Intermezzi Prima: First week in town is the roughest, right?

[ooeeooahah]

Well, maybe not a full week, but there were a lot of things to assimilate before breakfast that first day, and then it just got weirder the longer she was looking around. So of course Ilsa falls back on her comfort zone.

Comments

[velesdonnersen]

[There's a tap at the door -- the back door to the kitchen, where Ilsa is cooking. When she opens the door a scrubbed, abashed young man stands before her. He's brought a fistful of dandelions, because he can't find a florist and because he doesn't know that in Mayfield the pretty things are considered weeds.]

Hi. I just... I wanted to apologize for presuming. I exceeded the bounds the last time I was here. I promise, I will work not to overstep again.

[Oh, let's be honest. He loved kissing her cheek, and sort of hopes she'll let it happen again. But like Victorian Gentlemen everywhere he's trying hard to live the paradox of wanting romantic, sexual love while at the same time pretending he and his sweetie would never behave improperly.]

[He'll learn. Someday. With a lot of help and the occasional smack upside the head.]

[ooeeooahah]

[ She smiles and shakes her head as she lets him in. ]

Presuming? Tch, hon - come on in.

[ She takes the dandelions and arranges them in a juice glass, putting them on the kitchen counter. ]

I have found a safe source for dairy products, and went a little crazy. Coffee?

[velesdonnersen]

[His eyes light with frantic hope.]

Cream? Is cream possible?

[Avoiding dairy has just plain hurt. No cream for his coffee, no milk for his (shudder) Fruit-loops, no cheese he felt sure he could trust...]

Yes, please, coffee, with cream and sugar...plenty of each. I had been drinking tea with lemon and sugar, or with a little strawberry jam stirred in, but coffee without cream isn't right.

Do you know if the cheese here can be eaten? I don't think that comes from the milk truck...

[He slides so happily into a kitchen chair. Coffee, cream, sugar. Sunshine and dandelions and Ilsa acting as though he didn't deserve a slap for last time. He knows Mayfield's got a lot wrong with it, but it's also got so many find surprises, like the joy of sitting in a kitchen drinking coffee with a new friend.]

[ooeeooahah]

[ She puts a double-double in front of him, and chuckles. ]

So far, the only thing I have found out is the dairy products at the store are fine.

[ Small squeeze to his shoulder before she goes back to the stove. ]

I... went a little overboard when I found out. So I am making a crepe cake. [ She blushes. ] With ganache.

[velesdonnersen]

[Oooooooh.]

[OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!!!!]

[Yeah, yeah, he lusts after Ilsa, too, but... his eyes are all big and wistful and even a bit forlorn...]

Mille crepes? Like in Paris?

[Eyes close and sweet memories play.] My first day in Paris, I went to a cafe in the Rive Gauche<. The artists' neighborhood. I was supposed to present myself at the Master of Paris's court that day, but it was late and I put it off to the next day. I sat outside and ate the finest meal -- plain food, mostly, and cheap: the artists are usually broke. I had a bowl of onion soup so thick with bread and cheese you couldn't spill the bowl if you tried, and a glass of Bordeaux. At the end they brought out little demitasse cups of cafe au lait and served mille crepes.

[Eyes stay closed for a second and she can see the longing. Then he opens his eyes and with stern suspicion and humor asks:]

Are you really making mille crepes?

[If you aren't he'll forgive you, but... ah, the longing!]

[ooeeooahah]

[ She smiles and chuckles ]

I didn't study in Paris, but in San Antonio, and my French comes with a Cajun accent. However! I am doing as well as I can with the equipment here.

[ She's frowning in concentration, getting the batter to swirl properly. ]

[velesdonnersen]

[He sips his sweet white coffee and sighs, so very happily.]

I thought Sancte Antonio was somewhere in Spain, or Portugal, or even Italy, and I have no idea what "Cajun" means. But if you make mille crepes it doesn't really matter.

It smells good in here. Better than poor empty-headed Betty makes.

[Rapture. Sweet coffee and cream. He will just soak this up for a minute, thank you very much!]

[ooeeooahah]

[ She chuckles again, flipping a crepe onto the stack. ]

Well, once I knew I could have cream, butter and whatnot again, it kind of blunted my edge for wanting dairy, except for the pastry cream and ganache.

The pot roast was to give myself time to rock the frying pan.

[velesdonnersen]

"Pot Roast?"

[He's not heard the term.]

It smells good, regardless. Delicious.

[Sips coffee, sighs happily.]

My magic friend. Perhaps later you can perform more magic, and teach me to drive?

[He really is in love with that big, finned sedan in his garage....]

[ooeeooahah]

[ She nearly drops the frying pan at that last, but recovers while he's still canoodling with his coffee ]

Ah, yes - Need to teach you to steer the land barge. [ Another chuckle, ] That reminds me, do you know if there is a driver's education manual for the city? Might as well make sure of the rules before you break them.

[velesdonnersen]

[He'll happily canoodle with the coffee. It's so good.]

Rules? There are rules? I would think instructions, perhaps, but... Rules? From whom?

[Traffic laws as such probably do not exist in Europa. Customs, maybe. But laws on the books seems unlikely...and he's a Spark Aristo: who's going to arrest Prince Tarvek for deciding to drive on the left, not the right?]

[ooeeooahah]

[ Okay, that gets a laugh. ]

I forgot you might have a different view. This town is supposed to be based in an egalitarian democracy. So traffic laws exist to make sure somebody can get sued when there's an accident.

[ Flip the crepe, swirl some butter and another ladle of batter in the pan, and talking through the Zen of the crêpe... ]

Your oldest might be the age that has one of the booklets handy.

[ Murmuring to herself, with a bit of humor, ] Wonder if they have the trick question with the four-way stop right-of-way?

[velesdonnersen]

[Smug] If there are trick questions, I will find a clever answer to them. I'm good at riddles and puzzles.

I'll ask Perry if he's got a... manual? Booklet?

So these rules aren't just rules, they are laws? And if there's an accident there are trials? [Considers very seriously.]

That's good planning. My father and I always had to judge that sort of thing, because there weren't any set laws about traffic, and it was usually stupid and messy. Frau sports gig insists she was not driving too fast, while Herr Apple-cart insists that the destruction of his wagon and the loss of a barrel of apples proves her wrong.

This way a judge can make the decision based on law, rather than me -- or the old me -- having to work out what seems fair at the time. And the present me -- the lawyer me -- can make some money in the process.

[ooeeooahah]

[ Ilsa snickers at that last bit. ]

The laws ought to be fairly simple, and you might have one in your study if there's law books for the area in there.

[ Flip, swirl, ladle... ]

And... I would like to ask another favor, about that map?

[ She seems shy to ask. ]

[velesdonnersen]

[She must wait a moment -- zen of crepes meets zen of coffee. Then, happy to be given a chance to return her kindess....]

Please, ask: what can I do for you?

[ooeeooahah]

[ Okay, we're going to pretend that blush is from standing over the stove, yep.

Well, that map you gave me has been pretty helpful, I was wondering...

Could you draft a larger one? A-about the size of the table, if the paper is available?

[ Boy, that stove must have gotten really warm all of the sudden. ]