[ Basket ]
but i’m telling you
i don’t want to stay
Rapscallion (noun) a mischievous person.
(archaic or humorous) ORIGIN late 17th cent.: alteration of earlier rascallion, perhaps from “rascal”
When Davie mentioned the responsibilities that came along with learning how to be a chef, Oliver’s lower lip couldn’t help but turn up in disgust as he furrowed his eyebrows. Such expressions were tell-tale signs of the more histrionic side to Oliver that he often denied having - a bit shy when it came to his love for theatrics. “Responsibilities? Such a word should be banned from the dictionary. Hell, that word is expelled from our vocabulary tonight, man”, He said in a more imperative manner than declarative before slapping a hand down on Davie’s thin shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “If I don’t get something in my system soon, I won’t be standing for much longer. Whether that be dinner, dessert or beer”, he added.
After listening to Davie’s quick statement on such serious issues, he was slightly awestruck. How did he phrase his thoughts so perfectly, at such a rapid pace? The simple idea just about made Oliver green with envy - he had such an eloquent friend, a gift that came at such ease for the young man. He always got so tongue-tied with his words when it came to speaking his mind regarding such beautiful, deep topics. He wished he could speak his mind and actually be proud of what came out, without having to be careful. “Wow, Davie… You should really be a writer. You’ve got a great gift”, he spoke in awe, struck by the pictures Davie painted in his mind. “You know… I can really see you as a chef, it’s quite a social job for a sociable person such as yourself. Do you cook a lot?” The image of Davie in a big chef hat couldn’t help but bring a grin to Oliver’s face. Although flipping crepes and making creme brulee wasn’t the young man’s specialty, he thought about how fun it would be to create wonderfully delicious dishes that would blow his friends away.
Suddenly, a young female waitress, probably young enough to be a student, approached the table. She had her hair tied up into a loose bun, and was obviously exhausted from a long day’s work. On her face was a blunt, bored expression - made even more evident after she dropped the menus on the table with a lackluster smile. “Welcome, what can I get you two?” she asked in a thick Parisian accent, tapping a pen on a small pad that she yanked out of her apron. She cocked her seemingly heavy head to the side as Oliver dazzled the girl with his typical cheeky grin and sparkling eyes, sending shivers up her slumped spine. Of course, his intentions were pure - he was just a naturally very flirty and friendly man. “I’ll have a water for now, Mademoiselle. How are you this evening?” he asked, looking up at the young girl. “Fine.. thank you”, she said, beaming as she nervously tucked a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, blushing a bit. “And what for you, Monsieur?” She asked as she glanced over to Davie.
Davie watched in awe as his friend went off on a slight tangent, and he smiled softly to himself. He was the one to throw himself into dramatics; perhaps he was rubbing off on Oliver. If that was the case, he hoped some of Oliver’s self-assuredness would rub off on him in turn. He flinched slightly when Oliver’s hand came to rest on his shoulder heavily, chuckling lightly. “Well then, we’d ought to get ourselves seated and get you something to eat or drink.” he said. “I’m glad you’re a dessert person. Rosalie isn’t, and she gives me such trouble about it.”
He blushed slightly at Oliver’s compliments, and scratched the nape of his neck. “Oh, I, uh… It’s not all that… Um… I mean, that is to say…” He took a quick breath. “I’d like to be a writer, but I’m not all that good at it. In any case, I much prefer to use my voice and body as tools, rather than my hands. The words of others, and how I can reinterpret them, that’s… that’s where, I think, that’s where I feel best. Other people’s words are so much more interesting to me than my own. It’s all in the way they hold, their resonance. I like being able to pull and play with that.” He nodded. “Yes, I cook quite a lot.” He paused, thinking over what Oliver had said. “I’m not as certain as you. I don’t do well in that social of an environment. One on one is much more my speed. This is nice.” He said, reached out a hand to gesture to the two of them. “This is comfortable. More than two is a bit much for me, and I’m certainly no good at telling people - or ordering them, rather - to do things.”
He crossed his legs over, folding his hands in his lap. He’d been so caught up by the conversation with Oliver, along with the reunion, that he hadn’t noticed when the waitress arrived. He looked over at her when she spoke to him, and licked his lips. “I… uh… My sincerest apologies, miss, I was distracted.” He paused for a moment, thinking. Can I have a glass of Rosé? If you have it, that is.”