ARE YOU FUCKING ME ABOUT?

original character, written by meaghan. sideblog to bugdown, same rules apply.

[eatmean]

@brainfare​.

     colter’s entrance is announced by way of a brief rap of knuckles against the door frame. he doesn’t bother to wait for permission before stepping inside the office. ‘ that girlfriend of yours finally feeding you right? ’ he asks by way of greeting, setting a neatly folded paper bag on the edge of marion’s desk. there’s a twitch of a smile, something with a considerable dose of fond meanness (but mostly genuine delight at the glimpse of healthy change).

[eatmean]

dennace‌.

@eatmean.

         ‘ what am i, a— ’ what animal has good vision? he’s blank. much like the restaurant menu he’s been playing in front of his face like a trombone appears to be. ‘ look, i’m telling you. ’ he raps the laminate with the back of his hand. ‘ no one can decipher this shit. ’

     ‘ it’s fourteen point, you knob. are you telling me you can’t read fourteen-fucking-point? ’ colter snatches up the menu from his hands, mimics much of the same gesturing (irrefutably mocking, meaner), and clicks his tongue. ‘ you’re blind as shit, is what you are. ’

[eatmean]

dennace‌.

@eatmean.

dennis couldn’t ballpark how many drinks he’s had since he got here. he also couldn’t guess how many trips he’s made to this establishment since it got here. the first thing may be a result of the second thing dawning on him, but he’s not ready for that conversation. (with himself.)

         ‘ come on, ’ roughly translates to ‘pay me some goddamn attention,’ more pointed when delivered before colter’s all the way through the kitchen door. ‘ would you sit down? ’

     too much and too many. (being said, the more dennis visits, the less colter feels --- mm. a bit less of one, a bit more of another. it’s the sort of realization colter would prefer to reflect on at a later date. for now, it’s filed away in the back of his thoughts.) 

     arms full with a rack of clean glassware, colter clucks his tongue and says, breezy as can be, ‘ no. ’ dennis is lucky enough that he’s still got a seat at the bar, much less the company to go with it. (it’s what he tells himself, at least.) 

     there’s a sharp sigh as he sets the rack on an empty stretch of the bar top, brushing his hands dry against his trousers. the music is off, the lights are dim, the closing servers have left, and only other people left are two line cooks and the second chef in the back. the fact that colter is lingering out here despite himself is no one’s business but his own. 

     ‘ you do clean that bar of yours, don’t you? ’ 

[eatmean]

theircall‌.

eye narrows, hands propping on hips and frowning. ‘ these are mine! ‘

     that has his head snapping up, brow furrowing. ‘ ah. i thought you were angel. ’ it’s the closest thing to an apology she’s going to get. for what it’s worth, as he continues, he drags a stool closer him by the tip of his foot and nods at the cutting board near his elbow. 

     ‘ he’s insistent on nicking the fucking eggs. ’ 

[eatmean]

@theircall. 

     colter doesn’t even bother to look up from the ingredients he’s sifting through. ‘ touch that and i will put you into tonight’s pies. ’ 

[borhapmovie]

Tom Hollander as Jim Beach in Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

[eatmean]

stats + restaurant info. → will one day, in theory, exist on an actual page. 

name. colter (middle name) cromwell.  date of birth / age. august 7th / 51.  place of birth. suffolk, england.  current residence. philadelphia, pennsylvania. 

height. 5′5″.  posture. very good, actually. confident and upright. on his luckier days, his airs alone grant him a few false inches extra.  hair. originally brown, has turned to varying shades of gray. darkest at the roots, with a fair amount of pale gray and white spread prominently at the sides of his head and in his beard. his hair is real curly and fairly difficult to tame the longer it gets. he tries to keep it shorter to keep things manageable, but he struggles with consistency. the same goes for his facial hair. he tries to keep things trim and clean, but, more often than not, he’s seen sporting a decent beard. (in general, think of this with tom’s face superimposed.)  eyes. slate blue with mild central heterochromia in tawny brown.  discernible features. a collection of generally unexciting, but not necessarily unnoticeable, scars from spending more than half of his life in kitchens. most prominently is a splash of scarring on his right thigh, roughly the size of a piece of sandwich bread, from an unlucky incident with hot grease. 

gender. cis. male (he/him). sexuality. gay. 

personality. he’s wonderful in shallow or business-centric conversation, but that’s about the extent. he isn’t inclined to a conversation that’s any closer than arm’s length. anything else and he’s a little aloof, a little blunt on the deliveries, and a little bit of a dick. kinda prickly. whether this is a god-given trait or learned, i have not quite decided. being said, if you manage to chip past the exterior, he’s a surprisingly soft, warm fella.  temperament. this depends fairly heavily on his setting, actually. in general, he’s rrreasonably level-headed? he’s a little quick to annoyance and doesn’t always mince his words, but he doesn’t lose his shit too easily. being said, he is human, and there are exceptions every so often. one such exception is when his business is being threatened, be it by an unfair critic or an unruly patron. in the kitchen he will have a much shorter fuse and is much more prone to snapping, but that’s due only to the performance he expects from his staff. so long as you aren’t cocking up over something completely fucking asinine, he’s actually a fairly generous guy to work for. 

other. because i like to project, he’s on the autism spectrum. if you discount his underlying fixation with theater, he’s had a nearly solitary hyperfocus on the culinary arts for nearly forty years and it doesn’t seem to be waning anytime soon. 

colter’s restaurant is a gastropub in philadelphia, pennsylvania, a brisk walk down the road from the infamous paddy’s pub. (location can be tweaked accordingly.) 

i might change my mind later, but the running name i’ve got going for it is: mid-rare. 

the offerings are as follows: plenty of food, a select list of beer, an even smaller selection of wine, and what is considered a fairly average selection of liquors. 

as an exceptionally talented and trained cook, colter’s primary focus lies in the food (which is all generally well-received), but to say the oft-rotating selection of artisan brews isn’t a definite point of interest to his patrons would be lying. 

the beer list changes weekly. there will be twelve to choose from at any given time, half of which are permanent staples. the guest beers are typically local, but colter begins to incorporate more out-of-state choices the business grows more successful. 

a portion of his menu is comprised of traditional english pub fare. this includes a number of pot pies and pasties, as well as a shepherd’s pie. in a more neutral flair, there are also burgers, sliders, and wings. for sides and appetizers, there are onion rings, fries, and other small, easily shared finger foods. 

thanks to the general richness of the food, business tends to run hottest in the evenings. afternoons are slow, as the patrons are comprised mostly of easy drinkers. 

[eatmean]

@dennace.

     here is the thing: while colter isn’t exactly what you could consider a kind person, this does not mean he is a cruel one. it’s only that it takes a certain kind of person to unveil the softness hidden beneath the endlessly thick, prickly exterior. suffice to say, dennis reynolds is not the fucking one. ‘ hello, ’ he says, an unkind smile creasing his mouth. with how sharply the plate rattles as he sets it down, it’s a wonder that the food doesn’t go flying.

     ‘ if you intend to continue occupying legitimate customer space and terrorizing anything with a pulse, you will fucking eat. ’