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."
Eliot snorted and tore his roll open. It expelled a perfect little burst of steam and the scent of butter and yeast made him close his eyes and hum happily. "Darlin', try not to get us kicked out. For all you know, that's a customer."
"You think?" Parker waved to it, and softly called out, "Love what you've done with your lumens!" Then slid back down into the booth, taking one of the Eliot-approved rolls. "Oooo, still warm. Smells good." She kind of had standards now, after years of not knowing what she liked about foods. Exposure to Eliot would do that to a person. She started nibbling away, then drank some of the water, giggling 'dihydrogen monoxide' to herself.
Was it Eliot's imagination, or did the chandelier get slightly brighter when Parker complimented it? But then, how could it not? This was Parker.
He leaned back a little in his seat and watched her enjoy the roll, savoring instead of just cramming it all in her mouth the way she might have, once upon a time. He'd be incredibly pleased to hear her say her standards had gotten higher, even if she did sometimes still threaten to live off cereal.
"Here," he said, sifting through the breadbasket again and pulling out one with a textured, orangey crust on top. "This one's cheesy. Wanna split it?"
"Ooo. Yes, new thing. Trying new things: always good." Parker brushed her arm against his, eyes crinkled up and pleased. The food was living up to the ambiance so far, tasty and chewy. She was going to make a memory of this, the way Eliot had talked to her about: her with her two guys, dressed up and happy and together, and the food tastes to remind her.
The server was returning with some shiny platters covered with domes-- and a really large one and a stand to put it on.
Eliot leaned into her in return and smiled back -- then perked up when the waiter returned. He set the smaller platters on the table. "For madam, the golden phoenix cupcake." This was a bright, gold and chocolate concoction served with gold dipped strawberries on the side. "For sir," he said, lifting the next dome, "Japanese red pine matsutake mushrooms, stuffed with caviar from the albino beluga sturgeon and Italian white truffle
( ... )
"There is GOLD IN MY CHOCOLATE. CHOCOLATE IN MY GOLD." Parker was completely missing the talking cow thing right now, because her brain was exploding with her TWO FAVORITE THINGS GETTING TOGETHER, her OTP of all things good in the world (after Eliot and Hardison). "Nom nom nom nom... What?"
Okay, um. Talking food? Food talking? What was the right response here, seriously?
The Dish of the Day made faintly pleased noises and wriggled in its seat. "Always a pleasure to see a customer enjoying their food," it said. "Perhaps I may interest you in a cut from my rump as well? I'm one hundred percent grass-fed. For a certain definition of the word 'grass'."
"Yeah?" Eliot asked. He wondered if he should be more put off by this than he was. He'd killed his own food before plenty of times, but he'd never tried talking to it first. On the other hand, he'd killed plenty of people he'd talked to first, too. He'd just never then eaten them. "You pasture-raised, then? Not kept closed up in a stall your whole life?"
The Dish of the Day burbed, chewed cud for a moment, then swallowed. "Of course," it said. "I'm proud to say I've raised myself to offer the very best quality meat. Perhaps you'd prefer a bit of my lower back? I should be very well marbled by now."
"He wants you to eat his butt," Parker whispered to Eliot, sucking on one gold spoon of chocolate. Wasn't that a little weird? Or supposed to be weird?
Eliot was pretty sure that most people would be going vegan right now, yeah. Hell, it was possible Hardison would never look at him the same again.
"Rump roast is tasty," he said back. "What kind of marinade has the chef been workin' with?" he asked the Dish. "I mean, if they're gonna slaughter you after we order, it's not gonna have much time to soak."
Parker gave Mister Mammal a side-eye and said, "You're okay with this? I mean. You seem pretty cheerful about being ... dinner." She'd be fighting tooth and nail about this, seriously.
"You don't have anything else you wanna do first? Like, I dunno, eat a cupcake?" Parker took a bite of her own cupcake, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "Eliot, you have to have a bite of this, it is SO GOOD."
"More chocolate!" Hello, given a chance, she would eat ALL the chocolate in space and time. "...I'll have a bite off your plate. And something crustacean, so I can see their lobster and shrimp forks."
And no, she did not want to meet her meal. She was thinking about Pinkie now, and it was just so odd. Although she was also kind of wondering if the cow-person had the right idea? "Why is there a cannibalism taboo, anyway?"
"Eatin' your own kind makes you sick," Eliot said. He tilted his head at the Dish. "Hey, you don't have any human DNA in there, do you?"
"Well, I can't cover the whole of the last several billion years of evolution," the Dish said. "But if you'd like, I can ask about getting a full genome work up?"
. . . Maybe they would be better off sticking with shellfish.
He was in heaven.
"This is the kind of time travel I think I can get behind."
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He leaned back a little in his seat and watched her enjoy the roll, savoring instead of just cramming it all in her mouth the way she might have, once upon a time. He'd be incredibly pleased to hear her say her standards had gotten higher, even if she did sometimes still threaten to live off cereal.
"Here," he said, sifting through the breadbasket again and pulling out one with a textured, orangey crust on top. "This one's cheesy. Wanna split it?"
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The server was returning with some shiny platters covered with domes-- and a really large one and a stand to put it on.
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Okay, um. Talking food? Food talking? What was the right response here, seriously?
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"Yeah?" Eliot asked. He wondered if he should be more put off by this than he was. He'd killed his own food before plenty of times, but he'd never tried talking to it first. On the other hand, he'd killed plenty of people he'd talked to first, too. He'd just never then eaten them. "You pasture-raised, then? Not kept closed up in a stall your whole life?"
The Dish of the Day burbed, chewed cud for a moment, then swallowed. "Of course," it said. "I'm proud to say I've raised myself to offer the very best quality meat. Perhaps you'd prefer a bit of my lower back? I should be very well marbled by now."
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"Rump roast is tasty," he said back. "What kind of marinade has the chef been workin' with?" he asked the Dish. "I mean, if they're gonna slaughter you after we order, it's not gonna have much time to soak."
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"It's got a point, Parker," Eliot said. "Sounds like it's had a pretty decent life, too."
"More than decent," the Dish said. "Downright decadent. My liver should be deliciously fatty."
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Would she order from the talking cow? He knew Hardison wouldn't but Parker didn't seem too weirded out about it. . . .
"Do the fish around here talk, too?"
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And no, she did not want to meet her meal. She was thinking about Pinkie now, and it was just so odd. Although she was also kind of wondering if the cow-person had the right idea? "Why is there a cannibalism taboo, anyway?"
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"Well, I can't cover the whole of the last several billion years of evolution," the Dish said. "But if you'd like, I can ask about getting a full genome work up?"
. . . Maybe they would be better off sticking with shellfish.
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