Still badgering away at The Chicken Salad War and I did not realize how delighted I was going to be by introducing semi-masc nonbinary Jes Deimos to gallant butch Ylias Lazaar. I don't quite know where their subplot is going to go if anywhere but I feel like it may be somewhere awesome.
"Mr. Lazaar," said a familiar voice, and she turned to see LeFevre at her elbow, looking pleased. "A great success for you, I think."
"Seems to have gone all right, yeah," she agreed. "I heard you were going to crash."
"Alas, I could not -- I ended up invited," he said, grinning.
"And you brought guests?"
"Ah, I didn't mean to bring the royal family down on your head so soon," he said, leaning in. "They are terrible gossips; I should have remembered when I told King Theophile that he would likely share the information. Still, His Grace Gerald is pleased you use his oil and His Grace Michaelis enjoyed the matbucha greatly."
"And you? No constructive criticism?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I have never opened a restaurant myself, but I can understand this is your triumph! And in any case they are small quibbles. I will need to dine here more times before I speak," he replied. Someone tapped him on the arm, and he turned, then nodded at the person standing just behind him -- the one who'd been speaking with the old king a moment before. "Mr. Lazaar, may I present Ser Deimos, who came with His Grace. This is Mr. Lazaar, the chef of the hour. She/her," he added with a smile.
Ser Deimos looked amused. "They/them," they said, holding out a hand. "We're honored to be able to attend -- I don't think we realized when Gerald told us he was going that it was your soft open."
"It's my pleasure. Not everyone gets to feed the royal family on their first night," she replied, bowing over their hand. "And you're an ornament to any dining room."
Deimos looked delighted. "Thank you, that's kind of you to say. If I'd known the food was going to be this good I'd have scared up a party. I have a lot of friends in from out of country at the moment."
"Well, we open reservations tomorrow morning -- but for the royal family, I can set aside a table," Ylias replied.
"Don't, just yet," Deimos said, looking around. "I'm thinking more of a party. Could we rent the restaurant?"
"The whole restaurant?" Ylias asked, blinking. Simon looked smug.
"If not, that's fine -- we'll take the offer of a table -- but my son's graduating next week, and we were thinking of a group dinner the night before. Simon here is catering the night of," they added. "It'll be twenty or thirty people, and some of them have been doubtful that Fons-Askaz could live up to New York, foodwise. Yes, I felt the same," they added, catching Ylias's expression. "The only thing Fons-Askaz can't offer that New York can is the pizza, and only because our Eddie hasn't got the time to open a pizza restaurant."
"I hadn't..." Ylias fumbled slightly. "I'm sorry, we have a catering menu but I hadn't arranged any kind of contract for renting the space. It'd need to be a handshake deal and I couldn't quote a fee off the top of my head."
"Of course, I threw this at you with no warning. Here," they said, reaching into their pocket for a wallet and pulling out a card. "Email or phone is fine. If you can send me a proposal by Sunday, I can make a deposit on Monday. I'm comfortable with an informal deal as long as we have terms written out over email. If you don't feel ready, just let me know -- we'll definitely be back regardless."
"I'll be in touch," Ylias managed. Deimos gave her a bow and a smile, and retreated to their table.
[Then, later]
As they left Plate & Press, full of good food and possibly slightly tipsy, Jes leaned against Michaelis's arm and said, "Holy shit."
He gave them an amused look. "Yes, the food was very good. Nice space, too. I can't remember the last time I had such a pleasant evening out."
"Well, yeah, but I meant the chef," they said. He glanced at them, frowning.
"The Lazaar fellow?"
"Lady, I think. Uncertain, actually. Butch, possibly. She/her but Simon called her Mr. Lazaar."
"I noticed her, but I didn't see anything particularly unusual. Why?"
"I love you to bits but you're hopeless," they said. "You really didn't think she was hot?"
"I don't form opinions about sex appeal, generally," he reminded them. "Present company excepted."
"Well, she is hot in a very specific way -- like you, actually, sort of masculine and chivalrous -- and she called me an ornament to her dining room. I may have had a little moment."
He laughed. "Oh dear, am I going to have to fight a chef for your favors?"
"No, it's just nice to know I still got it."
He kissed the side of their head, affectionate. "You're an ornament wherever you go, but I'll make a note to remind you of it more often. Seems she's making a stir -- Simon likes her also, I think. Sometime soon we're going to have to kick Gregory and Eddie out of the residence for an evening, and I think I'll recommend that place for dinner. Gregory loves Tunisian food and I think Eddie would find a lot to interest him."
"You just want to spend a whole evening cuddling babies," Jes said.
"Joan and the twins all require the benefit of my wisdom on a regular basis," he said. There was a wolf-whistle directed at them from somewhere over their heads; some young wag, out on the second-floor balcony of a small hotel, clearly getting an early start on Pride. She waved a pink-and-blue flag in their direction.
"You can't have him!" Jes called.
"I was whistling at you!" the girl called back.
"I'll take him," her friend offered from the chair next to her.
Michaelis chuckled. "Drink some water, young ladies, or you'll be in no condition for the parade this weekend," he called.
"Vodka's sixty percent water!" someone on another balcony shouted, and someone else yelled for everyone to keep it down, and the discussion went on without them.
108 notes
·
View notes