La Tour D’Argent

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Damien looked up from his menu, eyes looking particularly icy at Lucian’s question. Lucian didn’t blink. Showing surprise or fear wasn’t good parenting. Even still, Lucian’s stomach went cold. He hadn’t realized asking how Damien met his boyfriend would set something off.

At least he’s looking up.

“Funny story, actually," said Damien. "I went to the Rouge to see Ashton and Toddy was just there. This beautiful, crazy, handsome receptionist who just launched himself over a desk to say, “Hello” and, you know what? I’m glad he did. And you should be, too.”

Lucian set his jaw and regarded his son across the table. There was a growl to Damien’s voice; Lucian heard it clearly. He was claiming Toddy, as if Lucian was a threat. It was funny in a way that Damien was so protective. Understandable, in a weirdly logical way, that discounted other factors like sexuality and Lucian’s engagement. It was such an incredibly Damien thing to say that it surprised Lucian that he wasn’t laughing. He instead nodded wordlessly and met Damien’s gaze in a lingering way. They looked away about the same time as something in Damien’s face softened. Lucian’s chest relaxed; he hadn’t realized how tight it had gotten.

“I mean, Toddy’s what inspired me to come out,” Damien said, looking at Toddy. “You know… to you and Mum and… Without Toddy, I don’t think I could have been strong enough. I don’t think I would have been able to face you without him telling me it would all be all right.”

Lucian’s gaze riveted to Toddy. He studied the man who inspired his son, a sudden surge of curiosity and awe welling up in the back of his throat. What was it about this one man that got under Damien’s skin? Why him, why now? Did any of that “why” matter, or ought Lucian just be grateful, as Damien said, that there was someone in the world to swoop in and prompt Damien to “come out”?

"Oh, now," said Toddy, blushing. "I'm not expecting a gold star here, I just kinda' unlocked his closet door a little bit."

Damien’s face split into a grin. Lucian leaned back in his chair smiling, satisfied with the knowledge that something—someone—could make Damien happy. He reached for his wine glass, lifting it in a silent toast that he was sure Damien saw.

"I mean, the door was so squeezed shut the doll was going to get married to someone!" Toddy continued with a loud laugh. "Can you imagine that? God bless whatever sweetie had just about the worst gaydar ever."

Lucian lowered the glass, thankful he hadn’t taken a sip. Ashton. Toddy was talking about Ashton. Damien laughed—high pitched and false—and looked out of the corners of his eyes at Lucian.

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Please don’t say something dumb, please don’t say something dumb…

Lucian was a politician. Damien had watched him for an entire lifetime as he talked his way out of sticky situations, finding loopholes, employing rhetoric in the most awkward moments—all successfully. But now, Damien was gripped with the sudden fear that his dad would say something stupid because you were factoring in something new: his fiancée. Toddy was making unknowing—but deliberate—fun of Lucian’s fiancée and Damien had never seen his father react to something like that. Maybe he ought to have more faith in him, but Damien couldn’t. After all, Lucian had picked Ashton over Damien once already. Why not now? He sent telepathic waves to Toddy that said “Just shut up, dear” in a strained, urgent voice.

“I’m sure there was more to the situation than that,” said Lucian.

“Oh, look, they have duck,” Damien said, trying to redirect the conversation and wiggling his menu around for the other two men to see.

“After all, there are always at least three sides to any story,” Lucian continued, smiling his Whitehall smile, meant for convincing other members of Parliament to listen to him. Damien didn’t like it one bit.

“Dad…” he said, a little louder. “Have you ordered yet?”

“Never mind that Damien wasn’t “out”, as you would say.” Lucian was now ignoring Damien. “And, from what I understand, the engagement wasn’t particularly conventional.”

Of course it wasn’t! Damien wanted to scream.

“You know what?” Damien said loudly instead. “Let’s just order now. Look, there’s a waiter!”

Our waiter, my hero.

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

Maksim had given her half an hour to be ready before he had come to pick her up for dinner. Granted, she had no idea where they were going, but he had also told her to dress nicely. Glad she had taken a shower before going to see him, Linnea quickly styled her dark hair so that it hung in waves down her back. She donned pretty much the nicest thing she owned, a halter-top little black dress with the skirt ending just a few inches above her knees, and some silver earrings and a bracelet. A pair of strappy silver heels completed the look and showed off her red-painted toenails.

She had finished her makeup just as a knock rapped on the door, sending Duke into a barking frenzy. Linnea threw on a jacket, and grabbed his collar, being extra careful not to let him drool on her dress, and held him back as she slipped out the door and left with Maksim.

During the ride there, Linnea looked at her boyfriend, taking his hand and holding it, letting her fingers trace random patterns over it.

"So, are you going to tell me where we're going, or is it a surprise?" she asked with a smile quirking her lips. Eventually, they pulled up to their destination, and Linnea got a good look at it through the window. The place seemed huge, and Linnea felt a little intimidated.

"La Tour D'Argent?" she asked, unsure of whether to be intimidated or flattered that he took her somewhere this prestigious. Linnea suddenly felt a little self-conscious, wondering if maybe she was under-dressed, even though she'd basically worn her best article of clothing.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: For Toni. BiC:


William MaCarthy

Bill hadn’t been in a place this nice since… ever. Sure, he worked in an opera house, strutted around it like he owned it (or ran it, at least), but that place, that palace of music, paid him, put cash into his pocket. Here, he was shelling out cash for food he could make himself. It was a reminder for Bill that the upper class was running society. Giving him money, taking his money; it was a constant cycle.

The large chandeliers swooped down like canopies, little genuine crystals dripping off them like raindrops. It was nice. Very nice. A little over the top, but that was a symptom, he supposed, of affluence. And with Damien paying half the rent now, Bill had money to spend. Not enough to bruise his fingers, but enough, surely, for tonight’s meals.

Bill supposed he should feel bad, taking Toni here, coming clean here and not somewhere more intimate. Yes, he was here on a date. Yes, he was here to enjoy Toni’s company. She was his girlfriend—thank you very much—and he was happy to brag about it. But it was time to stop hiding, time to stop hoarding information, avoiding it. The longer it sat there, the worse it got, like mold, and keeping it from Toni wasn’t going to do him any favors. His court date was in a few weeks, and his last few appointments with his drug therapist were approaching. Just as he wanted he wanted to know every precious detail of the beautiful Toni’s life, it was only fair he returned the kindness. Pills (no pun intended) were easier to swallow with food, after all, so why not sprinkle a spoonful of sugar on that bitter medication she was about to taste? Plus, he figured if she threw her drink in his face, it’d be a lovely vintage Syrah he could save for later.

He was sure to get here early. On their last several dates, he had been late, just coming back from this meeting or that, something Valium related. It was only fair he got here early enough to look good. Early enough, in Bill’s book, was thirty minutes, so he had no need, or inclination to be impatient. Instead, he sat, entertaining himself with the way the light bounced off and refracted through the crystal prisms hanging from the ceiling, shooting rainbow fire off in multiple directions. It distracted him, cleared his head, reminded him to forget the fact he was nervous.

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

It had taken Toni three hours and countless arguments with her self-appointed stylist (read: Tom) to get ready tonight. He kept telling her to leave her hair natural, to shorten her hemline, and to avoid makeup altogether because “Bill will appreciate an au naturel girl”, as if he knew what Bill liked. She’d opted to leave her hair alone, in its natural, almost untamable curls, but she disagreed with Tom about the dress and instead chose a dramatic, floor length gown she’d probably not get another chance to wear for a very long time. After all, it wasn’t every day your boyfriend took you to a five star restaurant. Toni wasn’t quite sure what they were celebrating—perhaps a six month anniversary since their first kiss or some other sentimental thing—but she was not the sort to say “no” to an invitation for a nice night out.

Out with the man she was falling for and away from the one who was driving her into madness.

Toni arrived to the upscale and glittering restaurant, blending in quickly with the well-to-do. She held her head high, smiled softly, and approached the maître d’s podium. He pointed her in the right direction to find Bill and Toni set off beneath twinkling chandeliers in search of her boyfriend. Bill was as early as she was—earlier, in fact—and seated alone at a white-linen table. Toni’s smile widened to reveal her deep-set dimples.

“Well, you’re rather early,” she said, settling into her seat across from him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long for me.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

William MaCarthy

Bill was transfixed on the glittering lights, on the reflections they picked up and strewn across the floor. They seemed to dance as people flitted in and out of them, and Bill got caught up in it, enjoying the miniature light show presented him. But the gentle movement of black fabric in one particular reflection caught his eyes, and, intrigued, he looked for the source.

Bill’s mouth broke into a smile as he saw Toni, dressed in an ebony dress, hair piled into spindly curls. She was beautiful. She always had been, of course, but today, she seemed to of out do even herself. Bill stood as she approached, an instinctive display of manners, and waited with a smile while she made her way through the tight maze of tables and chairs.

“Well, you’re rather early,” she said, settling herself into the seat across from Bill. “I hope you haven’t been waitingtoolong for me.”

Bill laughed, taking his seat now that Toni was well established in her seat. “For you? I could never wait “too long”. Besides,” he added, “it’s payback for all those times I’ve been late. Which I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. But why don’t we at least order drinks first?” Bill handed her a menu. “You look beautiful, by the way. Absolutely breathtaking.” God. Why did he talk so much when he was with Toni?

[blueeyeddevil]

Maksim Volkov

Oksana, his sweet step-mother, had worked hard to turn him from a ruffian orphan into a respectable young gentleman. She had taught him how to behave and how to treat women and one of the things she had drilled into him was that he should never just call when he arrived and expect the girl to come running down to him. He should always go to the door and escort her back to the car. If any girl was worthy of such respect, it was Linnea. So he did just that, making sure to go up to her apartment and escort her down to the car, also opening her car door for her...again, Oksana's doing.

He was excited about this dinner. He had wanted to do something special for Linnea and had decided to take her to La Tour D’Argent. He smiled at her as she held his hand on the drive there. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going, or is it a surprise?" she asked him. he only smiled again, nodding to the place just up ahead as the restaurant came into view. He looked at her for her reaction.

"La Tour D'Argent?" she asked, sounding a litle shocked.

"Yes. After your stressful day of tv watching, I thought you deserved a nice dinner out," he said teasingly, squeezing her hand gently as he brought it to his lips to kiss it. He pulled into the valet parking, going around to help Linnea ou before turning it over to the valet. He wrapped an arm around her waist as he walked with her inside where he quickly got them a table, slipping the man at the stand a little extra money to make sure it was a good one.

He wasn't disappointed. They had a window table with an amazing view and it was in a less crowded section of the restaurant. Maksim help Linnea off with her coat, unable to take his eyes off of her in the sexy little dress she was in. He set the coat on her chair and pulled her into his arms, kissing her. "You look amazing, lyuba," he murmured against her lips.

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

"Yes. After your stressful day of tv watching, I thought you deserved a nice dinner out," Maksim teased her after her initial reaction to finding out where he was taking her. Maksim brought her fingers to his lips, making Linnea smile. It also made her smile when Maksim opened the door for her and helped her out of the car before handing the keys to the valet. He escorted her inside with an arm around her. The waiter led them to a table by the window in a less populated area of the restaurant. The view was pretty amazing.

Linnea allowed Maksim to help her take her coat off, and she smiled slightly, blushing as he stared at her. It almost made her a little self-conscious, wondering what he thought of her dress. She soon found out when Maksim pulled her to him and kissed her.

"You look amazing, Lyuba," he murmured, and Linnea smiled, uncharacteristically shy. She wanted to look nice and impress him, hoping that maybe somehow she'd be able to keep his attention. It was silly, but the memory of talking to her mother about Maksim constantly nagged at the back of her mind.

"How do you know he's not just fooling around for the fun of it, Linnea?" Those words were poison, and Linnea fought to eradicate the feelings of insecurity that crept up on her because of them. She wasn't always successful. But who was she, really? A nobody. Maksim was a wealthy business man of high society, and Linnea grew up on the wrong side of the railroad tracks in a poor, broken family.

She pulled away after a moment and smiled. "Thank you, Comrade. You're quite handsome yourself," she said with a twinkle in her dark eyes. Oh yes. She was good at putting up a good show, but even then, she loved Maksim, and his approval filled her with glee.

They sat down, and looked at their menus. Linnea kept a sharp eye out for something she would deem edible instead of snails, goose liver pate', caviar, or something else equally vile. After a moment, she looked up at Maksim, studying him for a long moment, admiring his handsome features and the way his brown hair curled softly about his chin, the way she loved it.

"So, really. What's the occasion?" she asked finally. There must have been some reason he took her out to a place as nice as this. Linnea was honestly curious.

[blueeyeddevil]

Maksim Volkov

"Thank you, Comrade. You're quite handsome yourself," Linnea said, dark eye dancing as she shone that gorgeous smile of her's. He almost hadn't heard her. He had been a bit distracted by how beautiful she looked tonight. Her rich dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and shimmered in the candle light and in a dress like that she could certainly command the attention of any guy in the room. He just counted himself very lucky that he was the one she was here with.

"So, really. What's the occasion?" she wanted to know and he found himself a little puzzled by the question. She honestly though there had to be some reason for him to be taking her out to dinner? What kind of men had she been dating in the past to form this kind of opinion?! Maksim really didn't like the answer. She deserved better than that.

"There's no occasion. I just thought it would be fun for us to eat some place different for a change," he said. He took her hand and smiled at her, his thumb stroking her palm. "You deserve a nice dinner every once in a while. Its no big deal," he assured her. For whatever reason she seemed a little comfortable and he hoped to put her at ease. It wouldn't be much a dinner if she wasn't having a good time.

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

"There's no occasion. I just thought it would be fun for us to eat some place different for a change," Maksim explained, smiling as he took her hand and brushed his thumb across her palm. Linnea almost shivered in delight at the feel of those long, strong fingers sliding over her skin. Her hand flexed slightly, and she curled her fingers around his. "You deserve a nice dinner every once in a while. It's no big deal," he said reassuringly. Linnea smiled, her eyes once again taking in the grandeur of the restaurant.

"Well, this is really nice. Thank you," Linnea said with a smile. Their waiter came to take their order, and the way he was looking at her made her feel all sorts of uncomfortable, and she wished she was sitting closer to Maksim so that she could have melted into his side. She pointed to what she wanted, assuming "boeuf" meant beef. French wasn't exactly her best subject. But as long as it didn't have the words escargot, foie gras, or caviar in it, she assumed she'd be fine. She couldn't understand why anyone would eat such repulsive things.

Ghastly food aside, the waiter was really giving her the willies with how he was staring at her, and wanted nothing more than to just crawl under the table and hide under the table cloth. Had she dressed appropriately for this place? The last thing she needed was for people to think she was just some low-class hooker being wined and dined by a rich client. Again, her mother's words flashed through her, and she flinched, shaking her head slightly as she tried to banish them from her brain.

The waiter left, and Linnea chose the opportunity to scoot her chair around the table till she was sitting next to Maksim, linking her arm through his and clasping his hand in hers, propriety be damned. Leaning against him comfortably, Linnea looked out the window at the view. The city lights lit up the street and illuminated the many couples that walked along the streets.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked softly, resting her head on Maksim's shoulder.

[blueeyeddevil]

Maksim Volkov

Maksim was quite use to dining in establishments like this. His father had often forced him to come along on lunch dates with other business executives. The grand scale of everything had stopped being a big deal to Maksim a while ago, but he knew that Linnea would see it differently. This would be a very different experience for her and he was glad for that. He wanted this to be special for her, thus paying for the more secluded table with the excellent view. Though she seemed to be rather uncomfortable, a bit out of her element, he hoped that she was at least having a good time.

Though the annoying waiter wasn't doing a thing to help the situation. Maksim was unsurprised yet grateful as she suddenly moved her chair over next to his. Her slender fingers threaded through his own and her arm linked with his as she leaned back against him, gazing out the window and enjoying the view. Instead of the window, Maksim was watching Linnea, smiling softly as she seemed a bit more relaxed now. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, her head on his shoulder.

"Yes, you are," he said, smiling at how cheesy it was to say that but he meant it. He placed a kiss to the top of her head, thumb stroking her hand.

It was then that he heard the waiter coming back. An idea flickered to his head. Linnea was his and that waiter was about to get the message. He gently tilted her head, meeting her lips with a hungry kiss, growing more persistent rather quickly. He wrapped one arm around her waist while the other hooked around her lovely, silky legs, draping them over his lap. When the waiter reached the table it was a full on make-out session. The kid cleared his throat as if to get their attention and Maksim looked up to find him a bit wide-eyed. Maksim flashed a devilish smile. "Oh, sorry. My girlfriend and I got a little carried away," he said apologetically, kissing Linnea once more.

"It's fine...uh...your drinks," he stammered, getting the glasses of wine and the bottle down on the table before hurrying away.

Maksim turned back to Linnea and grinned. "He shouldn't be a problem any more..." he murmured.

[plantnerd92]

Linnea Hepworth

It was the perfect moment, just sitting and leaning against each other with hands clasped together as they watched the City of Lights outside. Linnea commented on it, and she had been talking about the view, but it seemed Maksim had other ideas.

"Yes, you are," he said, kissing the top of her head and stroking her hand with his thumb. Linnea smiled and rolled her eyes as a pleasured blush found its way to her cheeks. To be honest, Linnea was very glad she had his attention, and she fully intended to keep it all to herself.

Suddenly, Maksim tilted her chin upwards and covered her mouth with his lips. Linnea was caught off guard at the hunger in his kiss and the way that it commanded a response which Linnea eagerly gave once the initial surprise wore off. Maksim became even more persistent, pulling her even closer to him, and pulling her legs up onto his lap. All sense of thought or reason fled Linnea's mind, running off through the hills with their manic laughter fading off in the distance, unable to think about anything other than the man kissing her. She clung to him like he was her life source.

Linnea barely registered the sound of someone clearing his throat, only wondering why Maksim had pulled away.

"Oh, sorry. My girlfriend and I got a little carried away," Maksim apologized, before kissing Linnea once more, once again making her forget about the world. But he pulled away, and Linnea looked annoyed, wanting to make out with him some more.

"It's fine... uh... your drinks," The waiter, who she honestly had no idea that he had been standing there, said, placing the two wine glasses and a bottle on the table before hurrying away. Maksim looked at Linnea and grinned, making her heart flutter.

"He shouldn't be a problem any more..." he murmured to her. Linnea could only process half of he was saying. She was complete putty in his hands.

"Huh?" she asked, thoroughly dazed. Content to just sit in the same position she was in with Maksim's arms around her and her legs in his lap. "So... I don't suppose that would be happening again while we're here, now would it?" she asked, trying to look innocent about it, but she really, really wanted to continue where they left off.

When their food finally came, Linnea did not move back to the other side of the table, still sitting next to him, where she preferred it. She made a face when she saw the pile of caviar on Maksim's plate.

"I can't believe you actually like that stuff," she said, wrinkling her nose. It looked like tar. Linnea took a bite of her food, and nearly melted. These Frenchies really knew how to cook!

[Deleted]

Myron Bolitar

“This is really like... not-not fun, is it?”

“Huh?”

That type of English did require a ‘huh’, but his ‘huh’ was not one of questioning her brain cells or sentencing strategies, but he just wasn’t really in the moment. At all.

For what seemed to be the first time this entire evening, Myron Bolitar looked back at the pair of eyes from across the table. Like his, they were glaring a stale chocolate bar’s color and full of disappointment. Which was that even possible? He supposed if you took it out of the wrapper. It could get a little white. So, a discolored chocolate bar. That wasn’t fair. She wasn’t discolored in the least. Actually, she was making the babe-o-rama scale seem like child’s play and he had just entered a completely different realm of what a babe really was.

Was he enjoying himself?

Let’s just say, it was really like, not-not fun.

“Myron,” Brenda said, or maybe it was Kate. He couldn’t remember. “You haven’t even looked at my cleavage, c’mon.”

Her standards were oh-so high, weren’t they?

Myron’s head cocked to the side, drawing his eyes downward and purposely giving her that glance that she had apparently so longed for. They were boobs, what could he say? Sure, her crimson slinky dress that he figured she had given up the activity of breathing for, looked hella’ good, and really were giving her two girlfriends a nice hold. He watched her chest fall in a breath and her golden heart locket settling nicely against her collarbones. He made his way up to her full lips and her round eyes. Her blonde curls surrounded her heart-shaped face. She looked smoking and beautiful all in one.

“You’re very beautiful, Brenda-“

“Kate.”

He bit his slip and couldn’t find it to apologize. She rolled her eyes and looked away. They were at the finest of dining establishments in Paris, eating the finest foods, both dressed to the nines, and none of it made a difference. Myron had gone out on a whim thinking that this would be a good idea. She had been a woman he had met a couple times at the Rouge, but apparently not enough to remember her name. She was funny, seductive, and seemed like good company for dinner. She should have been and probably was. It was Myron that was lacking in quality tonight.

“Listen, I don’t know if there’s like, someone else-“

In annoyance, Myron shut his eyes and took a breath, gripping his napkin on his lap a little harder. “No, Kate, there is not-“

“- Or like, if I’m just, born to be like, some cat lady-“

His eyes now rolling, he looked at the ceiling, “No Kate, you’re a very beautiful woman-“

Kate’s eyes filled with tears, “But I deserve magic, alright?!”

Myron smirked as she tossed down her napkin. A reflex to try and seem like everything was alright in front of the crowd of people that were now staring at them, but pretty much everyone knew what it was.

“Magic!” She cried out again before spinning on her stiletto pumps and trotting out the door.

The audience looked at him skeptically, as if he had just won the award for biggest dirt bag. A lot of them very well knowing who Myron Bolitar was. As if he cared about his reputation. Accepting this award, Myron rose his wine glass and threw it back. His eyes stared down at the glass as his fingers played with the stem. Alright, so he wasn’t a great date tonight. You win some, you lose some. Myron Bolitar was never rude though, and this was beyond that. It wasn’t purposeful. His mind was somewhere else tonight and no matter how he tried to rein it in, nothing seemed to be helping.

How could he enjoy himself tonight when he had the Rouge to worry about?

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he couldn’t keep himself there. His time was up. Myron had been a night club owner for awhile now and that could only bring so much joy to a man’s life. Assisting in choreographing was no longer something to enjoy himself on the side, since his injury had come back to haunt him with vengeance. Myron missed being a talent agent. That’s what his life was before he inherited that place. He would never give up the Rouge, but he knew he needed to just own it not run it. It was running him down. Making him that guy Brend-Kate, will go home tonight and curse up and down until she has finished her carton of chocolate ice cream.

It wasn't like he was seeing anyone else anyways. He should have been alright to let everything go and have a fun night. Screw relationships, screw the past, and screw work. Well, there wasn't any screwing tonight now was there?

“Monsieur, Bolitar?”

The kind waitress treaded lightly with dropping their already two ordered desserts off. Myron waved a kind hand to her and stared at his lovely looking… Well, croissant-like, strawberry filled, white puff whatever it was. It looked extremely pretty. Should he really pass this up? He was paying for it and there were two in case he really liked it.

But when he took that first bite, he knew he really wouldn’t be needing that second.

Letting out a muffled cough of disgust in his throat, Myron winced. The waitress, obviously horrified at how he reacted looked at him with anger and confusion. Paris servers were not to be messed with. But tonight was just horrible, this dessert was horrible, and he was just over it.

Standing up from his seat, Myron laid down plenty enough money onto the table. “Not your fault, doll.” He murmured, ready to get the hell out of there. “You aren’t the chef.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwendoline found herself elbow-deep in batter as the usual lullaby of the dinner rush flooded her ears. Pots and pans clanked together and people bellowed orders and questions to each other over the cacophonous orchestra of sounds. It was a beautiful sound, one that she could very easily make a tape of to help her fall asleep. Hopefully soon, Gabriel would be here, enjoying the siren song of chefs with her. This was her favourite time of the day, when the elite of society came to dine on the very finest of ingredients, and smile at the unexpected surprises of flavours that tickled their taste buds, and the alluring aromas that reached their noses.

Cracking eggs into the bowl, she joined in the symphony, percussively rolling away at another project, multitasking and balancing in the music of the kitchen. The miraculous thing was that this music was theirs alone, the patrons and wait staff unaware of the glorious creations of food and sound behind the heavy, swinging doors. Gwendoline physically danced to it, swaying and stamping her feet, making up lyrics to accompany their melodies and harmonies.

But before she could finish her next verse, a timid looking waitress came in, her red hair falling in tendrils down her worried, ashen face.

“We have a Myron Bolitar who wants to see the chef of this,” she said, holding up Gwendoline’s pasty-puff creation. Strawberry crème, she remembered, with a buttered croissant crust.

Gwendoline came forward, hands on hips. “That’s me. Why? Did he say what was wrong with it?”

“No, madame. He just made a horrendous face and demanded to see you.”

Gwendoline sighed. Some people had no respect for art. She bit back bile that piled up in her throat and felt the heat rising up inside her. Her face felt so hot with anger, she could have flipped pancakes on it.

“I’ll handle it, dear,” she said, nudging the woman aside and thrusting the doors open. She approached a sharply dressed man who was standing, gathering his belongings. Pastry in hand, she threw the plate/down on the table with a thud.

“There was something wrong you wanted to see me about, Monsieur Bolitar?”

[Deleted]

OOc: we have quite the lying waitress

Myron Bolitar

The waitress disappeared into the back and Myron felt guilty. He wasn't one for the ladies tonight. He kept on going though, hoping to brush tonight off somehow. Either he'd sink deep into the bottomless pit of his desk at work, or sink into some soap opera garbage. Decisions of a Saturday evening were difficult these days. Especially when life was this thrilling .

When the kitchen doors whipped open and a pissed off woman came out, holding the demonic pastry at hand- well, the door had never felt do far away like it did now.

Myron watched with a long sigh as she approached him, slamming the plate onto the table. He unbuttoned the front of his suit coat, sliding his hand into his pocket. Here came another show of his tonight. Two pissed off women. Was this a record?

Obviously she was the chef. Not that he was claiming to be Sherlock , but she came from the kitchen and looked in a tiff with the rejected dessert. She wasn't in the cliche white poofy top hat. Though she was in... Something. It was a quirky number, but fashion was whatever at this point. A lot of things were whatever. Myron didn't have time to enjoy the pink on her cheeks. He was over this night entirely and just awaited for whatever b*tch slap was coming next.

"There was something wrong you wanted to see me about, Monsieur Bolitar?"

Myron rose a calm amused brow, "I believe you have quite the instigator of a waitress on your hands, because I requested nothing of the sort."

He looked past the pastry chef's shoulder at the hiding server behind the door. So much for her tip.

Letting out a breath, Myron looked at her. He could walk out right now and brush this night off or... Play a little. This was too good to leave for his taste. By that, meaning, not that pastry.

Cocking his head at the pastry she was holding he softly smiled , taking a step in to make this conversation more personal. Not that, this would be anything he would be holding dear to his heart.

"Here, you take a bite." He murmured in challenge. "Maybe you missed something in one of them, or maybe my taste buds aren't up to par tonight."

A lot of things weren't, but he left that out.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

When the man opened his mouth, Gwendoline swallowed a groan. American. Why were all of the people who disliked her food American?

Americans, she decided, had no tastebuds. Or at least no good taste.

"I believe you have quite the instigator of a waitress on your hands, because I requested nothing of the sort."

Gwendoline smiled sourly at him. The waitress was just doing her job. She was paid lower wages to see to it that the customers were happy. Gwendoline knew how that went. She once was a waitress so she could add bullet points to her résumé while she studied at Cordon Bleu. Yes. Cordon Bleu. For those who weren’t familiar with it, it was the premiere cooking school in France, and quite possibly the world. To say the meal was horrendous was an insult to her art, her skill, and her education.

"Here, you take a bite. Maybe you missed something in one of them, or maybe my taste buds aren't up to par tonight." Gladly, Gwendoline took a slow bite, savoring the decadent flavor of the dessert. It was one of her best of the day, in her opinion, and, frankly, he should have been happy that she made it for him.

“You know, Monsieur Bolitar, it must be your taste buds, because this tastes absolutely delectable to me. Why don’t you have another bite?”

Then, picking up the pastry, she plopped it into his face with a loud crunch as the croissant broke and strawberry goo made it’s merry way down his face. She stuck a finger in the tasty filling and licked it off. “Hm… Yes. Still delicious.” She took another lick. “It could use some appreciation, though, I think. Just a dash.”