nextgenerationmarvel | Text To Brooke (And Subsequent Thread)

"Alice in Blunderland. I'll have to remember that one." Stephanie replied with a faint smirk as their plates were carried away, and sorbets were brought out as a palate cleanser. "There is no time like the present, agreed."

"You know, if we spread the word to Jeremiah ... it would be pleasant if we could get a representative from Avalon. I can think of a few of its inhabitants that would be rather agreeable company." Stephanie smiled slightly at Brooke. No, she hadn't forgotten that Brooke seemed awfully fond of Lucas once upon a time.

Brooke suddenly seemed very interested with her raspberry-mango sorbet, the way she concentrated on it. Stephanie would, of course, see past that and notice the faint blush creeping across Brooke's cheeks.

"Yes, I think that Jeremiah would be great to have onboard," she said. "His boyfriend and sister go to the Institute with me. If you can't get in touch with him, I can use one of the two of them to do so." Probably Topher, all things considered.

Well, it was a tasty sorbet. And Stephanie didn't press further about Lucas, because it would have simply been mean.

"I consider it vital, actually. He's established himself, however unwillingly and coincidentally as a leader." She smiled faintly. "Oh, I remember Josephine well enough. She's very ... enthusiastic about just about everything." And really, it was just nice to hear that Jeremiah had found a boyfriend, because well, few people worked harder for the interests of their people than he did.

It was then that the last savory course arrived, sizzling hot, with elaborate printed silk napkins on the side. The ortolan, the piece de resistance of the secret menu. The maitre'd helpfully explained the ritual of eating the ortolan.

Whole. With a napkin draped over the head, to fully capture the flavours and aromas of the dish. To, according to legend, hide one's sins from God. Practically, because it was probably not a beautiful site.

It was presented as a holy sacrament of sorts, the summation and climax of all culinary art. It was also a fat little songbird that was supposed to be eaten whole, served with a small snifter of Armagnac for afterwards, the same beverage it had been drowned in.

Brooke stared down at the plate and then back up at Stephanie. She was used to a lot of the things their society did, knowledgeable about how barbaric it could be, some practices reminiscent of the horrible things that people did in ancient Roman times.

But Brooke, Brooke was a lady - or at least she tried her damn hardest to be one - and a lady didn't cover one's head and savagely at a bird.

Then she stared at the maitre d'. "This is some ridiculous way to get back at me for the eucalyptus oil comment, isn't it?"

The maitre'd looked stonily at her, though it was quite possible for Brooke to read that he was insulted. Stephanie for her part took the preoffered Armagnac, pounded it like a sorority girl and looked directly at the maitre'd. He finally muttered condescendingly that he would send the dishes back to the kitchen.

"The bill." It sounded archly dismissive, coldly annoyed in a manner that betrayed more than a little bit of her roots as a Shaw. "We'll pick up something nice for dessert in the District. There's plenty of lovely cafes there."

No, she didn't feel like becoming goddamned Caligula because a restauranteur felt it would be some sort of culinary experience. And if they didn't eat there ever again, well, it would become their loss.

And her and Brooke were part of the rising elite of the one-day inheritors of the Earth. They were not going to be talked down to by some petty server.

"You know what?" Brooke asked, watching him go. "No more culinary surprises for me. The only surprise I want now is finding out that the wine I'm drinking is a better vintage than I had originally imagined." She arched a brow. "Who owns this place? Because I say we buy it and change some things we don't like about it." She glared at the maitre d' as he returned. "Such as the help."

"It is enough to want you to stick with menus, isn't it?" Stephanie considered it for a moment. "It would make for a wonderful revenge, wouldn't it?"

She drained the preoffered Armagnac in one long sip. "At least the Armagnac is good."

She raised an eyebrow at Brooke. "You know, this place isn't that far away from the shelter. And wouldn't it be nice to find some up-and-coming mutant chef to give our patronage to?"

Brooke grinned a catty grin. "I'm sure there's a good chunk of mutants out there who dream of being world-famous chefs," she said. "I'm sure there are some whose genetic gifts make them amazing at that profession, too. I think we'd be doing those at the shelter a favour as well." Since, you know, mutantkind in general had to stick together.

"Not to mention countless little songbirds who deserved better than to be drowned in brandy." She then smirked faintly and raised her wine glass.

"To us. Making the world a better place for mutantkind, one step at a time." Her smirk turned into a brilliant smile.

"To us," she agreed. "I really do think it's time our community saw some sweeping changes - something that would do better for us than simply trying to get humans to see that we're not that different from them. Because so far, that's been somewhat of a fail."

Text To Brooke (And Subsequent Thread)

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