ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ (wisdoms) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-06 11:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !partner thread, pete wisdom, presto |
Who: Pete Wisdom & Presto
What: An encounter while getting a taste of Transylvania
When: Recently, probably before sickness stuff
Where: A food truck which dishes up Romanian goodies
Rating/Warnings: Very low! Wisdom's grumpy, as usual
Status: Complete
Presto was taking a tour of Orange County. He had no real other thing to call it, really. Hopping and bopping around the county and all of it’s various cities seemed like a thing to do. People probably thought him nuts, but he didn’t care. This was what he wanted, and so there he went. Besides, he needed it. He had started dreaming recently, of freaking weird shit, and he had needed something to keep his mind off of the weird memories dripping into his brain, and the urge that kept coming over him to reach for a hat that he didn’t wear. He never wore hats, not ever. He didn’t like them. But here, now, all the time, he felt like reaching for his hat was what he should be doing. Despite not possessing a single hat to his name. Argh. Despite this maddening urge, or because of it, he had launched his Orange County tour with a stop at a book shop, then ran around a bit, and today, here he was at a food truck. But not just any food truck, this one was serving Romanian food. It was one of only three in the entire Western seaboard that did, and so he had been led to it out of curiosity, and to see if there was some clue as to why. And mostly because he was both bored and hungry. Thus he found himself in line, humming softly to himself a short tune he had not been able to get out of his head, as well as shuffling cards in his hands. He tried not to think about the cards in his hands, because they had showed up right away, his first night of dreaming, and somehow, whenever he shuffled them, cards tended to show up elsewhere. People’s pockets, desks, up in trees. But he also found, no matter where he put the cards, they kept showing up in his pockets. It was driving him crazy! *** Of all the things, a Romanian food truck. But then again, Pete supposed that it wasn’t the most ‘out there’ of what he’d sampled - seemed like there was food coming from every kind of truck (or ‘roach coach,’ as they were sometimes affectionately called, but in all actuality, grabbing a bite via these means seemed to be more sanitary and ten times fresher than in a restaurant) imaginable. From bangers and mash (they’d definitely have the British food truck helping to cater the blessed Wisdom-Inverse nuptials), to slices of pizza and burgers to about fifty-thousand kinds of shawarma, no, you really couldn’t accuse the OC of lacking diversity. He was glad this one, lauded as a ‘taste of Transylvania,’ didn’t boast Dracula-themed anything. Wisdom also wasn’t certain how he felt about a Cabanos sausage with cheese wrapped in dough and baked - the whole ‘foot long’ aspect was what he was struggling with. That was a lot of meat. However, the Chimney cake baked fresh sounded good - tradition in Romania dictated they were baked over a fire to caramelise the sugar on the outside; obviously it was switched up a little here. He’d be picking up a few samples. At that moment, eyes that were all blue steel and deep, flickered to the humming boy with his cards. Odd, not the oddest thing Pete had ever seen but still. “Alright then?” he inquired, clearing his throat. Why he actually cared, who could say - but the boy in front of him seemed slightly twitchy. “I didn’t think this truck would be so popular.” *** Presto heard what the man said and turned, reaching upward as if to take his hat, the hat that wasn’t there, and halted his hand and drew it back. “Ah, hi.” He smiled a lopsided smile as he inhaled, the scent of the truck making his stomach rumble, and nodded to the man. “Yeah, me either, but apparently someone or other said something somewhere on social media and suddenly the food trucks are popular again.” He had heard someone talking about some hashtag or another. Presto shrugged. “I just like trying new things, and seeing the sights. This was on my list.” He nodded. “Why are you here?” *** Well, that was a question, wasn’t it? One might assume he was here to eat lunch, like anyone else waiting in line to be served something piping hot from the window of a truck. But for once, Wisdom bit back the snark. At least a little (you couldn’t take it away entirely, it was simply ingrained into his very being). “Must help that there’s a lot of hype on Food Network too,” he shrugged, since apparently shows were featuring more and more chefs-slash-truck connoisseurs. “I suppose I’m here for a taste test. I’m getting married in October, and it’s an outdoor wedding. My fiancee wanted the event to be catered by a few food trucks.” Lina really did love the fucking things. But Pete wasn’t about to tell her no - he wanted the day to be special for her, for the both of them. Deep in his shriveled sentimental heart. *** “Catered by food trucks? Yeah, that was what had popped out. He blinked. “Well, there are definitely a few good ones.” He grinned as he stepped up another step in line. “I heard this one was good at the local gym, so headed this way.” He had been there to see what sort of facilities it had, just part of his tour, really. “And congratulations. Weddings can be magical.” And he wished he hadn’t said that as he felt his cards stir ever so slightly, in his hands. He shoved them into his pocket, smiling nervously, hoping one of them wasn’t running off again. *** “So we’ve been discovering - we’ve certainly sampled our fair share,” he replied with dry good humour. It was fitting, in a sense, since one of their first ‘dates’ - though Wisdom supposed that reconnaissance work involving prostitutes wasn’t really a date - had involved a food truck called ‘Dogzilla.’ That one was going to be doing some catering anyway, it was a guarantee. But alright, what was this? Chalk it up to a lifelong career in wetworks and black ops but he was observant - he hadn’t been wrong before when he’d filed the boy in line under ‘twitchy.’ That anxious smile screamed I’m up to something. The kid didn’t just piss himself though, so what could it be? “Magical, you think?” Pete lifted an eyebrow. “How so?” *** “Well, all kinds of things happen at weddings. New meetings, old ones, beginnings and endings. And…” And that was when a card showed up, sitting on the edge of the food truck sign. Presto swore and hurried over to it, snatching it, and shoving it into a pocket. “Stop that!” Then he hurried back into line, acting like nothing had happened. “Er, and… aren’t all weddings magical? And I’m sure a food truck could be a good ingredient in such magic.” He had no idea what the hell he was saying now. *** The fellow having no idea what he was saying was apparent - Wisdom simply hummed thoughtfully, eyes flickering to where the card had suddenly appeared one moment and then was snatched up the next. “Are they pets or something?” he inquired, accent that was smoke-stained and rough wrapping around the words. “You ought to show them who’s boss, mate. Don’t let them run away from you. Control with a firm and gentle hand.” Though really, magic or cards infused with the stuff (if that’s indeed what this was) tended to not be his thing. But being that he was about to marry a sorceress, he could at least sympathise a little. *** “Pets? No. More like annoying sentient artifacts with a mind of their own. If anything, I think they think I am their pet.” He shook his head in frustration. He listened, the man’s accent was interesting. “If I had any idea how to control them, I would. But they are… not something I know how to use. At all.” He glared at the pocket the cards were in. “They just showed up.” *** “Takes a little while. I didn’t have mastery over my own abilities when they first emerged either,” Pete said, moving up in line - and good fuck, it seemed like the person in front of him was going to order every kind of Romanian sausage known to man, foot-longs and all. Bloody hell, this better not take forever. He did have to go back to work sometime today. But alright, anyway. Comfort. This cynical Brit, former chainsmoker with a surly demeanor could attempt such things. At least he’d gotten better at it since Amelia had been born. “You could perhaps learn to use those cards? Practising safely. Just have got to find a good spot.” For some, it was a basement or something. Others? Death Valley. It varied. *** Presto thought about that, and nodded. “Maybe so? I’ll have to try to figure out where they feel best. They’re hard to interpret sometimes. I just got them and they seem…. agitated a lot.” Presto hmmmed. “I wonder if it’s because they’re from another world.” And well, if the other man didn’t think him a loon before, he probably did now. *** Of course Pete didn’t think this fellow was a loon. He hadn’t lived in Orange County for very long, had he? People got weird, random shite from other worlds all the time. So he simply took the information in stride, nodding. Like it was commonplace and completely ordinary which, in this case, it certainly was. “They made the trek all this way for you, no wonder they’re agitated,” he grinned cheekily, but it made sense, didn’t it? “Be nice to them and perhaps they’ll be nice back.” Worth a shot, anyway. And then he just realised he was telling someone to be nice to an inanimate object. Oy, fuck his life. *** “How… do you be nice to cards?” He stared at the man, confused. “Between them and the dreams, I feel like my life is full of broken shards.” And then there were a small pile of glass shards, off to one side, gleaming like freshly minted glass. Presto took note of them, side-stepped them, and swept them toward the trash can with one careful foot, then ignored them studiously. “Also… the rhyming.” *** Oh, hell, that was quite a trick. Wisdom actually laughed a little, an amused rumble of sound. “Be careful what you say, mate,” he was still chuckling. “Seems like you’ve got a bit of a reality-warping skill there.” Or it could be filed under ‘magic,’ whatever you wanted to call it - hopefully Presto didn’t decide to rhyme something which called for the world to explode in a fiery inferno. “And I don’t know. Just buy a nice box for your cards or something. Treat them respectfully, don’t leave them in the rain or in the heat? Maybe they’ll perform better if you’re nice to them.” Now he officially felt like the loon. What was this place doing to him. Ah, well. Finally it was his turn, and he stepped up to the window of the truck to give his order. “And whatever he wants also,” Wisdom motioned behind him to the young lad, pulling out his credit card. *** Presto chuckled. “I think I can do that. Right.” He would try, anyway. He had to try something! “Hey, you don’t have to do that.” He flipped out his own card, but nodded. “But thank you.” he wouldn’t turn it down, but would pass it on. Somehow. After her ordered, he moved aside and waited. “So what do you do when not giving life advice on the treatment of cards to strange people?” *** “I work for the government,” Pete responded, but of course he couldn’t really go into detail with that. The division of the Agency which handled black ops and wetworks was a very hush-hush sort of thing. “I’m just on a lunch break now, in fact. My fiancee works in the same building but she had a few things to take care of today. As for what else?” The service was quick, the food handed over while it was fresh and hot. Wisdom quickly checked his order of mici, Romanian cabbage salad, and the Chimney cakes (Lina had her own, since clearly that was the way of things when it came to desserts - small as she was, she could pack it away). “I’ve got a daughter who is about four months old. Doesn’t leave me time for much else. Here you go, mate.” A plastic bag with a container of hot food inside was passed over to the young magician here - bon appetit. *** “For the government?” Presto gaped as he looked at this man, and for a minute imagined him as a James Bond, international man of mystery type. Then he internally facepalmed. Get over it, Presto. Not everyone is a spy! He shook his head. “Sounds pretty cool. And thank you, again.” he took the food, and smiled, stepping back. “I hope you and your family continue to have good things happen to them.” From what Presto could see, this man deserved it, nice as he was. *** Not far off. Extensive training as a spy was something Wisdom had received in both lives. Sometimes he felt less like James Bond and more like Mr. Mum when Amelia spit up on him, but that was beside the point. He simply gave a bit of a crooked smile at the clearly open-mouthed expression, and the well wishes. “Thank you, it’s appreciated. Good luck with the, ah...rhyming thing.” The fellow would be someone to keep an eye on, when it came to the network. Pete didn’t really post much, but he was always reading and observing. That was usually the way of things, for a watchdog such as himself. |