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Post by lain on Aug 5, 2015 15:52:12 GMT -5
Some days were slow. Especially Wednesdays, after the lunch hour rush. On this particular Wednesday, Lain found herself... kind of bored. A few customers lingered after finishing their food, tucked away in a corner with whatever fascinating conversation about sports they were having. Lain wasn't interested in eavesdropping this time around, instead idly blowing some hair out of her face every 5-10 second intervals. Maybe she needed a haircut. Or at least a trim. Those bangs weren't gonna cut themselves.
And once again, her mind drifted back towards the conversation in the corner. For better or for worse, she had exceptional hearing, and she could follow along with the conversation word for word. Meaning, she could not just let it fade out into the background or become white noise against the perpetual clanking coming from the kitchen. She had to, in fact, register every word, actually wasting the energy to process the things coming out of her customers' mouths. This was fine, really, on most days, when she could pick and choose what conversations to follow. But with only one table occupied at this very moment, doing so proved to be kind of hard.
She groaned, slumping in her chair behind the front desk. If she heard one more word about the starting lineup this season, she'd pull out the vodka and start taking shots. Let the gods give her some reprieve, if gods existed at all.
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Post by taiga on Aug 5, 2015 17:01:59 GMT -5
Damian's favorite time of day was mid-afternoon, when he was finally allowed out of the house for like, two hours. You'd think having perpetually busy parents would mean he was free to do whatever he wanted all day every day, but noooo, cameras fitted in every room of the manse and the stupid GPS program installed in his NUIP both went a long way to bar him from even stepping a single pinky toe out of the front door. He could probably get mad at Grey for that. But it wasn't really Grey's fault, because his parents had always been a bit paranoid for as long as Damian could remember, even when Grey still lived in the house.
But Damian wasn't dumb. Good on that! Really! He wasn't dumb! The tooth casing he'd fitted on his back molar was testament to that. Okay, so he'd had a bit of help actually putting the thing on, but the device was all him. Patented to him. He was definitely going to patent it someday, when, you know, he was actually legal. He could get the GPS removed from his chip when he was legal, right? Right? ....right?
But all of that, that was irrelevant to what he was doing today. Not that he was actually doing anything interesting. Walking around. Bag swinging to and fro against his hip. He'd found a dark brown shard of glass earlier, and it'd looked like something straight from an oil spill but solid, and it was kind of cool, so Damian had tucked it into an outside compartment, and now it clattered against the ring of his bag every time he took a right step. He'd come this same way for the first time just yesterday, and he'd found a cafe he hadn't seen before, but it had already been 5PM and the doors had been locked shut. So he'd figured he'd come in today, first thing, because cafes were his favorite thing, bar pastries, shiny rocks, and his stupid brother. And well. Cafes sold pastries. So. There you go.
His nose twitched. He didn't particularly need a keen sense of smell to catch a whiff of the yumminess down the block, but it certainly made the fragrances all the more potent, and dove straight into his stomach with a vibrating rumble. Without further ado, he waltzed into the shop, messenger bag a-clanking.
Oh my word look at those displays. OH MY WO r d
He managed to stop himself just short of pressing his nose up against the glass shield, years of instilled etiquette overcoming his instincts just in time. BUT LOOK
AT THOSE PASTRIES
There was a nice-looking lady standing behind the counter. Dami beamed at her. "Hi ma'am! Please give me one of everything!"
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Post by lain on Aug 5, 2015 17:38:16 GMT -5
Lain blinked as she watched a new face waltz into her café with a certain look that seemed to ooze heaven is real because i am there now. The owner of said face was a boy— probably no older than fifteen or sixteen, with a distinctly wonder-struck look to him that Lain found immediately endearing. Kids were her favorite customers. They might've been a little rambunctious and loud at times, but kids were gonna be kids no matter what. She remembered the days when Alex was younger, when he didn't scrutinize everything with the intensity of a thousand microscopes and, like, actually seemed to outwardly enjoy himself. Ah, the golden era of child-rearing. Reminiscing on how adorable her son used to be— and still was, to some extent, of course, but nothing would compare to the charm of her son at age twelve. In all his awkward pre-teen glory.
Lain smiled, watching the kid peruse her collection of pastries. Customers could also have them made to order— but for those who didn't like waiting, she had her displays stocked to the brim with all kinds of delights. Madelines. Macarons. Cookies— lots of them. Slices of specialty cakes. Biscuits. Breads. Danishes. Brownies. Fudge. The list went on. And of course, Lain's patisseriers also took requests. If one loved pastries, Lain's café resembled a treasure trove more than an eating establishment.
She had to giggle a little when the kid collected himself just enough to order one of—
Wait, what.
Lain blinked.
"One of everything?" she said, blinking another ten or so times, "well, I certainly can't object, but..."
She looked at her display. It ran on for quite a while. One of everything wasn't just one of everything, it was one of everything. And the kid didn't look like he joked around— at least not on purpose. Well. She lived to serve, so.
Lain clapped, activating a handful of mechanical arms which then quickly rounded up the goods into a basket and brought it to the counter.
"Your NUIP please. Is this for a party or your family or something?"
That had to be the most plausible explanation for the sheer amount of pastries she was about to hand over. Eating all this by yourself— impossible. Lain could bet on it.
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Post by taiga on Aug 5, 2015 18:16:30 GMT -5
You see, every time he visited a new cafe, he always ordered one of everything. How else would he figure out which one was his favorite? And then, once he'd got that down, all he had to do in subsequent visits was order that one thing. A lot of that one thing. Rest assured, he never got tired of it. The only time he had ever abandoned a bakery was when they changed owners and started being mean to him. Dude, uncalled for. He'd gone on a pastry strike for a good while. He hoped they went out of business because of it.
His eyes sparkled as he watched the mechanical arms round up his new treasures. So many. SO MANY. His tummy rumbled again. Hello. He was going to put all this new treasure into his little tummy chest. Yes. Thank you.
A little message flickered in his mind, a request for transaction. Damian couldn't have authorized it faster. "Nope!" he said, mentally breaking out into a little jig as the basket of heaven was placed onto the counter. His fingers wriggled. He wanted to touch it. Three... two... the transaction flashed its completion. He grabbed for it and gave the lady a face-splitting grin. "It's all for me! Thank you!"
He may look small, but his stomach was the size of the entire city of Novus, and then some. In one sitting, he could eat twice the combined amount of his parents during their monthly family meal. One of their (ex) cooks used to call him their personal nightmare, but that was probably because they were lazy.
Giant basket of baked goods in his arms, he found a small table right next to the counter, and systemically dug in. Biscuits first. Gotta save the sweet stuff for dessert, after all. One biscuit. A thick slice of tomato-y bread. Another one covered in cheese. Damian munched happily and swung his legs, his feet barely grazing the floor. Yes. This was the life. This was heaven. He'd achieved nirvana!
...Or so his grandmother would've said. Maybe?
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Post by lain on Aug 5, 2015 18:38:10 GMT -5
Oh. my god.
Lain put a hand over her mouth. Mostly in disbelief, but also to cover up the amused smile breaking out on her face. This kid... incredible. Against all odds, he took the entire basket and sat down not too far away from her and began the process of stuffing his face full of food. Had it been anyone, that feat alone would've been enough to get a rise out of Lain, but he was short. Short and adorable, and also so completely engrossed with what he did that Lain was instantly reminded of her son the first time she took him to see one of those hackneyed kids movies about talking canines. Just, utter and complete bliss written all over his face.
Lain couldn't help herself. She wanted— no, needed to get to know her newest favorite customer. She took it upon herself to pull a stool over to the boy's table, leaning in on her palms with a smug look on her face.
"Well? I take that it's delicious, isn't it?"
At this point, the boy was slowly moving closer and closer to the sweet section of his pile. She noticed he plucked the savory foods out first, presumably to save the best for last. Wise choice, she thought.
"Mind if I ask what your name is? It's not often that someone asks for everything on the first visit. Usually people spread it out over a few visits or so— but you seem to be much more efficient than that. I like the way you're eating."
He was eating pretty fast and not very gracefully. It was cute. Very cute. It added at least 500 brownie points to the kid's pot and if he kept going, Lain might just have to adopt him. On the spot.
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Post by taiga on Aug 5, 2015 20:55:53 GMT -5
He started out of his blissful reverie when the lady circled around the counter to join him at the table. She wasn't going to make him share, was she? His mom always wanted him to share his food with her. Damian didn't share food. He would gladly share anything else, but no, not food, and definitely not pastries. His. They were his!
Wait. Why would she want him to share food, anyway? She was the owner of the shop. Damian was dumb.
He nodded vigorously, cheeks stuffed full with a sourdough baguette. It didn't need butter to be good. He swallowed with notable difficulty before he opened his mouth. "It's great!" he said. "I think I'm in love. I've never been so much in love." His eyes glittered as they fell on the sticky sweets piled up in the basket. His fingers wriggled again.
He picked up the brownie. "I'm Damian," he said and popped the entire brownie into his mouth. The chocolate. Holy crap. The chocolate. It was so chocolatey. He was gonna die.
It took him a moment before he realized he hadn't finished saying what he wanted to say. He straightened up from where he'd drooped like a pile of pleased goo over his chair. "You can call me Dami, though. A lot of people call me Dami. Which is weird, because Damian isn't really hard to pronounce. Not like my last name, anyway. Or my first." His nose scrunched. "They probably just cut it in half because it's too many syllables. Which is kind of dumb, because isn't Dami only one syllable less? It's not even half. OH WELL."He proceeded to the next item on his bucket list. Ooh, a cheese danish...
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Post by lain on Aug 5, 2015 21:27:40 GMT -5
Anyone who claimed they fell in love upon taking a bite out of a baguette was a-okay in Lain's book. She could understand that sentiment perfectly— however, while she enjoyed food (and spent a good portion of her money on indulging in her favorite sweets herself) Damian topped the charts as far as being a foodie went. Lain could've sworn she'd never seen someone bulldoze through a pile of sweet, sticky starch as quickly as she was currently witnessing. Right before her very eyes. Was he, like, a competitive eater or something? If not, bless his heart. He'd probably eat his opponents out of a job— and in this economy? Have mercy.
She listened to the boy's little tangent about his name, growing more and more enamored with the kid's strange manner of speaking, and decided that, if for whatever reason he should need a new mom (or dad— she'd make a great dad too—) she'd be the first in line signing his adoption forms. In fact, don't even bother with the line. Lain has now officially called dibs.
"Dami, huh?" She couldn't stop her smile from spreading. Leave it to maternal instincts to kick in whenever adorable teens were afoot. "I'm Elaina, but you can just call me Miss Lain. It's also a nickname of sorts— like yours. I think 'Dami' sounds cuter than 'Lain' though."
She watched as Dami drew closer towards the cheese danish— a good choice, and one of her favorites no doubt, but as the owner of this establishment, Lain felt that it was her duty to steer this young one in the direction of gustatory bliss.
"If you think you've in love now, wait until you try the blueberry danish. It's our patissier's specialty."
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Post by taiga on Aug 5, 2015 21:56:16 GMT -5
"Miss Lain," he said, trying it out, and had the courtesy to wipe his hands with a napkin before sticking one out for handshake. "Nice to meet you! That's a pretty name. Dami makes me sound like a stuffed animal." He looked at the cheese danish again. Then at the danish with the blueberry jam jiggling in a pastry dish of cream cheese. He picked it up.
Okay. Deep breaths Damian. Brace yourself.
He took a bite.
...
HE LOVED DANISHES.
DANISHES WERE AMAZING.
Even if Grey said they were too sweet. Which was impossible. Because danishes were awesome. Damian looked at it. It was delicious. Too delicious. Never mind dying, should he have saved this for last? Damian had a rule, and though he'd never put it down to paper, that rule was, basically, somewhere along the lines of: save the yummiest for last. Or the best for last. But 'the best' always constituted 'food' so really, it was save the yummiest for last.
Then he decided he was overthinking it and took another large bite out of the pastry. It was sweet and tender and and puffy and trickled creamy blueberry. How did something like this exist. If he could store these like he stored pebbles (for emergency measures), he would never leave his house ever again. When Grey wanted visit he'd have to infiltrate the Upper Class and use the windowsill. No, Damian didn't care if that was actually possible or not. The blueberry danishes were more important.
It could not be topped. It will never be topped. It was the King of Danishes.
"I'm in heaven," he mumbled, this time out loud. "Goodbye, cruel world."
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Post by lain on Aug 5, 2015 22:53:45 GMT -5
So cute, Lain thought. Actually, if you wanted to be completely accurate, take that phrase and multiply it by about 100 times and you'd get Lain's thought process in real time. Was this kid really fifteen? Something about him made him seem so much younger than that in a weird way— he certainly ate like a growing boy though.
But everything seemed to stop as Dami sunk his teeth into the blueberry danish, slowing to a crawl as the moment of truth neared ever closer, and—
—and by the looks of it, if danishes could kill, Lain would be a prime suspect. Damian's face resembled someone who died and went to heaven surrounded by all his loved ones— which were, in this case, lots of pastries. A literal family of pastries— perhaps even extended family, with biscuit-cousins twice removed and crème brûlée great-great-grand uncles and— the list went on. In short, Dami seemed like one happy camper, and Lain was more than happy to be the one to put that expression on his face. And of course, also the chef. She'd have to tell Xavier in the back that he'd really outdone himself with this batch of danishes. Might even qualify him for that raise he'd been asking about...
"Please don't go into cardiac arrest yet," Lain said, grinning ear to ear. "I would be in a lot of trouble if the police found a body in my café. There would be so many papers to sign, and so many interviews. And everyone in the police force is so stuffy— they're no fun at all!"
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Post by taiga on Aug 6, 2015 13:29:18 GMT -5
Damian took another slow bite. Just as suddenly as euphoria had struck him, it drained away to something reminscent of pure tragedy. Each bite meant a smaller danish. It was vanishing into his stomach. Nooo. Nooooooooo. If only his stomach was a drawer. Then Damian could pull it out and re-eat his favorite things. Except that would be gross, so maybe it was a good thing his stomach wasn't a drawer.
"Don't worry about me, Miss Lain," he said gloomily. "Food has never given me cardiac arrest before."
Also, he was only fifteen. He'd never heard of a fifteen year old get a heart attack. He took another bite. Two more bites left. He'd have to buy a hundred of these. Except he didn't want to trouble Miss Lain more than he needed to, and making a hundred blueberry danishes probably took a lot of time. He perked up. He might not be able to buy a hundred, but how about like, five more? But he'd already eaten this much, and his tummy was starting to get full. He'd be hungry again in another hour, though. Still! He could buy an extra one! Just in case he met Grey! Then he'd be able to prove that blueberry danishes were better than parfaits, any day.
He didn't know if he'd see Grey today. Probably not. But that was okay! He'd just buy an extra one (or five) every day until they met again!
Significantly cheered by this thought process, he finished the danish and licked the remaining sticky sugar off his fingers before wiping them on a wad of napkins. He beamed at the basket, which still consisted of around ten selections of sweets. He probably couldn't finish them all, but he could try, and then bag them up for his evening snack. He turned that beam onto Miss Lain, and picked up the cheese danish he'd been eyeing before. "I hereby reserve your blueberry danishes for my consumption only!" He paused. "Well, the ones in the afternoon. I can't come in in the mornings. But you know what I mean."
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