ɱɑʀiɛ (coveted) wrote in worldsapart_ic, @ 2019-05-07 10:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | marie roque, xx_gideon ramsey |
Who: Gideon & Marie
What: Cleaning up after a crawfish boil (and then Marie gets invited to watch Starship Troopers, wut)
When: Recently
Where: Boudin
Rating: Low!
Status: Complete
Crawfish boils were social events that had been engineered by Nawlins residents for generations upon generations to be a rocking good time - and when Marie organized crawfish boils at Boudin, a good time was indeed had by all. There was always a mess that accompanied these beautiful gatherings though - most attendees would end up with splashes of crawfish juice and guts on them by the end of the event, and the general vicinity smelled like a fish tank. Which was why she’d always throw these outside, and what better time of year than spring? Currently, she was scooping up the soiled newspapers off of the long tables, and stuffing them into trash bags - best that the tables were covered with newspaper beforehand though, since obviously eating crawfish left some waste material behind. It was her and Gideon left for cleanup duty, but between the two of them, it shouldn’t take too long. “Can you get the bowls and stack them together to bring inside, mon cher?” she asked, referring to the ones she had set out for various dipping necessities - melted butter, cocktail sauce, hot sauce. “Seems like those who came enjoyed themselves.” All that was left were the buckets of crawfish shells, but the delicious, flavorful meat had been eagerly consumed. Gideon could honestly say that, after working at Boudin for a couple months, he was genuinely sad he hadn’t spent far more time in New Orleans when he’d had the chance. He was pretty sure what Marie managed to put together was only a piece, but that piece was infused into the very walls at this point. Giant messes made by people genuinely enjoying themselves were the best kind, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to begrudge the smell at this point. The fish guts, now those he could, and would begrudge. He’d worn his least favorite pair of work shoes today but that still didn’t mean he wanted juice and guts all over them. He’d given up actually being mad about it though at about hour one, and at this point, was more laughing at himself for being annoyed in the first place. “What’s the chance this stuff’ll stain the concrete?” Gideon asked, only half-serious, as he did as Marie asked, carefully stacking up as many bowls as he could out of her way. “Don’t really fancy being around here if the heat starts getting to it.” Not that the heat hadn’t gotten to it already, but still. “And ‘course they did. Only place on the block that actually knows how to have a good time, what’d you expect?” “Oui - sometimes I am surprised when people in California indulge in partying the way we did in Nawlins,” Marie chuckled huskily. She would never wear anything fancy to a crawfish boil, which was why jeans that had remained reliable throughout the years and a plain grey t-shirt with an apron tied around her waist (smeared with spice mix, mostly) was her outfit du jour. It was always entertaining to show newcomers how to properly eat crawfish though - without context, it could be something from a horror film. Lifeless bodies literally dumped onto long tables, the crowd gathers ‘round and begins tearing off heads; entrails squirted out, fingers were smeared with guts. You took a crawfish head to your lips, tipping it back and sucking out the juices like a shot - it could be a little much, for the Debra’s and Susan’s of the world who didn’t want to get their yoga pants dirty. “As for the concrete, it’s not too porous,” she mused, twisty-tying a garbage bag. “I plan to do a good pressure wash when boil season is over anyway.” But for now, she’d just let the good times roll. “Have you ever been to New Orleans, cher? I can’t quite recall.” “Pretty sure everyone around under the age of twenty-three would take offense to that, given the nightclubs around here.” Gideon mused, shaking his head slightly. It took some careful balancing, but he was able to load up an armful of dishes, bolting inside real quick to get them to the dish pit before coming back out to start stacking the next round. “You got a point. But I’m definitely holding you to that.” The spring heat could get pretty bad, but it had nothing on the summer. And no thank you - he’d been around the gulf during the height, and live fish was nothing he wanted to smell in the heat, let alone long dead ones. He paused at her question, then shrugged with a half-smile, “Twice. Don’t think the second time counts though - couldn’t tell you a damn thing about it. Went down for Mardi Gras, and all I remember is feathers and glitter.” The only other time, him and his mother had been making their way through the outskirts, unwilling to deal with the crowds in the city proper. Crowds meant the two things they hated the most - attention and competition. They’d set up comfortably in a little no name town just north shortly after. But still, what little he remembered - from either occasion - was enough to have him wanting to go back for a visit, if nothing else. Ah, yes, the carnival. A celebration of excess and pure indulgence. Purple, gold, and green - and ‘to go’ cups, booze you could transport from parade to parade, how convenient (though the one thing Marie told travelers was to find places to relieve yourself that weren’t the long lines for bathrooms or simply Bourbon Street which tended to smell like pee on the regular anyway - no need to add to it). “It is quite a time, during Mardi Gras,” she agreed. “I miss it. I especially miss home during times like now, when crawfish boils are popular. But as long as I can have a little piece of home here, that’s okay.” She loved her little restaurant and was proud of it. At the moment it looked like a hurricane ripped through the front patio, but they were making progress. “One day you must go back,” she insisted, lifting the boiler to bring it back inside - or, actually, it was a bit heavy so this may be a two-person job. Use your arm muscles, Gideon. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Again, feathers and glitter are about all I got. Oh, and vague memories of getting involved in flashing for beads. Not sure if that actually happened, but I wouldn’t say it’s not likely.” What could he say. He’d had fun though, making a fool of himself, that he remembered. “The way you talk about it, can’t blame ya for that. Though, for what it’s worth, this little corner of the block was spectacularly boring before you showed up,” Gideon offered. He couldn’t really relate, but the way Marie talked about home had a way of giving him second hand nostalgia, something he appreciated, even if he never quite knew what to do with it. “Any other home specialties we should be expecting, coming up this summer?” He shrugged, shoving up his sleeves - they refused to actually stay rolled up, leading him to look perpetually rushed all day long while continuously shoving them back to his elbows - and slipping over to help her lift the boiler. “I might, if I get the chance. Little busy around here most days though, can’t really see having the time to go down,” he said, teasing lightly. He loved his job, and would never honestly complain about the hours or the time he spent hanging around. But if you couldn’t poke a little fun, what was the point? Aha, there we go - the boiler was now back inside, as was the stainless steel basket Marie carried in. Now to just finish with taking out the trash bags and a final wipe down of the tables, and they should be all set. “Oui, I am quite the slave driver,” she winked - and she didn’t mind the teasing; it was in her nature to tease back anyway. But should Gideon ever want to take some time off, she was more than willing to accommodate. There were no complaints about his work ethic and he was punctual. Showed up, didn’t dick around - that she appreciated. She was good to her employees the same way she was good to her regulars who frequented the restaurant. But getting on her bad side - well, it was unwise to cross a succubus. She gathered the remaining overstuffed trash bags in her arms - a comical sight, considering how short she was and could barely see over the load. “For summer, let’s see - there is always the Oyster Festival in June. It’s held in June because there’s an old myth about oysters only being safe to eat in months that end with the letter R.” The Cajuns were a brave sort - that’s what they did, dispel myths. And eat oysters whenever the fuck they wanted. “We also do lots of fun things for Bastille Day - the beginning of the French revolution, such a delightful time,” she quipped. “Oh, and end of July there’s a week-long carnival with pretty much only cocktails - right up your alley.” As a bartender, he’d earn a shit ton of tips, that was for sure. “Now, now, not sure I’d go that far, my dear. But if you insist.” Gideon said, grinning, as he started moving the last of the dishes back to the dish pit. He wasn’t really looking forward to washing them for the night, but he also wasn’t one to leave shit like that for the next crew. Pretty good way to leave him in the crossfire. “You good with the trash bags or you going to need another hand? ...Or another foot - can you even see?” He called out, frowning slightly, but making no move. If she needed help, she’d tell him, and he’d just as well leave her to it otherwise. “...And we’re doing actual oysters, right? Not rocky mountain?” He added, when it became clear she had a good handle on things. Shaking his head slightly, he did a quick sweep to for any last remaining dishes outside so the tables could be wiped down, “You know, I don’t think I made it to that class, so you might have to fill me in. And all of this is really just sounding like excuses to be messy and get drunk - which, hey, I’m all for.” Ha. Another foot - he was cute, wasn’t he? “I’m alright, mon cher,” Marie insisted with another chuckle. She basically used her elbows - the side of her body, really - to open the back door from the kitchen (where she often took smoke breaks) and toss the garbage bags into the dumpster. Then she came back inside to wash her hands; she’d also help with the dishes, no problem there. Her job as owner of this schindig meant that she was pitching in wherever she could and had no qualms in doing so. “And you are correct - my people love any excuse to be messy and get drunk. I assume you do as well? We have that in common, oui?” “See, that didn’t actually answer the second or third question there.” But, hey, the garbage was out, and he still had a boss, so, all’s well that ends well or however that goes. He’s pretty sure that applies here. Shaking his head slightly, he shoved his sleeves up again and started moving the dishes around enough that he could actually start working on them without them crashing. “You got that partially right. Drunk, yes. Messy, no. No matter what the family photo album may show.” He could deny it all he wanted of course, but he was all for a good time, in any form, and there were plenty of witnesses out there that could attest to that fact. The only thing he enjoyed more than making a fool out of himself? Watching other people make fools out of themselves. Which, from the sounds of things, there would be plenty of opportunities very soon. Oh, so she was right - or, sorry, ‘partially,’ as Gideon claimed. But Marie had a feeling the drunk part went hand-in-hand with messy. Didn’t it always? With a smirk, she stepped up to do the pre-rinse of the dishes before she’d let her compatriot here load them into the dishwasher. That was the one thing she made sure to spring for when putting Boudin together - a dishwasher that cleaned and sanitized quickly. And a fridge for the bread, of course. For the po’boy sandwiches. If the bread was not authentic, no one would bother - and she would be very displeased with herself. “Now I want to see your family photos,” she grinned. “Were you as cute then as you are now?” Gideon stepped to the side to give Marie room, perfectly happy to work with a pattern they’d established well in the last couple of months. And with the two of them working, he couldn’t imagine this taking long - Marie hadn’t skimped on any of the appliances, and, honestly, he was beyond grateful for it. He’d worked in way too many places that hadn’t, thank you very much. “Careful, mon ami,” he said with a teasing grin, accent dipping into a southern lilt too jarring to carry even that bit of french well, “One of these days I might actually take you seriously. You’re out of luck though, the family photos are all in a storage locker somewhere in...Louisiana? I think?” Or maybe Georgia. Florida? Who knew. “Louisiana too, hm? Well, now I definitely have to visit home - and stumble across your buried treasures,” Marie teased and wasn’t that just so tempting. Gideon’s accent was about as fake as the tits of any Hollywood starlet, but she found it amusing all the same. “And you are very cute. Handsome, I mean - is that the preferred compliment?” Either way, she’d gladly take a bite out of him - his life force, that is. Not a literal bite. But he seemed like he’d be a fun little romp and meal all at the same time. That was just the way a succubus thought - the inner demon couldn’t help such things. Maybe that was why her kind tended to have trouble making friends and forming connections. Sometimes, she wanted desperately to break the mold (she wanted to know what a genuine connection was like, just one) but wasn’t sure if she even knew how to do that. Anyway, she wouldn’t keep the cute bartender here all night. “You can go, I’ll finish up,” she insisted, with a wave of her hand. “If you have things to do.” “If you find ‘em, give me a call. Been looking everywhere for ‘em.” Gideon said, shaking his head on a laugh. “And you can call me whatever you want.” He added - earnestly, even if that phrase normally tilted a little strange. But he honestly didn’t much care what people called him - if it was nice, nice, if not, well, he had better things to do anyway. If Marie wanted to compliment him, he wasn’t going to say no. He almost felt bad that he wasn’t really interested. He knew what Marie was, what she could do, and hell even without that, she was cute, and competent, but given that even on a good day his feelings towards anyone tended to run through ‘tired’ rather than any real label. Besides, getting a boss that was fun, understanding, and actually good at their job? He’d stick with that anyday. “Aw, naw. Ain’t got nothing waiting for me but ice cream and late movies. This won’t take long. Unless you’re trying to get some time alone,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders. If she wanted to close up shop, he wouldn’t get in her way, but he also wasn’t going to lie about having anything better to do. “No alone time, but I appreciate the thought,” Marie laughed a little, helping to load up the dishwasher. “Ice cream and late movies sounds really nice, actually.” When was the last time she actually sat down and watched a movie? (Or ate ice cream, but that was a whole other thought - New Orleans wasn’t really an ice cream town, it was more gelato and sno-balls, which were iconic). The answer was probably ‘waaaaaaay too long ago,’ and she didn’t even really know what movies were in theaters or streaming on Netflix. The dishwasher switched on, those dirty plates and glasses and silverware would get a thorough hot spray and then would be dried, clean as a whistle for tomorrow’s breakfast opening. Ready for mountains of powdered sugar to accommodate beignets and cups of chicory coffee. “But we’re almost done anyway - just a quick sweep and then I’ll leave you to your...rocky road?” she guessed. Whichever flavor it was. If she was going to indulge in ice cream, she liked the more unusual kinds - pistachio, or something like lavender honey. “Even though I’m pretty sure nothing’s stopping you, you’re always welcome to join. Though I make no apologies nor explanations for my movie choices.” Gideon said, tossing out the invitation easily. He didn’t really expect her to take him up on it, but hey. Trash movies were more fun with other people around. Shaking his head, he grinned slightly, “You know, that one? You can keep guessing. If you’d like rocky road though, corner store right down the block from my place sells a truly ridiculous amount of ice cream flavors.” And had a night clerk that he couldn’t decide if he wanted to get to know or if he gave him the creeps. It was a really weird feeling. “You wanna sweep while I do the last wipe down?” Sure, the bar had been closed down and most of the tables inside were turned down earlier, but one last pass to get everything after that last rush couldn’t hurt. “Really?” He wouldn’t mind if she joined him? That was a surprise. Marie didn’t usually get invited to places - at least, not without the whole experience being part of a meal. But she didn’t need to eat right away - her last bit of ‘dinner’ (businessmen on out-of-town trips were like fast food at this point, as easy to acquire as zipping along a drive-thru lane) would last her. “Well, now I am curious about what movies you’d pick, so I’m in,” she decided. “For that and ridiculous ice cream choices.” That sounded good, actually. So when she grabbed the broom and dust pan, she was certain she’d make quick yet efficient work of the last chore before closing up shop. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t being honest,” Gideon said, shrugging slightly. He followed her lead and grabbed what he needed to do a last round of wipe downs, making sure everything was spotless while trying to stay out of her way with that broom. They worked well together, he’d admit, and it was quick enough work that didn’t leave him feeling like he’d short-ended the morning staff. “Come on then, home’s just a couple blocks thataway,” he motioned vaguely down the street, “And cornerstore’s on the way. How do you feel about Starship Troopers?” The apron went back on the hook where it belonged, and luckily Marie had an extra change of clothes too - just an extra shirt, really, something not splattered with crawfish juice. She swapped that one out for the clean one and also ran a comb through snarled pink-streaked hair, just to get the knots out and tie it all up into a sloppy sort of bun. “We’re off, then,” she grinned, remembering to hit the lights and lock up. Her keys jangled on the ring as she considered the question. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it? So...neutral, I suppose.” At the very least, she’d be introduced to something new. And get to eat ice cream, which was one of the most important parts. Overall, a much better crawfish boil than she’d been anticipating. |