2019-05-15 - Off The Menu

Thursday in the evening of a sleepy Pacific Northwest town; it's neither quite still day but rather it's night. Twilight is the word one looks for, even if Forks is some nebulous distance away.

The dinner rush is winding down for the Fish Shack; it's now slow enough for Julia to take a break. While her employees man the fryer and the register, she relaxes at one of the umbrella covered tables, eyeing the water of the Sound and absently noshing on Cajun fried shrimp. Like ya do. She's got her hair tied back in a sloppy bun, her Fish Shack tee shirt with its Flashdance styled neckline allowing it to slip down on one shoulder. And yes, she definitely smells like she's spent her working hours in that greasetrap.

Twilight. For one who's been here for a good half of a year, Oliver doesn't get out much - but at least he's making an effort today to actually pick up the take out today instead of sending someone else for it. It really has nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to pick up the wine on the way too, so. Here he is, with the ByoB bag on the one hand and the glasses nearly to the tip of the nose when he stops by the side of one more-or-less empty table and sets the bundle d.. oh wait. Where is that bottle going? Someone didn't pack that bag quite right...

Julia, sprawled ever so casually at the table next to Oliver's, gives the his a little kick with her heel; miraculously she applies enough force in the opposite direction to keep the bottle from tipping over and shattering. Precious vintage should not be wasted! She eyes Oliver with a half-suspicious, half curious air, still noshing on popcorn shrimp.

It was so casual that most people might not - would not - have noticed. It isn't most people here however, and this is Oliver's bottle we're talking about, so there's most definitely noticing happening, and there's a look in the direction of the Julia over-yonder. It finishes being set down, of course, and he sets himself next to it because that's where he goes, with a looong look that goes from her, to the mermaid, to the fryer and the register and back. "Thank you" he murmurs. "Looks like you saved me a trip back to the store." Though he still has to make it to the one here. Soon.

"Sure," she drawls, eyeing him speculatively. "I'm a regular hero. Just don't drink that out here, okay? Open container laws and all that. This is a classy joint." Somewhere, a comedy tuba plays a riff. "Julia." she says, which apparently is her name, not his. "Let us know how you liked your food."

Don't drink it here? "Why, they have a permit?" He looks around just in case, but ...really. "Julia. Then the 'us' lands of course, and he looks at her just a little more sharply through those glasses. "Oliver." Really? "I'll have to try it. What's good today?"

Julia chuckles. "I'd say it's all good, but it depends on what you're looking for. Grease to soak up the booze? Get the cod and chips. Want something spicy? Go for the Cajun popcorn shrimp. Here." she holds out her little bag. "Try some. But if you want to be daring, ask for the Salmon Special."

Yeah. She's chuckling. At least that helps with the brighthess. His mouth is dry already by the time the offer is extended, and what he wants is not solid food -- but he takes one nevertheless. What's special about it? Right. No. Oliver looks away and back to the mermaids before asking stupid questions. He's done enough of that already. "That's nice, Julia. I'm going to go get some, now." And he leaves the bags behind, with her, as he moves on to get his order and pay. Shouldn't be too long, should it?

She cocks her head. He seems...twitchy. And he just left the bags there, like he's Bluebeard and he pretty much handed her the key to the room full of dead wives she's not supposed to take a gander at. So of course, Julia half gets to her feet, leans over, and if any of the bags are the slightest bit open, has herself a quick lookie-loo.

Does he ask for the Salmon Special? It's the only item grilled rather than fried. A plank of salmon, rich with traditional Cuban spices, served on a bed of blackbeans braced in foil. Otherwise, the menu offers the usual fried fare.

Oh, curious kitten! He does indeed go for the salmon, after chewing on the shrimp on his way there. Closed container and over, he returns eventually after settling the accounts at the register. The bags.. well. There are a few packs of snacks, four or five granola bars, and the rest are spirits -- it's carbohidrates, after all. All alcohols are sugars, when processed enough. She didn't mean that about not drinking in here, did she? "Do you guys really have a no outside drinks policy in here or were you just teasing?"

"This is still open air." Julia points out. "And there's a no open container law on the boardwalk." The salmon, by the by, looks and tastes like something that belongs in one of the fancier restaurant, not mid-boardwalk fast food. "Sorry, man. If you've got a paper bag, I won't know what you're drinking, though." It's not her job to save this guy. She doesn't even know him.

Paper bag. There's a shadow there, crossing the man's features for a second, that is more darkness than anything else. "It looks delicious" he notes, sidestepping the topic altogether as he looks away and sticks the fish into the bag with the bottles rather than settling down to eat it. It's not like he's a /drunk./ Right? Right. Nope. "And a nice place." This is why take-out is better. "Until next time."

"Sure thing, Ollie." she says affably, popping the last shrimp in her mouth. Break's over!