(no subject)
Who: John Tracey (Kaa) and Elisa Miller (Snow White's Queen)
What: Hot evil baking!
When: April 1, 2008.
Where: Humble Pies, Elisa's bakery.
Rating: R for language.
John: April Fool's Day might be a holiday, but it wasn't one of John Tracey's favorites. Not one he celebrated or, if he had his way, acknowledged at all, in fact: pranks disrupted his sense of propriety, or dignity, and were just damned rude when you got down to it. Nobody asked to have their office furniture removed and set up with meticulous faithfulness to the original layout . . . in the middle of the busiest hallway in the building. As he eeled his way through the crowd of students gathered to laugh, high-five, and snap photos with their phones, he glimpsed Martin's harried, sweating face and the frantic grasp of one of his hands, trying to keep stuff on his desk until he could get resettled upstairs. Which would take hours of the facility staff's time and effort because who knew who had done the original work? How had they even gotten the keys?
Collaborators within the ranks, he thought darkly and kept going, wondering what had ever happened to boundaries in this marvelous modern age.
He carried that well-worn disgust with him on the train downtown, heading home early after a light schedule. He was feeling old-fashioned, conservative and cranky, these days -- well, no, it was more swinging between the poles of busy activity and moody funk that he recognized as one part mundane seasonal change and two parts Tale restlessness, not exactly mundane even after nearly thirty years of riding that slow-spooled rhythm. Had to go with it, but had to shake out of it, too, so he got off near the Village to stretch his legs and enjoy the busy urban afternoon that he didn't often get to see, ensconced as he was all day in classrooms and offices. He settled his drab green woolen jacket more comfortably over his pale-blue dress shirt and brown slacks and started walking in a determination to relax and enjoy himself.
The faint scent of good hot pastry on one side street tempted him closer. He peered at the sign -- Humble Pies? Cute -- and then at the bakery itself. Well, why not? He could pick up a fresh loaf for dinner if they had any, and maybe even something for poor Martin when he saw him tomorrow. The guy wasn't his friend, exactly, but they had been working together for fifteen years now -- and neither of them liked pranks, which was reason enough for confectionery sympathy. Pulling his leather satchel close to his body, John put his shoulder to the door and pushed inside.
Elisa: Elisa had been hiding, plain and simple, for the past week or so, probably longer then that. In fact, she'd up and moved everything out of her apartment in the Pen and had it all shipped somewhere that not one person knew about. Not David, not Sam, not Neil. No one knew where she'd gone, and that's how she liked it, until she was ready to deal with things she needed to deal with, and to be honest, that wasn't likely to be anytime soon. That was for a number of reasons really, but at least now she had a new place to live, and no one to come and bug her when she didn't want to be bugged.
Of course she'd been in her bakery the whole time, and though she hadn't opened it for a couple of days, she wasn't one to just sit on her ass in between steadily unpacking boxes. But now the bakery was back open, and people had been coming in and out all day. She was kind of surprised that no one she knew had come looking for her. Or maybe she wasn't surprised at all. Her mood too, seemed to change like the wind lately. Either way, she was busy inside, at the front, putting things on the shelves, changing things around as they came out of the oven so that the fresher things were towards the back, easier to reach.
There hadn't been anyone inside in about twenty minutes, at a lull, which was just fine with her. It was better then having some asshole kids run inside to see what they could get into. If they had, she'd be likely to zap them one. Even if she wasn't supposed to. She just wasn't in the mood. When the door opened, she looked up and really, tried to smile but it just didn't work. "Hello.." she greeted.
John: What a knockout, was John's first, old-fashioned-and-how thought upon clapping eyes on the woman in the bakery. He only belatedly recognized the struggle in her smile, past that hair and those eyes and . . . right. He was here for baking: a different kind of hot stuff.
"Afternoon," he returned agreeably and let the door swing shut again behind him. Drawing in a slow, appreciative breath, he looked around. Definitely a good decision to follow his nose; he wanted to eat everything in sight, as the eager cramp in his stomach was suddenly demanding. He turned a grin back to the baker, or so he'd place her at a guess. "My first time here, obviously. Sorry. It all looks great." As do you -- oh, stop that, old fool. Looks like she's had a long enough day without you getting up into it.
Composing himself accordingly (though he was briefly, vainly glad he'd gotten that neat trim to his hair and beard over the weekend), he wandered toward one of the cases for a peek and then glance back at her. "I was hoping to pick up something for a friend of mine. He got pranked pretty good today and could use a pick-me-up. What would you recommend?"
Elisa: If she noticed that he was seeming to stare a bit, she didn't show it, at least not right away. She thought she recognized him, but barely. Maybe seen him in the Compendium? Maybe. It was hard to tell, and it wasn't like she'd read it in a week or so. When he actually grinned at her, she found herself smiling back despite herself and her very bad mood. "Quite all right.. it all tastes great too," and oh yes, there was that soft emphasis on the word taste. She could flirt with the best of them, that was for sure. She licked her lips a little and put the last muffin tin down and turned her full attention towards him.
"Hmm," she pondered, pursing her lips in thought. "Well, how much does he like sugar? Is he more of a subtle kind of sugar? Like a muffin? Or does he actually like sweets? Most of this stuff is... fresh out of the oven," so they were both using silly flirting metaphors. She wondered when the last time she'd used the word hot muffin as anything but talking about food. Ah well, it was kind of fun. "Poor dear.. getting pranked.. I hate this dreadful holiday," she frowned slightly. "It's a bunch of utter nonsense, that's what it is.."
John: Elbowing his relaxed lean into the case, John ran his eyes' luxuriant consideration over her goods. Then he looked away from the baked stuff and at her. Lord, the lip-licking. Get him every time. Every time. A little flirtation to take the edge off the day? Why the hell not. He'd never seen her before, and sure, his Tale sense was tingling that little bit, more exciting than warning -- but he'd never have to see her again if he didn't want to, and he probably wouldn't.
"Got that right," he said to her last comment. "My friend had his whole office moved out into a hallway, and the students were taking pictures and stealing his stapler right in front of him. I think that calls for a lot of sugar, the stronger the better." He slowed out a smile, letting his gaze warm, dark and deep, her way. "I like my sweetness a little subtler, myself. Fresh is good, but not right off the rack. A little aging, a little seasoning . . . a taste that knows what it's about. You know?"
Elisa: Elisa smirked a little at his statement, because really they were both being ridiculous with all the innuendo, but it was just a little too much fun. And she hadn't had fun in quite a while. She shook her head, "I'll never understand the point to this stupid holiday as it is, it's just an excuse for grown people to act immature and think they can get away with it." and tsk'd slightly. Ah right, back to the point at hand. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she moved down further along the case until she found what she was looking for, "Does he like chocolate? And beer?" she questioned, pulling out a cheesecake. "I have chocolate Guinness cheesecake, if he might like that." she offered.
Of course she was no stranger at the way he was talking, and so she thought, and bit on her bottom lip, "I've got some maple apple crisp? It's not too sweet, has the right sort of crunch too it, and it's only made with the ... best things. The maple does most of the work, the kind you have to lick off your fingers to get it to come off.." she gave her most innocent smile. And that's when she thought she saw Sam's car outside and frowned. Tilting her head, she watched as he got out of the car, and obviously was starting towards the bakery. "Oh for fuck's sake.." she mumbled.
Coming out from behind the counter, she smiled at him, "I know you barely know me in the slightest, but you wouldn't want to.. hide would you?" she flipped the closed sign on the door and locked the door and motioned towards the counter, "Just so he goes away?" great, now he was going to think she was a nutcase.
John: "I think I want the cheesecake, from the sound of it," John said honestly, watching her pull it out. Watching the fantastic things that her flush did to her cheeks, too. "Can you box up a couple pieces? We'll have it over coffee tomorrow, assuming he's back in his office, poor guy."
He was just about to trot out some pleased encouragement on the subject of finger-licking, and not too suggestive, please, they were both respectable adults here, when her soft curse stopped him. Craning his head to follow her across the floor, he blinked at the request and then started straightening up. "Hide? Is something wro-- no, never mind, don't have to tell me."
Caution ground the shifting gears in his head to a halt. This could be crazy. This might, really might well be crazy, and not in the fun-flirting sense. Not to mention that while the thought of ducking behind a counter with an attractive woman wasn't without its appeal, he wasn't fifteen or, hell, even thirty-five anymore. His knees and his lower back set up anticipatory grumbles at the prospect.
Then again, he could afford to loosen up (wasn't that the point of this side trip?) and could take care of himself if the going really did start getting weird. "Why not?" he told her with a shrug and gave a game devil-may-care grin as he waved her to lead the way. "Anything to help a fellow April Fools hater."
Elisa: The cheesecake had been half left out when she'd pulled her little stunt, locking the poor guy inside. As soon as he said it was all right, she kind of tugged him back behind the counter and then more or less back inside the actual kitchen part of the bakery so that when Sam came to the door, he couldn't see her inside and then pound on the door or something. "I'm.. so sorry.. I just.." she muttered, peeking out through the door to see if Sam was up to the window yet.
So far he wasn't. "Thanks.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just lock you in here.. I just.. he.. it's a long bloody story," she said with a sigh. "And I'm Elisa by the way.. I just want to be left alone.. for god's sake..ugh.." she rubbed her head again. "You know.. no offense, but when guys say that women are completely off their rocker and they don't understand them at all? The same thing goes for men.. I'm not sure any of them know the meaning of the word space.." the poor guy was getting an ear full. And she was going to make it up to him, she was sure.
Finally it seemed that Sam had come up to the door and was peering inside obviously for her, so Elisa shut the door all the way and waited. "Maybe I should have moved the bakery too.."
John: From counter to kitchen: as he was hustled along, John supposed that crazy was indeed right around the corner. Who was she hiding from? Asshole ex? Angry bill collector? The muffin mafia? He pressed himself awkwardly into the wall by the door, pretty sure that he wasn't visible that way, and nudged his bag on the floor down behind his legs. "No, it's okay, this kind of thing happens," he managed and tried to sound sympathetic through the whirlwind of speculation buzzing his thoughts and flinging flirtation right out the window.
Her explanation landed on "asshole ex," so there was one answer to ground him . . . and with it, she was making him an ambassador to his sex? Oh, Lord have mercy. Best make agreeable noises and keep an eye on her and on the door. And stick to safe conversation: "I'm John. Nice to meet you." A rueful smile; twitch of the shoulders. "If only it were under better circumstances, huh?"
As she shut the door and seemed prepared to wait her unwelcome visitor out, he continued carefully, "This guy isn't dangerous in any way, is he, Elisa?" Or another Tale? he wanted to ask, but that was a kettle of fish he really didn't want to uncover on top of everything else.
Elisa: "Very nice to meet you, John.. normally when I do this sort of thing, it's usually for molesting my customers.." she teased, smiling slightly. Might as well since they were stuck there sort of in the back, at least for a couple of moments. "So you're probably right, it could be under better circumstances," she waved a hand a bit dismissively, like she didn't much care that it was under the wrong circumstances, since well, "At least it gives us both an interesting story.."
Elisa shook her head, "No.. not dangerous. Well.. not unless I prodded him, which if he came in here, I'm liable to do. So it's for the best.. he just.. I'm not quite sure why everyone's got it in their head that I want to settle down. Me, with a picket fence and a house and kids?" she rolled her eyes, "Hardly. But everyone.. including him.. thinks that he can just come in and ... and he's not the only one," which made her frown slightly. "I just don't get why all of a sudden everyone thinks I do.. when I don't. I've never even... hinted at settling down.."
She glanced up at him, "Sorry.. sorry.. I'm ranting and raving like a total loon and you're going to flee as soon as I open the door," though she didn't really blame him. Not in the slightest. Everyone else either wanted to run away from her, or wanted her to settle down. Or thought she did.
John: He had to chuckle a little at the "interesting story" part. "'Dear Penthouse Forum,'" he intoned, dropping his voice to a matinee idol's pompous baritone, "'I never thought that this would happen to me, but one day, I walked into a bakery in Greenwich Village. . . .'"
He dropped the humor for real sympathy at her story. "No, you aren't a total loon, and I'm not going to flee." Probably, he privately allowed, though he was glad to hear that they weren't about to have to deal with gunfire, say. "It's just one of those things that you have to deal with the older you get, right? The assumptions," and John put a world of venomous disdain in the word, "made about what you want to do with your life, as if you didn't have a brain in your head to decide for yourself." He glanced toward the front of the bakery and sighed. "Since you brought it up -- on behalf of men everywhere, I do apologize for that particular sad sample. We aren't all . . . you know. Entitled assholes."
Elisa: That she had to laugh at, "I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't the first time someone's talked about me and my bakery in Penthouse I'm afraid.." not that she was a slut. Well, maybe you could use that word. But the nicest, classiest sort of slut. Without getting paid of course. She just liked sex more then most. She pushed her hair back and then opened the door a crack but closed it once she heard knocking on the glass. So much for that, she supposed.
Her head nodded a bit, and she turned back towards him, "Yes.. assumptions. In one instance, I.. understand the assumption. Actually, I almost understand both of them.. but.." she let out a breath. "Well thank you.." she smiled at him. Somehow she figured he was different from the rest, which made her relax a bit. "I admit.. when a girl... says the L word.. a man probably jumps to a conclusion that .. that's what she wants.. some sort of relationship. But no, just dumped on my ass, and then he comes along and.. assumes since I told the other one.." she shook her head. "See? Long.. twisted and insane story. I should be on a soap opera.."
John: "A soap opera would be better than living it out for real," John supposed, smiling back. She might be a drama queen, hamming up her circumstances for whatever reason, but people did get into these situations all the time. And he was the one hiding out with her in the back of her workplace, wasn't he? Hard to deny that truth all around them.
He slouched more comfortably back into the wall's support, pushing his feet out for concomitant bracing. "Sounds like bad communication, and that entitlement. Of course he'll think that he knows what you want better than you do; we're pretty much raised that way, sad to say." He grimaced. "Well, not to get into social theory, but you know what I mean? Guy sounds like he should try actually talking to you and listening to what you have to say, not take you for granted and make you go along with whatever fairy tale he's writing for himself in his head." Well, there were two words that just slipped out. Quickly, he continued, "Think he'll go away soon? That cheesecake really did sound good. . . ."
Elisa: "You're telling me. I wish it was.." so she wouldn't feel like this. Or not feel like this, or whatever it was. She still hadn't really decided. "Ah is that it? Knows what I want better.. actually, I think you're right. That's probably why I got dumped on my arse.." she sighed a bit and shook her head. "I've tried talking to him. I mean, sure I told him I needed space and then kind of disappeared, but well.." she rubbed at her forehead slightly, "I know eventually I'm going to have to talk to him. I'm just.. stuck in this.. rut. And if he ... tries to push me, it's just going to end badly.."
In response she opened up the door again and saw that Sam was gone. Well she hoped. "I think it's safe.." she opened the door a bit more and then headed out to check. No car. "Yeah he's gone.." she turned back to him. "So... fairy tale hm?" she had caught that after all. "And which one are you then? I'm sure that's where I saw you, right? The ... Compendium.." if he acted like he didn't know what she was talking about, she'd make something up. That's what she did. "You won't be surprised, but I'm something of a villain.." she smiled when she said it.
John: But you don't look like a villain, was the first thought that popped into John's mind: what you were supposed to say to that species of admission, supportive in a gently dismissive sense. He was used to giving such lip service in response to "I feel like the walking dead, goddamn neighborhood kids' music at all hours" and "I swear to God, I've gained twenty pounds over the holidays" comments. Alone and face to face with someone who claimed to be the reincarnation of a fairy-tale baddie, he found that those chuckling polite words were stuck in his throat like a chicken bone.
"Oh, really?" he said instead, hoarding his wary ambivalence behind a blandly cheerful mask, seamed by an autopilot smile to answer hers. He hung back against the front of the counter, as far as he'd followed her out of the back when she was checking on the status of the visitor, and shrugged away into her earlier question. "I'm nobody special, sorry, and I don't even use my Compendium. I'm sure that if I did, though, I'd have remembered you." A weak riposte, glancing back to their flirtation, but he was still off-balance. Villain? She didn't have magic at her command, did she? After a heart-stopping encounter in the Pentamerone recently, he was entirely, unsettlingly aware of the possibility and, with it, of his need to stay on her good side, if so. Villainous magic -- hoo-boy. How many cheesecakes would he have to buy to avoid getting blasted into next week?
Not to get ahead of himself, hiding in rapidly calculating paranoia (one weirdness after another!) that he drew down by the reluctant expediency of forcing a channel to his own Tale, just a little. The familiar cool, vigilant, reptilian detachment eased his thoughts and pulse both, and if it kept Elisa squarely in front of his eyes with a mildly predatory consideration, well, that might be useful, too.
Elisa: "Well, if I don't mind saying so myself, I'm one of the nicest. Actually I'm probably the nicest. All the rest seem to have .. things up their asses, and generally just think they're better then everyone," she said plainly as she walked back over to the case where she'd left the cheesecake and went to cut two slices out. "I might be naughty, but in all the good ways.. " not that she didn't have a temper of course, or that she didn't get jealous. And at least she was right about him being a Tale.
"I don't really blame you for not checking it. Hell if I know why I do.. usually it just brings trouble," she noted as she went to wrap up the cheesecake into a very nice box and then turned back to him. She wondered who he was exactly, or what he was, but he didn't seem to want to tell, so she'd leave it be. If she were the nasty type, then well she probably would have pushed. But she was trying to be better then she used to be. "Been around for too long to not learn from my mistakes from the past.." which was all it boiled down to.
Licking her fingers clean only after she'd made sure everything was good and proper and in the box so that she wouldn't get messy fingers all over, she smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere, love. Especially in here. I haven't really been around much lately. Still trying to avoid people.. or being ignored.." and if she'd known about his little incident at the Pentamerone, she would have told him that Sebastian was both to be ignored and well, ignored. Though she had a healthy dose of fear too. Maybe just a little one.
John: "Trouble and chatting about things I just don't care about," John chipped in honestly. "Maybe if I knew more people in the community . . . but I don't." He said it more firmly than he suspected he meant, especially after meeting Noreen Rivera this week and Gray Adams, even with their disastrous encounter, before that. His own Tale's mates -- maybe them, maybe someday. At least there were no worries of magic with them, a relief since he'd had the words "disastrous encounter" radically redefined in that terrifying moment of enraged magic outside Patricia Goldberg's office.
She didn't seem ready to blast him to cinders, so he relaxed, easing off on the snaky cold (the use of which was already giving advance headache warning, as always). Looking more sympathetically at her, he supposed, "If that's the kind of visitor you have to worry about, I don't blame you for avoiding people. Hope I haven't been any trouble. Or an unwelcome witness to the madness, huh? Maybe you should just cut that guy off for good."
Elisa: After washing her hands off and then drying them, she nodded a bit. "I don't really have friends. Just about... one now, I think. If you don't include the guy who was knocking on the door earlier. I chased off my best friend.. but.. that has nothing to do with Tale's and everything to do with me just being a prat, I suppose.." she grabbed the boxes and then put them into a small bag to take with him.
After a moment of contemplation, she shrugged her shoulders a bit, "No.. I can't do that.. I mean I love Sam.. I'm just not in love with him. I grew up with him.. before all of this.. Tale mess started.. and then we just sort of, drifted apart. I was so excited to have him back, but now I don't know.. I mean I still want to be his friend, it's just complicated.." she slid the bag over across the counter towards him.
"There you go.. need anything else? And no, you definitely haven't been any trouble at all. Actually a very sane conversation.. and I definitely needed it, so thank you for stopping in.."
John: He nodded to that first part, thinking of his own sparse social life. "At least you have one," he felt compelled to put in. "And I don't know if I'd count that guy at the door. Your call." Not his, and not his business. She was a beautiful woman, had a nice sense of humor and perspective, but damned if he was going to get involved in a stranger's door-pounding domestics.
John did add as he was pulling out his wallet to pay for the cake, "Good luck with Sam. Really. You deserve to have better relations than that, if you don't mind my saying. Anyone does, and you've been -- well," and he laughed a little, "gracious to a poor pastry shopper, I'd say, under the circumstances. This'll be fine, thanks. I'm glad I came in." The good humor left a half-smile tilting his mouth to the wry side. "At least we both got to meet another fellow traveler and with a minimal of craziness involved. Hiding in the back of a bakery -- that's hot."
Elisa: Friendships and a social life is pretty much all semantics, and really they could have quibbled all day about who was a better friend, or who had more. Really, it didn't seem to matter much. So she just shrugged a little, "I'll figure it out.. thanks.." she waved her hand a little dismissively, "It's on the house.. just make sure you actually come back. You were nice enough not to freak out and not give me away and think I was a total nutcase, so it was the least I can do.." see? She was a very nice villain.
She laughed a little, "You just wait till you see what else I do in the back of my bakery," she couldn't help but smirk slightly. "And any time you feel like stopping in .. or.. need.. someone who's not a nut case to talk to on the Compendiums.. I'll be around.." she smiled a little and then turned to go back to work.
John: "Thanks, then. I'll come back to let you know how my friend liked it. I'm sure I will," he tagged on, exaggerating a sniff of the bagged boxes in his hand. He thought for a second, then continued, "And I might take you up on the Compendiums, too. Someday. Old habits are hard to break, but you never know."
And maybe he would, at that, he thought with a parting smile and small wave of his cake-holding hand as he turned away, too, heading for the door. Tale companionship wasn't the worst thing in the world, and she didn't seem like a villain. Wonder how she felt about snakes . . .
Grinning at that, and shaking his head at himself, John hit the sidewalk and walked off into the rest of his day.
What: Hot evil baking!
When: April 1, 2008.
Where: Humble Pies, Elisa's bakery.
Rating: R for language.
John: April Fool's Day might be a holiday, but it wasn't one of John Tracey's favorites. Not one he celebrated or, if he had his way, acknowledged at all, in fact: pranks disrupted his sense of propriety, or dignity, and were just damned rude when you got down to it. Nobody asked to have their office furniture removed and set up with meticulous faithfulness to the original layout . . . in the middle of the busiest hallway in the building. As he eeled his way through the crowd of students gathered to laugh, high-five, and snap photos with their phones, he glimpsed Martin's harried, sweating face and the frantic grasp of one of his hands, trying to keep stuff on his desk until he could get resettled upstairs. Which would take hours of the facility staff's time and effort because who knew who had done the original work? How had they even gotten the keys?
Collaborators within the ranks, he thought darkly and kept going, wondering what had ever happened to boundaries in this marvelous modern age.
He carried that well-worn disgust with him on the train downtown, heading home early after a light schedule. He was feeling old-fashioned, conservative and cranky, these days -- well, no, it was more swinging between the poles of busy activity and moody funk that he recognized as one part mundane seasonal change and two parts Tale restlessness, not exactly mundane even after nearly thirty years of riding that slow-spooled rhythm. Had to go with it, but had to shake out of it, too, so he got off near the Village to stretch his legs and enjoy the busy urban afternoon that he didn't often get to see, ensconced as he was all day in classrooms and offices. He settled his drab green woolen jacket more comfortably over his pale-blue dress shirt and brown slacks and started walking in a determination to relax and enjoy himself.
The faint scent of good hot pastry on one side street tempted him closer. He peered at the sign -- Humble Pies? Cute -- and then at the bakery itself. Well, why not? He could pick up a fresh loaf for dinner if they had any, and maybe even something for poor Martin when he saw him tomorrow. The guy wasn't his friend, exactly, but they had been working together for fifteen years now -- and neither of them liked pranks, which was reason enough for confectionery sympathy. Pulling his leather satchel close to his body, John put his shoulder to the door and pushed inside.
Elisa: Elisa had been hiding, plain and simple, for the past week or so, probably longer then that. In fact, she'd up and moved everything out of her apartment in the Pen and had it all shipped somewhere that not one person knew about. Not David, not Sam, not Neil. No one knew where she'd gone, and that's how she liked it, until she was ready to deal with things she needed to deal with, and to be honest, that wasn't likely to be anytime soon. That was for a number of reasons really, but at least now she had a new place to live, and no one to come and bug her when she didn't want to be bugged.
Of course she'd been in her bakery the whole time, and though she hadn't opened it for a couple of days, she wasn't one to just sit on her ass in between steadily unpacking boxes. But now the bakery was back open, and people had been coming in and out all day. She was kind of surprised that no one she knew had come looking for her. Or maybe she wasn't surprised at all. Her mood too, seemed to change like the wind lately. Either way, she was busy inside, at the front, putting things on the shelves, changing things around as they came out of the oven so that the fresher things were towards the back, easier to reach.
There hadn't been anyone inside in about twenty minutes, at a lull, which was just fine with her. It was better then having some asshole kids run inside to see what they could get into. If they had, she'd be likely to zap them one. Even if she wasn't supposed to. She just wasn't in the mood. When the door opened, she looked up and really, tried to smile but it just didn't work. "Hello.." she greeted.
John: What a knockout, was John's first, old-fashioned-and-how thought upon clapping eyes on the woman in the bakery. He only belatedly recognized the struggle in her smile, past that hair and those eyes and . . . right. He was here for baking: a different kind of hot stuff.
"Afternoon," he returned agreeably and let the door swing shut again behind him. Drawing in a slow, appreciative breath, he looked around. Definitely a good decision to follow his nose; he wanted to eat everything in sight, as the eager cramp in his stomach was suddenly demanding. He turned a grin back to the baker, or so he'd place her at a guess. "My first time here, obviously. Sorry. It all looks great." As do you -- oh, stop that, old fool. Looks like she's had a long enough day without you getting up into it.
Composing himself accordingly (though he was briefly, vainly glad he'd gotten that neat trim to his hair and beard over the weekend), he wandered toward one of the cases for a peek and then glance back at her. "I was hoping to pick up something for a friend of mine. He got pranked pretty good today and could use a pick-me-up. What would you recommend?"
Elisa: If she noticed that he was seeming to stare a bit, she didn't show it, at least not right away. She thought she recognized him, but barely. Maybe seen him in the Compendium? Maybe. It was hard to tell, and it wasn't like she'd read it in a week or so. When he actually grinned at her, she found herself smiling back despite herself and her very bad mood. "Quite all right.. it all tastes great too," and oh yes, there was that soft emphasis on the word taste. She could flirt with the best of them, that was for sure. She licked her lips a little and put the last muffin tin down and turned her full attention towards him.
"Hmm," she pondered, pursing her lips in thought. "Well, how much does he like sugar? Is he more of a subtle kind of sugar? Like a muffin? Or does he actually like sweets? Most of this stuff is... fresh out of the oven," so they were both using silly flirting metaphors. She wondered when the last time she'd used the word hot muffin as anything but talking about food. Ah well, it was kind of fun. "Poor dear.. getting pranked.. I hate this dreadful holiday," she frowned slightly. "It's a bunch of utter nonsense, that's what it is.."
John: Elbowing his relaxed lean into the case, John ran his eyes' luxuriant consideration over her goods. Then he looked away from the baked stuff and at her. Lord, the lip-licking. Get him every time. Every time. A little flirtation to take the edge off the day? Why the hell not. He'd never seen her before, and sure, his Tale sense was tingling that little bit, more exciting than warning -- but he'd never have to see her again if he didn't want to, and he probably wouldn't.
"Got that right," he said to her last comment. "My friend had his whole office moved out into a hallway, and the students were taking pictures and stealing his stapler right in front of him. I think that calls for a lot of sugar, the stronger the better." He slowed out a smile, letting his gaze warm, dark and deep, her way. "I like my sweetness a little subtler, myself. Fresh is good, but not right off the rack. A little aging, a little seasoning . . . a taste that knows what it's about. You know?"
Elisa: Elisa smirked a little at his statement, because really they were both being ridiculous with all the innuendo, but it was just a little too much fun. And she hadn't had fun in quite a while. She shook her head, "I'll never understand the point to this stupid holiday as it is, it's just an excuse for grown people to act immature and think they can get away with it." and tsk'd slightly. Ah right, back to the point at hand. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she moved down further along the case until she found what she was looking for, "Does he like chocolate? And beer?" she questioned, pulling out a cheesecake. "I have chocolate Guinness cheesecake, if he might like that." she offered.
Of course she was no stranger at the way he was talking, and so she thought, and bit on her bottom lip, "I've got some maple apple crisp? It's not too sweet, has the right sort of crunch too it, and it's only made with the ... best things. The maple does most of the work, the kind you have to lick off your fingers to get it to come off.." she gave her most innocent smile. And that's when she thought she saw Sam's car outside and frowned. Tilting her head, she watched as he got out of the car, and obviously was starting towards the bakery. "Oh for fuck's sake.." she mumbled.
Coming out from behind the counter, she smiled at him, "I know you barely know me in the slightest, but you wouldn't want to.. hide would you?" she flipped the closed sign on the door and locked the door and motioned towards the counter, "Just so he goes away?" great, now he was going to think she was a nutcase.
John: "I think I want the cheesecake, from the sound of it," John said honestly, watching her pull it out. Watching the fantastic things that her flush did to her cheeks, too. "Can you box up a couple pieces? We'll have it over coffee tomorrow, assuming he's back in his office, poor guy."
He was just about to trot out some pleased encouragement on the subject of finger-licking, and not too suggestive, please, they were both respectable adults here, when her soft curse stopped him. Craning his head to follow her across the floor, he blinked at the request and then started straightening up. "Hide? Is something wro-- no, never mind, don't have to tell me."
Caution ground the shifting gears in his head to a halt. This could be crazy. This might, really might well be crazy, and not in the fun-flirting sense. Not to mention that while the thought of ducking behind a counter with an attractive woman wasn't without its appeal, he wasn't fifteen or, hell, even thirty-five anymore. His knees and his lower back set up anticipatory grumbles at the prospect.
Then again, he could afford to loosen up (wasn't that the point of this side trip?) and could take care of himself if the going really did start getting weird. "Why not?" he told her with a shrug and gave a game devil-may-care grin as he waved her to lead the way. "Anything to help a fellow April Fools hater."
Elisa: The cheesecake had been half left out when she'd pulled her little stunt, locking the poor guy inside. As soon as he said it was all right, she kind of tugged him back behind the counter and then more or less back inside the actual kitchen part of the bakery so that when Sam came to the door, he couldn't see her inside and then pound on the door or something. "I'm.. so sorry.. I just.." she muttered, peeking out through the door to see if Sam was up to the window yet.
So far he wasn't. "Thanks.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just lock you in here.. I just.. he.. it's a long bloody story," she said with a sigh. "And I'm Elisa by the way.. I just want to be left alone.. for god's sake..ugh.." she rubbed her head again. "You know.. no offense, but when guys say that women are completely off their rocker and they don't understand them at all? The same thing goes for men.. I'm not sure any of them know the meaning of the word space.." the poor guy was getting an ear full. And she was going to make it up to him, she was sure.
Finally it seemed that Sam had come up to the door and was peering inside obviously for her, so Elisa shut the door all the way and waited. "Maybe I should have moved the bakery too.."
John: From counter to kitchen: as he was hustled along, John supposed that crazy was indeed right around the corner. Who was she hiding from? Asshole ex? Angry bill collector? The muffin mafia? He pressed himself awkwardly into the wall by the door, pretty sure that he wasn't visible that way, and nudged his bag on the floor down behind his legs. "No, it's okay, this kind of thing happens," he managed and tried to sound sympathetic through the whirlwind of speculation buzzing his thoughts and flinging flirtation right out the window.
Her explanation landed on "asshole ex," so there was one answer to ground him . . . and with it, she was making him an ambassador to his sex? Oh, Lord have mercy. Best make agreeable noises and keep an eye on her and on the door. And stick to safe conversation: "I'm John. Nice to meet you." A rueful smile; twitch of the shoulders. "If only it were under better circumstances, huh?"
As she shut the door and seemed prepared to wait her unwelcome visitor out, he continued carefully, "This guy isn't dangerous in any way, is he, Elisa?" Or another Tale? he wanted to ask, but that was a kettle of fish he really didn't want to uncover on top of everything else.
Elisa: "Very nice to meet you, John.. normally when I do this sort of thing, it's usually for molesting my customers.." she teased, smiling slightly. Might as well since they were stuck there sort of in the back, at least for a couple of moments. "So you're probably right, it could be under better circumstances," she waved a hand a bit dismissively, like she didn't much care that it was under the wrong circumstances, since well, "At least it gives us both an interesting story.."
Elisa shook her head, "No.. not dangerous. Well.. not unless I prodded him, which if he came in here, I'm liable to do. So it's for the best.. he just.. I'm not quite sure why everyone's got it in their head that I want to settle down. Me, with a picket fence and a house and kids?" she rolled her eyes, "Hardly. But everyone.. including him.. thinks that he can just come in and ... and he's not the only one," which made her frown slightly. "I just don't get why all of a sudden everyone thinks I do.. when I don't. I've never even... hinted at settling down.."
She glanced up at him, "Sorry.. sorry.. I'm ranting and raving like a total loon and you're going to flee as soon as I open the door," though she didn't really blame him. Not in the slightest. Everyone else either wanted to run away from her, or wanted her to settle down. Or thought she did.
John: He had to chuckle a little at the "interesting story" part. "'Dear Penthouse Forum,'" he intoned, dropping his voice to a matinee idol's pompous baritone, "'I never thought that this would happen to me, but one day, I walked into a bakery in Greenwich Village. . . .'"
He dropped the humor for real sympathy at her story. "No, you aren't a total loon, and I'm not going to flee." Probably, he privately allowed, though he was glad to hear that they weren't about to have to deal with gunfire, say. "It's just one of those things that you have to deal with the older you get, right? The assumptions," and John put a world of venomous disdain in the word, "made about what you want to do with your life, as if you didn't have a brain in your head to decide for yourself." He glanced toward the front of the bakery and sighed. "Since you brought it up -- on behalf of men everywhere, I do apologize for that particular sad sample. We aren't all . . . you know. Entitled assholes."
Elisa: That she had to laugh at, "I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't the first time someone's talked about me and my bakery in Penthouse I'm afraid.." not that she was a slut. Well, maybe you could use that word. But the nicest, classiest sort of slut. Without getting paid of course. She just liked sex more then most. She pushed her hair back and then opened the door a crack but closed it once she heard knocking on the glass. So much for that, she supposed.
Her head nodded a bit, and she turned back towards him, "Yes.. assumptions. In one instance, I.. understand the assumption. Actually, I almost understand both of them.. but.." she let out a breath. "Well thank you.." she smiled at him. Somehow she figured he was different from the rest, which made her relax a bit. "I admit.. when a girl... says the L word.. a man probably jumps to a conclusion that .. that's what she wants.. some sort of relationship. But no, just dumped on my ass, and then he comes along and.. assumes since I told the other one.." she shook her head. "See? Long.. twisted and insane story. I should be on a soap opera.."
John: "A soap opera would be better than living it out for real," John supposed, smiling back. She might be a drama queen, hamming up her circumstances for whatever reason, but people did get into these situations all the time. And he was the one hiding out with her in the back of her workplace, wasn't he? Hard to deny that truth all around them.
He slouched more comfortably back into the wall's support, pushing his feet out for concomitant bracing. "Sounds like bad communication, and that entitlement. Of course he'll think that he knows what you want better than you do; we're pretty much raised that way, sad to say." He grimaced. "Well, not to get into social theory, but you know what I mean? Guy sounds like he should try actually talking to you and listening to what you have to say, not take you for granted and make you go along with whatever fairy tale he's writing for himself in his head." Well, there were two words that just slipped out. Quickly, he continued, "Think he'll go away soon? That cheesecake really did sound good. . . ."
Elisa: "You're telling me. I wish it was.." so she wouldn't feel like this. Or not feel like this, or whatever it was. She still hadn't really decided. "Ah is that it? Knows what I want better.. actually, I think you're right. That's probably why I got dumped on my arse.." she sighed a bit and shook her head. "I've tried talking to him. I mean, sure I told him I needed space and then kind of disappeared, but well.." she rubbed at her forehead slightly, "I know eventually I'm going to have to talk to him. I'm just.. stuck in this.. rut. And if he ... tries to push me, it's just going to end badly.."
In response she opened up the door again and saw that Sam was gone. Well she hoped. "I think it's safe.." she opened the door a bit more and then headed out to check. No car. "Yeah he's gone.." she turned back to him. "So... fairy tale hm?" she had caught that after all. "And which one are you then? I'm sure that's where I saw you, right? The ... Compendium.." if he acted like he didn't know what she was talking about, she'd make something up. That's what she did. "You won't be surprised, but I'm something of a villain.." she smiled when she said it.
John: But you don't look like a villain, was the first thought that popped into John's mind: what you were supposed to say to that species of admission, supportive in a gently dismissive sense. He was used to giving such lip service in response to "I feel like the walking dead, goddamn neighborhood kids' music at all hours" and "I swear to God, I've gained twenty pounds over the holidays" comments. Alone and face to face with someone who claimed to be the reincarnation of a fairy-tale baddie, he found that those chuckling polite words were stuck in his throat like a chicken bone.
"Oh, really?" he said instead, hoarding his wary ambivalence behind a blandly cheerful mask, seamed by an autopilot smile to answer hers. He hung back against the front of the counter, as far as he'd followed her out of the back when she was checking on the status of the visitor, and shrugged away into her earlier question. "I'm nobody special, sorry, and I don't even use my Compendium. I'm sure that if I did, though, I'd have remembered you." A weak riposte, glancing back to their flirtation, but he was still off-balance. Villain? She didn't have magic at her command, did she? After a heart-stopping encounter in the Pentamerone recently, he was entirely, unsettlingly aware of the possibility and, with it, of his need to stay on her good side, if so. Villainous magic -- hoo-boy. How many cheesecakes would he have to buy to avoid getting blasted into next week?
Not to get ahead of himself, hiding in rapidly calculating paranoia (one weirdness after another!) that he drew down by the reluctant expediency of forcing a channel to his own Tale, just a little. The familiar cool, vigilant, reptilian detachment eased his thoughts and pulse both, and if it kept Elisa squarely in front of his eyes with a mildly predatory consideration, well, that might be useful, too.
Elisa: "Well, if I don't mind saying so myself, I'm one of the nicest. Actually I'm probably the nicest. All the rest seem to have .. things up their asses, and generally just think they're better then everyone," she said plainly as she walked back over to the case where she'd left the cheesecake and went to cut two slices out. "I might be naughty, but in all the good ways.. " not that she didn't have a temper of course, or that she didn't get jealous. And at least she was right about him being a Tale.
"I don't really blame you for not checking it. Hell if I know why I do.. usually it just brings trouble," she noted as she went to wrap up the cheesecake into a very nice box and then turned back to him. She wondered who he was exactly, or what he was, but he didn't seem to want to tell, so she'd leave it be. If she were the nasty type, then well she probably would have pushed. But she was trying to be better then she used to be. "Been around for too long to not learn from my mistakes from the past.." which was all it boiled down to.
Licking her fingers clean only after she'd made sure everything was good and proper and in the box so that she wouldn't get messy fingers all over, she smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere, love. Especially in here. I haven't really been around much lately. Still trying to avoid people.. or being ignored.." and if she'd known about his little incident at the Pentamerone, she would have told him that Sebastian was both to be ignored and well, ignored. Though she had a healthy dose of fear too. Maybe just a little one.
John: "Trouble and chatting about things I just don't care about," John chipped in honestly. "Maybe if I knew more people in the community . . . but I don't." He said it more firmly than he suspected he meant, especially after meeting Noreen Rivera this week and Gray Adams, even with their disastrous encounter, before that. His own Tale's mates -- maybe them, maybe someday. At least there were no worries of magic with them, a relief since he'd had the words "disastrous encounter" radically redefined in that terrifying moment of enraged magic outside Patricia Goldberg's office.
She didn't seem ready to blast him to cinders, so he relaxed, easing off on the snaky cold (the use of which was already giving advance headache warning, as always). Looking more sympathetically at her, he supposed, "If that's the kind of visitor you have to worry about, I don't blame you for avoiding people. Hope I haven't been any trouble. Or an unwelcome witness to the madness, huh? Maybe you should just cut that guy off for good."
Elisa: After washing her hands off and then drying them, she nodded a bit. "I don't really have friends. Just about... one now, I think. If you don't include the guy who was knocking on the door earlier. I chased off my best friend.. but.. that has nothing to do with Tale's and everything to do with me just being a prat, I suppose.." she grabbed the boxes and then put them into a small bag to take with him.
After a moment of contemplation, she shrugged her shoulders a bit, "No.. I can't do that.. I mean I love Sam.. I'm just not in love with him. I grew up with him.. before all of this.. Tale mess started.. and then we just sort of, drifted apart. I was so excited to have him back, but now I don't know.. I mean I still want to be his friend, it's just complicated.." she slid the bag over across the counter towards him.
"There you go.. need anything else? And no, you definitely haven't been any trouble at all. Actually a very sane conversation.. and I definitely needed it, so thank you for stopping in.."
John: He nodded to that first part, thinking of his own sparse social life. "At least you have one," he felt compelled to put in. "And I don't know if I'd count that guy at the door. Your call." Not his, and not his business. She was a beautiful woman, had a nice sense of humor and perspective, but damned if he was going to get involved in a stranger's door-pounding domestics.
John did add as he was pulling out his wallet to pay for the cake, "Good luck with Sam. Really. You deserve to have better relations than that, if you don't mind my saying. Anyone does, and you've been -- well," and he laughed a little, "gracious to a poor pastry shopper, I'd say, under the circumstances. This'll be fine, thanks. I'm glad I came in." The good humor left a half-smile tilting his mouth to the wry side. "At least we both got to meet another fellow traveler and with a minimal of craziness involved. Hiding in the back of a bakery -- that's hot."
Elisa: Friendships and a social life is pretty much all semantics, and really they could have quibbled all day about who was a better friend, or who had more. Really, it didn't seem to matter much. So she just shrugged a little, "I'll figure it out.. thanks.." she waved her hand a little dismissively, "It's on the house.. just make sure you actually come back. You were nice enough not to freak out and not give me away and think I was a total nutcase, so it was the least I can do.." see? She was a very nice villain.
She laughed a little, "You just wait till you see what else I do in the back of my bakery," she couldn't help but smirk slightly. "And any time you feel like stopping in .. or.. need.. someone who's not a nut case to talk to on the Compendiums.. I'll be around.." she smiled a little and then turned to go back to work.
John: "Thanks, then. I'll come back to let you know how my friend liked it. I'm sure I will," he tagged on, exaggerating a sniff of the bagged boxes in his hand. He thought for a second, then continued, "And I might take you up on the Compendiums, too. Someday. Old habits are hard to break, but you never know."
And maybe he would, at that, he thought with a parting smile and small wave of his cake-holding hand as he turned away, too, heading for the door. Tale companionship wasn't the worst thing in the world, and she didn't seem like a villain. Wonder how she felt about snakes . . .
Grinning at that, and shaking his head at himself, John hit the sidewalk and walked off into the rest of his day.