Eliot was craning his neck a little, attempting to get a look at the food people -- things -- beings were eating. He couldn't actually tell which things on most of the plates were the dish and which were garnish. He hadn't had that trouble in a long time.
He was in heaven.
"This is the kind of time travel I think I can get behind."
"Are they breathing in the fumes off that dish, or are they breathing them out?" Parker said, looking over at one table, trying to figure out what she was seeing. All the sparkly lights and glowing colors made it difficult to be sure. "I bet they have every kind of chocolate ever invented, I want to try them all. I can do that, right?"
"I mean, I ain't gonna stop ya," Eliot said. He was going to regret that, most likely. "But you're talkin' billions of years of chocolate invention. Maybe ask the server for a top ten?"
"That works. We can always come back. They did say we could come back, although I'm not sure how they get around everybody being here at once. Or not running into each other." Parker was a little fuzzy on how that worked still. She leaned into Eliot as the maitre'd almost literally swanned over. "Maybe you'll get to talk to the chef, too."
"Guessin' he's busy," Eliot said. There was a lot of food going in and out of that kitchen. Well. He was mostly sure it was food, anyway. Or that it was the kitchen. He was baffled on how most of this worked, let's be real. "Any guesses where we're likely to end up next?"
"So, Candyland--" Yum. "And a Restaurant, and maybe a smoothie bar somewhere?" Parker tilted her head. "Do you think the Island takes requests? WE could tell her we want to go to, oh. Planet Antigua. If there is a planet like that."
A clutch of people surrounding a big guy with an impressive white wig on wandered by, chattering very quickly.
"Hm?" Eliot turned to look, but missed the wigged guy. Instead he got an eyeful of something blue he couldn't quite get his brain to parse the shape of. "Like a founding father?"
"Yes! The hundred. I think. Or at least, maybe he's a relative?" Parker called after the guy, "I LIKE YOUR WORK!" Then turned back to clutch at Eliot as the sight of the blue thingie hit her eyes. "Yow. Sitting down. I think the incoherence will be more coherent if we sit down."
"Good plan," Eliot agreed quickly. They'd made it to their table, anyway. "Then we can focus on the menus instead of -- everything else."
The menu was going to be fairly overwhelming too, let's be real.
"This place is just --"
All those words that modern slang had turned into casual comments about things being good but actually had root definitions more along the lines of "mind boggling".
"So much. So very much. I would think we were high if we had inhaled anything. Maybe we did?" The booth was very nice, and with a sparkly faux-leather-or-something seat at her back, and some truly spectacular chandeliers overhead, Parker felt a tiny bit less overloaded. She relaxed into her seat and said, "Would you want to work at a place like this?" They may have found the one employment opportunity that could tempt Eliot away, even if not forever, probably.
"The dish of the day, sir. It's traditional to acquaint yourself with them, and specify your own cuts before we prepare your meal," replied the waiter, looking attentively at each of them. "And perhaps some Aldebaran liqueurs to start?"
"Umm..." Parker was not sure she'd heard that right at all, but she settled for, "I'll take one of those liqueurs, and your best chocolate-covered human-oriented dessert ever. Please."
To Eliot, she whispered, "Is this like picking out a lobster from the tank?"
Eliot shook his head and shrugged. "Sure," he said to the waiter. "I'm always down for learnin' new traditions. Let's talk to the dish. And, uh, I'll take some of that liquor, too. And . . . whatever your best human-edible appetizer is."
Eliot had eaten a lot of weird things over the years. He was game to try whatever wasn't going to actively try to kill him.
"Very good sir, madam. Please enjoy your complimentary breadsticks--" He neatly put a very large basket of assorted bread types down on the table. "And dihydrogen monoxide until I return."
Parker was now evaluating the silverware, or goldware, or platinum-ware, whatever it was, and trying to figure out if she wanted to steal it or the chandelier more.
Eliot started sorting through the bread basket, selecting a couple promising looking rolls and offering one to Parker. He smiled when he saw what she was doing. "You should see if you can nab some of the dealie bopper things off other tables," he noted. Theirs was set with various earthly flatware, but other tables had some fairly bizarre looking things.
"I am definitely doing that when I go to the restroom," Parker vowed. "Just grab a few and stuff them in a planter or art piece or... stationary person, to pick up later. Do you see this? There's teeny scenes etched into the ends of these." Parker now took a second to stand up to see if she could reach the chandelier-- which unfortunately rose out of her reach before her fingertips could graze it. "HMMM."
He was in heaven.
"This is the kind of time travel I think I can get behind."
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A clutch of people surrounding a big guy with an impressive white wig on wandered by, chattering very quickly.
"he looks like the guy on the money!"
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The menu was going to be fairly overwhelming too, let's be real.
"This place is just --"
All those words that modern slang had turned into casual comments about things being good but actually had root definitions more along the lines of "mind boggling".
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Then a waiter appeared and asked something about "meeting today's special".
". . . Come again?"
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"Umm..." Parker was not sure she'd heard that right at all, but she settled for, "I'll take one of those liqueurs, and your best chocolate-covered human-oriented dessert ever. Please."
To Eliot, she whispered, "Is this like picking out a lobster from the tank?"
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Eliot had eaten a lot of weird things over the years. He was game to try whatever wasn't going to actively try to kill him.
And, let's be real, some things that were.
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Parker was now evaluating the silverware, or goldware, or platinum-ware, whatever it was, and trying to figure out if she wanted to steal it or the chandelier more.
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