Among the myriad of other things Nie Mingjue had given him to do, lunch was the most last minute request he had ever received in his short career and given such little time to fulfill the order without specifics was tantamount to absolute suicide. No diner would circumvent their long line no matter his pleading, scalding looks cast at his back, quiet cursing uttered beneath curled lip. Nothing and no one would suffice to aid him.
Time ticks down and he wanders past the vendors peddling their cooked meats and each line getting longer and longer as he passes every shop, stark browns and violently vivid reds, interiors dingy and unassuming and not the least bit appealing to consider eating at let alone stopping inside for an exorbitant amount of time and his patience was not only thin, it was practically non existent. Which for him, was a considerable feat in and of itself.
Only when his options seemed exhausted and half the eateries cursed his entitlement either to his face or behind his back did he turn his gaze skyward and exhale sharply. He had followed his nose searching for the scents that filled Nie Mingjue’s office, according to taste, scent, and irregularity he could precisely pinpoint an exact favorite to assuage his boss’s temperament and yet… Today the man himself with his sour expression and commanding presence had not made the trip with him and it only ever proved the theory that fear made the earth move beneath his feet.
Turning defeated gaze to the signs hanging above nestled businesses crowding a footway of traffic into their hovels, a peculiar shape which could only be defined as a gilded cloud drew his curiosity. So out of place with the steam of grills and sweaty faces pouring their hours into briskets and steak and chicken, this particular cafe (as it was indeed a cafe) was his last hope.
Something within had to be edible enough to satisfy the raging hunger of his tyrannical boss at least until the rush hour passed and a proper course could be obtained. Shoulders sag in Armani suit, alabaster hand brushing off remnants of something unseen (his skin crawls at the association of unwashed bodies brushing his own) and he steps through the threshold to the peaceful hum of gentle conversation. No loud voices shouting orders, frustrated grunts of the working class trudging to find their next meal before the grindstone calls them away again.
Wide eyes doe-like take in the crisp cleanliness of a well organized cafe, chic modernism with a warmth inexplicable in comparison to their neighbors. The smell of fresh baked bread and sweet silk of icing underlying but not cloying. Balance.
Attention drawn to the menu to familiarize himself with the offerings, the joy seeps from his face and his pale complexion nearly whitens. Vegetarian! Of course! Nothing, not a single thing on the menu so much as hints at anything substantial enough to curb a dragon’s temper and he can feel the perspiration below his collar begin anew.
Looking for something in particular?
Slender shoulders straighten, chin lifts, and apprehension melts away to smooth into a brilliant smile. Though the moment his eyes land upon his garcon, that smile falters at the corners of his mouth, dimples fading at the radiant smile behind the counter. Relaxed and inviting, teasing him for his indecision in the most sincerely innocent way possible. Not a hint of malice or irritation in the curve of those lips, the glimmer of those eyes. And oh how his heart leaps at the unexpected! A wink cast in his direction stalls his breathing for a long and quiet moment, fighting the desire to turn and satisfy his curiosity if there is anyone behind him, but there had been no sound to indicate the door had opened since he entered. It was just him, standing pitifully in front of a man teasing him mercilessly with only the purest of intentions. Color finally returns to his cheeks then, a coral tinge to the highs of his cheekbones.
Meng yao draws in a deep breath, pristine suit puffing pitifully around him and though he seems an inch taller it is nothing compared to the waiter addressing him when he stands proper and as the man gazes at him, so too does he take that very same breath that filled his lungs. Stolen. A down payment for the fluttering in his stomach as he casts a fleeting glance at the menu. The cheer cracks and through its surface a grimace of apology as Meng Yao turns back to the staff.
“Oh, it isn’t for me. I’m running an errand for my boss. He prefers…well…meat and all of the venders are at full capacity.” Though the clever design on the cover of the menu continues to pull his gaze towards it, curious if there might be something. A thread of hope in a lightless world. He’ll be fumbling around in the dark forever.
“I couldn’t possibly impose. Asking you to change your menu for one customer is like asking one to lift a mountain to let a sheep pass.” But oh the thought of the gesture is sweet. A kindness as refreshing as a drink from a mountain spring after the long climb and his smile echoes back the sentiment in his heart, abashedly turning his scrutiny upon the delicate pastries on display. A few of these? He’d be laughed out of the office for sure, but it was better than suffering the wrath of coming back empty handed.
“What would you recommend? Anything similar to the taste would do fine.”
Xichen looks thoughtful, pushes out his bottom lip in concentration as he peers at the ingredients. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to create something to appeal to the more rustic tastes of customers looking for heartier fare. The vast majority of the customers of Cloud Recesses had preferred their unique vegetarian sandwiches for their lightness and whimsy, so it had been a while since they’d featured anything suited to that particular palette.
But he hadn’t lied, when he said he loved challenges.
Xichen hums, turning around to pull a fat little batard loaf from a nearby basket, slicing the top open lengthwise. Another thoughtful pause before he starts grabbing condiments from the little display pantry, and reaching for a forgotten can of chipotle chiles in a vinegary adobo to promptly open. He smells each before he arranges them in a line, then begins to haphazardly toss diced chiles into a mixing bowl with ketchup, worcestershire sauce, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, honey and garlic.
“So we’re your last choice?” Xichen jokes, over the sound of his energetic whisking. “Hopefully, we’ll end up being your best choice.”
He snatches a little spoon to taste the sauce, his eyes lighting up in pleasure as he tosses the spoon away and immediately reaches for the bread, stuffing lightly pickled shredded cabbage into it, before slices of sauteed portobellos are laid atop it. The sauce he’s just thrown together is spooned atop the whole thing, and he tosses a garnish of roughly-chopped cilantro and crumbled feta atop it with a satisfaction that draws a pleased smile from his lips. Which he’s still wearing as he presents the whole thing in a brown paper box.
“A chipotle barbecue portabello,” he announces proudly. “I thought maybe a riff on a pulled pork sando might appeal to him. I’ve put an extra little container of the sauce, in case he’s the type to ‘slather.’ And an extra pickle.”
He tosses a bag of sweet potato crisps next to the sandwich and grins. “What about you, now?”
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