2019-07-09 - Life is Like...

Tuesday, lunchtime. Getting on toward the end of the standard break, which apparently does not apply to the pair of early-20s counter staff currently working at the counter. They both seem reasonably chipper about it, though, even if the black guy did just have to save the blond one from failing twice in a row to hand a fifty-something lady the right change for her order. He's looking slightly sheepish as he straightens up some already pretty straight chocolates in the case, and the other guy's charming the socks off the customer, who seems to already know him. Regular customer? Or maybe they're just both townies. Everyone around here seems to know pretty much everyone, after all.

There's several people still eating and drinking at tables, mostly in pairs, though one woman has an empty plate, a half-empty teapot, and the latest bestseller to keep her company instead. All in all it's looking pleasant in there, not terribly 'lunch rush' right now but no ghost town, either.

Itzhak is not a townie. Really not a townie, and only a few people know him yet. He's the definition of 'new in town'. Still, he walks into the place like a man on a mission, head up, stride not brisk but determined. He'd look out of place, if there wasn't so much construction going on downtown lately. As it is, he looks like he's a construction worker on a day off, maybe. Either that or possibly an escaped prisoner.

"Hey," he addresses the guy futzing with the chocolates. "Need some a them."

"Hey!" the blond replies brightly, with an equally bright smile, which unfortunately does not necessarily make him seem equally bright. "Welcome to Patisserie Vydal. Nice tats." A small pause, as he looks down at which ones he's working with. "These are the passion fruit truffles." As it says on the card Itzhak can perfectly easily read, but hey. "How many would you like?" There are quite a few varieties of chocolate in this portion of the case, assuming that the different appearances are different flavours. It seems like a safe assumption. "We've got 4 piece, 6 piece, half pound, and pound boxes," the other man adds in helpfully as he gets things arranged at the register, "That's about 12 and 25 pieces respectively on the second two."

There's the ding of the bell on the door, and they both glance that way. The blond's eyes widen just a fraction, possibly because the new arrival looks Irritated. Also well-dressed, arguably unreasonably so for the... town. All three of them get a quick once-over as the man approaches, and Itzhak gets a small head-inclination of greeting before attention moves on to the man at the register. "Martin. Has Mr. Colton been by?" Martin shakes his head, barely getting out a "Sorry, Mr. Vydal," before he's greeted by an exasperated sigh and a muttered, "Of course not, that would have been competent of him." Vyv's fingers tap twice against the counter, and he glances at the door, then the kitchen door. "If he comes by, don't let him leave." The mutter as he starts toward the kitchen has something to do with wastes of time, though he pauses to look back toward Itzhak, and the chocolates he's standing in front of. "The chili pecan dark truffle is new." Does Itzhak look like someone who might appreciate such a chocolate? Possibly.

Itzhak shoots the blond one sharp and part amused, part irritated glance before, involuntarily, looking down at his armful of pomegranates. "They better be nice, they cost me enough. Passion fruit? Pal, I don't know passion fruit from a hole in the ground. The hell does it taste like?"

He checks whoever came through the door in the reflection of the glass case, long-set instinct. Tall guy, but it's the incredibly meticulous fashion that sparks caution in him. He turns to look, watching Mr. Vydal be annoyed.

"It any good?" he says, about the chili pecan. "This ain't for me. For a friend."

There are many things the blond -- Daniel -- was not hired for, and his poker face is one of them. So basically everything shows: uncertainty at the glance, the little rally of his natural friendliness with "Well, looks like you got your money's worth from here," the way the question flummoxes him, and last, the little flinch at that final question. Martin's an actor. He's much better at hiding it.

Vyv's weight had just started to shift with onward movement when the question came -- he wasn't particularly awaiting a reply, perhaps -- but it shifts back, settling as he turns to study Itzhak again. He has very good posture, though not stiff. "Everything I make is good," he answers, as if this ought to be entirely self-evident. The accent helps. "The question is what does your friend particularly like. Spice? Sweetness? Richness? Certain textures?"

Itzhak can't help a little curl of a smirk at Daniel's confusion and flinching. He cocks an eyebrow at him. Yeah, he's a lot to handle, let him tell you all about it. But he shrugs at Vyv. "To be real honest, haven't known her that long." He thinks about it. "She eats a lot of Hot Pockets?" He turns his hands over like that's the best he can do. "What kind of chocolate says hey, I'm sorry for being an asshole and making you cry?"

Just what the poor guys working the counter needed: more guys standing on the other side of it who have probably been described as 'kind of a lot'. At least they're currently talking to each other instead of them. Vyv's bearing doesn't get the slightest bit less aristocratic, but a subtle hint of what might be amusement touches his eyes at the look poor Daniel gets. Surely he should be on the poor kid's side here. Daniel may be a whole lot prettier than he's smart, but he's not dumb enough to jump back in to this conversation while he doesn't have to, and just finds another smile to give the customer before Just Happening to find something he needs to do further toward the other side. Martin looks quietly resigned to doing the chocolate-handling as needed.

When Itzhak mentions Hot Pockets, Vyv eyes him as though he's just said she frequently devours deep-fried rats, cocking a brow of his own, though the amusement returns at the final question. A bit clearer this time, though the reply stays dry. "You may be safe with anything that even resembles actual food. Unless she prefers the things that don't, in which case, I believe there's a summer s'more deal on Hershey bars at Safeway."

He takes a step or two back toward the counter, gaze running over the chocolates on display. "Friend, you said. Mn." Different answers otherwise? "The safest option is the basic truffles -- dark, milk, white -- then perhaps the standard caramels or nut-truffles for a touch of variety. They're quite good, but as I say... safe. If you want to make more of an impression... if she strikes you as more adventurous or playful, try a selection of the less common varieties. If she doesn't, for example, like chili, that leaves plenty of others in the box she might prefer, and it tends to make an impact." He looks to Itzhak again. "But in general, the kind of chocolate that says that is the good kind. The sort you've put a bit of effort into. So unless she doesn't like chocolate, being here makes a good start."

Itzhak actually seems to put a lot of thought into what Vyv explains. One thumb hooked in his pocket, he leans his weight on one leg, considering. He and Vyv could not be more different, despite that they're both tall with similar builds. Nice contrast, if you're into that. "Adventurous," he says, and half-laughs. "Yeah, I'd say adventurous. Unique, even. Her own thing, you know what I'm saying? I hear ya. Hey, thanks for the advice. I always like to go to an expert."