A Quick Bite [Alphonse x Izzabel]

I really can't stand boredom. I know, shocker, right? Me, the kid who could never sit still for more than maybe 5 seconds before I started squirming around, can't handle an uneventful day here and there? Who would've ever guessed? But I bring it up because today had started out as a real snooze-fest of a day. More than usual by my take of things.

Not that being stuck in the back of the stuffy kitchen of Chez Jacquard scraping dried sauce off of plates and washing the lipstick stains off the rims of Jacquard's precious crystal glassware was ever really a recipe for excitement. I mean sure, the odd day the odd half-eaten dish makes its way back to me and, if I was ever so inclined and it looked salvageable enough, I got to scarf down the rich remnants. Sure, a bit gross, but food costs money and if I had any of that I'd hardly be stuck doing this damn job in the first place. Besides, Jacquard may be a gruff old frenchman, but I have to admit the man is a savant when it comes to food. I don't know that I've ever tasted scraps as good as his in my life. The reputation his place has with the deep-pocketed diners of District Eight is well earned, I'll tell you that. Once I even got lucky enough to get a whole butter tart a customer had left untouched, and I swear I dreamt of that thing for weeks after.

Today though not even a crumb of a butter tart, or any real piece of food, seemed to make its way back to my tub of dished to be washed up. There hadn't been as many customers as usual, and it made the time grind to a torturous halt. When it’s a constant stream of dishes to wash I can at least let my body shift into autopilot and let my mind wander onto more interesting topics. When you're getting one or two plates and the odd glass every 15 minutes, it's pitiful trying to find ways to make the task stretch until more dirty dishes can make their way to me.

Eventually I had decided to just wait it out a bit longer and let the dishes pile up to something that justified filling the deep sink with soapy water, and spending the meantime off in my own head. I was still abuzz with the thought of my new ally in my mission for a better District, Astrid. Her alpaca fabric had been exactly what I had needed, and the plan worked. Top marks, and now I could feel the eyes lingering on me from the Academy's big shots.

In the middle of me planning out when I could next make my way to the market to find her and update her, Jacquard had stumbled upon me leaning up against a crate, away from the small pile of grimy plates that were clearly not being washed. The man began chewing me out between French profanities that would've been sure to get some of his regular patrons clutching at their pearls if they knew what he was saying. But once he was satisfied he'd angered himself enough to turn an appropriate shade of red behind that scruff on his face, I was finally able to protest that there simply was not enough dishes to be washing at all times. Jacquard, the merciful man he is, concurred, and my heavy boredom in the back of the kitchen turned into only mild boredom of working the tables instead.

I can't say it's much better than the kitchen, out there in front. At least in the back I can skulk around, talk to myself, wear whatever expression tickles me pink and say whatever I feel like saying. Out in the front I have to put on my professional face, mind my language, and provide l'ambiance that Jacquard prides himself on. I already spend enough time putting on my most gentlemanly behaviour at the Academy, so this ends up just feeling like some kind of bothersome homework project most of the time. At least the practice means I'm not too bad at it, and the odd customer will give me a good enough tip to go treat myself at the market to some good or other.

It's also a nice spot for people watching, which really helps keep that damn boredom at bay. Today there had been a few interesting tables to come in; A man in a surprisingly tall hat came in, dined alone, and left without saying a word other than his order. A set of parents with their young daughter, seemingly deaf to her incessant whining. A professor from the academy dining intimately with a woman I knew for a fact was not his wife. That one was tricky to keep distance from, but I also knew if I got too close or lingered too long I could jeopardize all of the good work I'd done for myself so far. Curiosity kills the cat or something.

The most interesting of the day came in towards the late afternoon; a girl not much older than me, who sat at a table in the corner on her own, brushing me off at first on the insistence she was waiting for someone. Only as 'just a minute away' turned into just fifteen minutes later, I kept catching her anxiously checking the door for this mysterious dinner date of hers. She was a real looker of a girl too; tall and slim, dazzling eyes, some strong cheekbones. Whoever was standing her up was fumbling the bag here, not that it was really my place to say anything.

I gave the pretty ball of anxiety five more minutes of looking over at the door before I finally stepped back towards her table, an unrequested mug of peppermint tea in hand. "On the house, for your wait." I told her as I set the steaming mug down. I was risking pissing Jacquard off for the second time today but hey, it was one sachet of dried leaves at the end of the day, not like I robbed his coffers. Besides, I couldn't help but pity the poor girl in her wait (alright, maybe there was a teeny bit of flattery in mind, too.) As I looked into her eyes swimming with her own stories, I figured she might be a good bet for livening up the humdrum of the day. "Mind if I ask who we're waiting on this evening?"