fandomtownies | El Burrito Loco, Friday Evening

Entry tags:

El Burrito Loco, Friday Evening

Peter knew this sort of thing was coming. With Walter on the island, 'family time' was bound to happen eventually. Being able to at least pick the battlefield in the form of the Mexican restaurant let him feel a little bit better about the whole situation.

He waited at a table for his father to arrive and join him. Hopefully this would go smoothly. It was a foolish hope.

[ooc: Expecting one, but the restaurant is open to all]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Walter was running late for a myriad of reasons. For one, the clock was utterly irrelevant to him unless it was in the laboratory; for another, he'd... forgotten? And lastly, he'd gotten lost.

Yes, it might be difficult to get lost between the Alms and El Burrito Loco (how apt, and even Walter knew it) but he had managed to get sidetracked watching some of the peculiar local wildlife, and then he'd had to talk to... someone, he forgot who, but he was sure it had been a most edifying discussion, and then he had gotten a bit... turned around.

But he made it! And that is what matters, results; not necessarily the path to those results.

So the pensive expression vanished from his face into a bright smile when he saw that Peter was there and he made his way to the table to sit down across from his son.

"Did you know that some of the wildlife here has manifested pigmentation mutations? Teal! I must have an opportunity for a closer examination."

"Teal?" Peter said, somewhat surprised by that revelation. But not surprised enough to retort with. "And hello to you too, Walter."

"What?" Walter asked while he opened a napkin in his lap. "Oh, yes. Hello, Peter. How are your studies?"

"I thankfully have chosen a course load that doesn't delve into the ridiculous," Peter said. "Present company excluded, of course."

Oh, Peter. "I have a feeling you'd approve of my logic teacher."

"You are too young to not have a sense of the ridiculous," Walter said, giving the reproof a quarter of his attention while the other three quarters were occupied with choosing something from the menu. "And perhaps this place will prevent your imagination from atrophying."

He paused and then clarified, "The island, not the restaurant, although one should not underestimate the imagination-expanding possibilities of some foods. And do tell me about your logic teacher."

"For a given nature of ridiculous, I'll accept it," Peter said. "Chevy Chase movies, Perfect Strangers reruns, that I can live with. Courses in magic, not so much."

Peter picked his menu back up, contemplating changing what he was about to order.

"As for my logic teacher, she's probably the smartest person with all her marbles I've met yet on this island."

"I highly recommend the Spongebob cartoon," Walter said.

"To bean or not to bean, that is the question," he mused, weighing the merits of the combo plate versus chili rellenos. "I fear my room will be quite unlivable if I choose the refried beans, and is so often the case, what is so agreeable in the beginning is rather disagreeable at the end."

"Ah, but you have the benefit that the only one who has to deal with any... end results is yourself," Peter said. "As for me, I think Cara might string me up and use me for target practice under those conditions."

He chuckled.

"Have you been adjusting well to the island?"

Walter looked up from the menu. He decided on the beans, and horchata, definitely horchata.

"I would still think you should live with me," he said. "Who is Cara?"

"My roommate," Peter said, he set his own menu back down. "She's from another world, or so she says."

He sighed a bit. "Where are you even living, Walter?"

"At the Alms. It isn't so bad. It reminds me of when I first left St. Claire's." He stopped then, remembering that Peter didn't share that memory.

"Have you tried cutting her to see what color she bleeds?"

"No, Walter, I haven't thought about secretly cutting my roommate," Peter said, looking around for a waiter. "While that's a terrible idea in general, in specific practice I'm pretty sure it ends with me punched or worse."

"You should bring her to me. I would love to have a blood sample." Walter lit up when the waiter realized there were patrons looking expectantly around and came to take their orders.

"I'll be having the steak tacos," Peter told the waiter. He then gestured for Walter to order. He had no idea what his father would say, but he anticipated the worst.

"I'll have the chicken enchilada combination plate, refried beans not black, a large horchata, and you may bring me flan for dessert."

He favored the waiter with an absent smile as he handed over the menu before blithely mentioning to Peter, "Have I ever mentioned how a good flan can have the consistency of fresh brain matter?"

"You hadn't," Peter said. "Though now I'm singularly glad I decided against dessert." He shook his head. "Is this what constitutes as father-son bonding time now? Discussions about the consistency of brains?"

"Most other fathers don't know the consistency of brains," Walter said reasonably, "so of course it can't be a bonding topic for them."

Peter blinked a few times. He was pretty sure Ms. Perrault would have loved this discussion, if just for the frank logic.

"This is true," Peter said. "Any other interesting factoids you want to share that might make me lose my appetite?"

"No, no," Walter said, mostly because he was a poor judge of what might or might not put someone off his appetite. "Tell me about your experience here. What have you learned?"

Peter restrained the urge to say 'Well, you've gone completely off your rocker and I'm amazed you were let out of the facility', even though it was one of the first thoughts in his mind.

"There are indigenous creatures called gremlins that seem to have saliva with hallucinogenic properties, for one thing," Peter said. He then instantly regretted it, remembering Walter's comments about LSD.

Peter should regret that slip, Walter suddenly looked much more alert.

"Tell me more. How large are they? Are they amphibians? Or perhaps mammalian?"

"You know, no one actually gave me a good description," Peter said. "Just that they tend to live in vents and the like. Vermin characteristics, really. Though how something evolves with..."

He was now acutely aware of Walter's enthusiasm. "What are you planning, Walter?"

"It's almost certainly a defensive mechanism," Walter said excitedly. "After all we never see Bufo alvarius - the Colorado River toad - milking each other for their psychoactive venom.

"We must find a specimen, Peter."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

El Burrito Loco, Friday Evening

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject