Jan 17 13:34:56 110 PA - Close Encounters with a Grumpy Russian of the Third Kind
From Chronicles
Jan 17 13:34:56 110 PA.
YAKOV'S DELI
It is a light Friday lunch rush. Only a few tables remain at 13:36, so much so that Rasputin is reading a paper and sipping some warm tea at a small table in the back. He isn't really watching the deli at all. A lovely and young waitress, with a little name tag of 'Anya' on it is behind the counter just twirling her hair waiting for someone to put in an order.
The door swings open with dramatic flare, to belch out what might be the shortest adult fellow in the room. With lengthy ears flopping, Fooper stops just inside the door to brush the early seasonal snow from his shoulders. Being as round as a beach ball and slightly larger, he does unfortunately jam the entry for a few second, leading to a traffic jam of epic restaurantean proportions before stepping aside with apologies heavily tainted with a Southwest accent. A pause is made just inside, as a clearly expert nose seeks out the source of the smells, and he inevitably finds himself at the counter. Hopefully it is a low counter. With what can't be anything less than an eye for attractive women, he does his best to lean casually on an elbow. "Hey," he says by way of addressing Anya. "How's it goin'?" Food be damned, apparently.
Anya wrinkles her nose a bit then smiles, "Hello there, it is going well. Is there something I can get for you?" Her smile may be plastic, but it still is a good smile. "Something to eat or drink perhaps?"
The lovely young waitress asks her question just in time to cut off Fooper's reply of, "I don't know, is there?" Instead, he has to settle for going for a winning smile. Still, the minor intrusion jolts him enough that the Lothario gets pocketed for now. "Ah, well. You could, but I'm a little short 'a cash right now, ma'am. You got anything fer free?" The open announcement of what is - by his account - his financial situation doesn't seem to phase his style. That's just the way it is. Fooper stops to flop an ear back. With the continuing accent, he asks, "So, this is like a foreign spot? No dancin' or music?"
Anya looks at Fooper oddly and tilts her head, "Free? Well, no, not really. We charge for everything here, it is a Deli after all." She giggles a little bit and smiles a bit, "But you are in the little section of the city called Little Russia, well kind of."
"Oh." There's a short pause while the personable Fooper collects his thoughts. "You wouldn't deny a guy a glass 'a water, would ya? Just a little one?" He holds a set of long fingers out to narrow them before his eyes, and then resumes his previous attempt at a casual lean. "That mean there's a big Russia somewhere? Never heard of it. Food smells different, though. Maybe... maybe I could buy myself a sandwich or something by workin' the kitchen or somethin' for a little while? Then triple it and take you off for night on the town?" He winks. "On me, of course. The tab, not you. Unless you wanted to... No, no, I'm terrible, I'm terrible," he laughs. "Name's Fooper. You would be...?" He offers an outstretched hand, palm up and a perfect place for a lovely woman to deposit her identity.
Anya giggles, and pours a glass of water and places it in the outstreched hand, "Anya is my name." She grins a bit and says, "Well, you would have to speak with the owner regarding a job, and as for me, well I have a boyfriend, sorry." She smiles and nods over at the individual on the chair with the paper and sipping tea.
Fooper accepts the water happily and with good graces. "Ah, muchas gracias, m'lady!" For an oddly round D-Bee of possibly indeterminate young-ish age, he certainly has - or tries- flair. Eyes turning, he takes up a little more of Anya's time. "Fella have a name, before I go over and interrupt 'im? Cuz I'm honestly not lookin' fer a job. Just thought maybe an hour 'a washin' dishes er something would pay for... ah, whatever it is that's making that good smell." Question clarified, he still pauses, water in hand, to try and catch a name.
Anya nods, "Rasputin is his name." She smiles, "And he is just reading the paper, if was doing something really focused I would have warned you." With that she turns to start clean down the case glass, just to make sure it shines nicely for the next round of customers.
Fooper flashes another smile - it's not straight or really white, but hey, it's him. Then, sipping at his water as if it were a glass of cognac or fine brandy, the strangely-shaped man makes his way toward the other short fellow in the place. He moves in close; closer than most would, but not exactly standing on Rasputin before saying, "Hola! The little lady at the counter says that I should talk to you about some extremely temporary employment. Name's Fooper." Even if he needs to talk into the back of the newspaper, nothing seems to dampen his spirits. "You'd be Rasputin?" he ventures.
Rasputin bends down his paper and looks to whom is speaking to him. He then closes it, and lays it down, to get a better look. He tugs his beard, "Da, hello." He thinks a moment and then says, "Mink net looking to employ someone for extremely short period of time, makes waste in trainink someone." He tugs his beard again, "Why are you lookink for short term job?"
"Oh, I understand, sir. Just trying to find some better food than what I can drag out of gutter," Fooper replies amicably. "Y'know, work it off for a meal, that kind of thing. Works back home, any rate. Show up, do somethin' for a few hours, get some chow, move on. But I understand, you've got a restaurant and employees already. Well oiled, I'm sure, if you have time to read a paper," he says as a tentative observation. There's a bit of a lengthy moment of pause before he asks, "Okay, how 'bout you can point me toward some place called 'Lady Luck'? Nice lady up north said it might work."
Rasputin nods slowly, "Da, da. Mink glad you are understandink." He tugs his beard again, "As for Lady Luck, it is a few blocks to the east and a few blocks to the south." He pauses and says, "Dhough, mink wouldn't suggestink just wanderink dhere. Dhat is gettink into da deep Dregs. Net a kind place to be goink, unless you are knowink someone."
Fooper spreads out his long arms in a 'whattreyagonnado' gesture. "Don't know anybody, don't have cash, don't have work... sounds like the last place to go. But yes, I've been told to keep an eye out in the Dregs. Not even sure if here counts as the Dregs or not, just from what I've been told." He drains his glass of water in a long gulp. "Ah. Thank you very much." He looks around the place, momentarily at a loss for words. But not too long. He turns back to Rasputin, flashing a smile. "I'd love to sit and chat with someone who's barely taller than myself, but without an excuse to pause, I might not have the time right now. If I can read your mind... would you buy me a meal?" A deck of cards seems to magically appear in his left hand, no box, just ready to use.
Rasputin eyes you and the cards, says, "Dwell, if you were to read mink mind, in my own shop, mink would most likely consider dit assault, and accordingly." He raises his hand and snaps his fingers, a slight red flame licks it a moment, "Mink likes mink mind unread by anyone else but mink self, da." His voice is fairly businesslike and 'as matter of fact, "And mink would be careful regradink such boasts," He eyes the cards and doesn't seem to have much more to say.
The short and round fellow takes note of the flame right away, but continues on. Unfortunately, his words are a little flat. "But... what if I were to say, this wasn't your *average* mind reading. Because honestly, it's not. When I say 'blow your mind' it's entirely metaphorically, I assure you." He steps back then, looking at Rasputin and sizing up the entire conversation. "I have either caught you at a bad time, or have been a poor guest. I hope that the animated girl can rub off some of her smile on you. So, I guess... good day." Finding Rasputin a gruff fellow, Fooper starts to move along, stopping here and there at other guests for brief snippets of conversation on his way to the door.
Rasputin shakes his head, and watches from his small table as Fooper wanders through his establishment. He narrows his eyes as he gazes towards the little figure. He picks up the tea, and sips it without taking his eyes off of the rolly-polly little figure.
With no one to stop him, and no one offering a free meal, Fooper finds his way to the door and out into the falling snow, looking for Lady Luck.
