Fixing an Aleing Menu

by **Joziah** on December 6th, 2014, 2:22 am

6th of Winter, 514 AV.

Joziah's boots moved with a lazy thump, heading to what looked to be quite the pretty building in the distance. He had decided to approach during the middle of the day, between normal lunch and dinner hours. From what he had researched about the place it didn't seem like there was any sort of real food offered there, so they probably weren't exactly the sort to get incredibly busy during prime dining hours. At the same time, better safe than sorry. For once in his life he was trying to be a bit considerate. Those were the sort of people that got jobs, yeah? The polite ones who weren't pawing at the bag of little round pills in their pocket and wondering what that petching sweet smell was. And why the piss was it so petching cold? Winter? Petch winter and petch Morwen, the frosty bitch.

It had been about fifteen ticks since he had decided to be a composed individual and already he had reverted to his usual colorful language and habit of staring daggers at everyone who walked by him. They all soon became part of his discomfort with the weater, causing the smallest of breezes to waft against him every time they passed. He knew he was being irritational and he knew that they couldn't help it. He still hated them for their breeze-generating mass.

Lifting his thick arms to hug around himself, the tall human attempted to somehow impart himself some warmth as he approached the rather expensive-looking doors, pushing a shoulder through them and coming to a halt as the innards of the building assaulted his senses. There were rugs all over the floors and some of the walls were a shiny and reflective copper. His own haggard appearance stared back at him, head and facial hair recently trimmed and black eyes looking somewhat furious. He tried to rein it in, aware of his own shortcoming, but was instantly distracted by the same damn sweet smell mixed with a variety of other smells now. His shimmering dark stare blinked at the various herbs on window ledges, attempting to use some of his own mundane herbalism knowledge to identify them. After a few useless ticks of trying, he was once again distracted by something else.

Menus. Walking over to the bar and tossing a nod and a likely-frightening attempt at a smile towards the person who was behind it, Joziah snatched up the menu and flipped it over to read. It was exactly like he had heard. Now that he had finally laid eyes on the menu though, the pun in the name of the establishment suddenly clicked. He'd be a petching cock-knocker that shit fire in a frying pan before he seared a fantastic piece of meat and gave it a pun for a name. That wasn't happening, no matter if he desperately needed a job.

Remembering he was here for a purpose, he immediately turned to the person behind the bar (or the closest person who appeared to be an employee), straining to sound as friendly as possible and instead sounding like he had a bad cold. "Excuse me. I am here to apply for a cooking job. The food portion of this menu could use a petch-" He paused abruptly, clearing his throat and trying again. "I think it could use professional refinement to better fit such a classy establishment." He allowed himself a moment of pride. That had sounded damn classy.

by **Caelum** on December 8th, 2014, 3:07 pm

Elise was a fixture at Alements. Dark haired, deep eyed, she was often a lovely shadow to the proprietor who also happened to be her family. She watched Joziah come in and continued stacking glasses out of the rinse basin and into a pyramid at the end of the bar. When he started talking she stopped and drifted down the bar closer to him. By the time Joziah was finished, Elise peered at him with a potent mixture of humor and patience. One eyebrow rose and her hands smoothed over the hips of her bright cotton apron before settling. “You’ll be wanting to speak with Caelum then.”

Elise failed to mention that she did what minimal cooking was necessary around Alements. She knew her abilities in the kitchen were not up to par for a restaurant, and they were certainly not “refined”. That was why Alements was not one – Caelum had not had time to hunt up a decent cook. It was also worth mentioning that he, stubbornly, had been trying to learn how to cook himself.

Instead of disappearing to find the proprietor, however, Elise waited. The silence stretched between them for a few ticks too long, but before it tipped over the edge into uncomfortable the kitchen door swung open to admit the aforementioned Caelum. He walked tall and loose-hipped, the sleeves a comfortably worn sweater shoved up muscled forearms to the elbow and long fingers were freshly stained with some sort of green pigment. His clothes were plain, basic colors of dark brown and cream, their style functional though their fabric was high quality. The rest of him was anything but plain, beginning with the backsweep of forest green horns speckled in these early hours of the winter season with coppery gold. The blood red embers fall had put into his hair were fading swiftly into a pale brown and it was all in all a great deal of color and light, so perhaps his plain clothing could be forgiven.

“I need the lemongrass tea,” he announced, grimacing, while coming to a halt at the end of the bar. Instead of sliding behind it, he propped the worn heel of his riding boot against the the bottom rung of a stool and stretched himself over the bar to rummage through a baker’s dozen tea tins. “Did Dalyn come in and order the last of it, Elise? Where in the ---“

“You have a visitor, Caelum,” Elise prompted with a close-lipped smile. She inclined her head toward Joziah. “He’s inquiring after a job.”

“Is he a physician?” Golden eyes looked at Elise before cutting toward Joziah. He snatched at one of the tea tins and straightened back up. “Are you a physician?”

“He’s a cook.”

“Thank Syna, people are starving,” he grumbled. Giving Joziah a thoughtful squint, he ducked his chin and twisted the cap off the tin to inspect the contents. “What’s your name? I’m Caelum. This is –“ He waved his free hand around then tilted it toward the kitchen toward which he shortly turned. “My place. C’mon. Tell me about yourself. Elise, the lemongrass?”

“Dalyn hasn’t been in,” Elise called after them. She shook her head as they disappeared into the kitchen.

The kitchen was lit up with morning light from the propped-open side door. It was a good size too at around 400 square feet and well stocked with a heavy iron oven, a stove top, a griddle, and numerous pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack. A rectangular table sat in the middle of everything and was quite clearly used as everything from a casual dining place to a prep station to a substitute office for whatever all it was Caelum got his hands into.

Caelum moved right to the counter where a kettle simmered on the stovetop to begin shaking some of the lemongrass through a funnel into a glass bottle. “So what do you want to do?”