French Cooking

French Cooking
Date of Scene:	21 February 2013
Location:	Traverse Town - Cloud Nine
Synopsis:	Maximillen offers up some of his own cooking to the tennants of the Cloud Nine.
Cast of Characters:	Tifa Lockhart, Rinoa Heartilly, Morrighan Alazne, Maximilien, CADUCEUS, Percival, Ping, Clayton

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Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart is not in the bar for once! Well, close enough. She's outside actually, brush in hand as she's tending to her red chocobo in front of the building, brushing its mane carefully. She smiles, and hmms musically to herself and the chocobo. "How are you doing today Premium?" She chats with it too, which can be heard from outside.

The chocobo just 'kwehs~~' happily as an answer, munching on the gyshal greens that Tifa has for her.

Percival has posed:
Percival was rather self-absorbed today. So much so that he just happened to miss the confined Elven woman on his way down from the roof to the first floor. Just as well, as it would have likely led to a comical confrontation with his allies in the Twilight Detective Agency rather than a social gathering at the bar.

So instead, leaden footsteps thud upon the stairwell as he descends the building. His wings were already at rest upon his shoulders, akin to a cloak. Upon reaching the ground floor, he notes that Tifa isn't tending bar, and is instead grooming one lucky Chocobo outside. This worked for Percival as getting a drink at the moment was not a priority. Late as it was, he was self-aware enough to know that he was not the best company when drunk.

Taking a few slow steps towards the Jukebox, he stops for a moment to peruse the selection, before inserting munny and choosing a classic Jazz selection. Rounding about the room, he finally circles back towards the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools. While the temptation that resulted from sitting near the bar was a nuisance, the stools offered one thing to him that the remainder of the seating did not. They were actually comfortable to his kind.

Maximilien has posed:
Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne doesn't normally drink. He's not the drinking sort. He's just...not; the (secret) Phantom Thief knows better than anyone that a sharp mind is a safe mind, and a dull mind is a dead mind. But Max also doesn't normally hang around the Twilight Detective Agency or the Cloud Nine, either; tonight is a unique night, though one of increasing commonality as of late thanks to the presence of the TDA's prisoner. Normally, he comes down and cooks when no one else is around; he's immaculate about cleaning up, and given his thief-y skills, is generally quick enough and careful enough to make sure that Tifa (and others) wouldn't even know he'd been there. He washes the dishes, he dries them, he puts them away and everything!

Tonight, however, he's done cooking - he washed up, he cleaned up, he left the meal on the prisoner's table. So it was time to leave.

Max lands...right in the chocobo stables, actually! He's as silent as a ghost, and lands somewhere behind Tifa, taking a glance at the young woman briefly as his cape flows down around him. Then he glances back at the bar, taking a very long look through the window.

"Bonsoir, madamoiselle. I believe you have a customer; you may want to see to him before he becomes...untenable, mais non?"

Announcing yourself was for people who didn't have Perfect Stealth.

Clayton has posed:
Approaching the building within sight of Tifa is a tall, slender yet athletic man wearing beige clothing. A shotgun is slung across his back on a sling. He holds himself with a slight upturn of the chin, eyes alert, his stride confident. He is Clayton, hunter and adventurer extraordinaire. He passes by Tifa and gives her a mock tip of the hat. "Good evening, miss," he says in a smooth baritone. He pauses to regard the Chocobo with keen interest. One of these days, he ought to purchase one as a mount for hunting. He hears their speed is quite formidable.
Then he enters the building and into the bar, taking in a breath at the surroundings.

Rinoa Heartilly has posed:
Rinoa seems a bit preoccupied today as she makes her way towards Cloud Nine. She is without Angelo for once which is odd..That dog usually follows her around everywhere. But now? She's nowhere to be seen. Every so often, the girl glances around and whistles, even calling out her dog's name. But no one answers in return.

Finally she spies Tifa up ahead, grooming her chocobo and attracting the usual assortment of people. "Ahh, Tifa. Hey..."

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart smiles over to Max and Rinoa as they meet with her. She noticed Clayton too, but she's going to meet him in a second. "Thank you sir" she says toward Max "I was about to go back inside." She pets her chocobo with a smile "You stay good now." And then steps out of the stables toward the doors of the Cloud Nine. "Hey Rinny, how are you doing?" She tilts her head a bit when she notices Angelo isn't around "Something up with Angelo?" She wonders, as she moves insdie toward the counter, sliding behind it to start taking up the orders.

Percival has posed:
Percival has his elbows rested upon the bar, his taloned hands laced together. Listening to the background music of the jazz, it barely registers to him when Tifa takes her place. It isn't long after that he notices her, and a polite fanged smile crosses his visage. "Madame Lockhart. A pleasure, as always. Could I please trouble you for a gin and cranberry juice?" Alright, so perhaps a little bit of temptation isn't all that terrible. His hands unfold, as he now turns his head just enough to survey the other patrons for the night.

Clayton has posed:
Clayton also takes a seat at the bar, patiently waiting for his turn. He checks himself out in a mirror hanging from the wall, messing with his hair slightly to get it less askew. "I'll take a scotch on the rocks, miss," he says. He doesn't remove the shotgun from his back, but it's plain to see that it's a pretty big one. Double barrelled, flip down to reload, the stock made of hard polished wood worn in small places, the metal kept polished. It is clearly a highly used gun.

Rinoa Heartilly has posed:
Rinoa offers a small smile towards Tifa. "I'm doing alright, but..I cant find Angelo anywhere..Where could she be? This is..Really unusual behavior for her." She sighs, rubbing her head, seeming a bit upset to say the least.

"But! I see your new bar is up and running, and with loads of customers too! Wow, Tifa! This place looks awesome!" Rinoa cant help but notice all the potential customers milling about outside either, chuckling as she steps aside, "Ahh sorry, I guess now is probably a bad time to ask for help in tracking down Angelo..Need a hand with orders?"

Maximilien has posed:
Max bows politely. He looks every bit the part of the fairy tale hero, born of the pages of some glittery story. White tuxedo, golden trimmings, big cape, handsome smile, well-kept red hair, long legs, long arms, delicate fingers; everything *about* him looks like he stepped out of a story about a heroic prince. "Of course, madamoiselle; he needs someone to keep an eye on him, after all."

Well, now people were going inside, so...he couldn't just *leave*. That'd be too damn suspicious. This way he could just look like a patron. So instead, Max slips inside behind them, closing the door afterwards. He leans there for a moment, then closes his eyes. "Bonjour, Monsieur Gargoyle. Je m'excuse; I decided to take it upon myself to stop you from drinking alone this evening."

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart shakes her head "I don't need much help, but I'm also worried about Angelo, you should try to look around. Maybe she's hiding on the other floors?" She wonders about that.

She turns around, starting up on the drinks with a smile. Gin and cranberry, scotch on the rocks, all pretty easy things to whip up, and pretty fast too. She slides the two glasses in tandom on the counter toward the two. She's unalarmed by a gargoyle, she's used to them by now after all. "Nice to see everyone ehre, we crossed a few times, but mostly when we were fighting. Its nice to meet when its quiet.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
"...Hmph!"

On the floor above, Morrighan huffed to herself, pouting angrily as she sat on the edge of her bed in utter boredom. Max had come by earlier to leave a meal for her. Sure, it was much more to her tastes this time, but still! Why was she still stuck in this room!? Day after day after day! It was enough to drive someone insane!

"What right do they have to keep me locked up in this dog house anyhow!? I am not a pet! I am Morrighan Lachesis Alazne, and I DEMAND to be treated with respect!" The dark elf then yelled out at the door on the other side of the room, hands gripping her extravagant dress in frustration. "SOMEONE let me out of here now! NOW!"

Alas, her words fell on deaf ears. Literally. As there was no one on this floor. Oh well, thems the breaks!

And so with a sigh of resignation, the captive white mage got up off the edge of her bed, taking a seat at the table to eat. What? She was hungry! The food did do it's job of shutting her up though, reducing her loud yells and demands to merely a low grumble.

Percival has posed:
Percival found himself taking stock of the man who sat beside him. Late nineteenth to early twentieth century hunting garb, check. Overly large firearm, check. A very Scottish drink, check. He had to wonder if he found himself drinking beside Allan Quatermain himself. He was half-tempted to raise a toast with 'God save the Queen.' just to see how he'd respond. No need for that though. Best to start things pleasantly, at least, and without assumptions. He gestures with a single talon his way. "Madame Lockhart, the gentleman's first drink is on me."

And then there's Max. A bony protrusion above his eye twitches slightly at Max's comment. What exactly was he implying by that? Worse yet, when didn't he drink alone? He considered these questions for a time, and found that he couldn't come up with an answer. The devil's brew had stolen a few more hours from him apparently. Best to play along. "You're always welcome, Max. Have a seat. Madame Lockhart, Max's first is on me as well...."

Clayton has posed:
Clayton sizes Percival up with a cool look. Definitely not human. One of those 'Gargoyles', then. He wondered how much their horns and talons would fetch on the markets. This one seemed to have some meat on him, too. The fact the gargoyle is buying him a drink is noted. "You're too kind, sir," he says. Then again, he didn't know how old Gargoyles can be. Maybe he should be saying 'old boy' instead. "It's a good thing one can still find good scotch outside one's own world."

CADUCEUS has posed:
CADUCEUS had seen the place opened and such but he always been too busy. Tonight however, curiousity has gotten the better of him and he decides to come check out the place. After all, this was a bar, meaning people drink themselves sick, and he treats sick.

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart smiles and nods to Percival "Alright, consider it done, but what will the gentleman choose for a drink tonight?" Talking about Max of course. Although, its hard to say 'night' around here since its a constant. Its never 'day' after all, you'd never know if you didn't look at a clock.

Ping has posed:
Cloud Nine has become Ping's home away from home, his "Rosie's Bar" out here in the DMZ. He's been stabling his horse with the chocobos and after brushing him down, he's decided to come in to relax. There's a lot of terrible things happening out there in the War on Heartless but a few hours at Cloud Nine can serve as a respite from that harsh reality.

After taking a seat at the bar and ordering a bit of oolong, Ping sips his tea and engages in a bit of people watching. He's a bit of a wallflower after all, and stays to the perimeter of the crowd, getting a feel for the current mood before mixing himself.

Maximilien has posed:
Max meant that the last time he had seen the Gargoyle drink alone, the Gargoyle had drunk himself stupid and emotional, and Max had no intention of being caught in the middle of someone being Stupid and Emotional again. He shrugs at Percival as Percy makes a motion with his eyes - yes, Max is just that perceptive - and moves over towards the stairs. Maybe he should go upstairs. Check on Morrighan. Not be here.

Because he knew how this sort of thing played out. He knew how it went, even as he waved his hand gently as Tifa and smiled and told her "non, merci, je ne suis pas bu ce soir". But...well, Morrighan would probably be in no mood for visitors, and he didn't want to just *leave* - people tended to wonder why you left a party before it even began, instead of in the middle of it when everyone's busy with themselves.

So instead, Max spins back behind the counter and moves for the stove. "I am not drinking tonight, madamoiselle, because tonight I will be cooking for your lovely guests and your lovely self, mais non? An evening of fine wine, french cuisine, and beautiful company; what more could anyone ask for, ehn?"

Percival has posed:
Percival looks over Clayton stoically. He wasn't sure what to make of him, but he didn't exactly like the first impression he received. The man had a lean and hungry look about him. Still, he was polite, and he couldn't answer that with brusqueness. "I've found that Scotch appears to be a universal truth here. Much like Gin or wine. It matters not what world you travel to, you'll find that the finest sorts of liquor have survived to see the end of days."

Chuckling at Max's flamboyant display, he gives the man a wry smile. "I could ask for a Cornish pasty or an Arbroath smokie, rather than your very French cuisine, but it seems that it will have to do. Let's see if you can manage a sirloin, medium rare." Its clear from his tone, that while there is a hint of rudeness, it is a sort of affectionate rivalry, or game between the two of them.

Maximilien has posed:
"Would you prefer a Cornish pasty or an Arbroath smokie? I assure you, monsiuer, I am most capable of either, and more besides," Max replies idly.

CADUCEUS has posed:
CADUCEUS approaches the bar and looks to the various drinks before looking to Ping. "You look as if you have the world on your shoulders. I believe I saw you fishing the other day and caught a boot?" He asks curiously.

Percival has posed:
"Mmm. I may end up regretting it, but take your pick. Whichever is to your own liking."

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart tilts her head a bit at Max, but hmmmms in thought "Well if you would like to cook, I can let you use the cooking plate. I wasn't expecting that but I don't mind it either." She smiles "What are you going to cook then?" She moves a bit to the side.

Ping has posed:
Ping is quietly watching Max and Perci and drinking his tea when CADUCEUS greets him. His eyebrows raise significantly and he nods before placing his teacup aside. "Oh, yeah, that's right." He laughs, a little embarassed, but adds, "At least I caught a nap, too. So the day wasn't a complete loss."

Clayton has posed:
Clayton pondered the obviously very British non-human next to him. It was a decidedly odd feeling. Then again, if the Empire can make the savage Indians into a halfway respectable people, then perhaps it was possible for such beings as gargoyles and elves, he muses. A cross, too. Now that really threw Clayton for a loop, considering he wasn't exactly a pious man. He certainly payed lip service to the Church of England and all that, but he hadn't attended service for years, barring the occasional funeral.
The Frenchman is a bit more to his speed. He smirked at Max and his flamboyance. Well, THAT was certainly what he came to expect. He doubts Max has ever really roughed it in his life. The clothes are certainly fancy. "Well, thank God for that," he replies to Percival, allowing a dry chuckle.

CADUCEUS has posed:
"Well, that is always good. I apologize if my appearance seems most strange to you. Where I come from...things are completely different." He says as he would look to Tifa. "By any chance, miss, Do you recieve anything from a world called The Grid or Dataspace?"

Maximilien has posed:
"Apparently," Max replies cheerfully, opening the fridge and rifling through it thoughtfully as he searches for ingredients. "I shall be preparing cornish pasties. Luckily, it seems we do have more than enough beef; I was a touch worried."

Max slips his hands in, drawing out the ingredients and immediately getting to work. For an avowed pacifist, he handles that knife /deftly/, slicing up the beef and the rutabagas and the onions and the carrots and the potatos with an almost vicious speed. He's barely looking down, too; it's almost like watching a Japanese chef work, like watching a show. Indeed, he does put on a bit of a show when he gets out the second knife, mixing the ingredients as he chops them. He offers a wink to the ladies (Rinoa and Tifa) as he does so - but his other eye is on Clayton. The big man had his attention; he was an unknown, a very very unknown, and Max had learned long ago that ignoring unknowns got you hurt. Badly. "I suppose I shall have to pick something for a side...mmmm, perhaps something simple. Steamed vegetables should go well enough with the pasties, I think."

Ping has posed:
Ping is still trying to get over that reflex of surprise when he sees something unfamiliar to him. Here in Traverse Town, though, there is a very diverse population. He shakes his head.

"Not strange at all. I've met a Mister Tron and discovered his tribe to a very brave and generous sort."

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart hmmms at Caduceus' question "I don't think I have. I never went there, I didn't think you had any drinks either mind you, being all techno and what not. In fact I met some of your kind that were even afraid of water, which I can understand too."

CADUCEUS has posed:
"Not all are like our good friend TRON, but he is a...good example to follow." CADUCEUS says as he looks to his own green lights. He then looks to Tifa. "The Sea of Simulation destroys any program which goes into it. And we can eat and drink, though we prefer to either drink a liquid which glows, or go to a special booth for a rest cycle." He says as he sighs. "Food and water here...just doesnt have the instant restoration which our liquid energy has." He says calmly.

Ping has posed:
Ping perks up at the mention of glowing water and instant restoration. He nods his head excitedly and smiles brightly, "I'd like to try some of that. I could use some instant restoration!"

"You're more than welcome to join me in my oolong. It's not instant but I find it to be rather restorative, especially with a little dip of honey in it."

Percival has posed:
Ah, that uneasy feeling once again. It was as if the other shoe were about to drop. And he didn't even wear shoes. A quick glance towards Clayton was made as he continued the pleasantries. "I don't believe I caught your name, Sir? Though it appears as if you're on the hunt in Traverse Town. I do confess that this puzzles me, unless you consider the Heartless to be worthy prey this season."

He cranes his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Max's activities. "They'll serve, I imagine." He takes a sip of his drink. It was clear that he didn't intend to drink all that much, given how he was nursing it.

Clayton has posed:
Clayton's eyes glitter as they watch Max. Perhaps he knows he's being eyeballed by the Frenchman, but he handles it with cool disinterest. He glances back at Percival. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is John Clayton. Most just call me Clayton. Ah, you noticed the old girl, eh?" He points his thumb back at the shotgun. "I tend to travel a lot, so I keep my equipment close. You never know what lurks around the corner, I say. Or when a fine piece of game just...shows up in front of you. If there's one thing I hate, it's a missed oppurtunity."
He happens to notice Ping, recognizing the Chinese boy from the beach where the red haired girl washed up. What was her name? Aria? Oh well. "As for the Heartless...well, they're always worthy prey. I consider them the next level of beast. Something fiercer than any leopard or tiger. Oh, some of the small ones, they aren't much good. But the bigger ones? Oh yes. Quite dangerous."

Maximilien has posed:
"Well," Max replies to Percival calmly as he begins actually putting the pasties together; they'll be baking shortly. Or he might do something CRAZY AND OUTLANDISH, because he's a CRAZY OUTLANDISH FLAMBOYANT FRENCHMAN! Indeed, there's that cane of his, carved up with runes and junk; he slips it into his hand as he finishes wrapping the pasties, carefully holding his fingers up. "I admit that it cannot be a *proper* Cornish pasty, for it will not be made in Cornwall, but given the lack of proper geography I suspect it will nonetheless be to your liking, non? You will have to forgive me. It has been some time since I made a Cornish pasty." The last time had been to infiltrate and steal from someone, but Percy didn't really need to know that.

He was one hundred percent with Percy here, though; something about Clayton put him off, and when Max was put off, it generally meant trouble. "Bonsoir, monsieur Clayton. Je m'apelle Maximilien; Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne. Please, call me Max; everyone does. It is far easier." The accent is thick with this one.

Max's cane comes down, and suddenly, there's a burst of heat and smoke. Then, his hand comes up, and the smoke just...slips down into his sleeve and vanishes. Sitting there, on the table, are the Cornish pasties.

Max takes a step back and bows. They are, in fact, perfectly prepared - despite the methodology he used. Apparently, Max is very, very good at what he does. "Please, help yourselves. Food is made to be enjoyed; there is more than enough for all to enjoy."

CADUCEUS has posed:
"Come to the grid and you can have some. Problem is the entrances to the grid are either lost or being used by those which commands those dark monsters you see wandering the worlds." CADUCEUS says as he sighs and then nods. "Sure I wll try some oolong." He says and raises a hand to let tifa know he wanted what Ping had.

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart waves to Ping and a smile, and goes to get some plates so that everyone can get some of the pastries "Those look very delicious, thank you for the meal, mister Max." She smiles, and moves over to get Ping's tea so she can prepare it "That won't take long."

Maximilien has posed:
"Non, non, madamoiselle; just 'Max'. 'Monsieur Max' is far too formal."

Ping has posed:
Ping shares what's left of his oolong with CADUCEUS while Tifa prepares a fresh pot. There's a little dish of honey nearby, too, with a small spoon for adding it. "Please help yourself."

As Tifa comes near, Ping's constant companion, a tiny cricket, can be heard. A quiet cricket song leaps up in tempo at Tifa's approach, mimicing the tiny bug's racing heartbeat.

Percival has posed:
"John Clayton is it? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Percival, esquire." Something about Clayton raised the hackles on the back of his neck, but the man was polite enough, and British. There was nothing to fear, was there? If Percival had taken a moment longer to consider the matter, he might have realized that he hadn't exactly met that many of his countrymen. And even fewer that treated him this politely. But the thought didn't even cross his mind.

Max's flamboyant method of serving the dinner entree raised a chuckle out of the Gargoyle. "Always the showman, Max?" He took a bite of the pasty. It was....good. Very good in fact, but he couldn't let Max hear that. If he did he'd never hear the end of it. "Its...satisfactory, Max. I suppose I'll just have to accept your geographical deficiencies." He winks at him, with a good natured chuckle.

CADUCEUS has posed:
CADUCEUS nods and adds a spoonful and mixes the tea before sipping it. "This is delicious. One thing I will admit, the different flavors users have created for things is remarkable." He says calmly as he offers the cup back to Ping.

Clayton has posed:
"A pleasure. I've yet to meet a fellow Brit outside my...time period, I'd guess you'd say. Even a non-human Brit as you seem to be." Clayton decides he will just roll with this. Sentient non-humans are fortunately low on his hunting list. Clayton finds hunting complete beasts and monsters much easier to justify, after all. He nods to their chef. "Certainly, Max."
He looks back to Percival. "I was in the jungles of Africa with a team of animal researchers. The year was...or IS, 1882. That's when we were cut off from the rest of Earth."

Tifa Lockhart has posed:
Tifa Lockhart serves up the tea to Ping and the program, quite happy to give them something she also likes. She's always drinking tea herself, not risking alcohol in her own bar after all. "Here you go, enjoy." She adds the drop of honey as well to it. "Not instant, but definitely good I'm sure." She winks, and moves back to the counter, starting to eat up what Max prepared "Yummy~ You're pretty good at this, I should get the recipe from you.

Ping has posed:
The little cricket playing its heartfelt song for Tifa thinks that the bartender has brought the tea for him of course. When Tifa passes a cup to Ping, the little bug hops in discreetly for a steamy soak. Ping lifts the cup of tea for a sip but notices the insect at the last moment. He furrows his brow and puts the cup back down, looking frustrated.

Rising up from his seat, he bows to CADUCEUS and Tifa and smiles, "Thanks for the tea, Ms. Lockhart and it was a pleasure to meet you, sir. But I think it's about time that I fell in. Be well!"

With that, Ping takes up his sword leaned up against the bar and heads for the door, waving behind him.

Maximilien has posed:
"Happily, madamoiselle; I am certain it is easily available, or monsieur gargoyle likely knows of it. Though I confess - the English are /tricky/ and /proud/, and do love to refuse credit where it is due." Max's grin is wide as he moves back over, brushing his fingers across Tifa's hand. "I could, alternatively, simply teach you, madamoiselle...a recipe is /very/ easy to remember if you give someone something.../memorable/ to associate with it, non?"

Then he slides out from behind the counter, moving over to the wall to rest. His arms cross, his cane disappears up his sleeve (how's he doing that?) - but before he does, Tifa might catch a hint of materia on the tip of the cane! Huh.

Max watches Ping leave, then frowns. SOMETHING was off about that fellow, too. Not like Clayton; Clayton was WORRYING, Ping was just...different. Put him off, but not ill at edge. But he conceals the frown swiftly enough.

"1882 in Africa, monsieur? That sounds quite hostile."

Percival has posed:
"It certainly would seem that way, given it was 1996 when we were...cut off. An apt way of putting it. Strange that. It seems some of us are out of joint with time, and others with space. You were serving as protection for these researchers I presume?"

Percival takes another sip from his drink, before he takes another bite of the pasty. Dabbing off his mouth with a handkerchief in an overexaggerated way at Max's statement. "Oh yes, I make it a point of refusing to dole out credit where its due." Most of all when its due to himself. The materia tipped cane completely escapes the Gargoyle. And his prickly and competitive nature did make him like to challenge Max to a cooking competition at some point in the future. He'd have to have some time for practice, however.

Clayton has posed:
"Very hostile. That's why they hired me, of course. I'd braved the jungles before, you see. Professor Porter and his daughter Jane. They were looking for a guide, they came to me. Went there to study gorillas or the like, I frankly wasn't terribly interested in it." Of course, this is a lie. Clayton is VERY interested in the Silverback Gorillas. One day...
"I will say this, the French know how to cook. I can't recount the days spent living off dried meats, hard crumpets and water. Then I came back to English cooking!" He lets out a good natured guffaw at his little self-deprecating jab. He is quick with a laugh, though, and a toothy grin. Very quick.