skylardevisser:
He remembered Dunkirk. The script. He remembered it was brought over by Tomas, set down in the bakery, and how they looked at each other over the words that Skylar was relieved to know it wasn’t just him that had no idea what they meant. Not only did there have to be a difference between the English spoken in America and the Dutch he knew, but there now had to be the difference of English English added to the mix. Though, it wasn’t his script to learn. He had no lines that belonged to him to memorize. His backdrop was the bakery, his supporting cast was the dough he murmured to when no one else was around to talk to, and the only spotlight he was accustomed to was a new lightbulb replacing a burnt one.
It was exactly that that made him tentative about coming to the premiere of Dunkirk. He didn’t belong, not really. Ade had convinced him, was technically her date, convinced him that it had been her that had gotten invited, even when Tomas’ name was on the envelope. Typo was the answer. He didn’t know how the system worked, and computers were an equal mystery; it sounded… possible. And so there he was, in a blazer made of cornflower blue tartan with very unlikely matching pants of off-yellow, too much hue to be considered beige by anyone that wasn’t the baker. It was impossible to stay out of view, and yet he tried, reverting to the only role he knew.
“The kitchen needs help,” he explained, caught picking up the empty champagne glasses that littered the table he had been found at. “…Where is the kitchen?”
“you’re a guest mon frère!” she did love these big hollywood premieres. everyone scurrying about with such an urgency to make sure the guests were all relaxed and hand their hands full of the hors d'oeuvres. her own was a tiny plate of canapes that she had yet to actually try. she didn’t think they were going to be very good. who’d ever heard of such a thing with english themed food. “you shouldn’t worry about the kitchen, oh you sound net als tomas. i can’t take you two anywhere!” at least nowhere fun.
“the kitchen must be very nice,” she nodded, her thoughts finally coming around to what skylar might have wanted to see it for. they were forever a source of comparison, what might be nicer. what could the table use? a search for new flavor profiles, that’s what aleid has said as she agreed to another stay in los angeles. and to check on papa. send word. comment va-t-il? sleeping aleid, always sleeping. she hadn’t yet wasted the day going up to the hospital. not when there was dunkirk to focus all her attention. “but i’m sure we would only be in the way of the head chef.”
and if there was one thing she couldn’t understand it was other people in her kitchen. she would simply not be that person unless so invited. she adjusted her plain slip dress. everyone had assured her the silk was chic but not over bearing, although it was slightly chilled for the occasion of a party such as this. next to her brother she looked positively plain, but she had not packed to be a movie star. “just leave them. you see that’s los angeles people get to be careless!”