a hurried sip. After dinner, dinner first. she told herself again, and attempted to keep the wineglass between herself and Fran. This resolution only lasted until Fran's next statement made her choke on her mouthful of wine. "Only if you're wearing nothing but that apron," she responded instinctively, apparently forgetting about her decision to stonewall Fran till they'd eaten. "Oh, believe me, I'm familiar with people who like to play with things they shouldn't be touching." She narrowed her eyes and shot Fran a pointed glance right after, as though Cara's lapse were hear fault - which it was, honestly. She sighed at Fran's even more blatant offer to get the paint off of Cara's neck even as the thought sent a little shiver up her spine.

Cara let out another sigh, set down the wine glass, and then tilted her head, exposing the entire length of her throat. She peeked under her lashes at Fran's face. "Well, go on," she urged, a challenging sparkle in her eyes. She might not have done this as frequently as Fran, but Cara certainly knew how to play.

[Francesca Zabini]

The rueful response didn't go unnoticed by Fran, even when Cara tried to cover the slight contempt with a teasing smile. While Fran knew that her childhood hadn't been perfect, she also knew that monetarily, she had never wanted for much. Hell half the time if she just snapped her fingers in the right manner she'd get what she wanted. Others, she knew too, were not as fortunate. The thought alone caused her mind to wonder for a moment as she considered what kind of childhood Cara had had. She knew the Finningans weren't rich from the little time she spent with Brigid in school, but they seemed like they were a happy family regardless. Fran returned Cara's smile, pushing back her thick locks and then shrugging. "It was okay at times; some times not so much, but I don't want to be the spoilt little rich brat crying woe is me, so . . ." her words trailed off, her tone suggesting finality on the topic. She didn't want to cry to Cara about how money meant you had to meet certain expectations; one of those expectations being that you'd settle down with a nice pureblooded boy and raise a family.

But as quickly as the conversation seemed to grow in regards to her family fortune, it seemed to shift; they were flirting and Fran could do flirting without thinking. So she shoved past her parents, and their voices inkling in her head and turned on the charm. She caught sight of Cara attempting to keep an object between them, and grinned, her brows wiggling at the blatant innuendos. "My pasta tastes like heaven. You'll eat every bit of it . . ." she grabbed the glass dish and the knife she'd brought out to cut the concoction of fresh cheeses and homemade noodles and sliced into the dish. She was proud of how yummy it looked. Grabbing her wand in her other hand, she summoned over two plates one in front of herself, one in front of Cara, and then served Cara a piece of the dish. "Don't get too full now, there's other things to eat later . . . "

Yes she was being blatant and crass, but Francesca loved it; she loved to see the look on the faces of people who thought she was just a pretty girl with nothing but air between her ears. "I can put the apron on now? Or wait until we're done eating?" she suggested, toying with the hem of her t-shirt as she waited for Cara to taste the macroni and cheese. She'd actually worked hard on the dish. When Cara set down the wine, however, and exposed her neck, a shudder ran down Fran's spine. She wanted to use her mouth to take off the very minuscule paint drip, but she also wanted to try to control herself, for at least a moment more. So instead of removing the paint with her mouth, she did the sensible thing; she used her wand, washing the blue away with one wave. She shrugged innocently then, and sat back in her chair, gesturing to the food in front of Cara; she took a sip of her wine, and then licked her lips, her green eyes lingering on Cara appreciatively.

[Cara Finnigan]

((ooc: i messed with the order of things a little because... it would be funnier, and i can't resist funny, i'm sorry.))

Cara nodded at Fran's tone, accepting the obvious cue to end the topic. In all honesty, Cara wasn't particularly keen on continuing the topic herself - she had a feeling that the two of them going back and forth on the topic of money was bound to derail the night completely, something Cara certainly didn't want. She snuck another look at Fran while Fran was still distracted, and let out a breath. No, definitely not something Cara wanted.

She bit her lip to hide a grin at Fran's obvious hinting. "Oh, don't worry, the pasta looks delicious. I'm sure I'll be having seconds, if the hostess is willing," she said, accepting the plate and trying to keep a straight face. Cara hardly considered herself a flirt, but half the fun of seeing Fran was matching wits with the other woman; she'd never felt very pushed to "go back for seconds" as it were with any of the other women she'd gone out with, but as emotionally closed off as Fran was, the buildup to having sex was often as much fun as the sex itself. "Don't worry about me getting full, Fran," she added, giving her a conspiring grin, "I've got a very healthy appetite."

Her smile dropped away when Fran drew near to wipe away the paint speck, and she couldn't hide her disappointment when the only thing she felt on her neck was the small puff of air Fran's spell displaced. "Well," she said, briefly, sitting up straight and adjusting herself on the seat, "Thanks, then."

Once she was sitting normally, Cara grabbed her fork and finally scooped up a bite of the pasta. After a brief hesitation where her mind ran through her concerns about how good Fran was in the kitchen, she shoved it into her mouth, and then beamed.

"It's good," she told Fran appreciatively, feeling relieved - and then nearly coughed it back up at Fran's next response. The image of Fran wearing only the apron was hardly helping her finish the pasta, and she took a second to say as much to Fran. Or at least choke out, "Not - helping," before actually coughing and having to go for her wine.

[Francesca Zabini]

Cara's flirting delighted Fran. While she usually liked to be the one in control - the one to dominate, she was enjoying this side of Cara. Usually the other witch was a tad timid, more so that Fran ever thought she'd been. Once she'd discovered her sexuality, and had managed to get out of her parents house (she'd been on her own for about three years now), she'd hit the ground running. She was a sucker for a beautiful woman, especially one with eyes as gorgeous as Cara's, and as sweet in disposition. "Good, because I plan on helping you work up an appetite quite a few times . . ." she bit her bottom lip for effect, grinning at Cara, pride beaming on her face as they continued to flirt. Fran wasn't sure how long she could continue to look and not touch, however; the temptation was becoming too much.

It seemed to only compound as Cara seemed disappointed by the fact that Fran hadn't physically removed the paint from her neck. Oh had Fran wanted to, but she'd also wanted Cara to taste her cooking since she rarely did it. "You're welcome, love. No need to get down about it, I plan on putting my tongue on ever inch of you soon - very soon." Fran deadpanned, her eyes never leaving Cara's face as she said the words, a sly grin fell across her face then.

The grin disappeared immediately, however, as she watched Cara prepare to take a bite of food. She'd followed her grandmother's recipe, well her grandmother's cook's recipe to the T, now all she could do was hope. At the sound of "it's good" Fran raised her chin haughtily, as if she was insulted that Cara would expect anything less. Her haughtiness was cut short, however, when Cara coughed. Fran's green eyes widened and she cringed for a moment thinking maybe she had cooked something wrong, until she put two and two together in regards to her apron comment. She helped Cara with her wine and then stood up promptly.

Slowly, she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt, and lifted it up her body slowly until she was pulling her hair out of the neck hole. She was now clad in her bra and a pair of shorts. She grabbed the apron and slid it over her frame, and then wiggled out of her shorts with a flourish. Then, as if nothing had happened, she sat back down, crossing her long tanned legs at the knee. "Am I being that unhelpful?" she grinned.

[Cara Finnigan]

Cara's own grin broadened at Fran's continued flirtations. "Well, not too many times, I hope," Cara said, "I plan to save room for dessert." Cara usually agonized over every sentence she said out loud when speaking to other people, but Fran was one of those people that Cara was comfortable enough with to just say things without worrying about consequences. And it was liberating, in a way that made Cara feel even more daring.

"I haven't even begun to 'get down,' Fran," Cara said, affecting a purr that resembled Fran's tone, "Believe me, you'll notice when I do."

She let out a laugh after she said it, unable to keep a straight face after delivering a line like that. "Was that as ridiculous as it sounded to me? Merlin, I think I'll leave the rest of the flirting to you." she added, shaking her head in amusement.

Cara was too caught up with getting down enough wine to calm her cough to immediately notice what Fran was up to - when she did, Fran had already whipped her shirt off and was sliding into the apron. "Oh - my Merlin," Cara whispered, watching Fran wriggle out of her shorts, before clearing her throat.

"It was you in the apron and me in just the heels, wasn't it?" Cara said in an unintentionally husky voice, and then shot Fran another challenging look. "But then, I was in the middle of this wonderful pasta," she said, trying to make her voice indifferent, though her eyes were raking over Fran's body. "You know, Fran, you really did a great job with it," Cara added, "It's so good, it's making you look like the second most delicious thing in this apartment."