Jan 29 03:46:19 108 PA - Last Minute Recruit Notification
From Chronicles
Jan 29 03:46:19 108 PA.
YAKOV'S DELI
Yakov's Deli seems to always be a bit of a misnomer. Still, the truth of the matter is that it does cater to those with a hankering for Russian cuisine. The lunch hour is second only to the dinner hour as far as number of customers, but even then, the numbers are small, as the establishment itself is small. Various smells of meat and vegetables mixed together in unique dishes greet anyone coming in from the fierce snow outdoors. Gabriel is seated distant from the door, but within a booth, on a bench-seat, and near the window where snowflakes continue to smack. Before him are two bowls of a pudding- or custard-type consistency, a plate of small pastries, and a very large cup of what smells vaguely like coffee... but not quite. As he eats, he seems to be reading one of the various newspapers that Kingsdale offers.
Some people do come here for deli sandwiches! Sebastien apparently got the memo, because he slides in when appointed to the deli. Finally outside of his armor and his fetish outfit, he steps initially to the counter to place an order, watching it made as individuals are wont to do, and he finally slips away to wander the small establishment, head on the swivel. Those blue eyes catch sight of Gabriel, and with a soft 'clink' a plate hits the table opposite the man, with a tall-stacked sandwich atop it. Sourdough bread, pastrami, ham, lettuce, green onion, sprouts, oozing some sort of Italian dressing. It has entirely not enough mayonnaise for a Russian restaurant, but Sebastien seems pleased anyway. "You called?"
Interesting. Not exactly Russian cuisine. But it is also a deli - just seems rather insulting to rape its menu that way. Still, Gabriel is a fairly easygoing guy, and he raises a hand in greeting - fork in their air - and calls softly (because that's all that's needed in this place), "Privet, moi drug Sebastian," he pats his other hand on the tabletop and points to the opposite bench. "Please, sit. Yeah, I sent that message earlier. Join me - and pick up some real food, for God's sake!" He smiles broadly, and toothily before dipping his fork and a rapidly-appearing knife into one of the little pastry-dumplings.
Sebastien smirks at Gabriel, replying smoothly, "Bonjour Vieux, pouquoi est-ce que ce n'est pas la vraie nourriture? Avez-vous un probleme avec les choux?" He raises his eyebrows and peers at the man, sliding in to lift the sandwich and take a big -- crunchy -- bite. He tilts his head to the right, chewing with obvious pleasure.
"Touché," Gabriel offers with a subtle wave of his loaded fork. But there is commentary, in the form of, "I never did care for the French. Bunch of fucking collaborators. Don't know who's worse, the French, or the Italians. Where'd you learn, anyway, my friend?" The fork disappears, and he takes a drink of the large mug of amber liquid, watching the other man to find an answer. His best shot is, "I know parts of Canada's still around. Quebec. They spoke French, at least when I was there."
"I've never known the French," Sebastien replies, and he shrugs. "My parents grew up outside of Quebec. You know, the Coalition proper. And they were sent to the ass-end of the States for," he waves over his plate. "We've been over this. Actually, there is a reasonable francophone community at the Gate. There is a certain pride in the language," he notes, the essence of that held plainly in his voice. "I've learned many languages, but that one remains my favorite."
Nodding, Gabriel says simply, "It's good to be multilingual. Very useful in blending in. Of course, some of us have drawls that have to be filtered out." The older man smiles with his lips wrapped around another fork-full of whatever that meal is that he's eating. "Anyway, to business, then perhaps we can chat. The other day, you told me that you spoke to Miss Erica and Miss Celaeno, and they had absolutely no interest. Well, I couldn't find Miss Celaeno, but I did find Miss Erica - actually had another need to talk with her, too, so it made things go more smoothly." Whatever he's saying is interrupted as he moves over to cut another piece out of what appears to be a dumpling of loose flour, a viscous white cheese, and some type of ground beef. Perhaps pork or venison.
Sebastien nods at that, 'mmhmm'ing an affirmative. "And were you able to get her interested? I did mention you might have more success than I." He smirks at that, working on his own sandwich. He tilts his head, adding, "And did you mention the upcoming meeting? I do believe it is mandatory."
Gabriel ticks off points with down-up waggles of his fork. "Yes, and yes. Interested enough to attend the meeting. But I was just as honest with her as I was with you - I don't feel better about it, and I walk. I imagine that she feels the same way. So thank me, but don't throw money and flowers at me just yet." The older man winks at his own joke. "Alexandre was too fucking vague for me to really know what he's looking for, but I've been wondering if I shouldn't try approaching Miss Valeriya. Real soft, you know. Just try to get her to the meeting, too. After that, everyone can decide for themselves. But at least give them a chance to hear things... even if some of it might be a flat-out lie." Clearly, Colonel Gabriel Blaze, USMC, commanding officer, 21st Brigade Combat Strike Team, and later Special Agent Blaze, Central Intelligence Agency, does not have a real good feeling about the folks who've ridden into Kingsdale recently.
Sebastien leans back, chewing slowly. "So," he mentions. "We are in limbo. But I don't think..." He frowns, dipping his head. "Is it that I have met this Valeriya person? But so many of the people I know have slipped on, it's hard to say that I would only run with my old crew. The only people who stay around are those who don't fight. I suppose there's a moral in that, but somehow I'm still kicking!" He grunts out a laugh, "I mean, I shocked Tirzah when I told her I didn't expect to see thirty, yet here I am coming up to it and she's..." He shakes his head. "I don't even know how that happened."
"I can tell you basically what happened, but it's not my place," Gabriel admits. "I wouldn't say we're in limbo, though. Hardly. We have at least one other person as a potential comrade. Doesn't sound bad to me. I mean, you couldn't have expected everyone who heard about this whole problem to sign on without any other information, did you? Only a fool would do that." He chomps down another bite of dumpling, then adds, rather rudely, considering that his mouth is full, "It is better to weep with wise men than to laugh with fools. Some Spanish guy said that. Seems applicable."
Sebastien shakes his head. "So we have Erica. We're still spinning our wheels. Relax, Gabriel. We said all this yesterday. The most important thing you can do is wait patiently. So." He smiles, not seeming to mind speaking with a full mouth. "Tell me. You mentioned you had news of Erica, and then a point of business. What is the business?" Sebastien leans forward, curious.
"Patience is a virtue, and so is thorough preparation." Gabriel then waves off the other note about Erica. "Oh, that. Nothing really. After that little encounter the other day, and all of my previous encounters here, I've decided that I need to have a better method than feet to get out of trouble. Hence... hiring her to teach me how to get around in a jet pack." He ends with a shrug and bite of dumpling.
Sebastien looks evenly at Gabriel, face blank, just staring at the man. His lips twitch, finally, as he can't hold it in any longer, and Sebastien laughs aloud, long and hard. "Well," Sebastien decides, lifting his sandwich, "Maybe I won't be the only human pinball! Listen, I thought the same as you. Instant transportation! Always with you! But unless you are a pilot, or get special training? Those are notoriously difficult to use. I may have crashed mine more often than I have successfully landed it." He begins sliding out of his booth, saying in parting, "There's nothing to prepare for yet. Don't worry. This time tomorrow? We can be a bundle of activity. Today? Just relax. We'll get there." He winks, rising to stand.
Gabriel remains seated, simply nodding at the other man's humor. "You take care, Sebastian. On your way out, ask them for some pashka, to go. You'll love it, I promise." If there's nothing more to be said, he'll bob a body-language, "I'll be in touch," then return to his meal.
