(Untitled)
The cinnamon rolls and other trays of Sunshine's delicious creations are safely in the oven, so Rae has taken the opportunity to catch some of the rays of the late February sunlight. The air at the Caribbean inlet is warm enough for her to feel all right taking off her coat and letting the sunlight shine down on her for a while, even though it's
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When he settles on the beach, though, she makes her way over.
"It's warm enough to swim in?" Sunshine asks, lightly. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
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"At least it's warm enough here that one doesn't freeze upon getting out of the water, either," she says. Milliways is weird.
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Food. That's cool.
But how the fuck do those prices translate to the gil he carries? Like he knows; all he really ever cares about regarding money at this place is that Bar takes what he has and wipes out his tab at the end of the night. Old Turks thing, that whole not leaving a trail if you don't want to get found thing and yeah yeah yeah, he knows his name's on that board, but that board's a funny thing. Never has the same names on it twice, although his is there when he looks at it. He could kinda swear that when he looks away the thing changes but it ain't like he sits around playin' hide-and-seek with the thing either.
Just weird-ass Bar magic.
"Ain't a bitter chocolate death the kind of thing everyone wants?"
It's just a question, and he's just the guy askin'. Just sizing up the situation like he's trained to do.
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"Well, they're the second-best seller at the coffeehouse where I work back in my world, after the cinnamon-rolls-as-big-as-your-head. That has to say something," she smiles slightly.
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"You one of those ladies who could sell anything she set her mind to?" He wouldn't be surprised. Anyhow, he'd rather have a cinnamon roll as big as his head instead of a cinnamon roll as big as his friggin' ass. Not that with some people there's a fuck of a lot of difference, he guesses, but it don't matter. He looks from his bottle of Wutai Pale Ale to the tray full of shit and shrugs.
"What goes best with ale?" Not which pastry, but what in general. That phrasing's intentional.
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She's a baker, so breads are what she knows.
"With ales, you want a hearty wheat bread, though some of the customers at Charlie's swear by my rye and my pecan bread for their ales."
It's handy, working at the only coffeehouse anyone in that world has ever heard of that has a liquor license.
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Oh, it's a conundrum, isn't it?
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But she shows no sign of being faced with a conundrum; she just asks, "What, you save it so long since last time I sent some with Remy, knowing you wouldn't be getting any more?"
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"Oh, no, see this bar thing, over there? It gets you anything you want. If you're specific enough, even gets you things that people bring in bar, if you don't want to have to deal with them, or give them your money."
Oh, thank the Landlord for that.
He takes another bite of his fresh, nommy treat and takes a seat in a chair. Infarcted leg, have to either move, or sit.
"And what's even better about this one? It's the perfect delivery vehicle for these!" He holds up a little white pill, before slipping it into the snack, and eating them together.
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Since Sunshine is the only purveyor of Bitter Chocolate Death, and as Bar can only get Bitter Chocolate Death from her, the bar has been very kind to reimburse her for the sale of her contributions. Bar respects Sunshine's copyright on the recipe; she's decent like that.
"Know, though, that the last batch I gave to Bar for sale were... about a week ago." And magically-kept-fresh just isn't the same.
(ooc: You got AIM or some way I could contact you?)
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It's an acquired taste, and even if it hasn't reached your mouth yet, it's also an acquired smell. Being able to get anyone into bed, or even into a mad embrace and lip-lock, after consuming it is not the easiest thing in the world to do. Hardly a surprise that it's traditionally followed up with a cup of mint tea in Antiva, for the cleansing effect if not the taste ( ... )
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She's never met an elf before (though this one doesn't look anything like the elves from her world, thank the listening gods). So she watches him a little while before breaking the silence. She shadows he casts are... different. Human shadows vary from person to person, she's found, depending on mood and intention and general character, and she's learned to recognize the kinds of red shadow-edges that mean someone is Part-Blood Other, and she knows the infuriating way vampire-shadows look completely normal... but elf-shadows... those are new.
"See anything you like?" she asks lightly, amused.
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Of course, who knows what work would bring to the table. He is almost always, however, in a good mood, and when he isn't, he usually acts like he is anyway.
"A few things, yes, although something tells me that they are not for sale," he says with a wink and a grin, because it's difficult to suppress your instinctive response to a question like that. Then he stands back up, somehow managing to avoid sloshing the dubious contents of his bowl all over the floor.
"Of what I imagine is, however, this looks particularly enticing at the moment." He points to one of the jalapeno-sweetcorn muffins.
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"But the muffins are definitely for sale. Those are one of my friend Axel's favorites, the jalapeno-sweetcorn muffins. Lightly sweet with a bit of heat."
That she keeps from wrinkling her nose at the smell of the fish chowder is a testament to the strength of her will.
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