#professional restaurant cleaners

[raicleaning]

What Are the Benefits of Regular Cleaning by Melbourne's Restaurant Cleaners?

Running a successful restaurant in Melbourne comes with its fair share of challenges, one of which is maintaining impeccable cleanliness and hygiene. In a city known for its vibrant food scene, reputation is everything, and one of the key elements that can make or break a restaurant's reputation is its level of cleanliness. This is where the services of professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne become indispensable.

1. ** First Impressions Matter:

The old saying "You never get a second chance to make a first impression" holds true for restaurants. The cleanliness and hygiene of your establishment are the first things customers notice when they walk in the door. With Melbourne's diverse and discerning clientele, a spotless and well-maintained restaurant is more likely to attract and retain customers.

**2. ** Customer Satisfaction:

Cleanliness isn't just about appearances; it's also about the overall dining experience. A clean environment contributes to a positive ambiance, which can significantly impact customer satisfaction. Happy, satisfied customers are more likely to return and recommend your restaurant to others.

**3. ** Compliance with Regulations:

In the restaurant industry, health and safety regulations are paramount. Melbourne has strict guidelines that restaurants must adhere to, and failure to comply can result in fines or even closure. Professional restaurant cleaners are well-versed in these regulations and ensure your establishment is always in compliance.

**4. ** Reduced Health Risks:

A clean restaurant isn't just about aesthetics; it's also about preventing health risks. Regular cleaning eliminates potential breeding grounds for pests and pathogens, reducing the risk of foodborne illnesses. This is particularly important in a city like Melbourne, where food safety is closely monitored.

**5. ** Preserving Your Assets:

Restaurant equipment and fixtures are a significant investment. Regular cleaning and maintenance can extend the lifespan of your assets, saving you money in the long run. Whether it's your kitchen equipment, furniture, or decorative elements, keeping them clean and well-maintained is essential.

**6. ** Improved Staff Morale:

A clean and organized workplace is not only pleasant for customers but also for your staff. It can boost employee morale and create a more positive working environment. Happy employees are more likely to provide better service and contribute to a better overall dining experience.

**7. ** Efficient Workflow:

In a busy restaurant, an efficient workflow is crucial. A clutter-free and clean kitchen allows chefs and staff to work more smoothly and swiftly, resulting in quicker service and happier customers.

**8. ** Eco-Friendly Practices:

Many professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne now incorporate eco-friendly cleaning practices. This not only benefits the environment but also aligns with the values of many patrons who prefer to support businesses that are environmentally conscious.

**9. ** Customized Cleaning Solutions:

Professional restaurant cleaners understand that each restaurant has its unique needs. They can tailor their cleaning services to match your specific requirements, ensuring that every nook and cranny is addressed.

**10. ** Cost-Effective: **

While it may seem like an additional expense, regular cleaning by professionals can be a cost-effective investment. Preventing major issues through routine maintenance can save you from expensive repairs or renovations down the line.

**11. ** Time-Saving:

Cleaning a restaurant thoroughly is time-consuming, and when you're running a business, time is precious. Hiring professionals to handle the cleaning allows you and your staff to focus on other essential aspects of your restaurant.

**12. ** Enhanced Reputation:

Melbourne is known for its competitive restaurant scene. A sparkling clean restaurant not only attracts more customers but also helps you stand out in a crowded market. Word-of-mouth recommendations and online reviews often highlight cleanliness as a critical factor in dining choices.

**13. ** Fulfilling Customer Expectations:

In a cosmopolitan city like Melbourne, customers have high expectations when it comes to dining out. Meeting or exceeding these expectations, including maintaining high cleanliness standards, can lead to repeat business and positive reviews.

**14. ** Adherence to High Standards:

Professional restaurant cleaners in Melbourne are well-versed in industry standards and best practices. They bring a level of expertise and attention to detail that is often difficult to achieve with in-house cleaning staff.

**15. ** A Comprehensive Approach:

Professional cleaners don't just focus on the visible areas; they also address those hidden corners that are often overlooked during regular cleaning. This comprehensive approach ensures that every part of your restaurant is clean and safe.

**16. ** Preventing Downtime:

Major cleaning tasks can lead to restaurant closures, which can impact your revenue. Professional cleaners work efficiently, minimizing downtime and disruption to your business.

**17. ** Positive Impact on Revenue:

A clean and inviting restaurant is more likely to attract patrons and keep them coming back. This positive impact on your revenue can significantly outweigh the cost of professional cleaning services.

**18. ** Reliability:

Professional restaurant cleaners operate on a set schedule, ensuring that your restaurant is consistently clean. This reliability is essential in maintaining a positive reputation.

**19. ** Healthier Environment:

A clean and sanitized environment is not only good for customers but also for your staff. Reduced allergens and contaminants in the air can create a healthier workplace.

**20. ** Peace of Mind:

Knowing that your restaurant is in the hands of professionals who are experts in maintaining cleanliness and hygiene provides peace of mind. You can focus on your core business while they take care of the cleaning.

In Melbourne's thriving restaurant scene, maintaining a high standard of cleanliness is not optional – it's essential. Professional restaurant cleaners offer a range of benefits that directly contribute to the success and longevity of your establishment. Whether it's enhancing your reputation, ensuring compliance, or providing a healthier environment, their services are an investment that pays off in more ways than one.

[alwaysgreenclean]

How Clean Carpets Contribute to a Productive Work Atmosphere

A clean workplace environment plays a critical role in fostering productivity and maintaining employee morale. One often-overlooked aspect of office cleanliness is the condition of the carpets. Commercial carpet cleaning ensures a healthier, more pleasant workspace, positively influencing the work atmosphere and overall efficiency. Let’s explore how clean carpets contribute to workplace productivity.

Promote Healthier Indoor Air Quality

Carpets in commercial spaces act as filters, trapping dust, allergens, and bacteria over time. Without regular cleaning, these pollutants can accumulate and negatively affect air quality. Poor air quality can lead to allergies, respiratory issues, and fatigue, reducing employee productivity. Professional commercial carpet cleaning removes these harmful particles, ensuring a cleaner and healthier environment that supports focus and efficiency.

Reduce Employee Sick Days

Dirty carpets are a breeding ground for germs and bacteria, which can contribute to illness. By investing in regular commercial carpet cleaning, you eliminate these risks, reducing the likelihood of employees falling sick. A healthy team is a more productive team, and clean carpets play a key role in maintaining workplace wellness.

Enhance Comfort and Morale

A clean office is a comfortable office. Stains, odors, and visible dirt on carpets can create an unpleasant environment, leading to distractions and discomfort. Commercial carpet cleaning keeps carpets fresh, odor-free, and visually appealing, helping employees feel more comfortable and motivated to perform at their best.

Create a Professional Appearance

A clean and organized workplace inspires confidence and professionalism. Dirty or worn carpets can make an office appear unkempt and negatively affect the morale of employees who spend their days in that environment. Regular commercial carpet cleaning ensures your workspace looks professional and polished, boosting employee pride and engagement.

Minimize Stress and Distraction

Clutter and dirt in the workplace can be a source of stress and distraction. Employees are more likely to stay focused in a clean and well-maintained environment. Commercial carpet cleaning eliminates the visual clutter caused by stains or discoloration, creating a space that supports concentration and productivity.

Address High-Traffic Areas for Consistency

High-traffic areas in commercial spaces often show wear and tear faster, creating inconsistencies in the appearance of your carpets. This can lead to a sense of neglect in the workplace. Professional carpet cleaning restores these areas, ensuring a uniform and well-maintained look throughout the office, which fosters a sense of pride among employees.

Protect Employee Safety

Carpets that are not regularly cleaned can develop mold, mildew, or slippery surfaces from spills. These pose safety risks to employees and visitors. Commercial carpet cleaning eliminates these hazards, creating a safer work environment where employees can perform their tasks without concerns for health or accidents.

Show Employees You Care

Maintaining clean carpets demonstrates that you value your employees’ well-being and comfort. A clean workplace sends a message that their health and productivity matter, boosting morale and encouraging a stronger work ethic.

Commercial carpet cleaning is an essential investment in creating a productive and positive work atmosphere. By promoting health, comfort, and professionalism, clean carpets contribute to a space where employees can thrive and perform at their best. Schedule routine carpet cleaning to elevate your workplace environment and support productivity.

[firstdeepclean]

The Role of Commercial Carpet Cleaning in Preserving High-Traffic Business Areas

1. Why High-Traffic Areas Demand Extra Care

In commercial spaces, high-traffic areas like lobbies, hallways, and meeting rooms experience heavy daily use. This constant wear leads to dirt accumulation, matting, and discoloration, which can quickly diminish the professional appearance of your business. Commercial carpet cleaning is essential to address these challenges, ensuring these spaces remain inviting and well-maintained.

2. How Commercial Carpet Cleaning Protects Carpet Fibers

Foot traffic grinds dirt and debris into carpet fibers, causing them to fray and lose their texture over time. Without routine cleaning, this damage can become permanent. Commercial carpet cleaning removes the embedded particles that contribute to fiber breakdown, preserving the durability and softness of your carpets in high-use zones.

3. Restoring the Appearance of High-Traffic Areas

Even the most beautiful carpets can look worn and tired if left unchecked in busy areas. Stains, dirt, and grime accumulate quickly in spaces like reception areas and conference rooms. Professional commercial carpet cleaning restores the original color and vibrancy of carpets, giving your business a polished and professional look.

4. Improving Safety in High-Traffic Zones

Dirt buildup and wear can create uneven surfaces, increasing the risk of slips and falls in high-traffic areas. Commercial carpet cleaning not only keeps carpets looking great but also ensures they remain safe and functional. Clean carpets provide a stable surface for employees and customers, reducing the likelihood of accidents.

5. Enhancing Indoor Air Quality with Commercial Carpet Cleaning

High-traffic areas trap more allergens, dust, and pollutants than less-used parts of your business. These contaminants can negatively impact indoor air quality, especially in spaces where customers and employees gather. Regular commercial carpet cleaning eliminates these irritants, creating a healthier and more comfortable environment.

6. Extending the Lifespan of Carpets in High-Use Spaces

Replacing carpets in high-traffic areas is expensive and disruptive. Regular commercial carpet cleaning protects your investment by preventing premature wear and extending the life of your carpets. Routine care ensures your business maintains a professional appearance while saving money on costly replacements.

7. Why Professional Commercial Carpet Cleaning Is Essential for High-Traffic Areas

While vacuuming helps with surface dirt, it can’t address the deep-seated grime and wear caused by heavy use. Professional commercial carpet cleaning uses advanced methods like steam cleaning and eco-friendly solutions to deep clean carpets, ensuring they look and perform their best even in high-traffic zones.

Conclusion: Keep High-Traffic Areas Looking Their Best

High-traffic areas are the heartbeat of your business, and their condition reflects your company’s values. Commercial carpet cleaning ensures these spaces remain clean, safe, and welcoming for employees and customers alike. By prioritizing regular maintenance, you protect your investment, improve safety, and maintain a professional image that leaves a lasting impression.

[riicocleaning97]

Premier Industrial Food Factory Cleaning Services in Sydney

Riico Cleaning Services offers specialized food factory cleaning services in Sydney, tailored to meet the unique challenges of the food production industry. Our expert team analyzes factory layouts and processes to create customized cleaning plans, ensuring top-tier hygiene standards.

[onthespotcleanersinc]

 Mold is a significant issue in homes and businesses. If you believe you have a mold problem, you must immediately act. Many individuals employ a mold remediation firm to remove and repair their property. Contact On The Spot Cleaners if you want mold removal in Rochester, New York. But, before you choose mold cleanup services, there are crucial details you must consider.

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

osamu miya, who hires some interns for his restaurant over the summer. college students who want some real-life experience from such a successful entrepreneur! but you go above everyone else, spending extra time on the weekends to help him clean up his set-up, asking to see contracts in real-time to get an idea of the business side of his restaurant business, and creating campaigns that boost the success of onigiri miya! he has to strain himself to stay professional. he has to wear a silly apron around you at all times so as to not disclose the hard-on he's trying to contain, but it's difficult when you're leaning over his desk, cleavage on display while he's tripping over his words and jumbling numbers together.

when telling his brother about you, sending him a picture from his staff website as to get a better idea, it's no surprise when atsumu urges with a, "just give 'er a li'l peak of what being a star employee really means t'you."

so, lingering touches become more common. his hand brushing over yours, a palm on your lower back when he's leaving his restaurant with you beside him. it's only kind to match his attraction through a hand on his bicep, your legs leaned against his underneath his desk. a big palm finds its way to your thigh 'till your legs are spread on either side of his lap.

and osamu's no animal; he makes sure to clean his space as much as he can, and the building's cleaners are surprised when the first thing they smell is cleaning wax and no onigiri when they come in the following day.

[familyabolisher]

hi! i'm ave wiseman, incidental writer and professional guy who washes dishes in a restaurant. i'm relaunching my patreon, where i will be posting monthly works of short fiction for the low low price of £1/mo (or as much as £7/mo, if you're feeling generous). i am not in any immediate need (ie. if you only have a few dollars to spare, please give them to somebody else), but the combination of low-paid work and the fact that i've been losing hours over the last few weeks has made it so that i would like to have some extra money coming in where i can get it.

you can read my first piece of short fiction already—it's poltergeist, a 2,121-word story about the lengths that one woman will go to to get back at her landlord.

if you want to read my prose work without having to pay for it, there's 638 cobalt road, about a cleaner who cleans a weird building that doesn't exist. you can also read the handful of essays i've posted (and will continue to post) over there. or you can read my posts.

if you were already subscribed to my patreon, i think you'll need to cancel that subscription and re-subscribe through the tiers system. sorry i also wish this was easier. website.

thanks for your time!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Slave Of Duty: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You're pulled away for a case in the middle of Haley's funeral. Spencer is still mad at you that you didn't let him see you while in prison, but how can you explain to him that whenever you look into a mirror, you hate the person you see? You're far from being okay and Spencer is the kind of comfort you're desperately looking for.

Season Five Masterlist

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

You two walk back into the office and join JJ's side who is talking to Penelope over video chat. You assume Spencer brought everyone up to speed on what you found.

"Find anything?" you ask.

"Several people had access to each home. Housekeeper, gardener, pool cleaner, and dog walker. Each of them had their own key and an alibi to match." 

"Any cross-over?"

"None. We even vetted delivery people and utility workers."

"Garcia, do you have anything?" Rossi asks.

"There are no hits on the prints at all, but I did what Sir Derek asked and I created a paper trail. There's no cross-over between the two victims themselves in the wee hours leading up to their murder, but they did run in similar circles."

"Like what?"

"They both have country club memberships but to different clubs, they went to upscale restaurants, private concert venues, and posh hotels. They enjoyed a high-class, highfalutin lifestyle which isn't cheap."

"A lifestyle he's fit right into," Emily says. You look behind you to see her and Derek in the room. "This guy is educated, intelligent, and proper. He's a downright gentleman."

"The rose petals sent a pretty specific message. He's romancing them whether they want it or not. He's got the social skills to back it up. Hey, Garcia, take a look at dating services and social networking sites. Look for working professionals and the privileged elite," Derek says.

"Check, check, and checkers. Back in a smidge," she says and hangs up.

"Have we figured out how he's getting into these homes?"

"There are no signs of forced entry anywhere. Yet he's still gaining access to their homes before the victims ever get home from work. I mean, this guy needs time to cook and set up his scene. He's either got a key or he can move through walls."

"We need fresh eyes," Rossi sighs.

"Alright, I want everybody to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest. We're gonna have to pick this up again in the morning."

"We're giving up?" Emily gasps.

"No, we're taking a break. We have to give the profile at morning roll, and none of us has slept since the funeral. Once Garcia can get us a paper trail, then we can expand our canvas. Till then, there's really not a lot we can do."

You don't tell anyone that you're scared to go to sleep. As soon as you open your big mouth, people are going to look at you differently. You don't want that. You never wanted them to treat you differently. Instead, you keep your mouth shut and head back to the hotel with the rest of the team.

You and Spencer are in one room like always but tension is high. You can cut the air with a knife. You're in the bathroom getting ready for bed while Spencer is getting into it. You're not sure when he is going to be okay with what you did to him but you have to give him time like Rossi said. Spencer keeps one of the lamps on for you while his lamp is off.

He doesn't know that your entire world is crumbling. You're sitting on the floor with your back against the door and tears streaming down your face. Your hand is over your mouth to muffle any kind of noise you might give out. Spencer has no clue how much pain you're in but the last thing you want to do is tell him. When he hurts, you hurt and you don't think you can hurt more.

You're terrified to go to sleep. If you close your eyes, you might wake up back in that cell surrounded by women who burden you with their feelings. How can you ever tell the man you love that you don't feel safe at home anymore? For the next thirty minutes, you try to calm down enough to get into bed without alerting Spencer.

You do but you don't fall asleep until the clock strikes two.

Due to only getting four hours of sleep, you're exhausted by the time you walk into the police station. Spencer left before you did which is a good thing because you cried the entire time you were in the shower. You must have dark circles under your eyes and pale skin because Spencer does a double-take when he looks at you. Despite how he feels right now, he still loves and cares for you.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Fine."

Spencer leaves it a that but JJ notices something between you two. She bites the end of her straw in thought but you don't pay attention to her. Derek and Emily are the last ones in and Derek notices you by the coffee machine. You're staring at it as if it's holding the secrets of the universe. You're checked out so he puts his hand on your shoulder which brings you out of your trance.

"Hey. Coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so. You just got out of prison. That couldn't have been fun."

You turn to Derek and take his hand while trying to hide your desperation. "Derek, I am fine. I am going to be fine. I will continue to be fine." You're not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself. "Please believe me."

"Okay. You know I worry about you."

"You have nothing to worry about."

"Then let's start the profile."

He and the team gather Landon and his offices so that they can deliver the profile. You're still by the coffee machine repeating those three sentences in your head over and over again. I am fine. I am going to be fine. I will continue to be fine. With coffee in hand, you walk over to the team. You're not sure you can do your best so you decide to stay silent and let them handle this one.

You catch your reflection in one of the windows near you and pause. Who the hell is that staring back at you? You used to be so full of life and hope. Now, it's just an empty shell. Your spirit was stolen from you in prison and you're not sure if you can find it again.

"We believe our unsub is already with his next victim," Rossi begins. "If he matches the pattern, she'll be a successful woman, probably brunette and in her early thirties to mid-forties. She'll be at home in Nashville's upper echelon."

"This means that he fits in. He drives the right car, he wears the right clothes, he's highly intelligent, and he probably comes from a place of status. This guy's sociable and endearing. You would never suspect that this man is capable of murder, but he will do whatever it takes to protect the fantasy that he's trying to relive."

"It's this fantasy that fuels his drive. He's recreating a romantic evening and repeating it with each of his victims. He most likely had a relationship taken away from him recently, so look at men who have lost loved ones or have gone through a messy divorce."

"Much like Bundy, these women are representations of that first loss. Bundy picked victims who had similar features to the woman who abandoned him. We believe that our unsub is doing the same thing," Spencer explains. "These women were confident, successful, and strong. They fought back which means he has the ability to overpower them fairly easily. He believes or fantasizes he's in a relationship with these women. No matter how fleeting the initial interaction is, it's everything to him like an invitation."

"Our technical analyst has compiled a list of locations that the victims visited prior to their death. These are high-class establishments. We're going to want to visit the same places. Look for men who fit the profile but also women who match victimology. If somebody's been paying a little too much attention to them, talk to them. Get a read, then jot their name down so that we can check them out," Derek finishes.

"Alright, folks, pick up your canvassing assignments and get to work," Landon addresses.

"Thank you."

It's not long until another woman is murdered. You knew it was coming but you didn't know how soon it would be here. This murder is different because the unsub killed two people, and one of them was a man. It's not in the MO of the unsub to do that so you can only assume the male victim caught the unsub by surprise.

"The house belongs to Erika Silverman who is a project director in an international design firm. We're assuming the male victim is her boyfriend, Grant Franklin. They're both pretty beat up. We'll need dental records for a positive ID," Landon says when you get there.

"Who called it in?" Emily asks.

"UPS guy. He needed her signature for a package and saw the door wide open. He's out back right now.'

"JJ, talk to him," Derek says and she leaves.

"Where is Erika's body?"

"Follow me." Landon takes you to Erika's body which is a brutal sight. "He changed his MO. She has multiple stab wounds to the face and neck, and there is evidence that she had sex before she died."

"Classic overkill," Rossi comments.

"Forced or consensual?"

"There is no evidence of sexual assault."

"She played along. She had sex with the unsub because she thought it would keep her alive," Emily sighs.

"Why didn't it? This kill is clearly personal and angry. She didn't give him everything that he wanted."

"What else did he want?"

"Y/N? See anything?

You turn to face the front of the house to get a better look at what happened the night before. Erika is already in here with the unsub but the front door opens and Erika's boyfriend enters. The unsub is angry that his plans are ruined which explains the overkill on both of them. Both Grant and the unsub begin fighting but something is wrong here. Grant begins running from the unsub and turns to see if he is chasing him, but you're staring at yourself being chased by the unsub, not Grant.

What the hell is going on here? You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out. The fear you have is manifesting in your visions. How can you help this team if you can't help yourself? No one knows what's really going on, and how can you tell them now? How can you come clean that you're not ready to be back at work? You thought you could just put it behind you like you've done every other time.

How can you ever move on from a place like that?

"Excuse me. I'm sorry," you whisper and leave the house.

Emily, Derek, and Rossi look at each other with concern written across their faces. You walk to the end of the driveway where the street is and take a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You close your eyes and count to ten in hopes that when you open them, your panic attack will have subsided.

However, when you open your eyes, you're brought back to your past. One that you've been trying so hard to escape from. The street is empty save for a few cars parked on the side. The house you were just in doesn't look like Erika's house. It looks like a random house on this random street in a city that's all too familiar to you.

There is a car that's parked that you'd recognize even with your eyes closed. It's a van that can be used as a camper since the back seats have been taken out. There are curtains inside the car that are drawn closed to prevent people from looking inside. The car rocks to show that there is a struggle inside and a little girl's scream can be heard.

A desperate scream for help. Anyone. Your scream.

You've only thought about this moment every day since it happened. You haven't forgotten one detail of it.

Your breathing picks up as you look for anyone who can come help you. You're being assaulted and there is nothing you can do about it. The man was too strong... too powerful. Something moves out of the corner of your eyes and you turn to see a person walking down the sidewalk. You grab her shoulders when she nears you and shake her desperately.

"Help her. She needs your help. Aren't you going to help?"

"Y/N?"

You're brought back to reality by your friend's name and gone is the van you think about every day. Emily stands in front of you with a worried look on her face, and you let go of her shoulders.

"Sorry," you whisper and wipe the tears from your face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're crying."

"I said I'm fine, Emily. Excuse me."

You leave your friend behind and join everyone else who is still inside the house. Derek and Spencer are in the kitchen so you decide to see what's up with him instead of looking at Erika's body and reliving her torment.

"The dinner dishes are washed, but the breakfast plates aren't. He didn't clean up this time. The boyfriend must have surprised him and disrupted his routine."

"I don't know, I'd say he came pretty close to finishing it. It looks like they watched a movie and had an early breakfast. She was with him all night," Spencer theorizes.

Your phone rings and you almost jump out of your skin from the noise. You look to see Penelope's name so you force your feelings down and answer her call.

"Hey, Pen."

"Bad news, buttercup. There is no payoff on the social networking sites, and Erika does not leave a breadcrumb-like trail. Aside from a couple of online purchases and some automatic debits, she hasn't used her credit card all week."

"Thanks." You hang up and look at Derek. "Garcia didn't find anything about Erika's whereabouts over the past week. No stores, no restaurants, nothing."

"There might be another way to figure out where she's been. Do we know where any of the victims' cars are?" Spencer asks.

"Impound, probably."

"We need access to all four of them."

"Four?"

"We should also get Grant's car. He may have driven Erika somewhere where she met the unsub."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Some Slugterra Worldbuilding

Majority of these things are based on evidence gathered from the show; Currency: Gold (based on the USA 1840s - 1870s Gold pieces) Amounts; 1, 2.50, 5, 10, 20 (Source idea: 'Slugfu Showdown' when Kord and Trixie had their bet)

Government: Each cavern has their own government systems (basically wild west style) with their own law-enforcers. High Plains has a town council whilst Logan Cavern is under the corrupted judge. The justice system does exist across the caverns similar to that of country law with the Security Slingers enforcing it. Eastern Caverns would have a few different rules to that of the 99 Caverns (Source: Episodes 'Mario Bravado' and 'It Comes By Night') Environment: Slugterra's Lumino Crystals are both a power source and are the equivalent to the sun (Source: Slug It Out 2 Beach Cavern (so game canon lore))

Farming and Agriculture: Using the history of colonization, its safe to suggest that when humans descended into Slugterra around 2000 years ago that they brought their livestock and farming with them. Gives explanation to the usage of meat, vegetables and fruits that wouldn’t be possible under the earth. (Source: Mentions of Farming in 'Return of the Elementals', 'Second Chances' and 'The Fall of the Eastern Champion')

Education: The education of Slugterra appears to be something suggested, not something enforced. Manatory; Grades 1 through to 10 (ages 5 to 14) Further Education: Universities and Institutes (15 and over) (Source: "World Beneath Our Feet Part 2" and "Shadows and Light")

Workforce: Most Slugterrians appear to take up some form of Slug Slinging as their profession or hobby. These can include; Security Slingers, Mercenaries, Bounty Hunters, Guards, Slugball Players, Professional Slingers, Adventurers However, there are more professions that aren’t fully based in slinging, such as; Scientist, Mecha Engineer, Blastersmith, Technician, Train Conductor, Train/Rail Engineer, Butler/Maid, Shopkeep, Delivery Driver, Artisan, Cook/Restaurant Employee, Announcer, News Reporter, Miner, Pirate, Barkeep, Council Member, Judge, Spa Owner, Actor, Director, Cinema Worker, Racer, Farmer, Builders, Trackers, Teachers, Professors, Historians With those in mind, more can be thought up such as; Doctor, Vet, Musician, Cleaners, Bankers, Treasurers, Carpenters, Critics, Gardeners, Plumbers, Electricians, Fashion Designers (Source: A majority of the character roles we see play out and mentions of professions from side cast)

[f4iry-bell]

Stained shirt and two seats for one | part 2

mostly written from graysons pov, from next part it'll from readers pov AND ive decided a name!!! it's Arya!!!! she looks just like you.

← previous part

It has been exactly two days since Grayson landed in London to meet his half sisters. He loved both of his sisters dearly but Grayson Hawthorne is a man who needs some time alone with himself sometimes. He did not care about what people would think, he was too busy to care about how they view him for the things he does. Things like dining alone in a fancy restaurant. And when he is alone, he doesn't just eat and relax, he thinks about his work, he has been working alongside with his aunt in the Hawthorne Foundation and in Hannah, same as forward as backwards. Even though his grandfather has cut him and his brothers off his fortune, Grayson managed to make enough and more money by investing.

Once he was done with his food he was looking at a few paperworks, something that you'd find a person doing in a cafe not at a fancy restaurant. Finally he decided to call the waiter to get the bill but that's when something caught his eyes. Someone across his table, with very familiar wavy hair. That girl. She looked different from the last time he saw her, she was wearing a white shirt layered with a black vest, he couldn't see her bottoms as it was hidden under the table, her hair was pretty much the same except it was neatly done. There was a hint of makeup as well. She was sitting on the table not 8 feet far away from him with someone, a guy. A date? boyfriend? 

Has she been here the whole time? His first thought was that she was stalking Grayson but he erased that thought when he saw her with some random guy and having a serious and professional conversation with the guy. She was using her iPad to show him something, Grayson can't tell what was on the screen but he could see there was a lot of writing. He watched her talk to this unknown guy for a while until the waiter asked him if he was ready to pay. Grayson ordered a cup of coffee and watched her again. He observed her movements, he noticed she speaks while using a lot of hand movements and has a very expressive face, the way her eyes widened every now and then, he even tried to read her lips. He told himself that was the only reason his eyes wandered to her lips.

Finally the guy stood up and shook her hand before leaving the restaurant. Grayson watched her as she did something on her iPad and then kept it inside her bag, his heart skipped a beat when her eyes left her bag and directly met him. She was just as shocked as Grayson when he noticed her presence. And she saw him while he was looking at her, she must think he was a creep, Grayson expected her to scrunch her face in disgust but instead she gave him a closed mouthed smile and a weak wave. Grayson looked back to make sure she was waving at him even though he was 99% sure that she was waving at him. 

With no choice, he waved back. That was how their interaction should have ended but it did not. Just a wave because after all they are still strangers. He doesn't even know her name. Maybe he should ask her name, but why? His legs started moving on its own, something was pulling him towards her table, it was like a magnetic force. 

He was grateful that she spoke first. “Hi.” it was all she said.

“I see you've managed to change to a cleaner attire” He comments.

“I did.” It was a bit awkward. Neither of them knew what to say. “I’m Arya.” So that's her name. Arya. If she is giving him her name, it means she wants to know him, right? 

“Grayson” His tone was neutral yet again, impossible to read.

“If this was our first time meeting, I'd say ‘nice to meet you’ but giving our previous encounter…” She said in a joking manner.

“Once again I'm sorry about that. May I ask, what are you doing here? London is a big city, is it a coincidence that we are seeing eachother again?” He asked. Hoping that it didn't sound weird. 

“Well I had a meeting with a client of mine. Are you suggesting that I'm stalking you?” She asked, he looked for offence in her face but he only found a surprised smile.

“No. I mean, no.” He was quick with his words. “Client? So you're here for work, I see” He quickly changed the topic. 

“Mhmm. What about you?” She asked, dropping the previous topic.

“Family.” Was all he said. 

“That's nice,” She said. There it was the awkward silence yet again. He was still standing.

“What do you do? For work?” He asked out of curiosity and immediately regretted it. She looked like she was ready to leave and he is keeping her here.

“Public relations.” She answers. “Why don't you have a seat?” She motioned towards the seat in front of her. He hesitated but sat anyway. He told himself that he was only engaging in this conversation because he is curious about her.

“That is interesting. You must be good with words.” He told her.

She chuckled, “I’m not that good, giving that I started like 9 months ago” 

“Just 9 months ago? So you got the job as soon as you finished your studies?” He asked with a frown, she looks young she must have just gotten out of university.

“I did an internship last year. For like three agencies.” She said.

“Three? You must really like this field then, at what place are you in now? at your job? ” He asked.

“I'm definitely not the manager given my years of experience, I work with a team. What work do you do?” She asked.

“Family business.” He said and immediately switched back to her life “So where is your team?” He asked.

“In Singapore. Our client wasn't able to make it back to Singapore because of some personal reasons. So one of us had to come here and clear things up.” She told him.

Grayson leaned back “Then you must be really good at what you do”

“Maybe” She shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. “Am I keeping you from something? I'm sorry, you were about to leave” Grayson asked.

“No, it's fine. I actually have nothing to do. My meeting with the client is over. If you weren't here, I would just go back to my hotel and sleep because I'm leaving London tomorrow early in the morning.” She chuckled.

She's leaving that soon?

“Why not explore?” He asked. 

“I didn't think I'd have time, so I didn't prepare what to explore,” She replied.

“This is your first time in London, right?” He asked. 

“Yep”

“And you would like to explore?”

“Yes”

“Then you should let me take you exploring” He offered “I'm a good tour guide.”

She smiled and nodded.

Like he said, he was indeed a good guide, he explained things with its  history. He mostly took her to posh places that he has been, Arya already knew he is rich from his looks, but the places he took her showed her that he is filthy rich. Grayson almost forgot that he was in London to see his sisters and not tour guiding a pretty girl. He actually enjoyed her company. She was polite, humble and even funny in her own way. They talked a lot, mostly about her, Grayson was interested in her before but learning more about her only kept him fascinated. 

There was a feeling that nagged him when it was time for her to get back to her hotel. He dropped her off at her hotel. 

He will never see her again.

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Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

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Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[cielcreations]

Lifeless Platter - Ending 5: Made With Love

Very similar to my original Made With Love book, but this time with roles reversed!

Trigger Warning: Cannibalism at the very end.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 [ You Are Here ]

"Oh, hey, you actually showed up for training!" The redheaded chef smiled brightly, "Quite early, too!"

"If you're not five minutes early, you're late." The raven haired man replied, voice deep and gruff.

The redhead chuckled, putting his hands on his hips, "Well, that's good to hear, it means you're serious! This is a highly sought after position and you're already off to a good start, Vincent! However, I noticed your resume, you didn't have many customer service jobs, so I hope you don't mind if I help you out a bit and teach you how to do this." The man then hummed, "Though, forgive me if this comes off as rude, I'm just confused why you would go from a high paying job you've had for years to a mere server?"

"Must I answer or can we just move on, Chef Lamoree?" The raven narrowed his eyes.

"Ah, just call me Rody, no need for formalities!" The redhead chuckled, ignoring the hostility, "Like I said, I'm just confused, but I won't push!" He smiled, "Well, with serving, it's pretty easy! All you have to do is seat customers, take their orders, and bring food to them! When seating people, keep in mind how many people are dining. You don't want a large group crowding around one area. Once they put their menus down, that's when you should go check on them!"

Vincent grabbed a menu and opened it, "'What we're serving today?'" He read aloud.

"Yes! Customers don't pick what they eat, we have a menu that changes daily! It did say that in the interview."

"Well, yes, I read that. Just wondering about it."

The redhead chuckled, "Well, once you've taken their order, bring it to the marker between the window and the door. That way, it'll be sent to the kitchen. The cooks will start working on whatever order you have right away, but keep in mind they prioritize cooking the dessert, side, meal, and appetizer. In that order." Rody then got serious, narrowing his eyes a bit, "Do not pester or distract any of the cooks if it's taking too long. Perfection is key and if you're pestering them, it won't be perfect."

"Understood."

"Good." Rody smiled once more, "Once the order is ready, you'll find it at the window to then serve to the customers. They'll ask for more after their appetizer, so don't make them wait too long. Once they're ready for the bill, go behind the counter to check them out. Once they're done with their meal, make sure to clean their table too, okay? I don't want guests thinking we leave messes out in the open! The garbage is in the kitchen, right next to the back door. When it's full, take the trash and bring it out to the alley behind the kitchen to throw it out."

"Understood." Vincent repeated.

"Make sure to study the menu, too! What I just told you are the basics to any serving job, but you need to be able to know what we are offering. If you're stuttering or confused, it'll make us look bad and I don't want our customers thinking we're anything less than professional."

"If anything, your demeanor screams unprofessional..." The raven muttered more to himself.

"It's hospitable, which is professional!" Rody argued, smiling brightly.

Hardly. Vincent thought.

"Well, I'll be in the back, helping the chefs and such. If you need me, just come on back! Good luck!"

With Rody in the back, Vincent began to clean off the tables, officially starting his shift. He made sure to seat the customers, smiling softly (though, it was a bit difficult and forced, but the customers didn't seem to care) as he took their order before handing it off to the chefs. He cleaned and bused the tables, making sure to take out the trash when needed. He focused on his job, making sure to never make a mistake.

By the end of the day, the restaurant was probably cleaner now then when Vincent first started the day.

"Ah, Vince!"

The raven turned around, raising an eyebrow, "'Vince?'"

"Ah, sorry, did I say that? I hope you don't mind the nickname!" Rody smiled, offering a plate, "Anyways, I have some Green Onion Rolls!"

"...What about them?" Vincent responded.

The chef laughed, "Take them! I need to make sure my staff is well taken care of so, please, the food is yours!"

"Oh, truly?" The raven asked, eyes widening, "Well, thank you. Do we have a to-go box that I may use?"

Rody looked around. He grabbed an empty box and slid the plate inside, "Not a to-go box, but it'll have to do."

"Thank you again, Chef Lamoree."

"Please, Rody is just fine!"

Vincent took the box and left back to his apartment. His phone started ringing, making him groan. Stop calling me. He thought, knowing exactly who it was. He went to the bathroom and got himself ready for bed, changing into pajamas and sitting down on the couch. When he finally was relaxed, he opened the to-go box and smelled the onion rolls. They smelled good...

He took a bite of one and widened his eyes.

These are fantastic! He thought to himself, I'll have to thank Chef Lamoree once again. 

He ate them all and went to bed.

***

"M-My apologies for being late!"

"You're sorry?!" Rody huffed, turning around, hand on his hips as he looked up from his papers, "An apology isn't going to cut it when you're late and it's only your second day-" He paused, eyes widening as he finally faced Vincent, "-Why do you look like that?"

"I was hoping to wait until the rain stopped before I biked here, but it didn't seem to be relenting anytime soon." Vincent explained, standing on the porch and squeezing the water out of his shirt, "I truly am sorry for being late, I know it's unprofessional-"

"It's alright." Rody reassured, gently taking his wrist, pulling the other to his office. He offered a chair, "Here, sit."

Vincent did so.

The chef then took out two towels, wrapping one around Vincent's shoulders before using a smaller towel to begin to dry off his hair, "Here, let's get you dry before we have to open."

Vincent nodded, hugging the towel more around his body as the redhead continued to dry off his hair.

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"No, I do not."

"I see." Rody's voice lowered, almost sadly, "Well, then, I'll give you mine for the ride back! Just try not to let this happen again, okay?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I can't possibly use your umbrella."

"And why not?"

Vincent looked up at the chef, "How will you be getting home without it?"

Rody laughed, "I live here!"

"...I'm sorry?"

"My apartment is upstairs!" Rody gently pushed his head down, continuing to dry it, "There's no need for me to have it, at least not now."

"I... see. Well, I suppose that makes more sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." Vincent looked up at the other once more, "Is that not worrying, however? If something were to happen to the building, it'll all be gone."

The redhead chuckled, gently poking the other's nose, "Aw, cute, you're worried about me!"

"T-That's not-" The raven blushed, looking away.

Rody chuckled, drying off the last little drops, "I only tease, Vincent! Now, freshen up a bit and get ready for a nice day at work!" He cooed in his ear.

Vincent blushed more, "T-Thank you."

"Of course! It's nothing! Not only do I not want customers to see that, but you could catch a cold!"

"S-Still, thank you."

The raven folded the towels and placed them on the redhead's desk. They walked out of the office and Vincent readied himself for work before seating the first people who walked in. Once he seated the people, he smiled and took their orders, served them, cleaned the tables, checked people out, balancing it out pretty easily. Eventually, when everyone had left, he took out the trash, throwing it away in the back alley before coming back inside. He saw Rody, staring at the chefs, leaning against the wall, face blank.

"Chef Lamoree, may I ask you something?"

"'Rody.'" The redhead jokingly corrected, "Can you say it with me? 'Ro-dy!'"

Vincent sighed, "Right, uh, Rody, may I ask you something?"

"If you have the free time, I don't mind. Just don't let the customers go unnoticed!"

"Of course not. If I may, why do you stand here?"

"My job is to observe and monitor the chefs." Rody explained, smiling, "They are to cook my dishes to absolute perfection! If they are to even slightly stray from the way I cook, then I will jump in there!"

"Then it's no wonder why your food is so good."

Rody looked at the other, tilting his head.

"Your food was delicious. I've never tasted something so good." The raven explained, "It filled me and made me crave more. It's no wonder you're a truly amazing chef, you food made me feel warm."

Rody's face dusted a light pink and he smiled brightly, "I'm so happy to hear that!"

Vincent nodded and left the kitchen, getting back to work. He continued to seat people and take their orders, cleaning up after them and checking them out. After another few hours, his shift ended. He finished cleaning what he needed to and got ready to leave.

"Oh, Vince, wait!" The raven turned. Rody walked offering, offering his umbrella as well as a small box with a smile, "Inside is Blueberry Crepes! You said you liked my food and so I made sure to save you some!"

"...Thank you, Ch- Rody." Vince took the items, the redhead giggling.

With the chef's umbrella and food in his hand, Vincent went home. Once he got back to his apartment, he once again got himself ready for bed. He ignored the loud phone as he opened his to-go box. He took a bite of the crepe and it practically melted in his mouth, making him sigh contently. Rody is such an amazing chef. And quite considerate. He thought as he continued eating. Once he finished, he threw the box in the garbage before laying on the couch, falling asleep once more.

***

The shift started out normal. Vincent seated who needed to be seated, took the orders to the kitchen, served the food, checked them out, and bussed tables. He was beginning to make very decent tips and was extremely upbeat and happy with his progress. Eventually the trash got full and he had to take it out-

"Ow!" Vincent exclaimed, looking at his hand as he dropped the bag, "S-Shit-"

"Vincent."

The raven turned, facing Rody, who stared at him. Seeing the other so stoic, he turned nervous, "I- It- I-I apologize, there was something in the trash!" He looked at his hand, "I-I believe it ripped the bag open when I dropped it!"

"Vince." The chef repeated, taking a step forward.

Blood spilled from his palm, a large cut on it, "I-I- It cut me! I didn't throw anything I wasn't suppose to, I don't think!

"Vince." Rody gently tapped his face, the raven stopping, The redhead looked at him, concern plastered on his face, "You don't need to worry about that, let me see." He hummed, spreading the other's fingers, Vincent wincing as the redhead assessed the situation, "Hm, a shallow cut, nothing too serious."

"I-I apologize, I'll clean-"

"Don't worry about that. Someone else will clean it." Rody face sharply turned, two immediately jumping to follow his directions. The redhead turned back and smiled at Vincent, "Let's get this cleaned up! We can't have you serving people like this."

He gently took Vincent to his office, setting the other in a chair. He carefully applied ointment to the raven's hand before gently wrapping it, Vincent watching Rody's delicate work.

"I-I really do apologize-"

"Accidents happen, it's fine."

"I understand if you wish to reprimand-"

"Was it intentional?"

"No, of course not-"

"Then there's no need." The chef reassured as he finished, "Is that why you got a bit nervous?"

Vincent was silent.

"I see." Rody smiled, "Why don't you stay here for a bit and collect yourself?"

"I-I can-"

"Vincent, I'm not asking." Rody interrupted, gently holding his shoulder, "You are a little shaken up, which is fine. Take your time calming down, I will handle the customers in the meantime."

"I-" Vincent bit his bottom lip, looking down, "T-Thank you..."

Rody smiled and stood up, leaving as Vincent sat, calming himself. He took deep breaths and, once he felt he had calmed down enough, he left. He went onto the floor, where Rody was finishing taking someone's order. The woman giggled and smiled flirtatiously at the redhead, who merely smiled back. Once he finished, he walked back to give the order to the kitchen, his smile immediately falling.

"I can take over." Vincent offered.

The chef sighed in relief, smiling at the other, "Good, you're feeling better! I'm terrible with customers!"

"Really? You seemed to be doing well."

"Customers annoy me." Rody answered honestly, before giving one last smile, "Be careful, okay? If your hand starts to hurt, I can step in again, okay?"

Vincent nodded as the other disappeared into the kitchen once more. Vincent finished his shift and cleaned everything up. Once he was sure everything was ready for tomorrow, he went into the kitchen to bid his goodbyes. Rody gave the raven a plate of Squid Ink Pasta with Shrimp, the raven thanking him. He then went home, got ready for bed, and laid on his couch. His phone began ringing and he merely stared at it as he began eating.

"Perhaps I should get Rody something in order to thank him properly..." The raven thought aloud.

With every passing second, he grew more and more annoyed, he couldn't help but wonder what made her want to call him so bad. When it finally stopped, he sighed in relief. Thank you. He thought, happy with the silence, falling asleep.

***

"Who the HELL do you think you are?!"

Vincent jumped, unsure what he was walking in on. He was working his shift and was bringing in some dirty dishes and to take out the trash when he saw Rody, standing in front of the cook, glaring down with such hate and malice, a stark contrast to his playful, bubby personality.

"I-I apologize, Chef-"

"A 'sorry' isn't going to fucking cut it, now will it?" Rody hissed, accenting his words.

Vincent shut the door behind him, not wanting customers to hear as he watched the scene.

"Is your brain too small to realize a dish like that is not at all acceptable in my kitchen?!" Rody grabbed the plate, slamming it into the other's chef, smearing it on their coat.

"N-No, Chef-"

"Then why is it even here?!"

"I-I don't know, Chef, I m-must've-"

"'You don't know?!'" Rody repeated, his voice raising, "You 'don't know?!' How is it that you don't know?!"

"I-It must've slipped my mind, Chef!" The cook managed to squeak out, "S-Some flour had been left near the stove and I-I didn't want to get burned-"

"You didn't want to get burned?" Rody mocked, "Oh, well that just makes it aaaaaall better~!" He cackled. He grabbed the man's hands and put it behind his back. One of the Chef's hand held the cook's arms in place as the other grabbed the man by the back of his hair. He then shoved the man's face towards the burned stove, keeping it just out of reach of the flames.

The man squeaked, Vince gasped.

"NOT." Rody growled, snickering darkly, "Don't talk back to me in my own fucking kitchen, you damn pig! If you plan on being a semi-decent cook, you can walk your shrimpy legs right~ on~ out~ of~ here~! There is no conceivable reason to be scared of something as minor as a stove. If you're stupid enough to get burnt, then that is your fault and, as long as you are in my kitchen, you. Will. Keep. Cooking."

The chef gulped, whispering out, "Y-Yes, Chef."

"I can't hear you~!" The redhead sung.

"Y-YES, CHEF!" The cook yelled.

Rody hummed, seemingly satisfied. He lifted the man up and smiled, letting go, "Well then, back to it~!"

He turned and his green eyes met Vincent's onyx ones, the raven staring with awe. Rody stared back for a second then winked teasingly, moving to go stand by the wall once more. The raven blushed and shook his head, putting the dirty dishes away and taking the trash out. When he came back, he walked over to Rody, who was back to smiling.

"Hello, Vince, fancy seeing you here! If you're going to criticize how I run my kitchen, you can leave."

"Are you single?"

Rody's face turned a bright red as he looked down at Vincent. He then smirked, "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious if that is how you treat your partner."

"Heeeeey~!" The redhead laughed.

"I'm only teasing." Vincent chuckled a bit, "I ask because I wish to know a bit more about you. You do own a restaurant, so you must be quite popular among women, hm?"

"And men." The redhead said confidently, again winking.

The raven blushed, looking away, "Well, do you plan to settle down with anyone? Perhaps get married, hire a manager to run the place?"

"This is me settling down. I do this for myself!" The redhead smiled.

"You have yet to answer my question."

"Hm?"

"Are you single?"

"...Yes, I am." The redhead shrugged, "I swing both ways, so not sure if I'd want a wife or a husband. Kids are a maybe as well. What about you?"

"Pardon?"

"Wife? Husband? Kids?"

"...I'd want a husband."

"Kids?"

"With the right person, perhaps. Haven't found the right person yet." Vincent smiled slyly, "Perhaps you're the right person?"

Rody's face turned beet red but before he could respond, Vincent quickly moved to get back to work. He finished his shift and went to the kitchen. Rody had a proper to-go box ready for him, the Chef giving it to him and turning away, face still a bright shade of red. Vincent smirked, proud he was able to get the redhead flustered for once instead of the other way around. He thanked Rody and left. He got home and opened the to-go box.

Strawberry Shortcake.

The raven happily ate the food before turning on the TV. He then grabbed a magazine that was dropped off with the daily newspaper. He browsed through it and looked at all the ads before he widened his eyes. Oh, that's it! That's what I need! He thought. Rody shut the TV off, grabbed a marker, and circled it before laying down on the couch.

He looked at the phone as it rang before falling asleep.

***

The next two days were uneventful in terms of work. Vincent and Rody continued to talk between shifts when they could, the redhead smiling, his playful and friendly nature never wavering. Vincent truly did relax around the redhead, feeling butterflies in his stomach whenever he was around the other. His posture and stiffness went away so naturally. Only one person was able to do that and he... well, he was so scared of being "found out" while Rody was so open. It made him happy knowing he could just be himself and not have to hide it, not have to feel like he was doing something wrong. Rody sent vince home with a Croque Madame and Lemon Tart, in which Vincent ate both and praised the redhead for the next days. 

However, today, Vincent went to the kitchen and Rody wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere, as when the raven knocked on his office door, he got no response. Vincent sighed. Granted, he wasn't owed any food, but he did appreciate the food and he did want it, simply because he loved Rody's cooking.

No matter, he went home, got changed, and began to think of what to order offline. However, the phone started to ring. He ignored it, knowing once there was no answer, it would stop. The ringing stopped and Vincent was just about to get ready for bed when the phone rung again.

For the love of- Vincent snatched the phone and put it to his ear, growling, "Listen, Miss, I am not-"

"Miss? I don't think I'm a Miss!"

"A-Ah, R-Rody! I-I apologize!" The raven blushed in embarrassment, "F-Forgive me, how can I help you?"

"Well, are you free tonight?"

"Pardon?" The raven blushed more.

"I'm hosting a dinner party at my apartment and was checking if you're available!"

Oh, that- "Yes, I am."

"Perfect! I'll see you soon!" Vincent went to hang up, but the redhead spoke again, "Hey, um..."

"Yes?"

"..."

"Rody?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I-I disappeared before you came into the kitchen and I wasn't able to give you a plate of food."

He... actually remembered? Vincent smiled slightly, "It's fine, Rody, I don't-"

"I do mind. I really... I like cooking for you, okay?"

"Well... I like eating your food."

"Great, because you'll have plenty of it!"

The redhead hung up and Vincent blinked. He rolled his eyes with a chuckle and got dressed in more casual clothes. He went back to the restaurant and Rody was waiting outside for him. The redhead led the way up to his apartment, the raven looking around. It was a bit of a mess, but the redhead was definitely a minimalist. He had a nice green couch with a coffee table, sitting in front of a large TV, a kitchen with a long counter and some highchairs, a rug on the floor, and a few small shelves with his books, some plants, and his trophies.

"Very... cozy..." Vincent muttered.

"Of course! I go for cozy homey vibe!" Rody smiled.

"...I thought you said this was a dinner party. Where are the other guests?"

"They will arrive shortly. I, well..." The redhead took Vincent's hand, kissing his palm with a wink, "Wanted you to myself for a bit."

Vincent blushed and looked away. Rody sat him down on the couch before leaving to grab some plates.

When the Chef returned, he was balancing three plates; a plate of escargots, a cheese plater, and deviled eggs. Vincent smiled a bit and happily took a couple of eggs and a bit of cheese, humming contently as he ate. Rody smiled brightly he watched other.

"Your food is phenomenal. I wish I could eat it forever." Vince said.

"That makes me so happy!"

Before they could continue, the doorbell rang. Rody groaned before he stood up, going to the door. He allowed the people in, Vincent watching as the people came in. He stood up, the people coming in and beginning to mingle. The raven, feeling nervous and out of place, moved to stand in the corner as Rody left to get some wine and champagne for everyone. The raven stood to the corner, looking over the rewards Rody had gotten.

"Is that-? Hey Vincent!"

The raven turned, confused as a brunette approached him.

"I thought so, it is you! It's me, Antonie from Mr. Vacher's office!"

Vincent went stiff, his blood turning ice cold, "I... I see."

"I stopped seeing you and Gabriel, whatever happened to you? You were, like, the best writer there!"

Vincent clenched his fists, "It's, uh, private."

"You know, I heard Manon Vacher? Mr. Vacher's daughter? She was spreading some nasty rumors about you." The brunette hummed, "Is that why you left? I'm sure if you-"

"I have to use the restroom." Vincent hissed out, quickly pushing past him.

"Ah, wait, Vincent-"

The raven pushed passed the man, going into the kitchen. He went into the kitchen and then into the connecting hallway, walking down it. He pushed the door open and walked inside, closing it behind him. He leaned his back against it, sighing and shaking a bit. Vincent took a deep breath and looked up before gasping.

"O-Oh, this is not- wait..." Vincent blinked, staring at the scene in front of him, "...This is Rody's room... I wonder if I can find anything of interest." He hummed.

The raven looked around the room. At the back corner, there was a desk with some paperwork. It looked like it was for the restaurant, but the handwriting was barely eligible. He hummed before he looked at the typewriter, seeing Rody must've been typing out recipes. The shelf beside the desk was filled with books and the Chef's diploma was resting on the top. He walked towards the bedside table, opening the drawer.

A key? Oh, the freezer key! He thought, putting it in his pocket. He closed the drawer and turned towards the window.

"Looking for anything specific~?"

The raven turned around quickly, jumping, "A-Ah, Rody, you scared me!"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I-I, well, I was looking for the bathroom." Vincent shrugged, looking away, awkwardly."

"Mhmmm?" Rody teased as he stepped forward, the raven stepping back, "And, if I may, when you realized this wasn't the bathroom, you decided not to leave?"

"Well..." The raven trailed off as his back leaned against the window, "Would you believe me if I said I have short term memory loss?"

"Not a chance." The Chef laughed, putting one hand beside the raven's head, effectively trapping him.

"What about if I said I simply wanted to get to know you better?" The raven blushed as he looked up at the other, "On a more... personal level?"

"How personal are we getting?" Rody teased, leaning forward to kiss at the raven's neck, hands going to his hips.

Vincent wrapped his arms around Rody's shoulders, leaning into him as he grinded against his legs, "Depends on how personal you want it."

"Oh, I want it more than you know~" Rody began to suck marks into Vincent's neck, his leg going between Vincent's.

The raven moaned, leaning into him and grinding against his legs. Rody kept kissing at his neck and ear, the raven throwing his head back, eyes half lidded and-

He pushed the redhead back.

"What? Is something wrong? Did I-"

"Someone's out there." Vincent said, looking out the window, shaking a bit.

Rody looked and narrowed his eyes. He sighed and looked at the raven, who seemed a bit nervous, uncomfortable. He smiled, "Why don't you go home?"

"Well, I- w-wait, what about the party?" Vincent turned to face the redhead.

"It's over, it was more for marketing and such. You just made it more bearable." Rody gently poked his nose before offering his hand, "Come on, I'll walk you out."

The two left to the front door of the restaurant, Vincent turning around to face Rody. He went to say something, but the redhead caught his chin and pulled him in for a sweet kiss, the raven kissing back immediately, fireworks going off in his head. When they pulled away, the redhead smiled at him.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." Rody winked.

"I see." Vincent teased, "Well, I guess I'll have to get back at you tomorrow then."

"I guess so. Have a good night, Vince."

"Goodnight, Rody."

***

Vincent came into work the next day, face a little pink, on cloud nine, butterflies in his stomach and chest. He set up the tables and cleaned what he needed to before going to the kitchen. He didn't see Rody anywhere, which was odd. He went to the office door and knocked, only to get no response. The door was locked but, seemingly, no one was inside. I need to return the freezer key. Vincent thought. He looked around and wondered how the chef's were going to cook if the freezer was locked. No one was in yet, so, he decided to unlock the freezer.

Curiosity got the better of him. He began looking around, seeing blood. It wasn't too abnormal, it was probably from the animal meat. As he glanced around, he saw something sparkle. 

Vincent turned his head to the meet grinder. He blinked, walking towards it and picking up a golden locket. He began to shake as he opened it, eyes widening as he saw the picture inside.

Him.

Him and him.

Him and Gabriel.

"What...?"

THUNK!

***

Vincent's eyes fluttered opened for a second, confused. He was bound in ropes, laying on the freezer floor. He blinked and looked around, not bothering to struggle. His lip quivered as he curled into a ball. The door opened and he looked towards it. He managed to sit up, glaring at the Chef.

"Get away from me, don't come any closer-"

"Shhhhh, shhhh, stop, stooooop~" Rody cooed as he stepped forward, heels echoing with the buzz of the freezer. He carefully, delicately, cleaned off a knife, "Just calm down, Vince, you don't need to do that!"

"Was it all a lie?"

The Chef widened his eyes, staring down at the raven.

"The flirting we did? I-I actually thought you liked m-me? W-Was it just me?" Tears began to fall down the raven's face, despite how hard he tried to hold them back, "Y-You played me! I-If you were just going to kill me for G-Gabriel, why didn't you just do it?!"

"What are you talking about, Vince?!" Rody yelled, swinging his knife down, "First off, that idiot is not my type! Second off, I killed him to get to you!" The redhead knelt down, the sharp tip of his knife teasing at Vincent's throat, "Had to kill Manon too, she was so obsessed with you, it pissed me off!"

"So... the locket...?"

"I forgot to throw it away after I killed him, duh. I wanted you not him, and he was in the way."

"So... the blood? The meat?"

"I made on dish from him and planning to make a dish from Manon-"

"May I try it?"

Rody widened his eyes, staring down at Vincent. The raven stared up at him, his onyx eyes wide in wonder and awe.

"Is it done, Rody? May I try it?"

Rody stared at him, lowering his knife, "You... want to taste it?"

"Of course!" The raven nodded, leaning into the other's neck, nuzzling into him, "It's your food! You're gonna cook them so well! I-Is it going to be smoked? Grilled? Boiled? What sides are you going to serve with them? Are you going to serve all of them? Please, Rody, you have to tell me, now!"

The redhead cupped Vincent's cheeks pulling him back so they could stare into each other's eyes, Rody smirking devilishly, "Are you that desperate to ear them?"

"It's not the fact that it's made from Gabriel or Manon, it's the fact it's from you!" Vincent leaned more into the chef's hand, smile manic, "It's your food! I don't care what you cook for me! I'd eat whatever you give me, even if it's made from pigs' brains!"

"I would never serve you that-"

"The point is-" Vincent interrupted, leaning forward, brushing their noses against one another, "-I will eat anything you make me. I want it. So bad. Your cooking makes me feel so warm. It makes me feel so good. I want it so bad, I need it. I need your cooking more than I need to breathe, please-"

Rody shut the other up with a kiss. Vincent moaned into it, kissing back as the Chef cut the ropes around him. The raven wrapped his arms around Rody's neck, moving to sit in his lap as he deepened the kiss. Rody held Vincent's hips as they pulled away, the raven smiling brightly down at the chef.

"How are you going to cook them?" Vincent asked, "Tell me please?"

Rody giggled, poking his nose, "It's a surprise~!"

***

Vincent sat on the bed, legs crossed as he hummed a tune to himself. He waited patiently (okay, not patiently, but he still waited!), barely able to control his excitement. The doorknob twisted and he smiled as the Chef walked in, a plate in his hand.

"Is it done?"

"I wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't~" Rody teased, chuckling at the raven's excitement. He offered the plate, "Sorry for the wait, my dear! Dinner is served, Coal-Fired Heart!"

Vincent accepted the plate with a smile. He took his knife and fork and cut into the meat. Once he had a small piece, he put it on his tongue, chewing slowly, savoring the food.

"Well?" Rody cupped his cheek, rubbing his thumb across it.

Vincent smiled brightly, genuinely, lovingly, "Amazing as always, Rody."

Rody smiled, "I will cook for you for the rest of our days." He kissed Vincent's forehead.

"I'm holding you to that." Vincent hummed, taking another bite.

[officialleehadan]

Travel Light

Confidence Scheme

+++

“I’d like to make a small detour.”

Will was surprised by the request from Leonardo on the way back from the DoJ’s art department. The thief was settled in the passenger seat of his car, but wasn’t’ making eye contact, which suggested he was nervous about the request.

“Where to?” Will said, amiable to the request, but curious. “Grocery store?”

The joke made Leonardo chuckle as Will intended, and also made him relax. “My current safe house. As welcome as you’ve made me, I do need clothing that fits me, and I’d like my own toiletries.”

Will was pleased that Leonardo wasn’t protesting his ongoing stay with him and Vanessa, although he suspected it was as much for Will’s very potent security system as for their company. It was one thing to jump a thief in a public building. It was another to assault the home of a DoJ detective. Will even arranged surveillance on his own house, just in case someone started sniffing around.

“Give me directions or put the address into the GPS,” Wills said with a wave to the gar’s navigation. He carefully hid his excitement at getting to see where the thief lived and, presumably, worked at least some of the time. Then again, he also suspected Leonardo had at least one studio he kept secret, or leased a studio from others, to hide his tracks. He was a professional, and took covering his tracks very seriously. “Where are we going?”

“I have a flat in Little Italy.” Leonardo said, which wasn’t really a surprise considering where he was working the job that made him call Will in he first place, or his knowledge of Little Italy’s better criminal restaurants. “Don’t get too excited, Cowboy. There isn’t much there but some clothes and my bath products, and some art supplies.”

“And your tea, presumably,” Will teased, although he did accept the warning for what it was. Leonardo was too careful to let him see anywhere that meant anything to him. He might trust Will to keep him safe, but they were still on opposite sides of the law. Leonardo hadn’t stayed free and practicing his preferred flavors of crime for so long by being careless. “Speaking of, I know you do legal commissions now and then. How much will it cost me to get a portrait of Vanessa?”

“Pen or paints?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

The change of topic eased Leonardo’s tension more, and the drive, which was shorter than Will expected, delivered them to the garage of a very nice, well-secured apartment building. Leonardo keyed in a long code into the secured parking so Will could part, and then guided him to the elevators. Will wasn’t surprised to see he lived on a high floor, but preferred not to live in the penthouse. Too much attention, most likely, and harder to rent short-term, assuming the apartment was rented. It was possible Leonardo owned the condo and kept it as a safehouse.

The condo itself was elegant, but almost entirely lacking in personality. It was as much a very expensive hotel room as anything else.

Here and there were small markings of the man himself, but Leonardo wasted no time in pulling a medium-sized suitcase out of the closet. He emptied the closet first and didn’t bother folding anything on the way, before he collected a pair of books, both romance novels, Will noted with some surprise, and ducked into the bathroom. When he emerged, it was with a heavy plastic bag of his bath products, which went into the suitcase as well.

The final contribution to the suitcase, handled with far more care than the clothing or toiletries, was a neatly-packed travel-easel that boasted several drawers that rattled when Leonardo carried it over to the bed and set it carefully next to the suitcase.

Through it all, Will found himself seeking any sign of Leonardo in the condo, and found absolutely nothing. There weren't even magnets on the fridge, and when he checked inside, there was nothing but condiments and a small container of milk. The milk was bad. There was no food at all.

“Leave that stuff. I’ll have a cleaner handle it,” Leonardo said when he came out of the bedroom, dragging the suitcase with the easel carefully fastened to the top. “There are two containers of tea in he cabinet to the left of you. Grab them, will you? My hand is full.”

“I got it,” Will assured him and cleaned out the cabinet into a handy plastic bag. He noted the way Leonardo was moving, wary of his bad arm, and kept ahold of the bag when it was packed. “Do you cook at all?”

“Not here,” Leonardo said wryly and left the suitcase to do a quick sweep of the apartment. Will already knew there was nothing left to find. Leonardo, it seemed, packed very light. “But I can, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I was more judging your empty fridge.”

“I prefer takeout when I’m in a safehouse. Less opportunity for trouble at a grocery store.”

That made a good deal of sense. With takeout, he could have the deliverer leave his food outside the door, although admittedly, there was a higher chance of drugging. Presumably, that was less a concern for Leonardo, but it was a consideration.

“Fair enough,” he conceded as they made for the door. The whole stop took less than fifteen minutes. Will was impressed. No wonder he had been such a pain to try and catch. He traveled so easily, that it must take him minutes to leave a whole city, and everything in the safehouse was disposable. Even the art supplies, although it was clear Leonardo cared more for those than anything else in the apartment. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Before Leonardo could try and take it himself, Will took the suitcase in hand and only smiled when Leonardo raised a brow. Until Leonardo was healed up, Will didn’t mind being the muscle.

it was easy. Too easy in a way that raised the hair on the back of Will’s neck.

So he was almost expecting it when a gunshot thundered through the parking garage just as he finished loading the suitcase into his trunk, and shattered the window of the car right next to Leonardo’s head.

+++

Confidence Scheme: (FULL COLLECTION)

Deliberately Careless (Subscriber Only!)

Pure Guess

Phone Trace (Subscriber Only!)

De Vinci Terrace (Subscriber Only!)

Criminal Portraiture (Subscriber Only!)

Evidence Report

Bring a Crowbar

Proposal Lasagna

Hang from a Ledge

Taken Home

Oath Named

Cops and Robbers

Smudge 

Under the Edge

Travel Light (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[onthespotcleanersinc]

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[watatsumiis]

Some Pantalone headcanons <3

Some of my personal headcanons for Pantalone below the cut since my dash is flooded with him at the moment (as it should be)

Content warning for intrusive thoughts, mentions of skin/hair picking/pulling, compulsions, possible disordered eating.

Disclaimer: I write Pantalone as having OCD in this, please be aware that these traits aren't shared by everyone who has OCD, this is a set of headcanons that I have made based on personal experience and research, not a diagnostic list or a generalisation.

Pantalone has OCD - though he masks very well and keeps up his cool, unphased charade when around others, spending any significant amount of time around him and observing his behaviours makes it fairly clear.

He struggles quite badly with skin picking especially, his arms and shoulders are marked with faint scars, as well as his face, but he uses makeup to conceal it. This habit is a bit part of the reason why he wears gloves, so that it's harder for him to do so. He can sometimes get snappy with people who try to verbally remind him not to pick, but his anger is more directed at himself than anyone else, he just projects it outwards as a way of hiding his insecurities surrounding his struggles.

He twirls his hair absently, and occasionally may pick at his eyebrows or eyelashes when he's extremely stressed and overwhelmed. Sometimes he ends up with a tangled, matted fringe just because of how much he pulls and twirls at it.

Pantalone struggles back and forth with the way he views people like cleaners and cooks - logically he knows they are their own people, with their own families and quirks, but there's some part of his brain that just can't cope with that. He needs the 'relationship' to be purely transactional, almost clinical in nature - he can't know anything about the people who do those sorts of jobs, or else it just gnaws at his mind and wears on him until he has some kind of breakdown thanks to it. The more detached the worker, the better he copes. He doesn't know the name of his personal chef, or the person who cleans his quarters, and he likes it that way. He pays them handsomely and makes sure they're treated well, but no more than that.

His food needs to be prepared a certain way, by a certain person. He dislikes cooking for himself since it takes an obscenely long time due to the fact that he gets caught up with hygiene. He only trusts a small handful of restaurants, and sometimes he'll send subordinates in to scope out kitchens in places where he'll be staying. If they don't meet his standards, or he has an 'off' feeling about them, he'll bring his own food, which often ends up with him living off of preserves when he's on long trips where he can't bring his personal chef.

Observing closely, a fair amount of his rituals and compulsions can be traced back to his poor upbringing - he's picky with food due to repeated bouts of food poisoning due to poor quality ingredients and cooking conditions when he was young, he can't stand uncleanliness thanks to sicknesses caused directly by bad living conditions, he's strict when locking doors and windows due to repeated break-ins when he lived in a poorer neighbourhood.

He has a 'circular' way of sorting and working on things, he can work on a lot of papers at once, they just have to be in the right order, so he can flit in a clockwise direction through them all, switching seamlessly between each one without getting them mixed up.

Nobody can touch or clean his desk except for him - though it may look 'messy' at first glance, he understands it all perfectly and will know immediately if anything gets moved at all.

He keeps himself carefully detached from most people, he often views non-professional relationships as complicated and messy. He plays up his 'snooty' attitude as a defense mechanism to keep people away from him.

He can sometimes tolerate La Signora's company (after some light 'reconnaissance' missions into her quarters). They have similar tastes in wine, cheeses, and fruits and will sometimes share gossip.

Despite his haughty attitude, all of the people who work under him have good pay and benefits, and due to that, there's often a lot of people fighting over applying to work for him instead.

He always respects everyone equally upon meeting them, no matter their appearance or background - lots of people spread rumours about him being cruel and mean to the poor for the sake of it, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

He often makes large anonymous donations to organisations that he knows are good and trustworthy.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.