seveninchmotto | From Alicante to The Apartment, New York, Saturday

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From Alicante to The Apartment, New York, Saturday

This morning, in her bed at her father's house in Alicante, Isabelle had woken up to feeling uncomfortable. It hadn't taken her long to realize why. Overnight, she'd become –– well, the wrong shape for pretty much everything she'd been wearing to sleep in. So, right, they were doing this again. She would've assumed Fandom's magic couldn't work through the wards around Idris, but apparently she'd thought wrong. And it'd be complicated to look like Alec here of all places.

Ugh.

So, she'd gotten out of bed with a groan, then gone to the closet to search for clothes that'd even remotely fit her. And that was when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

And immediately went in for a closer look because well hello. She did not look like Alec this time. And that changed everything.

So long story short: she sent a fire message to Flick (Had to go to NY, come if you can, because she'd previously told him she'd stay in Alicante this weekend) and then listen closely until she was sure her father wasn't in the house, before sneaking into his quarters and snagging an old set of gear to wear. Then she scribbled her father a little note as well, about how Jace had asked her to come back to the city.

Fast forward, and she was home in New York. Having far too much fun going through Flick's closet space and modeling things in front of the mirrors. And if some of the modeling was sans clothes, well, could you blame her? She deserved her fun, dammit.

And her phone was filling up with pictures.

Also once Flick would hopefully make it out of Idris and his phone would start working, he was going to find several photos on there as well. Maybe he'd enjoy an unknown but attractive young man's (clothed!) selfies coming from Isabelle's number? In fact, maybe he'd even put two and two together and note the Marks and how the backgrounds looked suspiciously like their bedroom in the city. He was a smart boy, he could figure it out.

[ooc: NFB, primarily for That Guy, but can be open for calls/texts as well!]

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"I'm good at a multitude of things," he answered airily. "Some you'll find out about soon enough."

"Mm-hmmm." So much smirking in such a little sound. "But you should come eat, first. Get your strength up, baby."

She was setting the table. Getting water for the glasses before checking the stew. Yes, looking nice and ready and probably not poisonous.

"And here I thought you'd bring the food to me," he joked, pushing himself up and making his way into the dining room. The smell got stronger but more confusing here.

"It smells...interesting," he said, sitting down and nodding. "Very interesting."

"Thanks!" Isabelle said, as if that was a compliment. She even refrained from pointing out she looked even less like a housewife than she usually did, so bringing him his food would not have been happening.

Also, the way she brought the pot to the table was a little housewifey.

... Less so, when she plopped herself down across from him and reached to fill up her own bowl.

Flick let her get her food first since she'd made it and to give himself more time to try and snuff out what exactly it was. He couldn't tell by the color or the smell so he guessed taste was going to have to be the deciding factor.

Once she was done, he dished up his own bowl and grabbed a spoon, stirring the concoction to cool it down.

"Have you gone out anywhere else like this? Seen your family?"

"I'm thinking of going sparring with Jace and Alec tomorrow," Isabelle replied, shrugging and giving her arms a quick glance because they were there and different, and the reason she really wanted to have a good sparring session in this body. "They'll understand what's happening. I haven't seen anyone yet, though."

She cooled a spoonful of stew by blowing gently on it. Then stuck the spoon in her mouth, tilting her head just a bit.

She seemed to deem it edible, but then, she'd had a lot of practice.

"I came straight here," she continued. "I was wearing Dad's clothes, so..."

"I would love to hear you tell your dad that," Flick said, spooning some stew into his mouth. It was...it was interesting. Unlike any food he'd had before. Not bad but definitely...

He swallowed and nodded. "Very different. I think I like it. I'll have to eat more."

"I left Dad a note blaming Jace," Isabelle admitted, rolling her eyes. "And that's all he'll be hearing."

She knew it was a joke, and one she didn't mind at all. Her eye rolling was really directed at her father more than anything.

Flick chuckled and went back to eating, trying to figure out what he felt about this stew. He hit a particularly salty patch and had to steel himself not to react.

"Do you like it?" Flick asked, nodding at her bowl.

There were probably going to be some particularly spicy patches as well. She'd dumped some in at a pretty late time in cooking the thing, and had maybe not stirred it all in very evenly.

But surprises were fun, right?

She smiled like that wasn't a thing she was fearing. "I do," she said. "But I think it'd be better with some fresh bread."

"Do you want me to get some?" Flick asked, nodding at the kitchen. "I can put some in the toaster? You cooked, I should make the bread."

"I meant like bakery-fresh bread," Isabelle replied, but tilted her head to the side and smiled a little, all the same. "But sure, if you would."

Maybe she just liked watching him walk away. It was very much a possibility.

"Well, I can go to the bakery too but that'd take me awhile," he said, getting to his feet and disappearing into the kitchen. It didn't take long to toast a few slices of French bread they had lying around and then he was back, holding the bread and some butter.

"I'm a gourmet chef," he said, sitting back down and grinning widely/

Isabelle took her chance to ogle his ass for the brief moment before he disappeared into the kitchen. And then stretched out her legs some under the table, because man. She was tall and had limbs for days, and it was a new thing to get used to.

"You are," she said, grinning back, when he returned. She reached for a slice. "How did I get so lucky?"

"Persistence and hard work," Flick said, dipping the bread into the stew and chewing thoughtfully. That wasn't too bad there. "Oh wait, no, that was me who did the hard work."

"Did you?" she teased. "I had not noticed."

No, she had. She thought he should've received some sort of a medal for all the hard work he'd done in breaking down some walls.

"You didn't?" He tsk'ed her and sighed. "All my hard work for no recognition except a marriage."

"Yes, you must feel like you got the short end of the stick," she replied mock solemnly, giving his ankle a nudge under the table. "Nothing but a beautiful bride for your troubles."

A beat.

"Well, a handsome bride, at the moment."

"A bride who's more handsome than I am," he said and wound his leg around hers. "I'm kinda jealous here."

Immediately, Isabelle looked smug as hell. Preening.

"Well, you should be," she decided, before smirking and biting into her bread. She chewed, then licked crumbs off her lips. "I'm smoking hot."

"And super smug," he said, taking another few bites of the stew. It was spicy and then salty and he had to really prepare himself what the next bite held. It wasn't terrible, he just couldn't place it what it was.

Isabelle had already managed to down over half the stew on her plate. She'd had years of practice stomaching her own cooking, after all.

"It's hard not to be smug when you look like me," she retorted, shifting her leg against his. "If I wasn't so spectacularly pretty as a girl, I'd be jealous of me, too."

"Man, you keep saying things like that, I'm going to have to go get some sunglasses so I won't be blinded by your shiny ego," he said, laughing. "You are too much, baby."

Isabelle smirked.

"I'm just enough, baby."

"No, you're too much," he argued, laughing. "Too much and too hot to handle."

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