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Luke's, Monday

Eliot was still in a good mood after seeing his sister yesterday, and was humming an old Willie Nelson tune as he got the kitchen set up for the day, flipping and twirling anything he got his hands on, from celery stalks to bread knives.

The kitchen staff kept well out of his way, the busboy filming the whole thing with his phone.

"It can't possibly last," said the cook. "He's going to explode."

"Twenty bucks says before noon," said the dishwasher.

"You know I can hear you," Eliot pointed out.

"That's a sucker's bet," said the cook. "I say before eleven."

Today's specials
Chicken Fried Steak
Fried okra
Sand plum jelly kolaches

"There's a typo on the specials menu."

"No there ain't."

Luke's was open.

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Don't worry, there are tater tots, too.

He'd have gone with fried rattlesnake, but he didn't think the stuff they had in the freezer was fresh enough.

"Hi, Mr. Sp--" Kathy paused, gave him a rueful smile, and tried again. "I mean, hi, Eliot. Sorry."

Look, she'd been raised with a great deal of emphasis placed on showing the proper respect. It was going to take awhile before calling him by his first name became second nature.

"Kathy," Eliot answered with a smile. It was nice to see her at least putting in the effort to ditch the formalities. "How's it going?"

[ooc: sorry, it seems LJ has decided not to give me this notif. . . .]

"Good, good," Kathy said, taking a moment to puzzle over the specials. Those were...some specials. Yup. She didn't want to snark on anybody'd culture, but who fried steak? That just seemed wrong. If they were gonna waste it, there was surely a Korean Barbecue joint somewhere on the mainland that would be happy to take it away where it could be loved and cooked properly!

"Ahh, I'm going on a picnic," she added, tearing herself away from the ~~travesty~~ interesting take on steak preparation and holding up her empty basket to Eliot. "But, you know, lazy-style, so I'm stopping here to buy the food for it instead of making it all myself."

Which Eliot couldn't yell at her for, since he was one of the people who was firmly in the pro-Kathy-takes-it-easy-this-summer camp.

Now, now, chicken fried steak was rooted deep in the traditions of, say, Austrian Wienerschnitzel. And frying things was a fine American tradition!

. . . at least it wasn't pickled.

"Sure thing," Eliot said, grabbing (and twirling) a pencil and a pad of paper. "Anything in particular you thinkin' of? You should try some of the kolaches, they came out pretty great."

Edited 2015-05-12 00:18 (UTC)

Don't you sass pickled foodstuffs, Eliot. Don't you even.

"Sure," she said, sitting down at the counter and putting the basket up next to her. "...What is a kolache, exactly?"

She was game to try one, whatever it was!

"And no specific food ideas yet. Half the reason I decided to be lazy was so I could get ideas from someone else. Precooked and edible at room temperature is pretty much my only request."

He would never! One of the specials was nearly pickled asparagus, but they didn't have any on hand. (Or at least, none made with Oklahoma asparagus.)

"It's a Czech pastry, kinda like a danish. Popular down around the Texas/Oklahoma border." Eliot tapped his pen thoughtfully. "Could do a nice chicken salad, maybe a cheese and fruit plate to go with? You'll want crackers or a good crusty bread, too."

"Definitely the bread," Kathy decided, because no one in their right mind turned down bread when it was available. "And something rich and chocolately for dessert?"

You know, beyond the fruit and the danishes and stuff. Kathy was a high schooler. Multiple desserts were mandatory.

A high schooler with a ridiculously supercharged metabolism.

"Lava cakes?" Eliot suggested. "How many people we feedin' with this?"

Which was his oh so subtle way of finding out if this might be a date.

And Kathy's ridiculous blush answered that question before she even opened her mouth.

"Well, umm, two, but I know my metabolism is kinda insane and I think, uhh, his might be too, but you know, I never asked to find out, but even if it's not we're still teens, so it's not like more will go amiss or anything, right?"

Kathy had gone to the Alec Hardison School of Dissembling.

That was completely adorable. "And if you don't eat it all you'll have leftovers for dinner," Eliot said. "So who's the lucky guy, then?"

"Oh! Oh no! It's not like that!" Kathy sputtered, turning from pink to a nice dark scarlet. "It's not, like, a date or anything! It's just--he's going to show me how to throw knives! I thought it'd be nice to bring a picnic lunch along as a thank you. And because I get hungry."

True, the afternoon would likely end with fewer clothes than it began with, but that didn't make it a date. It just made it--nope! The narration was not having this conversation with Mr. Spencer.

At least it wasn't a masked crimefighter a year older than Eliot's own boyfriend?

Eliot was rather pleased that the boy in question was a teenager, yes.

"Throwin' knives isn't date material anymore?" he teased. (Mostly. What? Throwing knives could be damn sexy.) "Kids these days."

Well, he was also a werefox enforcer for the supernatural mob, so maaaaybe hold onto that approval for a bit there, Eliot.

And hell yeah throwing knives was sexy. That's why Kathy ha clamored for a demonstration as soon as she'd heard Ezra knew how. Not that she was going to tell that to one of her teachers, no.

"I'm pretty sure this is too low-key and casual to be a date," Kathy said, with a nod that was meant to be Very Firm. "It's just--just a casual thing."

The fact that Kathy's skirt would have to grow another foot before it could make the acquaintance with her knees meant nothing! Nothing!

"Uh huh." Eliot did not believe a word of it. But it was cute that Kathy thought he might. "Well, just remember to be safe." A long beat. "With the knives."

Would Eliot notice if Kathy slid off the stool and was helpfully swallowed up by the floor? Because that would be great. Both the not noticing and the swallowing.

Both were about as likely, too, dang it.

"We will be," she mumbled, pretending she wasn't utterly mortified and failing miserably. "He's got a lot of experience. With knife-throwing. We'll be safe. And fine."

Eliot totally wasn't laughing internally at that mortification. Maybe this whole "adult authority figure" thing wasn't so bad. "Well good. Sounds like a good time, then."

Sure. Yeah. Kathy absolutely believed that. His amusement wasn't palpable at all!

"Thanks," she said. To the counter. Where her face was pressed. "You mentioned lava cakes?"

"Sure did," Eliot said, smacking the counter with his hand. "I'll get the kitchen started on the order. You got a basket or somethin' to carry it in?"

Without picking up her head, Kathy snagged her picnic basket and put it on the counter next to her. "Thank you."

Stupid reflexive politeness!

Eliot put her order in and started grabbing napkins and things to stock the basket with. "You gonna come back up for air anytime soon?"

"I'm hoping I'll pass out first," Kathy said. Except that didn't seem to be happening and the counter was hard against her forehead. Finally, she raised her head up to give him a baleful glare. "You're hilarious."

"Hey," Eliot said, not even remotely apologetic. "Knives are dangerous business."

"I'm pretty sure that it's only a single entendre at this point," Kathy grumbled.

"Not at all!" Eliot protested. "I'm assumin' you've taken at least one of the school's many sex ed classes. And I know you're a good student. So I'm just gonna assume you've got that part all sorted out."

There, see? He was totally just talking about knives.

And the worst part was? That was something she couldn't deny. This was likely not a date, they certainly weren't dating, but, yes, she'd taken the courses and yes, she was prepared, and yes, she probably needed to be and, oh god, he was reading this all off her face, wasn't he? She should have kept her head down where it belonged.

"How do Parker and Mr. Hardison put up with you?" she asked. "Infinite levels of patience? Is it infinite levels of patience?"

...Shut up, she wasn't smiling somewhere under all that mortification.

Edited 2015-05-12 05:51 (UTC)

"Hell if I know," Eliot admitted. "Just lucky, I guess."

Well that was a strange trip through regional cuisine. . . .

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Luke's, Monday

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OOC