un peu de sucre

"none of the greek muses represents culinary art,"Tomas de Visser . 27 . pâtissierartist of the culinary arts . owner of de Visser's dessert bar ."yet the pleasure that we take from a dish is not somehow less elevated than the pleasure of contemplating a picture or listening to a beautiful piece of music."

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

“And? So is the coffee. Alone. He ruined it.” The final interjection, judgement in place, no room left on his side, only a scathing look of curiosity wringing Tomas’ face dry. Eventually, the tsk of the mouth found its home in the darkness, eyes turning from him to see the candles growing in numbers, the show’s coordinator taking center stage to assure that all would go to plan. “How can you not know much? You’ve been here enough.” Another break from his eyes as he watched the curtain close to prepare for the first scene, only for the voice to return. “What are you going to say to him? Lady Macbeth.” Direct, not teasing, as it may have been from someone else’s lips. If anything, Julian held a certain hint of expectation, as if there was no doubt that the plan could be nonexistent. “You are here for something. Is that not it?”

"He didn't--" ruin it, Tomas wanted to defend, considering people far and wide all take in a good mocha, but something tells him Julian just wasn't really receptive to the opinions of people far and wide. And so he held back and discontinued the discourse. "English is.. hard, and it's in a strange, Shakespearean way, I don't- get some of it." Tomas quietly admitted, trying to sink lower than he possibly could, part of him still worried that when the writer spoke to him, it really was about his height blocking people. "What-?" The question seemed so out of the blue for his heart to skip a beat and for only a second panic settled in his eyes before looking away to the stage, "I'm not.. saying anything to him." He had nothing to say to him that would be important to the actor, why would he? There was huge divide between their worlds, something Tomas didn't want to overstep, "no-- I mean you wanted to come see it and.. I'm not here for anything. Other than a good show."

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

“Mierda.” He barely finished before Julian rolled his eyes through the darkness. “Too sweet. What is the point? Have coffee or don’t.” Relentless was a good word for him, unyielding, even when it came to the simple things like a drink order. It left Tomas defensive, even when he had no reason to be, but it kept the artist’ attention. Watching him skip the pages, clumping them together back into the stack they were originally handed out to be, before blue eyes found the stage again. “Why would you?” he echoed back, as if that was his point, a wave of the hand to add to it. “For someone who can’t drink?”

“Caffeine and sugar is a good combo for a quick hit,” his argument was soft, unsure, remembering days Juno came over literally right before a show just to down a cup. Tomas checked himself to stop, knowing they wouldn’t go anywhere with that. He believed in the quality of their coffee, mixing it won’t deteriorate its quality at all. But it was nice to have someone that enjoyed coffee stripped bare. “I- I’m not,” Tomas placed the programme aside and folded his arms, sinking into the seat, “his performance doesn’t have any correlation with his coffee choice.” He wasn’t sure what the original point was, “it- nevermind I don’t.. really know much about theatre.”

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

Above the murmur of the crowd, there were the frantic shadows dancing across the stage, the sounds they made a hush of frenetic energy. The age-old adage that the show must go on could be the only thing that kept them in motion, bustling back and forth, a spark from a single match lighting the candles that had been clearly laid out as a result of the efforts. It barely held Julian’s attention, easily swayed back to Tomas as he spoke, the shyness he held causing more of an onslaught of scrutiny.

“Chocolate? That’s what that was?” It made sense, taste buds wretched by the lack of bitterness that had followed one sip, the memory enough to send them in a curdling state again. “Why would he drink that?” He surely couldn’t have enough energy from that to perform. It made no sense. Another glance given to the photo, eyebrow raised at the title he was playing before shrugging, look exchanged from him to the one in the flesh by his side. “We’ll see. You’re biased.”

"Well.. It was mocha, but--" Tomas shrugged, even though he remembers most of his regulars and their orders, this one he couldn't deny he knew more easily than others - literally anything chocolate on the menu, just never seems to get bored of it. Omitting the fact of the extra chocolate, no charge. "I mean we use a pretty good dark chocolate," Tomas found himself defending, on a completely different tangent from what Julian probably meant.

He quickly flipped through the rest of the programme, skipping through all of cast and performance pictures before simply closing it shut with a scoff, "why would I be biased?" looking up to the stage as the team build up a somewhat intimate looking light up set up. The power had to come back sooner or later, right?

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

Tomas was trying to settle Julian into a nice confined place emotionally, to box him in the nicest way to stop a growing circle he forced them both to spin around. Simply agreeing with him was like slapping a band-aid on a bullet wound. Julian’s breath scraped against the roof of his mouth with a shake of his head, the lack of a fight back paradoxically grating on him, but even a band-aid can stop some blood from spilling.

He took his seat, light beginning to flicker along the sides of the room from candlelight being introduced. It was enough of a reminder for Julian’s hand to reach into his pocket to pull out his own lighter, forcing it alive with a single thumbnail to look over the pamphlet with Tomas. The orange hue lapped over the photos, faces that he would have otherwise bypassed had it not been for one. “That one. Who is that?” As if there would be any chance of confusion, he tapped at the page, finger underneath the name of Juno Benson. “My coffee. You gave it to him. You gave me his.” Eyes shot a direct path to Tomas’ through the dimness with the flame coasting between them. “He has shit taste.”

Even after agreeing Julian still seemed displeased, the shake of the head and a shake enough to rattle Tomas into wondering if he said it wrong, if it was trick into disappointment from his end, second guessing his every word but they had already moved ahead, it'll instead simply linger in his head far later tonight lying in bed, analysing everything said, everything reacted.

Sinking into his seat felt like a safe bubble, that they made it to a stage, a little while more and the show would start, and he'd get to relax and breathe. He thought wrong, having opened up the booklet he had been more than used to, but a part of him wanted to check to see who was the cast today, if they were who he's been hoping to see. "Um-- no.. one?" Tomas only muttered pathetically before backtracking as Julian's memory proved sharper than anyone Tomas knew. "He's just.. He comes by sometimes," he shrugged it off, flipping the page to avoid looking at that beaming face for too long, the darkness only proving to be Tomas friend in hiding the embarrassment recounted, "he just really likes chocolate. I- sorry.. again." It was a stupid mistake, they usually arose when Juno stepped into the store, he's been teased far enough by his own staff, betrayal. "He's really good though.. plays the wife."

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

Nerves had been squashed out of the system for as long as Julian could remember. Teenage years burning a hole through his bloodstream with rebellion, only to boil over in adulthood with grief, apathy whenever it came to what others thought of him. He looked at Tomas with a glint of confusion, behavior unfamiliar. “What is there to be nervous about?” he questioned with a shrug. “Nothing. You are here to enjoy the play. Enjoy it.” If only everything could be as simple as speaking it into existence.

Through the darkness, the eyes began to adjust, a glimmer of an expression thrown his way, but whatever the blackout left unhidden was left untouched by Julian as he looked away, face straight ahead as he walked on. He assumed Tomas was following. If he wasn’t? He would find him in the audience beside him eventually. The voice that came from behind was enough to tell him it wouldn’t be worth the thought, eyes rolling. “It is not bad luck,” he commanded, refusing to acknowledge the connection. “The electricity is out. Why? Because of the shit wiring. Not you. They need an electrician. Not an exorcism. They will find a way to go on.”

Everything was the only answer he could come up with, mind making sure it's always a quick work every second of the day, only the kitchen being the one refuge away from the uncertainty of life. "I don't know.." was the verbal answer he settled on, the safest one. Thought it was quickly refuted by Julian, it was actually that simple, yet he couldn't help but worry into a much more complex situation than it is. "You're right-- um- sorry," Tomas shook off the nerves as much as he could, but there were just some he couldn't comprehend why and those lingered. 

Even if Tomas couldn't really see, he could feel Julian's expression thrown at him in reply. Emergency lights were brought up and it seemed like the show was going to go on. So he followed Julian without protest even if it was all too much of a coincidence. It was simple enough to not say it, to better be safe than sorry. He accepted the programme booklet as they passed through the doors into the actual theatre into their seats. "Some of the casts drop by the dessert bar often, you might've seen them before," Tomas peeled open the booklet looking over the faces and names.

[tomasdevisser]

jess.

“I guess it’s cliche to say there always are good times, even if you have to look back on them to find them.” Or even if those good times were distorted, corroded by hindsight – the memory of happiness still remained, a sweet aftertaste Jess was still chasing after. The last thing he wanted to do, though, was dump his woes on Tomas; he shrugged the off, bringing himself back to the present moment. “Hmm – I think I’ll have to say both.” The counter around him was strewn with tubs and spoons, evidence of not just their mission to create the perfect ice cream flavor, but of the playful camaraderie in the kitchen. “That is a tempting offer, I’ll have to admit.” His cooking skills barely went beyond making a decent pasta sauce; muses didn’t need to eat, so food was often forgotten in favour of painting. A laugh burst from him at Tomas’ assessment – sunny side up, even if it was just how he liked his eggs, wasn’t a word he’d ever thought he’d be associated with. “Close to a ten – I wonder whether the –” Jess trailed off, trying to remember the name. “The one from near Verdun. I wonder how that would taste in ice cream.” In an odd way, it seemed fitting to take something from his past, a memory of a breathless, mud-stained afternoon, and turn it into something as fun as ice cream. His ghosts would’ve laughed. “That depends on whether you have stray artists wandering in off the street at every hour of the day.” In this district, they probably did – Jess realised as an afterthought that the theatre was nearby. Kingston had mentioned something about some of their actors coming to the bakery. “Do you ever get anyone from the theatre?”

"Cliches are good sometimes," Tomas points out, the little romantic in him agrees on that notion, maybe it's just the cringing sweetness of it all. Even his own memories falling in the same rubble of bitterness, though nothing quite as drastic as Jess'. "I'll take both, it's a fairly strange sight," Tomas to a gander around his kitchen, his kitchen. It still felt strange to sat it with the actually notion of the kitchen really being his. Tomas found it hard to believe that this all still came together, the feeling still hit him every time he looks over his baby project. "To tempt, is all I'm here to do," he flashed a grin before cracking down on their new side mission for the day. "Hey! Don't laugh, you're definitely a sunny side up, tell me I'm wrong," he nudged Jess' shoulder at the loud laughter and started to butter the pan and crack two eggs into it anyways. He had that certain intuition with people and their food, and let's just say Tomas would very happily bet his store on it. "I think it'll be good, there'll be some extra layer of depth to it, and with a little bit of restraint, might be our ten," Tomas was careful when he infused the cheese into his ice cream base, glancing up to the churned with their latest idea. It'll take twenty minutes minimum for the ice cream to churn, perfect amount of time to have a brunch break. "Oh yeah, that's practically our customer demographic here, it's really nice, getting so many artists here and there," Tomas chuckled, but he perked up at the next question, the lightest twinge of pink dusting over his freckles when he glanced up to Jess for only a second, "the theatre? Um-- some of them do, some of the playhouse people visit.. sometimes.." operating so close to Broadway does that, and how much life and joy it has bring for the dessert bar, nothing that has to do with Tomas himself no. "Why? Do you know anyone from there?"

[tomasdevisser]

kingston.

A life given to the dramatics freely and without hesitation gave way to a response that felt natural, if only to Kingston. Their finger drew to Tomas’ lips, the curse silenced hastily and entertainingly. The superstition wasn’t taken seriously, but played with as if it was, no one rarely the wiser. “We don’t speak in blasphemous tongues when it comes to our well-being. All other sins can be excused,” they spoke, a glimmer of a teasing light dancing in their eyes as the finger drew back, feather-light touch lifted.

“Hell may not be as terrible as the claims. For do you know anyone that has gone and come back to tell the tale? It could be paradise and all the poems that say otherwise may be leading us astray.” Faith was nebulous to the writer, figureless and ultimately godless. Tomas was looked over, eyes meeting his with an amused smile, lively when the passions of the creative heart were on display. “What other world is there if not ours?” they asked before the lips spread a little more. “I’m afraid I’m only the writer, my dear. Kingston Gilmore, and I believe you’re Tomas. We have no more formalities left to suffer through, now.”

Tomas had been aware of the curse if only through the ominous signs around the public spaces of the theatre warning about it- "oh--" Tomas quickly covered his mouth as if trying to scoop the word back in, "I'm so sorry.. the Scottish curse, isn't it. I just thought- it was okay after the play.. I'm so sorry.." Tomas just had to make sure he wasn't getting doubly in trouble. "Is it.. that bad?" He hadn't read up on the misfortunes, he would've been too scared to come back lest he cause those misfortunes himself. 

"No.. I guess you're right," Tomas managed a lopsided smile, simply at the way they phrased their words, there was a grace and beauty to it, his own mind trying to catch up to an English standard. "You seem like one.. I mean-- you seem lime you'd be one to write this-- I mean.. I'm sorry I said I didn't understand it very well," he kept trying to explain as realisation kept sinking further in, of what offense they might've taken from his words, words softer as they trailed on. “It- it’s nice to meet you though Kingston,” but the outstanding question stood, "you.. know my name?"

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

Every half-hearted response that Tomas gave was watched, stared at as if it was growing tangible form for Julian to smack. Half-truths and non-answers were never enjoyed when listened to, not when it felt as though there was something being kept from him. “If you are lying to me? Why would you do that? About this?” Truthfully, it didn’t make sense, possibly part of the reason he was unwilling to drop it so easily.

Eyebrows lifted, falling back in place as soon as they had caught the height, a slight roll to the eyes aiding in their descent. He was immune to any notice given towards him, not caring enough about reputation to be bothered, ironically only feeding into what was already said about him: arrogant and uncompromising, followed by mad if not by emotion but mentally. Getting what he was demanding didn’t even spark any joy. The only fallout came in the lights to flicker before blown out, a moment later an emergency light of the exit signs to lead the way for the guests as a loud murmur fell over.

“Come. Let’s find our seats,” he went on, unbothered, grabbing his drink as he led the way.

He could feel Julian's gaze burning through his skin, and he didn't know how else to diffuse it, cast it aside, it was hardly anything important at all, how he was feeling or acting and yet Julian seemed to harp on it. "No- I'm not lying--" he wasn't even sure what he was being accused if lying anymore, about knowing that one actor on his mind, or about being nervous about that one actor on his mind. "I'm just.. like this. I guess.. I don't know how else to explain it, I get nervous a lot." It was easier when Tomas is behind the counter as they converse, he always had his comfort place to protect him, to find something to busy himself when he gets too nervous, here it's all vulnerable, all laid out there for people to stare.

And it was like the moment the name escaped his lips, the bad omen arose with the lights going out, a hush murmur fell over the crowd before an announcement was made. Tomas looked back to Julian with a pout of I told you so that he probably couldn't see. And now this was his fault, though it seemed to do an easy fix. 

Tomas stumbled from the bar cupping his cup of water before following Julian, softly muttering, "you see.. bad luck."

[tomasdevisser]

jess.

“No, no, it’s alright. I don’t mind talking about them.” About him – it was selfish, considering how well-known his poet was now, but Jess couldn’t help wanting to keep the man close to his chest, a locket of memories and freezing-lipped kisses. “It wasn’t all doom and gloom; even in war there’s plenty of shenanigans to go around.” Sometimes he had to remind himself of that, drag himself out of a nightmare version of the past and back into the present. Back to ice cream testing, the bubbly atmosphere in the kitchen pulling him away from his cloying ghosts. “Oh, I’m already impressed.” He gestured to the rest of the room, the pile of ice cream tubs on the table. “I know I wouldn’t be able to do anything like this.” Anyone who said food couldn’t be an art form had clearly never set foot in the bakery; Jess could only admire what Tomas and his colleagues managed to spin out of a few ingredients. “Oh, really?” Somehow that simple suggestion threw him for a loop, a little taken aback that someone would take notice of such a small comment: drifting in and out of the world like one of his ghosts had almost made him feel invisible. “Brunch it is, then. You’re the chef.” He’d be up for anything, glancing over the recipe sketchbook, the ideas splayed out. “Mmm, this one’s really good – definitely over a nine, I think –” Jess took the time to finish his mouthful before he answered, twirling the spoon between his fingers. “Ah, fresh blood. Hopefully I won’t put her off or anything. You can just tell her I’m not your usual clientele.”

Jess may say that it's okay, but everything else tells Tomas it's not. The tone, the pain, his hypersensitive intuition, his mind. It was safer to avoid it altogether, no point diving into it if all it does was cause pain to Jess. "I'm glad.. that there were still good times to hold on to," Tomas left it at that with a sad smile, maybe those are the things worth remembering. Maybe down the line in another hundred years, this would be something fond for him to remember too. "Impressed or just overwhelmed with ice cream?" Tomas chuckled, what may seem to be the most normal scene to him may look like a mad man's lab to another. "Ice cream's not too hard, the churner does most of the work, if you ever want to learn just give me a call," Tomas shrugged more than happy to extend the knowledge of food with others. "Absolutely, with nothing to do but wait for ice cream anyways, might as well have brunch," Tomas turned towards the counter stove, it's mostly just a counter for playing and theatrics for the guests, but always keeping a stove out front was handy, like making eggs while talking with Jess. He narrowed his gaze observing Jess playfully before nodding and turning a flame on, "you seem like a sunny side up kinda guy, with runny yolk maybe?" Multitasking was easy enough in the kitchen, flowing between three things at a time, "nine huh? Big contender." Tomas agreed taking a spoonful for himself the cheesy saltiness light but still packs a little bit at the back of the ride. "Oh I think she'll be okay, she'll swing by later today and we'll get her inducted. Are you not our usual clientele?" He chuckled, he valued the strange, diverse range of customers that step into their shop, he couldn't really define usual most times.

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

If Julian’s scrutinizing gaze wasn’t enough, his words were meant to seal it before the glass tipped towards his lips. “You are. Why?” Swallowed, fingertips staying to the crystal even as it rested comfortably atop the counter. From what he knew about Tomas, though, it didn’t take much for his nerves to be frayed; it only seemed to be heightened in the current moment for some reason. “You have acted this way the three times before?”

It was news to Julian about the curse, and now that he knew, it was truly handled with improper hands that refused to uphold its value. “Mierda. Why would you get in trouble? It’s bullshit. There is no curse! Say it and see! Why would you believe in this shit?”

"I-- I don't know," he repeated himself at the relentless asking. But he tried to be truthful to himself, it was the thought of Macbeth, and Lady Macbeth, and the cast that was so talented, and so nice, and a joy at his store- He followed along, nervously cupping to the glass if water, shifting between taking small quick sips or gulping the whole thing down. Whatever to stop him from speaking, not saying anything was always the best way forward. "No-- I haven't.. I.. usually stay out of the way, people don't notice me, it's better that way," here people were noticing Julian, and by association also noticing him. 

Even more so when he blatantly brushes off the curse, more people turned towards them and Tomas needed to quiet him down, "No.. don't say that it-" he was trying to shush him, knowing they could absolutely get kicked out. It didn't matter what he believed, the theatre believed it and Tomas respected the theatre. "Fine just.. stop it please?" Tomas sucked in a breath only letting out a low whisper under it for no one else to hear with the crowd back in their own chatter, "..macbeth... Happy?"

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

The water flushed over the work, blurring the once crisp lines into a murky distortion, an effect similar to a watercolor with only a more brooding finish. The subject matter did nothing to lighten the mood of it, those hollowed-out eyes peering out, black pools that began to run downward across the sallow face as if the water was acting as its own tears. Julian’s own face was blank in comparison, stoic, the emotion alluding his features as he watched Tomas with a shrug, the only condolence he gave for a member of staff being sick. “Hennessy,” he went on ahead, bypassing the offer for another water as if it was needed beyond work.

Poor violated pamphlet, crumbled up in his hands as he listened, face turning suspicious by the shy reaction. “Why are you nervous?” he pointed out unapologetically before being tasked for the name, making his eyes tighten at what he believed to be absurdity. “Why? Why would they name the play it if they didn’t want it to be said? Mierda. Say it. Nothing will happen.”

Tomas was still eyeing the soaking paper in confusion until the bartender came by and Julian asked for a drink. “I’ll just have some water, thank you,” Tomas pried his gaze for a nervous smile and a lowered head for a nod. He was familiar with the cognac, maybe even tempting to join him, but his stomach started to growl, reminding him that it would be a bad idea. And neither does he want a chance to over do it and embarrass himself.

“I’m not- am I--? I don’t.. know,” Tomas wasn’t a great actor, or liar, and he could feel the nerves in his bones, but he’s been here before it should be fine, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s been here before that’s nerve wracking. Four times. He kept darting his eyes between the warning sign and Julian, trying to find the right words to explain it, to even be sure it’s right, “um-- it’s some superstition curse.. apparently a lot of accidents happen if someone says it-- I don’t want us to get in trouble..” they haven’t even gone inside yet.

[fizz-gerald]

tomas.

“Absolutely, let me get that settled,” Tomas moved towards the cluttered spare room - that’ll be something to fix up tomorrow - arms full of a duvet and pillow to settle along the pull out couch, “make yourself at home.” Tomas lightly shrugged, gesturing to his apartment, “sorry.. if I might be shuffling in and out to get some work done.” Watching Vaughn, there was so much he couldn’t recognise or understand, just what happened and why. But the only thing he was certain was that Vaughn was tired, and he deserved to get some rest away from Tomas’ curious questioning. “If you need me, I’m either up here or down at the shop,” he started to clear the dishes, leaving the washing to later and flicked off as many lights as possible, living just one small lamp on, “sleep well Vaughn.” You’ll be okay, I promise.

“Whatever Vaughn was going to say died in his throat, he was so unused to having people allow him to do things. To having people help him – Tallulah was different, they were sharp enough to make getting a good night’s sleep and an IV feel like an order, but Tomas was just so kind. It was almost overwhelming. “No, no, it’s okay –” Vaughn was just so painfully grateful to have somewhere warm to sleep; he stumbled over to the couch, dizzy and shaky, practically collapsing onto it. “Thank you,” he murmured, over and over again, burrowing under the duvet with a shaky sigh. Just the fact that he had a duvet, a pillow, a mattress to rest his aching body almost made him burst into tears all over again – but the call of sleep was too powerful, pulling him towards the abyss. “Mmm, goodnight. Thank you.”

[tomasdevisser]

--------------

[tomasdevisser]

jess.

“Well, you’re welcome to dig them up if you really want to.” Though half his comrades had never got a grave, a headstone, even a confirmed death – just men rushing over the top, disappearing into the fog of battle and never returning. Somehow that ached more than the deaths he saw – his poet, a bullet to the head, a beautiful mind splattered in the mud. “I’d be luckier if he survived. We might’ve had a future.” A hidden one, a life of furtive, behind-doors courtship, but they could’ve had a life together nonetheless. “Yeah, we dragged each other through it.” At least the others were eventually released from the bonds of their memories. “Okay, okay, maybe I set my expectations a little low. I’m not used to being spoilt like this – not that I’m complaining, of course.” He wasn’t going to pass up an afternoon with a friend, especially with free ice cream. “Oh, I don’t know, most of the eggs I’ve had were in the middle of a war zone.” Frying them over the exhaust of an army vehicle left them inevitably tasting of gasoline and fumes. Tomas’ ice cream definitely beat that, even if Jess was ignorant to the nuances of cheese. “Mmm, I think the Adel-whatsit is the best one yet. Maybe you could serve it with a blueberry sauce or something?” Not that he was in any place to be giving cooking advice. “Um –” Jess shrugged, not wanting to admit that he’d mostly spent the past few days lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. “Just a bit of painting. What about you?”

"Hmm, forgot about that bit," Tomas paused before shrugging it off, the playful daydream of an easy way out. Knowing the dark thought of how messy things would've ended for them, Tomas' face fell at the thought, the stark reminder of the horrids of their past, “I-- I’m sorry.. I shouldn’t have..” Guess lucky wasn’t a great word to use. He quietened down, dropping his gaze to the counter, afraid of saying anything more, maybe silence was the best way forward. Maybe ice cream was all he should talk about. “I’ll take low expectations if it means I can impress you more,” he braved on a small smile, trying to quieten down the nervous mind of what’s he said earlier, “you’ll always be spoilt in this household.” It was less of a statement and more of a promise, it was all he wanted to do, to make people happy with his food, and to especially make his friends happy with his food. Case in point, eggs. “Really? You know what-- I could make you eggs right now,” Tomas picked up an egg from the whole case he had out, lightly tossing it up in the air, “poached, fried, soft boiled, I could do it, feels.. like a brunch day.” Considering he himself had been too caught up and haven’t eaten either. “Mm, you’re going somewhere with that, either a swirl, or over the top with a waffle,” not the initial idea, but still a good one nontheless, a star went over on the written label. He perked up to hear Jess’ recent ventures, “new work? That’s exciting to get into. And mmm, we.. got a new staff that joined this week,” Tomas noted softly, stirring through the third tub before presenting it between them, “ --pecorino, the cheese that is. Just been training her, getting her familiar with the kitchen.”

[tomasdevisser]

fizz.

Vaughn knew he was being pathetic – knew he should never have come here, he didn’t deserve to take advantage of Tomas’ kindness. But he was so tired, still so cold even in a warm apartment, eating a hot meal. He wasn’t strong enough to say no to that, even if giving in only proved how pathetic he was, how unworthy of his muse. It was only compounded by the offer of rest; he couldn’t help glancing up hopefully, exhaustion evident in the way his posture sagged, the pulsing headache not making it much better. Anything would be nicer than passing out in an alleyway, the night digging its freezing fangs into his skin: the offer almost tipped him over the edge of tears again, only managing a hesitant nod. Everything was a little too much – all he really wanted to do was sleep, but he tried to stand as well, wanting to help, til a rush of dizziness forced him back down into his seat.

He glanced up again at Tomas’ words, almost disarmed by their sincerity. “Thank you,” Vaughn murmured, the end cut off by a body-shaking yawn. “Can I – can I sleep now, please?” It was more of a whisper than a question, painfully hesitant.

"Absolutely, let me get that settled," Tomas moved towards the cluttered spare room - that'll be something to fix up tomorrow - arms full of a duvet and pillow to settle along the pull out couch, "make yourself at home." Tomas lightly shrugged, gesturing to his apartment, "sorry.. if I might be shuffling in and out to get some work done." Watching Vaughn, there was so much he couldn't recognise or understand, just what happened and why. But the only thing he was certain was that Vaughn was tired, and he deserved to get some rest away from Tomas' curious questioning. "If you need me, I'm either up here or down at the shop," he started to clear the dishes, leaving the washing to later and flicked off as many lights as possible, living just one small lamp on, "sleep well Vaughn." You'll be okay, I promise.

[tomasdevisser]

jess.

“Ah, but unfortunately they’re all dead.” Jess had to laugh at the image, Tomas marrying a ghost for the sake of a green card – stranger things had happened, he supposed. “But I can vouch for their being lovely. My poet was an excellent kisser.” After all these years, the name still stuck on his tongue. Speaking it almost felt like letting go. But the past had no place in the kitchen, even if the flavours brought back memories. No, not brought back. They were never truly gone, just lurking at the edges of his memory, ready to charge forward the moment the order came. “Better than expected? Not disgusting. In fact, it’s surprisingly pleasant.” Jess was all too happy to be swept along on a tide of industry and innovation, some of Tomas’ excitement rubbing off on him. “Hm, to be honest I’ve never really paid attention to what egg yolk tastes like. But that was very nice.” He only had the vaguest idea of what carbonara was, anyway, but then again, he wasn’t the chef in this equation. Being the taste-test guinea pig was just fine, even if there was a high likelihood this ice cream was all he was going to eat that day. “I’m well and truly prepared,” he grinned, trying a mouthful of the new one. “Mmm, that’s actually quite good. I think I’d give that an 8.5.”

"Perfect green card material- I'm kidding," Tomas followed the laughter, knowing he's joking about it a lot, there is a small concern looming on his current visa, but he was hopeful at least, that Eli May hold him here long enough for him to prove himself. "Oh? Aren't you a lucky one then?" Tomas teased his friend, almost can't imagine him being in a relationship with a poet. "I'm glad they're lovely though, it's hard, to hold on to good in the midst of war." It was nice to know human they were, not just numbers on a scoring board for countries to puff up at each other. He feigned a little hurt at his pride at the comment, "I can't believe you'd think I'd ever serve you something disgusting." But he knew he was here to push the boundaries, find weird combinations and make something amazing out of it. "Oh-- have you never really had much egg yolks? Like poached or soft boiled or fried." Tomas looked through the label, taking a spoon of his own - they now just have a whole holder of tasting spoons - humming in agreement, 8.5 but not the 10. "This one is with Adelegger, a type of Swiss cheese, might be good with maybe.. blueberries," like a little blueberry cheesecake. Tomas sighed lightly and noted that down, "not our 10 yet. --so what have you been up to? Since that Poldark gallery, isn’t it?" Tomas didn't really like making small talk but with a friend like Jess it was easy to, moving back to check on the next tub while putting the others into the freezer.

[tomasdevisser]

fizz.

Vaughn’s head dropped, staring at his lap as shame crawled up his throat. He shouldn’t have told Tomas that, shouldn’t have made out like he was the victim, because he wasn’t, he was just a failure who couldn’t do what was expected of him. He nodded at Tomas’ words all the same, polite, but people like that – people like that were divine, were the only true way he could express what was bursting from inside him, the need to create. The need to make something that reflected the terrible beauty of the world. Now he could never do that; the corrupted bond still held, a toxic ache in his chest telling him unworthy, unworthy, unworthy. He’d polluted something sacred, and now he’d never be worthy again – a pathetic sob tore from his throat, even as Tomas refilled his bowl. But Vaughn didn’t deserve that, either: he didn’t have any claim to grief for something he’d done himself. The only thing he could truly call his own was the bone-aching tiredness. “No, I’m sorry, um – we can do it now, if you want.”

Even though Vaughn nodded along, the expression on his face didn’t seem to agree with Tomas, and so he stopped pushing it, his own opinions didn’t matter here. He was here to make him feel safe, feel better, not feel worse about what had happened. He couldn’t help some form of aching in his chest simply just hearing the tangled sob from the other across him, only giving Vaughn a brisk glance of concern yet not wanting to put pressure on him to explain any of it. He stared down on the table after placing the pot back down, a silent few seconds passed before Tomas looked up with a soft smile, “I think we should rest after we’re done, it’s getting late, and you must be exhausted,” he stood up to pull out the couch and fashion into a bed, a mental note to be extremely quiet when he woke up in the middle of the night to go back down and start prepping for the morning. But he sat back down across the table, joining Vaughn and taking his own time with his own bowl until they were done, it’s the little anxieties that he was attuned to and wanted to avoid causing. “I’m glad you came by. You’ll always have a place here.”

[tomasdevisser]

julian.

Eyes peered over the brim of his coffee, squarely centered on Tomas’ own pair as he tentatively corrected him. The contact stayed for a moment, lengthening in a way that time seemed to still as he thought before lowering the cup from the sip swallowed. “Nothing. There are no allergies,” he finally answered with a disinterested sway of the head, a means to brush past it, a second one at the thought of strawberries returning, random thought of interruption, questioning in that he had never heard of it before. His sharp gaze slipped back at the start of a question, only for it to fizzle from the chef’s lips, awaiting what he was after: a genuine response. It wasn’t what he was searching for, a silent breath released against the brew from another swig. “Nothing. What does it matter?” It shouldn’t. The cash was laid out on the counter, slid over to Tomas for the effort before standing up. “I’ll take you back.”

Somehow the longer they held eye contact the more nervous Tomas got, making him feel like he’s absolutely done something wrong - and maybe he did, that hard gaze was convincing enough to make Tomas think he’s done everything wrong. But soon, he could exhale with the confirmation, “okay- that’s good..” that at least even if they didn’t ask, there weren’t any allergies to be concerned with. Now that, Tomas will remember, cataloging in his head. “It.. doesn’t I guess,” it shouldn’t matter to Julian what he thought, just for curiosity sake, for seeing how his customers intertwined together in such a connected art world. If Tomas could bring people together through his store, his food, he’s try his best. “I mean- if you wanted an introduction or-- something..” but the cash but already placed on the counter and Tomas quickly added it into the cash register seeing as Julian already got up. “-oh, yeah okay,” he hastily did the same, wiping down the counter and bring the cups to the sink to deal with them later, he still had an event to cater to, “thanks.”