A1+++ Buffet boasts handwritten signs in the window screaming things like OPEN LATE!!! and AMERICAN! CHINESE! MEXICAN! and CASH ONLY NO CHECKS NO CREDIT CARDS. It boasts a fair population of roaches in the kitchen and quite possibly the foulest restrooms this side of the Mississippi.
It also, however, boasts an all-you-can-eat buffet spread heavy on the meat. Beef, chicken, pork, even some catfish and pollock on a good day; grilled, slathered in barbecue sauce, and/or battered and fried. All of which officially makes this place Erich's favorite restaurant.
So: there he is, sitting alone at a table near-ish the back. Alone, because he comes here like once a week and every so often Charlotte and Melantha are just like enough is enough. Not that he minds. This way, he can concentrate on eating, no conversation required. He's got two big plates in front of him. They're both heaped high with meat, meat, meat, meat, meat. Not a single shred of vegetable to be seen.
MaryHow could Mary resist A1+++ Buffet?
Mary could not resist A1+++ Buffet. Mary opens the door and she is alone when she enters, a soft-faced young woman with a dent in her determined chin, small British kiss of a mouth and thick dark make-up around dark-mud Spanish eyes. Mary is voluptuary, a full-figured hour-glass, a full-bodied drink of wine not a tall drink of water. Mary's hair is an unwashed mess, made kempt by virtue of a braid twisted around and around in the back and pinned and tucked with fly-aways here and fly-aways there so it is an unsteadied halo. Mary's hair is the color of amber, of brown honey sloughing from a spoon. Mary's carrying an umbrella that looks like it's a thousand clustered roses all tangling one with the other because it's supposed to rain or to thunder and Denver's all full of heat. Mary is wearing capri jeans that look vaguely rock a billy, some vaguely pin-up top with a little peter pan collar, a hefty bag thrown over her shoulder. What else is Mary?
Mary is here! Mary is here, Mary is a untold years of purity, purity, of heroism singing Hallelujah, Holy, Holy, to wolf-blooded boys and girls wolf-Changed boys and girls, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, the King is here, the Queen will save you with her shining, the shining is a surety in the glance of her eyes and the movement of her head, the shining will beat back the darkness better than better than, and Mary is eyeing the all-you-can-eat buffet.
Cheerful, when she grabs a plate, clink-clatter, cheerful when she lifts that regal cleft just-like-a-prince-from-a-Hollywood-flick chin and her cheeks get rounder when she almost smiles and "I can sit anywhere?" in a lazy Californian drawl, she starts the finicky business of picking food out, of examining the restaurant.
Once she has her plate, she'll notice Erich all alone, Erich whose blood is singing, kin or who knows what, the point is she'll notice him: let's skip the small stuff. And she doesn't approach full-on, but circling around to give her more time to guage things like does he notice her what manner of beast is he is this going to be a surprise her sitting down or
all manner of territorial disputes.
ErichCertainly Erich notices: who wouldn't. Erich, who is all big and beefy and All-American-Quarterback-y, who is also currently chomping on a very large drumstick, has his eyes on Mary the minute she walks in. Well; plenty of beefy young all-american quarterback-types would have their eyes on her, or perhaps more precisely on her boobs, but that is not exactly the way Erich is watching her. He is watching her with recognition, and with curiosity, and with eagerness, and with wariness.
It is an animal regard. A stranger on his hunting grounds. Time will tell if she is friend or foe.
This much, though: as she circles closer-ish, he tears that chunk of meat loose from the bone and sets the bone down, wipes his fingers rudimentarily, raises his still-greasy fingers in a little wave. Because he is chewing, and because his mama didn't raise no lout, he doesn't say anything. But the wave is friendly.
MaryThe grease shines like sugar or sugar shines like grease, Mary doesn't know, Mary can't distinguish between, Mary smiles without teeth and her chin thrusts out with the little curve because that's how her face moves. Expressions are never composed of parts, but parts working together as the whole: that's why some people photograph so flatly, don't look like themselves, that lack of motion, lack of something essential that some people call the soul -- Mary photographs just fine as anyone photographs, some good angles a lot of bad angles and a lot of caught-out flashes of expression.
"I know this isn't a cafeteria or a mess hall," a school cafeteria, she must mean; there's something precise in the choosing of that particular word, "But if I plunk myself down in that chair there, it's not going to incite an incident is it?"
Her plate is going to clink plunk on the table a second after Erich gives a nod or a swallow or some flicker of his eyes that indicates no no indeed there will be no incident. If those aren't forthcoming, well! We'll cross that bridge and burn it down when we get there.
Avery Chase[That greeting was so strangely appropriate.]
DickThere is a buffet. Buffets mean lots of money for cheap. Buffets mean here comes the riffraff.
And so. Enter the riffraff. He is tall and broad of shoulder. The muscles of his arms are on display for all to see thanks to a dark blue tank top, you know the kind. It hugs his developed torso like he grew into it or someone painted it on. The straps are thin and the neckline is low. A muscle shirt. It is designed to meet the barest minimum of No shirt No shoes et cetera and no more. Thanks to that shirt the canvas of his body is also on display. There are tattoos on his arms, from shoulders to thick wrists. He is wearing shorts, and lo! His legs are also defined though not quite so painted.
There is a hat on his head which is worn high and backwards. His sneakers have seen better days. He walks through the door and as it closes behind him snaps his fingers before clapping his palms together, and again, and again. Fidgety. Hungry. When was his last meal, and is the distance from then to now the source of his body's definition? Hm.
He looks across the room to the buffet, mouth watering regardless of the offerings. The place smells like meat and grease and overcooked vegetables and he can't wait to eat it oh man oh man.
But first. Breeding. It shines like a beacon from a table not far off. Storms and Thunder. Viking pride. That is always the best combination, but then aren't all combinations of Garou the best combination? If either happens to look to the door - he has no breeding, no shining, sining blood of ancient heroes to call him out to them, but there is a cloud of Rage - he tips his chin upward with a cocky smile.
'Sup.
He should probably go say hello, but just then his stomach grumbles and so instead of making nice with the locals Dick puts his hand into his pocket to make sure that yes. Yes there is the familiar crinkle of old paper money there. His smile widens and he goes to pay for his endless plates.
ErichUh oh. Now he is being spoken to. That means he has to say something back. That means he has to swallow his food. Which is what he does: he swallows an uncomfortably large and not-thoroughly-chewed amount of chicken drumstick, grimacing, grabbing his coke and taking a big gulp.
Then: "Well, I'm not gonna pitch a fit if that's what you mean. I can't promise no incidents whatsoever though, because who knows what could happen, y'know?"
Her plate clinkplunks down. Erich straightens up a little, tucks his feet in so their feet don't crash. "I'm Erich," he adds, and after one last attempt to clean his fingers, sticks his hand out for a shake.
MaryMary is a surprisingly supple creature see say the cello has curves say the cello is vavoom say that and say that its voice is supple say the violin is supple the sound of it and perhaps Mary isn't so surprisingly supple. Which is all to say, when she follows her plate's downward trajectory, dropping herself into the chair across from Erich without rattling the table even if she does drop herself down awfully enthusiastically, because if she should be languid nobody told her so and there is disgusting looking food heaped high on a plate ready for her to devour, and there's also (these are the thoughts one regrets later on) some eye candy (plainclothes Garou a 'gnawer) tipping his chin this-a-way. Mary mimics Erich's wave looking over her shoulder and then down and then back to Erich who is Erich.
"As long as sitting down doesn't incite the incidents, I'm cool with whatever happens. Nice to meet you, Erich. I'm Mary."
Her regard is not unwavering, but it is low-lashed and now that it is settled quite thoughtful. She grins. "Mary-who-is-new-to-town-as-of-just-yesterday."
Oh, a hand. Mary tucks her feet under the chair and takes Erich's hand gravely ignoring any lingering vestiges of grease or sauce. Her red rosette umbrella art piece statement has been hooked at her elbow like she's some demure au pair and now she tucks it under the table and between her knees, a prelude before tucking in.
"I know barely anyone at all. This is the first Denver grub I'm trying; is it as good as it looks?"
That might be a joke. Look at this greasy mess of greasalicious fragrance and putrefaction, of heavy sauces and boiled vegetables and what is that? Noodles? Brown something. Mm. Mary lives dangerously, or has the digestive capabilities of somebody with really good digestive capabilities.
Avery ChaseThere is no reason on Gaia's green earth why Avery Stoneleigh Merriweather Chase should be here. This is not her sort of establishment at all, is it? She doesn't often frequent all-you-can-eat anything, she is bewildered by sneeze guards and disturbed by their necessity, and she stands out like a sore thumb.
There is one very good reason why Reverence of Dawn, Radiant Honor should be here, though. A superb reason, in fact, that has her pushing open the door and striding inward.
It is the back door, and she is striding into the kitchen, so out in the open all the others hear is a surprised cook yelping at a surprisingly high pitch.
Then some metal-on-metal clattering, and loud voices saying indeterminate things. Then a heavy thud.
Mary[GUESS WHO'S APPROVED. *logs out to come back in again*]
Dick[WOO YEAH PUT'CHYO FACE ON GURL]
Avery Chase[WAIT WHO IS APPROVED I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON *wine*]
DickDick of course returns the look with one of his own, because damn. He should probably look closer, look for the Rage, look for the sign of Gaia's grace, but nah. Let him have his moment of inspection with a touch of lascivious appreciation without consideration of the Litany and Dick you can't do that because ~*SPIRITS*~ or something.
His appreciation of women is second only to his appreciation for food. The food that is on display is not the best but it'll do. It'll do. Turning away from the beauty and are bulky brute who might in another life have been his cousin, Dick's attention goes to the girl behind the register. His hand goes to his pocket. His fingers wrap around the bill! He's going to eat!!
And then there is a yelp because of course there is a yelp. And there is a clatter of metal on metal because of course that, too. Dick's face falls and his shoulders slump, but only for a moment, and a brief one at that. He puts his money on the counter - just barely enough - and he goes to get a plate, and he heads for the part of the buffet line closest to the kitchen doors. The better to listen, and to determine if he gets to eat before or after the fomori arrive.
[sure why not try some alertness FIRST DICE ROLL FIRST DICE ROLL EE]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )
Erich"It's awesome," Erich says: enthusiastically and utterly without irony. "I hope you got the salisbury steak and the roast beef. And! Welcome to Denver. I don't actually live in the city but I'm part of the city S-- um." Thinks. "I work in 1999 Broadway."
Subtle. Subtle as a sledgehammer.
"I live up in the mountains though. Well, I live in a tinyhouse on wheels so really I live anywhere I want, with my pack. But right now we live up in the mountains. -- HEY AVERY!"
He's spotted Avery. His face lights up. But Avery is not here to talk; Avery is here to do something and Avery pretty much blows right by and then the door goes flying open and people are yelping and things are clattering and then THUD.
"See, I told you I couldn't promise no incidents," Erich says. On his way out of the booth -- because of course he's getting out of the booth, of course he's going to see what the hell just happened -- he grabs another drumstick. "Come on, this'll be fun."
Erich[whoops: avery is in the kitchen and not visible. ignore that line where Erich is like HI AVERY! he'll just be like HEY STUFF GOING ON LET'S GO LOOK]
MaryMary follows along Erich's friendly subtle sledgehammer hello this fact that and then turns her head (of course of course) when Reverence of Dawn, Radiant Honor (hey, my name's Honor's Thorn: made for each other, heh heh) sails through the front door (are you a thing I know) her thoughtful attention deepening who knows what lies beneath it and then the backdoor slams and Mary looks at Erich. The hot guy's at the buffet. Damn, she should --
Yelp. Thud. Yelp. Yelp. Thud. Mary winces. Mary is a monster, Mary is a murderess, Mary is a bad thing, a wolf in a young woman's flesh, rage in an appealing enough package, but Mary also has sharp ears sensitive to pitch, to yelps, to musical noises, musak drives her mad, white noise makes her teeth feel as if they're riddled with cavities and she's biting into something sweet, Mary's just a sound-snob, and she winces, but listens all poised in that way people poise themselves when they're blatantly listening hard to something that they're not engaged in.
He says Come on, this'll be fun.
"Can't blame this one on sitting!"
Mary fastidiously plucks a noodle from the plate and slurps it up, it slaps her chin and she daintily licks the tips of her fingers, and she half-follows (well, Silver Fangs do not follow, Silver Fangs deign to accompany, and that's there, sublimated into a more socially acceptable response -- stranger in a strange city) half-just-goes to vamp-spy by the door like it's a joke.
Mary[ooc: oh shoot, I thought Avery strode through front-door-to-back-kitchen too. *grin* Ignore the parts about following Erich's blah and looking and blah.]
Avery Chase[ack: yeah, sorry. i meant: she walked in through a back door, directly into the kitchen! that's why i didn't describe what was happening with the noises!]
Avery ChaseA heavy thump, and some talking, and then another yelp -- lower, more pained, more pleading.
There are windows in the swinging doors to the kitchen, because the doors go both ways and people are in and out and in and out and you need to make sure you're not about to slam into someone, aren't you. So when one, two, three faces peer through those windows --
everyone else in the restaurant doesn't dare, some sixth sense is making them lean away, primordially wary
-- those three pairs of eyes from three different tribes look in and spy a man wearing kitchen whites that are stained not just with sauces and splatters but also rich yellow pit-stains. That man is face down on the terra-cotta floor, cheek hard against the tiles, his right arm twisted up behind his back, wrist immobilized between his shoulderblades, his left arm twitching but unable to reach the way he needs it to, twisted slightly under him. There is a woman on top of him who seems larger because.
Because the moon is waxing. Because she is in the dominant position. Because she, like Erich, has a certain whiff of something about her that feels like authority and strength and honor, honor. Because she bears the blood of emperors and queens, and it is somehow red hot and pristine blue and searing silver all at once in her veins.
As they watch her, he weeps and she twists his arm harder, her knee hard to his spine. Her teeth are bared for a moment with the effort -- not the effort of restraining him, for it is none, but the effort of restraining herself when faced with helpless prey,
as all mortals are, in a dark and seldom talked-about fashion, her prey. Their prey.
Avery pauses after snarling something to him under her breath, inconsequential, a warning: she glances up, sensing fury on the horizon, sensing thunderclouds and beating wings in the sky. Sensing another like herself, too. And seeing them there, particularly one of her tribe and one she recognizes as a friend, Avery -- who is kneeling on top of a fry cook and holding him in such a position that if he tries to free himself he'll break his own arm -- bursts into a beaming grin. She picks up one of her hands, giving them all a little wave.
ErichErich, who was only peering through that round porthole into the kitchen to see A) how big an object he should prepare to chuck at B) whose head, bursts into a grin when he sees who's in there. His hand pops up, nearly clocking Dick, and he waves back.
"Avery!" He whips about; this, to Mary: "You should come meet Avery!" And on that note he bursts through the door.
DickThe two wellbred ones rise to join him. Well, they don't join him. No one joins a Bone Gnawer at a buffet line, not if they want to keep all their fingers and toes (yes toes) intact. But a Silver Fang and a Shadow Lord rise up to listen in, as well. One of whom does not look at Dick, does not notice him, does not deign to accept his presence.
To which Dick merely gives a look to - of all people - the Silver Fang princess (queen? empress? eh). A look that includes a rolllll of his eyes, because until someone informs him that a certain someone else switched teams, Erich feels like the Get of Fenris to him. He looks like it, too, all golden-haired and blue-eyed and hurly burly. And ignoring the Gnawer, typical (of any tribe, honestly). But the Silver Fang noticed him and so she gets silent commentary.
They are the first ones to the door, but damn if Dick isn't a little bit curious about what's going on in there. Who what why what's happening? Does someone need help? Is someone holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night? His plate gets left on the counter (he's already in, he can totally get another one later) and comes closer to the door, peering past shoulders and through a round window to another shining child of Falcon what the hell, is this a Silver Fang city?
A hand comes up right in front of his face and automatically Dick grabs hold of it, neatly keeping it from smacking him right on the nose. "Whoa there, dude, c'mon, don't be rude." He doesn't hold onto him, though, not because he's nervous (he can take you, easy), but because the Silver Fang warrior on the other side is smiling and waving like she's not pinning a cook to the floor. Erich bursts through the door and a half second later Dick is shouldering past him, because that is someone he needs to meet.
"Hey hey, lady, you want any help?" Want, he says, because clearly she does not need it. But Dick plants his hands-curled-to-fists onto his hips and takes a look around the kitchen. Because where there's one person who needs to be pinned to the floor, usually there's another.
MaryMary had her backside pressed against (skimming just beside) the wall and look how she leaned leaned leaned to peer with one eye through that little porthole, near but not too near blonde stalwart salt and Fjord-blooded Erich who Mary would never guess was Shadowlord, not ever, not right now. Her eyes are dark as the sea sometimes and as untroubled as beneath-the-surface; it isn't serenity, but density; but weight which lends a gloss of weightlessness to her intent regard, biting her lip in the center like so.
Erich through the door. Dick through the door. Mary not through the door yet yet no, Mary on the threshold of the door, leaning a shoulder against it, her chin lofted and a small smile a warily behaved noblesse oblige coupled with an enthusiastic smolder.
"Okay!" Come meet Avery.
One Ragabash says: Hey hey lady, you want any help?
The other says: "But why's the cook getting tough love? What'd you eat?"
Because she doesn't want to eat it!
ErichErich's hand is grabbed. He is not expecting that. There's something an edge too quick, a hair too hard, about his turnabout. Sparks in his eyes. Furrow in his brow.
He cools it. "Sorry 'bout that," he says, easily, but then Dick is trying to follow him through the door and now it's Erich's turn to grab. Shoulder, not hand. "Hey, whoa, wait. Just go back to your dinner, okay? I got this. I'll call 911, don't worry. Just... just go back out there and eat."
After all: Dick boasts neither purity of blood nor an overwhelming amount of rage. Erich makes assumptions. He assumes: human. Curious. Underfoot, possibly in danger.
Avery ChaseSome of the guests of the A1 +++ are finding reasons to leave, and not all of them are making sure they pay. Which is fine, since there are a couple of employees who are totally not sure what to do right now and are scared to call the police, what if the lady back there is the police she sort of has that vibe, you know?
The door comes swinging open as Erich bursts through. The man knows better than to start begging Erich for help, since it's pretty clear this is a friend of the blonde woman's. He does whimper, though, as more and more frightening people join the kitchen. He starts to say something;
Avery yanks his arm up. Well: tugs. She doesn't have to pull hard for it to sting. "Hush," she says firmly, like she's scolding a child, and he begins to weep.
When Dick says lady, there is no capital L to it. There should be, though, that is in her carriage. She responds to him as though he did. "Oh, I'm quite all right, thank you," she tells him mildly, and at Mary's question, she curls over the cook, eyebrows up, lips curved in a smile. Her dark eyebrows are expressive, her lips curve beautifully. "Mr. Grant here has been talking to some very naughty people about opening up a supply line with them. And behind his owner's back, no less. But Mr. Grant is reconsidering, since he is already getting such nice, clean,"
she twists his arm a little harder on this word,
"meat already from his owner-approved supplier. Aren't you, Mr. Grant?" she says, these last words not a snarl, not a scold, but a growl. There are teeth in it. There is bloodshed.
He whimpers, he gulps. "I only talked to the guy, I swear! It was just a meeting with one of their reps! I took a sample! That's all!"
Avery, savagely, smacks his head into the terra cotta. She doesn't pull it up by the hair and slam it down. No need. She just thwaps him, and it hurts, but it doesn't knock him out. Just makes him see a few stars. "And you'll have another meeting with their rep, Mr. Grant, to thank him for his time and that sample, before you turn down their offer. And when he asks why, when they're willing to undercut your costs so dramatically, you're going to speak poetically of loyalty and partnerships and trust. You're going to tell him about your passion for supporting local business. And when he pushes you, you're going to drop my name."
Her free hand presses on his neck, holding him tightly there, pressing her knee into his spine. "Tell me," she says, low and flat, "that you understand."
DickErich tries to get a hold of Dick, but he's a slippery one. He manages to get ahead and soon as he feels fingertips alighting on his practically bare shoulder, dances out of his grip.
"Dude!" he says. "Call nine one one, why? She's obviously got this." She being Avery of course. And just as obviously, the matter in the kitchen is something personal, well. Dick isn't that curious. Avery gets to "owner-approved" and Dick has lost interest in favor of, well in favor of his empty, growling stomach.
He turns away and, eyes locked onto the Get, keeps watching him on his way out the door back into the dining room. Twists his head to keep watching even as he's out the door, just to make sure the handsy one doesn't decide to try and feel him up next. Rude people everywhere, honestly. He hasn't lost his appetite by any means but he has lost all desire to dine in this fine establishment. Rude people and possibly funny meat and just, well, even Gnawers have their limits, don't they?
He picks up his plate from the line and takes it up to the girl at the register, like maybe he can offer it to her for a return. She probably doesn't, but ah. Well. His Rage is not so great or difficult to control as some people's, but it's riled just the same. Best to get some distance.
[and that is Dick out the door! thanks for the scene!]
ErichErich, who is largely ignorant of the almost-incident with the not-actually-a-human, is watching the proceedings with obvious relish. It's better than Judge Judy. Similar amounts of no-nonsense and smackdown, though.
"Y'know, I'd do what she says," he pipes up for Mr. Grant's benefit. And just because it feels appropriate to utter peanut-gallery commentary.
MaryMary watches Dick go with, well, Mary watches Dick go, but only for a moment. Her mouth has become a frown, chin pushing out with that expression just as it does when she smiles without revealing teeth, a troubled shadow between plucked eyebrows, but she is still very, very interested in what her tribemate is doing. Much more interested; ask a question, get it answered, and there's delight itching at her palms.
"Seems like it would be the wisest decision you made in quite some time," Mary says, coolly, not missing a beat, Thug-or-Wise Guy #2 to Erich's Thug-or-Wise Guy #1.
Avery ChaseMr. Grant is trying very hard not to cry. "I understand, I understand," he says, because not only did he get slammed onto his prep station and then onto the kitchen floor by the most unexpected gangster he's ever met, now she's got hench-people. One of whom is an ivory-skinned princess and the other of whom has a bit of barbecue sauce on the corner of his mouth. Jesus. He didn't know that regular was into the extortion game, he's probably the one who told some boss somewhere that he was taking that meeting, that's why the blonde is kneeing him in the back. Shit.
Avery pats his head, smoothing down his greasy hair under his chef's cap. "Now say my name so I know you have it."
He shudders, recoiling from the touch. "Miss Chase. Miss Avery Chase."
Avery smiles. She's almost beaming. "Perfect. Say it just like that when they ask, and I'll make sure they don't pester you with big complicated supply source contracts ever, ever again." She uses his body as leverage as she pushes herself up; he makes a cry of pain, but she is letting him go, and he's curling up, unrolling his arm, his joints screaming. He doesn't get up as she rises to her feet, looking down at him. She gives him a Look, then walks over to a sink and -- oops, it has sign that it's for Food Prep ONLY!!! and there's another one, separate, for hand-washing. She smiles at him, see I didn't mess up your prep station! and goes about washing her hands at the HAND WASHING ONLY!!! sink.
"Erich, how are you?" she says, turning away as she dries her hands, walking past Mr. Grant towards the other wolves, as though he's not even there. "Introduce me to your new friend!" She beams at both of them, glowing, gently ushering her party back out of the kitchen.
ErichConsidering the chaos that just went down in the kitchen, Erich's pretty damn nonchalant about knocking the double-doors open with his fist so Avery can sail right through. He falls in behind her -- and behind Mary, because again: mama didn't raise no louts.
"This is Mary," he says as they return to his table. Assuming they return to his table. Well, he's returning to his table. He has a whole heap of unhealthy to eat. "She just came to town like yesterday. Mary, this is Avery. But you probably already heard that.
"Why'd you tell him your name, by the way?" Ahhh, drumsticks. Erich has one. He starts eating it. "Aren't you worried about him sending someone after you or your family?"
MaryRadiant Honor is radiant and so golden when she smiles and dries her hands and gently ushers the wolves at the door back into the emptied out (gutted, get it?) restaurant. Mary is watchful. Mary is watchful with those dark Spanish eyes of hers, carefully lined, ringed in smoke, Mary is watchful and watching the kitchen, Mary is looking at everything before backing away from the threshold, looking looking looking, more eyes than mouth (that's rare, a cousin or a sibling might say with a smirk but only if they're not up to no good because Mary finds out about the no good), like her purpose is to observe and hold her tongue seen not heard seeing not heard.
They return to the table. Mary has a platefull of food! Mary is hungry, slippery supple young woman, and isn't there a certain well-placed and innate arrogance when Erich asks his question? Can arrogance be innate or is it just learned?
"Pshaw," oh yes, she says it. "Her family can probably handle the minions of a fry-cook who cries over spoilt meat."
Avery Chase. Chase. There might be Chases in Mary's family tree somewhere. Branches tangle.
But she respectfully waits for the blonde creature to answer before she says, eyebrows lofting, glance impartial between, "Do you both work 1999 Broadway?"
Mary is enthusiastic. Mary is glad to be here. Mary has gusto, that's the word. Gusto puppeteering a vague linguistic saunter toward the realms of formality, of proprietry, all that: see. "I did just arrive yesterday; forgive me for not already having looked you up!"
Avery ChaseAvery laughs at Erich. Why'd she tell him her name. Isn't she worried.
"I once sent a woman the tanned skin of one of her minions as an invitation to please come after me," she says as they sweep back into the restaurant, which is mostly empty now. She walks like someone for whom doors just magically open. Someone opens them. But not exactly: she smiles at Erich as he holds it. She grins at him.
"Mary," she says, without going into much more detail about sending someone a person's skin as her own personal 'Come At Me, Bro'. She's moving on. She's smiling happily at the newcomer. "You're quite correct, though the meat someone is trying to sell him isn't so much spoiled as it is tainted."
Avery gives a small shrug. "I would quite like the rep who spoke with Mr. Grant to help introduce me to the higher-ups involved in such things," she says, and Mary asks about Broadway. "Indeed," Avery answers, and "Don't even think of it," she adds, waving a hand. "Now, the two of you will let me treat, yes?"
Erich"Okay, when you guys put it that way," Erich says.
"And yeah. I think we both go out to the, uh, other office too. Sometimes? But mostly 1999 Broadway." He looks down at his plates. Plural. "Well, I already paid? It's pay first, then eat. But we should get ice cream after this."
Mary"How interesting," Mary says, without a drop of wryness although a bit of the languor promised by her general voluptuousness slipping through the energy sleeking through her tone which is rather sleek isn't it? Sleek and shining. "What kind of meat?" And she looks with sudden suspicion at her plate, nostrils flaring, drawing herself right up --
but someone said ice cream? Mary raises her eyebrows with great delicacy; the delicacy is not evident in the sly sort of grin which accompanies, "Ice cream? Good ice cream? July ice cream?"
July ice cream served to wolves: the best kind.
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