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Luke's, Friday

Eliot spent the first half of his shift at the diner today occasionally throwing things at the section of wall that Kitty had escaped through last week (there was a possibility he thought he could catch it off guard if he did it fast enough) before finally concluding that it wasn't anything in particular about the wall that made it possible. Which meant now he had to figure out how to fight off whatever the heck Kitty was (his current theory: ghost) if he ever had to.

Which, after skimming a few of his inexpertly googled websites about quantum entanglement, he decided was more of a thought-experiment question for Hardison than something he was going to work out on his own, so he turned his attentions instead to setting non-lethal traps for the kitchen staff.

It was important to keep them on their toes.

Today's specials
Sega wat
Vegetable alecha
Dabo kolo

Luke's was open.

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Ask what happened to all the silverware.

Ethiopian cuisine was traditionally eaten with your fingers, okay?

I have eaten raw beef on two occasions in my life: once at a fancy French provincial restaurant, and once at a hole-in-the-wall Ethiopian place. The Ethiopian one was way better. Plus, there's the whole "trying to pick up a whole sauce-covered hardboiled egg with just a piece of bread without destroying it or your clothing in the process" experience.

Now I really want Ethiopian food.

So exactly why would Vic come back to a restaurant where she had possibly the worst service ever from the previous week?

Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.

"I'm not going to get interrogated if I ask what's exactly on the specials today, am I?" she asked warily as she took a seat at the counter.

"Nah," Eliot said, and even managed a smile. "Sorry about last week. I wasn't quite myself."

Or, rather, he was excessively himself.

"It's Ethiopian. Sega wat is a spicy lamb dish with onions, the alecha is a style of stew, and the dabo kolo are little fried cookie things with cayenne pepper. We've got more typical American stuff, too, if you'd rather have a burger and fries."

"That depends," Vic said still being a little wary of Eliot. "What kind of spice are we talking about? Is this mild spice or the kind where I need a glass of milk beside me so I won't die of pain?"

"See, that I can't tell you till I get a sense of your spice tolerance. I'd say it's on par with a lot of Indian dishes, if you're familiar with those. 3 or 4 alarm if it were a chili."

"I'll give it a try," Vic said with a shrug and a smirk. "If it's too much I'll just curse your name and any of your offspring to an ungodly death."

"See, if I had kids, that might worry me," Eliot said. "Just me, I'd probably deserve it." He took the order back to the kitchen, then returned with a wet-nap, a rolled-up, fluffy pancake thing, and a small smirk. "Forgot to mention: this is your silverware."

"So this week you have a general aversion to silverware?" Vic snarked. "I don't think that wet-nap is going to act as a good fork."

"The bread, darlin'," Eliot corrected. "It's called 'injera'." He fetched a large plate lined injera and dotted with rich, earth-toned sauces and shredded vegetables, with space in the center for the wat when it was ready, then picked up his own rolled pancake. "Like this." He tore a piece off his injera, then used it to pinch a bit of the vegetables. "No fork necessary. The nap's 'cause no one washes their hands before coming into a place like this unless they work here."

"I just figured you were too cheap to wash dishes," Vic joked as she opened up the wet-nap. "And I'd hate to see what you'd do to the staff if they didn't wash up."

"It wouldn't be fatal," Eliot said. "But it definitely wouldn't be pretty."

"Somehow I gather that," Vic smirked as she started to eat. "So what are you here? Resident chef and bouncer?"

"On Fridays," Eliot said. "Got roped in when I tried telling the manager he should be sourcing his ingredients locally. Turns out around here, some of those ingredients come from other planets. Most times, I do contract work with a team on the mainland. How 'bout you? You come to town because you heard about all the really charming paranoid creeps?"

"Never said you were charming," Vic joked. "And I got transferred here because my boss was being overprotective. I work over at the Trooper station. Deputy Vic Moretti at your service."

Gee. Wonder if that'll make Eliot paranoid at all?

"So what kind of contract work do you do?"

Hey, he hadn't done anything illegal in Fandom yet.

"Your over-protective boss transferred you here? He do any research on that choice?" Because, really. "Eliot Spencer. I work in security and retrieval."

"He didn't do any research. Just took the advice of a friend," Vic said with a small scowl. "And if they ever decide to return my phone calls they'll get a fucking earful on their lack of research."

She gave Eliot a headtilt. "Security and retrieval? What do you work for an armored car service?"

"More the drivers," Eliot said. "Usually when the owners of the company screw them over."

Vic paused a little and raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, I'm not sure I follow you there," she replied. "You don't work for a company but you help... drivers."

Look, his job was not easy to explain to a cop without getting into the whole "we're conmen and thieves" bit, okay?

"Or inventors or nurses or students or, occasionally, cops. My team once assisted the DOD in taking down a domestic terrorist with a bioweapon." He'd gotten shot for that one. Twice. "We help out individuals getting screwed over by corporations or bigwigs who think they can get away with anything."

They just, you know, tended to break the law a lot doing it.

After a hard day of redecorating, Kenzi felt she deserved some kind of chocolate. Hopefully with ice cream. And whipped cream. Something decadent.

"Dessert me!"

Eliot pursed his lips and studied her quietly for a moment.

"Hot or cold?"

"I'd say you guys sound like union busters in some kind of mirror universe," Vic said looking interested. "How'd you land a job like that?"

"Hmmmmm.... Cold," Kenzi decided, swinging her legs against the counter stool. "Something awesome. I'm still giving Professor Lyman a heart attack, I deserve it."

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Luke's, Friday

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