|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 5, 2008 21:11:49 GMT -5
Caden paused, considered gaping, and decided not to. Somehow, he didn't think she'd be impressed. There are laws against pixie abuse? Well, they had laws for everything these days. Okay, Luna Lovegood, I'll play along. You're a witch, and I'm Santa Claus. Despite any oddities on his own part, Caden had never taken kindly to Shawl's extraordinary ability to attract what he referred obliquely to as "phenomena," and he certainly wasn't going to take kindly to the latest disturbance in his otherwise placid view of reality. "Ah, all right, then," he said with cheerful politeness. He ducked through the door, embarrassed that it was she holding the door open for him. Chivalry was, if not dead, an equal opportunity force for change.
The inside was miniscule and filled with warm air that smelled vaguely like his grandmother, maternal and overpowering with a dash of lilac. He could see even from there that the three or four booths each had enormous springy cushions covered in pink stuff that didn't bear thinking about. The drapes were thick, choking out most of the sunlight into tiny piteous rays that drowned in the oppressive artificial lighting provided by subtle track lighting and less subtle enormous gaudy chandeliers suspending from the ceiling. Caden imagined that being in the little coffee shop was rather like living in a doily. "So, um, what does one order in small, pretentious, boutique-y coffee shops? I'm afraid I don't get out often enough without the camera in one hand to learn for myself."
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 6, 2008 12:27:22 GMT -5
Imogene shrugged, looking around the coffee shop for a moment, then realizing that she wasn't following anyone and thus had no one to locate. Force of habit, she would have explained if she had been explaining things. Which she wasn't, since this was all in her head.
She came to the conclusion that she really needed to get out more
"Well," she said, smiling cheerfully at her companion, "I would suspect that one orders something from the menu. But in my experience they have excellent hot chocolate and a very good apple coffee cake." She'd only been here once or twice and on both occasions it had been following a businesswoman (for the woman's husband, of course). She'd found that the woman was having two simultaneous affairs with men half her age.
It had, however, been a good opportunity's to try posh, over priced foods in a place she wouldn't have ever thought of going into on any other account.
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 8, 2008 21:00:20 GMT -5
Coffee cake didn't exactly sound ground breaking, but it would do. He wasn't too keen on hot chocolate, though. Something about working around the clock whenever Basil needed him meant that his body constantly demanded copious amounts of caffeine to continue functioning at a useful level. If he wanted to be catatonic, hot chocolate would be a lovely last supper, but that really wasn't what he hoped to do with his precious few hours off.
"I think I'll get a coffee and the coffee cake," he said to the woman behind the counter. "Er, just a drip coffee. No milk or sugar or syrups or whipped cream or anything. Just black." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and counted out far too much for a coffee and even the most heavenly of coffee cakes. She really had to make far more than he did if she could afford to regularly eat at places like this. It just wasn't in a civil servant's budget, especially not when said civil servant spent enormous portions of his salary paying for surreptitious art courses at university.
"What'll you have?" he asked Imogene as it occurred to him that he should at least offer to treat.
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 16, 2008 12:21:44 GMT -5
Imogene spent a moment in silent, but fierce debate. Not over what she should get, but if she should let him pay. Her first instinct was that yes, yes she should let him pay. He was offering- wasn't he? But then again, he might have just been trying to be polite. From what she gathered, he wasn't exactly on a white collar salary- but then again neither was she.
She suddenly realized that she hadn't answered his question and fumbled, "Oh, erm," she laughed at herself and shook her head, "I'm sorry. I mean-" she glanced from Caden to the woman behind the counter and then up at the menu, "I- uh. Hot chocolate, and a coffee cake."
Well done, Imogene - she berated herself - you successfully managed to look like a nitwit. Really, bravo.
She then wondered why she was thinking third person, and resolved to stop.
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 16, 2008 22:40:36 GMT -5
Caden nodded, watched as the cashier added a surprising amount of money to the bill (I can afford it. I should just appreciate that I can afford it. I will not bitch about how expensive it is— Sweet mother of God, does that hot chocolate cost as much as I think it does?), and decided to break a twenty. He waited patiently for the cashier to finish the transaction, his hand outstretched and waiting for change. Declining to grouse when he was given the change on top of the bills (oh, like that would be convenient for putting in his wallet), he stepped away from the counter, looking to see if the other patrons (as few as there were) were being served or whether he ought to be waiting as some sort of counter for it, like he might at a Starbucks.
He glanced at her. "Do they bring us our food and drinks or are we supposed to sit down?" he asked sheepishly, decided it was better to ask than to appear ridiculous. He fumbled the change into the miniscule change pocket and then stuffed the bills in before returning his wallet to his back pocket.
"Do they make the European sort of hot chocolate or thin American hot chocolate?" he said conversationally. He should probably ask her about work, but when he didn't have to talk about dead bodies, he wasn't going to.
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 16, 2008 23:11:54 GMT -5
"It's a sort of hybrid between Mexican hot chocolate and European. I'm not quite sure, it's very thick and they put a lot cinnamon in it and a good fourth of the cup is whipped cream," she explained, trying her best not to feel guilty about accidentally letting him pay. It was heavenly hot chocolate, but very expensive. She really should have paid for it herself. But she supposed it was too late now.
Imogene bit her lip in thought about the seating inquiry, thinking back to her few experiences here. "We... sit down," she said, with a decisive nod, "I think... I'm pretty sure. 93% sure." She paused as she watched a posh couple be brought two cups of coffee and an apple turn over, "Make that 100% certain," she reaffirmed, "Do you want to sit by the window?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 16, 2008 23:17:16 GMT -5
"That sounds delicious. If I weren't so desperately in need of coffee, preferably intravenously, I would absolutely join you. Maybe, I'll pop in some other time and try it," he said. "And it's just the right season for it, too!" Well, not really. California didn't have winter the way other parts of the country had winter. It had slightly-less-temperate-but-too-cold-for-the-pansies-who-live-there. Sometimes, there were windy winter days that might have legitimately been called autumnal, but it was never wintery. Caden had never once regretted going home for college; he liked fake seasons.
"Ah, very good," Caden said. He should have just waited a little longer, so he wouldn't have made an idiot of himself. Oh, well. Maybe, some people thought that was a good quality. There was always someone who thought something was a good quality, wasn't there? Even Hitler had a girlfriend, after all. "By the window is good with me."
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 21, 2008 12:08:13 GMT -5
Imogene smiled brightly and walked over to one of the little tables by the window, "Oh, it is always the right season for hot chocolate," she said, sitting down on one of the chairs- which was more suited for some posh, outdoors, Paris bistro then a cozey southern california cafe. "I can't have coffee- so hot chocolate with copious ammounts of sugar is my subsitute. Albeit, the caffine in hot chocolate is nonexistant compared to coffee. But it's that or energy drinks, which are generally disgusting."
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 27, 2008 21:28:33 GMT -5
Caden would have disagreed —it was never really cold enough in California for hot chocolate— but each to his own. "Good God, no coffee? I don't think I could make it from day to day, but you set your own hours, don't you?" Lucky dog. "You can't imagine what it's like being slave to your insane boss's wishes. 'Hello, Caden? It's half past one, but there's a dead man in Western Shawl that needs to be photographed.' 'Oh, of course, I can make it! I'll just drag myself out of bed, take some amphetamines, and pop right over!' " He smiled bitterly and sunk down into the chair across from her, crossing his arms behind his head. "Nothing is supposed to be the color of energy drinks."
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Feb 27, 2008 23:04:18 GMT -5
Imogene laughed as he narrated the whims of his boss, "It's one of the benefits to being my own boss. I also get to make up my own holidays to take off. Although those generally get interrupted by the man who owns the building I work out of calling and saying someone is harassing him as to my whereabouts," she explained. The smiled as a woman brought them their hot drinks and coffee cakes and nodded her thanks. She took her hot chocolate, which was in a big, wide mug and indeed had more whipped cream then was probably necessary. She smiled wide like a child at a candy store window, and suddenly felt another pang of guilt for having let him pay.
"Thank you, by the way, for paying," she said, smiling at him, "I know this was kinda very expensive."
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Feb 29, 2008 20:42:08 GMT -5
Caden laughed appreciatively. "Vacations? Ah, yes, those mythical times when one does not have to do work. Yes, I don't get those. I have several months worth of vacation time piling up because my boss won't let us take vacations unless he's taking one. Either we're all there, or there's no one. It's all terribly clever." Gratefully taking the coffee from their server, he gulped some down, scalding his throat as it went down. "Oh, I don't mind." At least, I have a monthly paycheck. Goodness knows there aren't many people who want detectives poking about in this city.
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Mar 4, 2008 12:22:51 GMT -5
Imogene laughed lightly, taking the little spoon that had been provided with her cocoa and taking a spoonful of the whipped cream off the top of her cocoa and sticking it in her mouth. Sure, hot chocolate was delicious. But whipped cream was even better. Especially the freshly made whipped cream that this ridiculously expensive cafe used.
"So," she asked, after savoring the whipped cream properly and going about taking another layer of whipped cream off of the cocoa, "Is there anything you like about your job? From what I've heard so far I'm surprised you haven't quit."
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Mar 4, 2008 21:49:41 GMT -5
Mouth thoroughly scorched, Caden continued to drink his coffee at his leisure. The coffee cake was good, almost worth its extravagant price, and Imogene seemed to be enjoying her hot chocolate —or at least the whipped cream. He stuck a bite of cake and considered her question.
"Well, I get paid for taking photos. I'd love to find a job that paid as well and didn't involve working at all hours or photographing dead bodies, but that doesn't seem too likely. And Basil grows on you like Virginia creeper." He shrugged. "Maybe, I'll quit when I finish school."
|
|
|
|
Post by Camille Desmoulins on Mar 12, 2008 18:18:43 GMT -5
After be ridding the cocoa of a good amount of the whipped cream Imogene stirred the rest into the hot chocolate and let it sit, starting to pick at the coffee cake. Good food needed to be appreciated properly and that, in Imogene's mind at least, involved a lot of playing with the food before eating it. That could just be her though- she did spend a lot of her time with her mice. There was a chance they'd rubbed off on her while she wasn't looking.
"Oh? I was under the impression that Basil Dixon was more like some sort of poisons cactus then Virginia creeper," she said, examining a piece of her coffee cake without any real interest, before eating it, "Maybe he's a hybrid of the two..." She looked out the window for a moment, and it wasn't clear if she was actually considering this possibility or just spacing out, "Never mind. Now I'm just talking nonsense. Sorry about that."
|
|
|
|
Post by Maximilien Robespierre on Mar 14, 2008 22:00:09 GMT -5
Caden hadn't seen a woman of her age —which admittedly wasn't much, but she was easily into her twenties— play half so much with her food. It was rather endearing, he thought. He certainly wasn't comfortable enough with anyone to fiddle with his food in front of them. Well, admittedly, he did tend to get bored during the more interminable sort of governmental meeting, which led to the occasional dancing cheese sandwich, but that was only the natural response to excruciating boredom.
Was he boring her?
He hoped not. Boredom wasn't something he had ever particularly been able to feel, which was rather a good thing or else he would be constantly inundated with emotion. "Perhaps at first." Strictly speaking, no cactus is poisonous. Not even Pricklius basilicus. I've checked. He suppressed a laugh at this last thought. "Virginia creeper can, of course, kill the plant that it climbs over. Inhibits its ability to photosynthesize and such." It was a bit odd discussing plants in common conversation, rather like bringing up his secret passion for detective novels in Basil's presence.
|
|
