February 13, 2010
2pm

Ah, Calaveras.  It didn't suck.

Nate trotted the final few steps up to the back stairs down to the kitchens on a grey afternoon.  It was well after the lunch rush and so a time when kitchen staff were occupied with prep for the night, side work, and other on-going tasks.  Calaveras always seemed to have customers, but the early afternoon crowd was subdued.  Nate always had an inkling that's when Meredith Renfield entertained her criminal friends.  Nothing was ever said straight up, out in the open, and so far, Nate hadn't been tasked with anything compromising.  Which was very, very good considering how just last October he had earned himself a rather fat file at the Ministry of Magic.  If he never saw an Auror again, that'd be fan-freaking-tastic.    Perhaps working at Calaveras wasn't the best way to go about it, but like we discussed: it didn't suck.  Pay was good, the work was mindless, and he didn't have to shave.

Nate didn't usually worked this shift, but he'd okay'd Frankie 's request to provide some extra help to their new pastry chef.  So long as he didn't have to cook anything - god, that had been the hardest part of this job honestly.  Convincing everyone that no, god, he didn't want to cook.

He shucked his coat on the hooks and peeled off his boots to don a pair of cruddy loafers he wore around the kitchen.  Scooped up a chef's white double-breasted coat they all wore there and picked his way through the labyrinthine storage areas and wine cellars up to the main kitchen.  He checked the schedule on the wall, flicked through requests from other employees for time off, and found a half-done crossword from an old Daily Prophet.  Just the usual washers and prep chef were in the kitchen, but no new pastry chef. 

"Oi Frankie," he asked the large bald day manager who was at the window.  "Frankie, who's this I'm waiting on?"

"Button up, Nathan," was Frankie's gruff response, eyeing Nate's undone jacket.  "And stay in back today - got me? We've got important company and no one wants to see your rat face."

Nate scowled and pulled away from the window.  His reputation of having sold Sellaphix up the river hadn't spread far, but to those it touched, it hit hard.  And Renfield's top hit man / manager seemed ever resentful he had to associate with someone so clearly un-criminal as Briggs. 

"Blighty half-troll..." he mumbled as he disappeared back into the kitchen, and certainly not buttoning anything up.

Candice had been settling into her new job at Calaveras. Routine was something which generally suited her quite well, but it seemed to be lacking at her new place of employment- the witch had yet to decide if this was good or if it was bad. The only thing she knew to be very good indeed was that her new employer had been kind enough to allow her the evening off. It was surprising, considering that the following day was Valentine's Day- sure to be incredibly busy, especially since there was some sort of big event being hosted at the site. But Dolly's book launch was later that evening, and Candice had really wanted to go- and somehow, she was going to be able to.

The only thing was, in order to attend, Candice had to do quite a bit of preparation for tomorrow today. There were some things that just couldn't be baked a day ahead of time or they wouldn't be as delicious, but some things (like fudge and certain chocolates) would hardly be any different. Besides, if nothing else Candice could pre-measure ingredients for large batches of baked goods and store them away, so that when it came time to bake tomorrow she would need to only mix everything and throw it into the oven.

The work environment at Calaveras was certainly much less hostile, and even with just the few days Candy had been employed, she had been more relaxed than she ever was working at the ministry. She didn't feel like everyone hated her- but then again, she hadn't yet had time to make them hate her. Candice had been busy working and putting together different samples for the head chef and for the owner to try. They were still testing her skills, and understandably so, yet it seemed they had all been pleasantly surprised by her aptitude. Candice had even given the head chef a hand in areas other than her own specific expertise, boosting her own reputation of not only being helpful in the kitchen- but also skilled in things other than desserts. Thank goodness for all of those evenings spent cooking for one- it certainly helped when creating plates meant for a single person to enjoy.

Candice had arrived at Calaveras earlier than she had the past few days to get ready, and was just coming off of a break when she heard Frankie call someone a rat face. Candice screwed up her nose at the insult- thinking it meant for herself- until she saw a man heading into the kitchen. She made her way to her own station, where she had been working with some chocolate molds, wondering if this was the extra set of hands that she had been informed would be coming her way.

"Good afternoon!" she chirped, popping the carefully decorated chocolate butterflies from their molds onto some waxed paper. "I don't believe that I've had the chance to meet you yet..." Candy trailed off, finished arranging these butterflies with the dozens of others she had been working on, and then wiped her hand on a clean dish towel before presenting it to the new comer. "I'm Candice," she told him. "Is there anything I can help you find?" she added, wondering exactly what he was doing hovering around her new work station.

There she was.  Whatever dark thoughts Nate had been having about the acerbic Frankie and his doubt-making past were scattered like a city square full of pigeons by the bright voice of a witch he'd never seen before.  They'd seemed to arrive at the table at about the same time, coming from different directions.  She wore the same white chef's jacket he did, but filled hers out like it was made for her.  Nate had never bothered to find one his size, nor had he obeyed Frankie and buttoned it up.  She was a witch who clearly belonged cooking at Calaveras. 

Frankly, her bright greeting cheered him up.  She was clearly who he was meant to help out today, and she had a far more attractive bearing than Frankie had.

"Hullo, Candice," he said, matching in cheeriness, a broad smile coming up out of his scraggly bearded face.  "I'm all set, thanks.  I'm you're number two today, actually.  Nate Briggs.  Do your washing up, maybe some light stirring of pots, putting pastries in boxes."

He leaned against the table, side on, and watched her as he smoke, as she produced little butterfly chocolates from their molds. 

"That sort of task..." he trailed off, hoping he'd made his point not too subtley that he had no desire to cook.  But he interrupted himself to hop up and roll up his sleeves.

"I've been here a month now - you seem newer than even that, yea?"

He was her number two? Candice would be lying if she didn't admit she liked the sound of that. Candice had never had a "number two", she'd always been a thorn in the side- not an actual asset or appreciated. She smiled- hopefully not too arrogantly at the comment. "Lucky for you then," she said with a grin. "I've only been around about a week, and I can already tell some people in this kitchen are easier to work with than others, eh?" She gave him a knowing look as she began to carefully wrap the butterflies individually in pink paper.

She did take a long look at his cigarette- wondering what sort of person thought it wise to dangle ashes over delicate dishes. Candy didn't smoke- and most of her friends didn't either. Candice didn't allow people to smoke in her house- a habit carried over from growing up with her grandparents. The smell was foul, and often times it caused her allergies to act up. She bit her lip, studying him carefully, wondering whether or not the following question would offend this Nate person. "Would you be terribly offended if I asked you to put that out?" Candice ventured tentatively, placing another wrapped butterfly on a tray and pulling a list from the pocket of her jacket.

She rested it on the surface between them. "This is the list of everything I've got to get done today," she told him. "I need to try to finish most of this up, the hard stuff anyway. Miss Renfield was nice enough to let me have the evening off for Dolly's book launch. I know we're going to be swamped tomorrow- so I really want to make sure that I don't get held late tonight. I won't get to go out tomorrow." Not that it really mattered, Candy supposed. She didn't have a boyfriend to go out with for the holiday anyway. She wasn't bitter about that fact- not really- but she was tired of being... dateless. Even if her ex fiancee was a prat, at least he kept her weekends occupied. And now that Candice had a less strenuous schedule (even if it was going to be a more unpredictable one), she'd like the distraction for her off hours.

"Tell me about you then, Nate?" It was a half question. Candice didn't want to order him about, and wasn't truly intending on analyzing everything he said, but talking helped to keep her focused. She didn't get bored. Besides, if he was just standing round her kitchen and wasn't talking, it would make her nervous. It would seem more like supervision instead of a collaborative effort. "Your name sounds awfully familiar, though I can't figure out why. You around my age? Maybe we were at Hogwarts together?" Candice arched an eyebrow in his direction as she began to mark out things on her list and make notes out beside things, trying to get a good plan for how to accomplish everything on time.

Nate shrugged and extinguished his cigarette on the underside of the big wooden table.  He was just happy she asked nicer than Frankie.  He listened with half interest to what was going on with the desserts, having not yet been asked to do anything - she seemed really into the task.  Bright, bubbly, talkative.  She'd either talk until his ears bled, but maybe she had a brain in there and they'd get on.  He wasn't hopeful.  As smart and pretty as Nate was, he tended to choose menial jobs who were mostly populated by people who couldn't do any better.  Made work conversations pretty damn boring.  But everyone once in awhile, someone came along who knew something.

Until then, he'd be pleasant.

"My first year was '94," he said.  "Tri-Wizard Tournament, you remember that?"  He hoped that's where she'd heard of him, and not the Daily Prophet.

"What about you, eh?  Do you do much in the criminal underworld or black market or anything?" he asked as if he was inquiring if she followed Quidditch at all, if she listened to much WWW.   Most people who worked at Calaveras were either like him - blokes just making a living - or like Frankie and Meredith who killed and ate people.  He hoped that his cheerful, casual tone wouldn't discourage her from answering honestly.  Not like he wanted to turn her in or anything.  And he'd learned long ago that appearances were not to be trusted.  A pretty, curvy witch could just as well vanish your left lung as blush at a dirty joke.

Candy would have answered his question about the tri-wizard tournament when he oh so casually asked her about whether or not she was a criminal. Candy stopped what she was doing and stared at Nate in shock and utter disbelief. Who just asked you questions like that? And he seemed so serious. Was he joking? Candice certainly hoped that he was.

"No, actually," she said cautiously. "I just left the ministry about a month ago, actually. I was working in criminal rehabilitation and worked with the aurors in the hopes of helping them maintain some semblance of sanity... It's a lot harder than it sounds," she offered with an awkward grin. It still hurt, that she had been fired. What hurt more was that... well... she had been wrong. Misplaced trust in Cinaed Tawse had left her without a job and feeling completely lost and depressed.

"Do you know Dolly St. James?" Candice asked, finally resuming her task at hand. "You can start measuring things, by the way," she interjected. "Put it into different bowls, makes it easier to bake when you're ingredients are already prepared... Anyway, Dolly is one of my friends. She pointed me here, to see if I could get a job in the kitchen. I've always liked cooking and baking. Hopefully things go better here than they did before..." she trailed off again. "Seems like people here are nicer anyway. Law enforcement people aren't exactly friendly most of the time."

Candice wrapped a few more of the chocolate butterflies. "So do you make it a habit of asking everyone if they're criminals?" she inquired. "I doubt most of them would tell you the truth. I mean, most people don't flaunt their criminal activity. Are you a concerned citizen? You know they usually offer rewards for that kind of thing."

Nate couldn't help be a touch amused at Candice's very innocent-sounding response, and he smiled.  She seemed just put off enough that polite company would dictate, but not so offended that she was angry.  He wondered, though, as she went on, if she really understood where she was working.  If she had worked with the Aurors, certainly she'd know of Calaveras's lovely reputation.

He didn't hide the wrinkle of his nose at her mention of working closely with Aurors and had been about to interject when she mentioned that her job had been helping them stay sane - about to interject the exact same thing about how that must have been nearly impossible.  Nate had never liked Aurors, and now he liked them even less since being arrested most violently, questioned and incarcerated.   So when she finished his thought for him, well, that was another point.

"My thoughts exactly..." he muttered in polite agreement when she came round to law enforcement being generally unfriendly.  They were knuckle-dragging, power-hungry, mongrels, to be specific.

He slid her list over to himself to see the list of notations and ingredients - he was ace at measuring things out, having been Sellaphix's dogsbody for a few years.  He took down some hanging scales and small measuring scoops from the shelf had a half-seat on a high stool.  He started by breaking up some dark, dark Amazon chocolate, breaking it up in smaller pieces to set on the scales.

He chuckled at her just-as-direct question: "Heh, no.  Not everyone.  Just the people who work here.  I mean, if you're a baker slash hired wand, then I might watch my step, yea?  But you're totally squeaky clean, are you? Not even something little?  You leave the Ministry to pursue your dream as a pastry chef?" he said, scooping up the right amount of chocolate and dropping it into a bowl. 

"I mean, you can't be so innocent if you know Dolly St. James - she's a beast."  Dolly's parties were always the worst because she demanded the best.  And they always stayed past close, and Nate had to linger about to wash up the last of their glasses.  So no, didn't know her, but didn't need to. 

Candice giggle. "Squeaky clean as they come," she confirmed. "Unless you count getting fired from the ministry- but I guess that's not really enough to make a smudge on my record, eh?" Candice couldn't imagine breaking the law in any capacity- although she was fairly certain she might have broken some secret statutes after getting fired and leaking a few details she had learned on the job, but thus far it had been nothing to get her into any serious trouble. "Not skilled enough to be a hired wand anyway. You have to mean those kinds of spells," Candy told him. "I'm too nice for that kind of stuff, I guess."

"If you had the choice, you'd probably choose here over working with the aurors, too," she said with a wink. Especially aurors like Pratt and Radley.

She couldn't argue with the idea of calling Dolly St. James as a beast, though. Dolly was definitely a strong individual, and could intimidate others. "I met Dolly when I was applying for a job one day," she said to Nate. "And she became a fast friend. Has really helped me with a lot. She's a wonderful woman!" Candy decided not to go into detail about all the things that Dolly had helped her with. He probably didn't want to hear anything about that.

"How did you end up in the kitchen then," Candy asked, reaching over to steal a piece of the crushed chocolate he had measured. "No offense but you don't seem much like the kitchen type."

Oooh, five points from Gryffindor for being friends with Dolly St. James.  Nate wouldn't hold a grudge, but Candice sure had a self-destructive taste in friends being chummy with a harpy like Dolly.  He didn't say anything as she gushed a little bit about her 'fast friend', and instead kept his yes on his knife-work.  He was using the flat of the blade to crush some iridescent beetle shells for a shimmering rainbow icing.  Each pass of his knife gave up a satisfying crackle and crunch, like stepping on crisped rice.

"Hm?" he asked looking up when she said he wasn't the kitchen type.  He looked down at his pile of crushed beetle shells, shimmering like a starry night, and back at Candace.  Had he botched something? He assembled salads, he stirred pots, he levitated dishes around the back.  But no look of disapproval sullied her bright eyes and bouncy hair.  "Oh, yea," he said with a little laugh, and scratched his neck with his left hand. 

"You're right, yes - my first kitchen work, but for the most part it's mostly the same as working at Sellaphix's.   Cutting, crushing, weighing, measuring, sweeping up - beetle shells and all."  He tried to glaze over the name of his former employer without much fuss.  To avoid it all together might have been more telling. 

"Rather hate cooking though.  Glad we're leaving that to you, eh?" he laughed loudly and flicked a whole, crispy beetle her way. 

Candice nodded. It did sound the same. She wondered what caused the change, but was not sure that was appropriate conversation. "Well I hope it will be interesting enough here, then. I bet an apothecary had some cool people in and out. I guess that in a place like that you get to meet more people than you do here. I guess all we'll see is the other staff unless some incredibly angry patron bursts into the kitchen... And between you and I, I certainly hope that doesn't happen." That would be an easy way to get fired.

"Hate cooking?" she repeated. How could someone hate cooking? It was one of her favorite things to do in the world. Even people who were bad at cooking loved cooking- it was just how things worked. She crinkled her nose when he flicked the beetle at her, leaning to the side, watching it sail past with a giggle. "I wish I could cook everything for everyone," she said. "I like desserts, but I like other stuff too. I'm hoping to find a new place with a really nice kitchen now that I've got another job. I was saving up when I was working at the ministry for one. Apartments are okay and all, but I just really want to own a house. So that when I get married and have a family they have a great place to live." A lot of information to give a stranger, but Candice wasn't exactly a private person.

But she did realize she was babbling on about herself, and felt a small flush. "Sorry- I know that was a little bit T-M-I. You don't want to hear me go on about my hypothetical future." And awkward grin, and then she spoke up again. "So a restaurant is a weird place for a guy who hates cooking," she commented. "How are you not miserable if you hate cooking? Most people try to get jobs in places they like or doing stuff they like." And some people had to take whatever they could get depending on their career at Hogwarts.

"Cooking's blood awful!" he half-shouted in defense of himself.  The smile on his face showed that the argument was one to be enjoyed, at least on his end.  "No food's so good it's worth the work put into it.  Nothing tastes as good as having free time.  No matter how good it tastes, it only lasts a moment and then you're in the loo flushing away all that time and preparation."

He scooped more ground beetle shells into the bowl and dusted the rainbow-colored flakes from his hands and they sparkled down to the tabletop.

"You'll also notice, that around here, I don't do much cooking," he said pointing at her with his index finger, as if to tell her this would also apply to her, "And I make every effort to keep it that way.  Wanted to work someplace close - I live down Knockturn - and I wanted something easy."  He shrugged like he didn't give a flying piece of the day's digested dinner if she perhaps thought he was wasting his time.

"It's everything outside working that's the important bit - your house and family for instance.  I could've been Minister of Magic I wanted to but it's too much bloody headache even when you do it right.  No thanks.  I'll sweep up and have a bloody good time at life.  Light 'er up and ride 'er to hell, Candy."

Now he was rambling.  If there's one thing Nate took pride in, it was how much smarter he was than all of these chumps.  Maybe he was wasting his potential, but who's business was that but his own? He had the life he wanted (mostly). 

Candice laughed. "Well I've never heard it put quite like that before," she confessed. "But I guess we'll have to agree to disagree then, yeah? I think that a lot of food tastes good enough to put a lot of work into it. I'd rather enjoy what I'm eating instead of just consuming it to prevent starving to death. There's no fun in that!"

"Hint taken," she said with a nod. "I won't make you cook anything. I'd rather do it myself anyway, just to make sure it gets done right. So long as you can manage to do the dirty work- measuring and chopping and all that, then we'll get along just fine with that agreement," Candy said with a smile. He seemed friendly enough- which was surprising since he said he lived down on Knockturn. But it wasn't her place to be nosy about his living situation. Some people lived there because they had no other choice. It was cheaper to find a place on Knockturn than it was to find a place on Diagon.

But his life theory didn't sound very healthy, either. Light it up and ride it to hell? How reckless! "Well, I have a good time cooking. I like knowing other people enjoy it. And I guess as long as you have friends on your ride, then you'll be alright no matter where you're going." Candy certainly didn't intend to ride anything to hell.

"I wouldn't want to be the minister of magic either, though," she agreed. "I like cooking, and I could do it every day until I die, which is why I decided this was a better place for me in the end. I think that being happy is more important than being rich," Candice told him. "Cause you can have all the money in the world and if you're miserable it won't be worth anything. So I think that's an okay way to look at life. Just so long as you aren't going to get into too much trouble or get hurt chasing after your good time, of course." No, better to be sensible about pursuing your happiness.

"But just because you don't like to cook and think nothing tastes good doesn't mean you're against being used a guinea pig, does it?" Candy asked. "I like other people to taste things I'm not so sure about. But you know, if that's too much work to put into it, I understand."