The Stacks -The Cafe Frobisher
Mid Morning on the seventeenth of Yaris
Mid Morning on the seventeenth of Yaris
T
aking one thing with another, the spinach puffs were really very passable. A warm and flaky pastry, a fragrant filling, and served at very nearly the right temperature. Thankfully, the cordial host of the place had erred on the side of too hot, and the little triangular, horn-like creations were cooling merrily in the shadow of the tea pot. Other dishes were scattered about the table, the debris of a leisurely, indeed and on-going, brunch. An apricot bun, glossy with a fine and translucent glaze was being given a thoughtful nibble by his companion. It had been some time since either of them had spoken. A comfortable, almost easy quiet.
It would have to be broken sooner or later. There was business to attend to, but for now, it seemed right and proper to lounge on the comfortable patio. It would give him time to put his thoughts in order. Perhaps his cousin was doing the same. It would have been in character. She had always been the more reserved.
They had not seen each other in years. Letters of course had not been uncommon, but Abe was Anaxi to her core, and Brunnhold was her place. It suited her. She seemed to be at ease in this place, with its too-much ivy and red-stone lanes. Her profession was here, and, near as he could tell, it suited her as well and she suited this place. There was the lingering weariness all good physicians have, but it seemed natural and not destructive. It seemed a fine old companion. He was glad of that, both for his cousin and for her patients. An uncomfortable doctor was no use to anyone.
Doctor.
His mind snapped back to the matter at hand, the business of this morning. He was not here simply to share a civilized meal, he was here to discharge an obligation, and to ask a favor.
“Abe,” he said, giving one of the spinach puffs an experimental prodding with the end of one long and spidery finger. “Uncle Gian wanted me to tell you that he was able to secure the items you requested, though not without some cost. The times being what they are.” He gave a vague sort of gesture, waving at the air as though to dismiss some troublesome insect. It has the opposite effect, and one of the tedious waitstaff homed in on their table like a particularly unwelcome wasp.
“Sir,” inquired the wasp, “Is there anything else I can get for the pair of you.” Yes, thought Umberto, for you to go away. There is business afoot.
“No, I think I am fine. Although, I was about to tell my friend here that a rather fine poppyseed cake would be just the thing to close out this meal.” The Cafe Frobisher did not serve poppyseed cake. It never had. Today, at least, that would be a benefit.
“Oh I am so sorry sir, but we do not have such a thing. Perhaps a lemon cake? Very popular.”
“So I recall. And on another day, I think I should like a slice of lemon cake." He turned to Abe, trying to affect a bemused smile, "It really is a very fine lemon cake. But I have promised my friend here a slice of Bastian poppyseed cake. Brought all the way from Florne at great expense via my own hand. A family gift you understand.[/color]” He gave Abe a conspiratorial look. “Weren’t you just saying how much you were looking forward to that cake?”
It would have to be broken sooner or later. There was business to attend to, but for now, it seemed right and proper to lounge on the comfortable patio. It would give him time to put his thoughts in order. Perhaps his cousin was doing the same. It would have been in character. She had always been the more reserved.
They had not seen each other in years. Letters of course had not been uncommon, but Abe was Anaxi to her core, and Brunnhold was her place. It suited her. She seemed to be at ease in this place, with its too-much ivy and red-stone lanes. Her profession was here, and, near as he could tell, it suited her as well and she suited this place. There was the lingering weariness all good physicians have, but it seemed natural and not destructive. It seemed a fine old companion. He was glad of that, both for his cousin and for her patients. An uncomfortable doctor was no use to anyone.
Doctor.
His mind snapped back to the matter at hand, the business of this morning. He was not here simply to share a civilized meal, he was here to discharge an obligation, and to ask a favor.
“Abe,” he said, giving one of the spinach puffs an experimental prodding with the end of one long and spidery finger. “Uncle Gian wanted me to tell you that he was able to secure the items you requested, though not without some cost. The times being what they are.” He gave a vague sort of gesture, waving at the air as though to dismiss some troublesome insect. It has the opposite effect, and one of the tedious waitstaff homed in on their table like a particularly unwelcome wasp.
“Sir,” inquired the wasp, “Is there anything else I can get for the pair of you.” Yes, thought Umberto, for you to go away. There is business afoot.
“No, I think I am fine. Although, I was about to tell my friend here that a rather fine poppyseed cake would be just the thing to close out this meal.” The Cafe Frobisher did not serve poppyseed cake. It never had. Today, at least, that would be a benefit.
“Oh I am so sorry sir, but we do not have such a thing. Perhaps a lemon cake? Very popular.”
“So I recall. And on another day, I think I should like a slice of lemon cake." He turned to Abe, trying to affect a bemused smile, "It really is a very fine lemon cake. But I have promised my friend here a slice of Bastian poppyseed cake. Brought all the way from Florne at great expense via my own hand. A family gift you understand.[/color]” He gave Abe a conspiratorial look. “Weren’t you just saying how much you were looking forward to that cake?”
