Nov 25 02:37:46 107 PA
From Chronicles
Nov 25 02:37:46 107 PA Kingsdale - Yakov's Deli
The deli is empty at the moment, only Rasputin working away well into the late evening. The soft baritone of Rasputin's voice rings out his song is in Russian of course. He is working through the a large bucket of potatoes. Peeling them, dicing them, and placing them in a bowl for use later.
Some people keep odd hours, and Leonard is certainly one of them. This also leads to equally odd meal times, which brings him into the deli. "You are still open, I hope?" He's fairly sure that there wouldn't be any singing potato-peelers if they were closed, but it can't hurt to ask.
Rasputin continues to sing as he finishes up the potato in his hand. He looks over to you and smiles. He walks over and begins to wash his hands in the sink. Then, still having not said a word he comes back to the counter, steps up on a ledge hidden from view and now that he can look over the counter he says, "Da, da. Dobryj vecer. Welcomes to mink deli. What would you be linkink?"
Leonard lifts a hand to wave and approaches the counter. "Food? Other than that, I'm open to suggestions, not to mention famished." He still has a decent sense of humor and can chuckle, though."
Rasputin nods slowly and eyes you a moment. He tugs his beard, frowns and then goes to wash his hands again. After which he gets to work on making some food for you, "Rye goodink? And, roast beef?" He smiles and starts to work on the sandwich, "How aboutink some soup and a drink, " He thinks a moment, "Coffee, or perhapsink coco or tea?" He smiles as he looks up a moment.
"That sounds perfect, thank you." Leonard nods, then realizes the last portion was a choice. "Oh, coffee, please. Some caffeine to counteract the time." He takes a moment to look over the empty deli. "I don't recall whether I've visited here before, and certainly not recently. That is ironic."
It is late in the evening. Two figures are in the Deli. A short bearded individual as well as an average gentalman. Rasputin's skilled hands have quickly make up a large sandwich. Then he ladles up a bowl of soup and pours a large mug of coffee. He places it all on large plate. He brings it out to a table, "Pleasink be sittink, da?" There are no other individuals in the Deli at the moment.
Leonard takes the advice and claims a seat at a table as the plate, bowl, and mug are incoming. "It is much easier to eat that way, isn't it." He isn't fully aware of Rasputin's stature until he emerges from behind the counter, but it isn't a great surprise. "Thank you. Are you a native of kingsdale?" Even if the accent suggests otherwise, Leonard is being polite. If nothing else, the sandwich looks and smells delicious. A bite confirms it tastes that, also.
Celaeno lurches into the deli in a haze, taking a moment to compose herself just inside the doors before taking a few steps to the counter. Peering over to see, well, nobody, she pivots slowly to scan the area. "Which one of you's the cook?" she asks, apparently not yet registering faces - something that she slowly begins getting around to with a grunt.
Rasputin smiles at Leonard's words and grins, "Da, sittink is dery goodink." He grins and shakes his head, 'Net, dhough I am beink livink here for manies years, da." He turns back and looks to the new arrival to the deli. "Dobryj vecer, I am beink da chef. What can I beink doink for you?" He nods to Leonard to allow him to eat his meal, and walks back over to behind the counter so he can be ready to assist the new customer.
Leonard simply nods, now that one bite has grown to two and three. He can look to Celaeno easily enough while he chews, though. After some curiosity about whether her peering question is blunt, crass, or just Celaeno.
"A pound of your best meat, a pound of your worst meat, and a pound of one in the middle," Celaeno states brightly, apparently exuberant at being served. "You have cheeses? Give me half a pound of every cheese you have. And then fry me up something, with lots of little crunchy bits," her fingers come up in a pinching motion to show just how small the bits should be, "and a few big soggy flavoury bits." She pauses to consider something, "Maybe do those in reverse, so I get the food first and then the rest when I'm leaving." She takes a step back from the counter, peering left and then right, almost conspiratorially before turning to simply lean on it the counter with one arm. "How's it going, Len-lenifer?" she asks before quickly saying in an aside to Rasputin, "And also you?"
Rasputin chuckles loudly, "Da, da. Which typink of meat? Beef, pork, poultry? Every typink of cheese? Are you sures?" He grins, "Da, da. OKink." He ponders the food request and tugs his beard a moment as he thinks, "Crunchy bits, da?" He chuckles a few moments and then snaps his fingers and goes about to making some sort of pasta mixture with crunchy bits, and large soggy flavoury bits. His hands move quickly, and with precise skill. "Pleasink takink a seat, would you be linking somethink to be drinkink?"
"Hello, Cel," Leonard even smiles her way after he's done chewing. "How are you this wondering evening?" He doesn't ask where the Len-lenifer came from. "Are you undecided, uncaring, or just very hungry?" She's an easy customer for Rasputin, at least.
Celaeno's eyes flash to Rasputin, "Poultry's not meat, it's chicken. As for the other two, surprise me - and yes, every kind, if you would, if you would. Make it spicy, spicy, with a tall glass of milk," she says before sliding to sit one table across from Leonard, one eyebrow lifting at the question. "Undecided? I'm quite decided. I want the best, the worst, and something in the middle. Who cares what it is?" She shrugs, "Oh. And leetle crunchy bits."
Rasputin chuckles and keeps on cooking this meal for the very odd and demanding individual. "Da, da. Spicey, we can be doink dhat." It only takes him a few minutes, and then he plates it up onto a large plate. He sprinkles something green on it for color, and a dash of something red in color. He pours out a large glass of milk and then he serves up the food to table near Leonard, for easy conversation. "Da, pleasink, seeink if dis is to your taste?"
Leonard chuckles and shakes his head at Celaeno. "Why all three when one will do?" It's probably a semi-rhetorical question, and he doesn't even touch the poulty debate. "I recommend the roast beef." Which is what he returns to eating while Rasputin serves his other waiting customer.
Shifting position in her chair in order to get comfortable, Celaeno doesn't respond to the proffered food for a few moments. Once her positioning is to her liking, she immediately begins tearing into the food in front of her, eating quickly and ravenously before coming to a sudden stop. "'s good, 's good," she says, merrily to Rasputin, flashing a contented smile. "And see, you get all three because life's about experiences, right? One's good if you like having one all the time, but when you can have all of them all the time, well hey, that's nice. Also: I happen to like cheeses."
Rasputin tugs his beard, and then looks to both. He then goes back to the counter and begins to continue his work on the large bucket of potatoes. He looks up and chuckles, "I am of the tastink of sayink one should always be havink da best foodink. Net time for poor food, dis why I'm a chef, da?" He seems to be cutting and dicing potatoes on auto pilot. "Are you needink more coffee? Or more soup?"
"Not yet," Leonard answers Rasputin, "and I agree. Why aim low if you can get the best you can afford?" A smirk forms when he pans to Celaeno. "I've had more than enough experience at the bottom, thank you. I much prefer everything far above that, and I'm quite fond of cheese, myself."
Celaeno just shakes her head sadly, taking a much more modest bite from her plate, "No, no, no," she says. "You're both wrong." Another bite before she takes a long draw on the milk, "Good food's good by definition - quality in, quality out - but if you can take the trash and make it delicious, that's where it goes. But me? I can't cook, and what's wrong with a girl getting a midnight craving for some gristle or stringy-chewy bits?" She clicks.
Rasputin shrugs as he finishes another potatoe, "Da, one must have had poor to know goodink, dhough I had mink share of poor. I am likink good now." He chuckles, "Dhough, food is goodink for boths of you, da?" He finishes with the potatoes and moves on to carrots.
Leonard agrees once more, especially after following the sandwich with the soup, but he just chuckles. "I wasn't trying to criticize your tastes, Cel, simply curious. There's nothing wrong with it. Everyone gets hungry." A motion to the chef. "As he said, food is good for everyone."
Celaeno settles back into a steady stream of consumption, nodding merrily again at Rasputin's inquiry, "Quite good, quite good. I'm just saying, there's something to be said for a dry chunk of week old grizzle or a chewy pot of boiled entrails. Brings you right back to your childhood, hey?" She takes a sip of her milk and turns on her chair so she's no longer facing Leonard.
Rasputin chuckles and works through the carrots as quickly as the potatoes. "Net, those types of thinks are survival food, but net will beink in my deli." He shudders a bit as he thinks about food of his childhood. He looks up as Celaeno turns his chair to face away from Leonard. He thinks about this and is about to grab his beard, but stops as he goes back to carrots.
Leonard grimaces at the mental image made while he tries to eat, or from the reminder of childhood. "What's usually said is 'Yuck.' I grew up and left that behind for a reason." After pushing aside those pleasant thoughts and forcing the gorge back down, he resumes eating with a shift in topic and target. "Where are you from, originally?" is directed towards Rasputin.
Celaeno is unfazed by her nostalgia, sliding the glass back to the table as she moves to pick up the plate with one hand and continue eating with the other. A simple tsking is given at Leonard's statement, but she doesn't follow it up with any questions or comments, content to let the two have their conversation
Rasputin looks over to Leonard and grins, "Da cold lovink and smotherink mother Russia of course. da." He grins a bit, "Why would you be askink?" He finishes his carrots and then thinks about the next bit of prep work he must get done for the morning.
"Curiosity." Leonard shrugs, finishing the last of his soup, or the last of what he chooses to eat, that is. "You're a long way from there, I'd say. Not that I'm not glad you chose to venture here. I'm no better a cook than she is." He tips his head slightly towards the turned Celarno.
Celaeno gives a little wave at the motion to her, smiling warmly before diving back into her food. "Russia, hey? Where's that?" she asks, contributing.
Rasputin chuckles as he pulls out a bunch of bell peppers and starts to work on coring them and dicing them up. "Da, da. Mink people started a journey to be comink somewhere. Our home was no longer safe, da." He smiles, "Dhus little Russian came to beink here in Kingsdale, da." He pauses a moment, "Well, din da Dregs anyway." He thinks a moment, "As to where Russia is located, dis far, far to the east. Over a great sea and over a great mountains. Dis many years journey."
Leonard joins the lighter tone of Rasputin's chuckle. "Most places aren't safe, but I easily understand. My journey wasn't quite that far, but it seemed it. I should visit the larger Russia sometime. It's one of the areas I've yet to see for myself."
Celaeno eyes the two for a moment before rising to her feet, plate still in her hands. "Can I get the rest of this thrown in some sort of box, and then get the rest of my order, if you would be so kind?" Her eyelashes flutter as she stretches, "Not that this ancestral homeland of yours doesn't sound fascinating. What was your particular brand of unsafe?"
Rasputin nods and quickly comes over to pack up your meal. Then goes about packaging up three bundles of meat, all very choice cuts. They are high, medium and low, but high medium and low of a high overall quality. He then goes about making up the grand daddy of a cheese plate. As he does all of this, "Our form of unsafe, you are askink? Da Lords of War, da. Men twisted by machine. Driven to kill and destroy." He shakes his head, "Dhey are nasty types, da. Dlavers."
"Ooohhh, machine-men. Nasty," Celaeno nods as she begins gathering her things up, sliding producing a credit-chit and sliding it across the counter to cover the likely quite expensive costs. "What keeps them from freezing in the cold? Seems like it'd be a pain if your joints were always locking in place."
Rasputin chuckles, "Mink never asked dhem dhat. Dhey perhapsink use anti-freeze or somethink." He shakes his head a moment, "Mink prayink dhat dhouse humans here, dever think to be doink dhat the Lords of Russian are doink. It would be net goodink." He takes and the credit chit and transfers the money. "You beink takink care, da? Dhile dhere are net machine men, dhere are others dhat go bunkink in da night, da?"
Celaeno gathers everything up in a big armful, giving a bright, "Thanks for the food, Dorby, see you around Lennoferson. And I bump too, so they'd best know to keep their distance." She gives a full-teethed grin before moving to stumble back out.
