AN: Inspired by a lengthy, imaginative list of AU scenarios found here post/85369977117/because-we-really-needed-another-au-meme-thats-why I hope it's alright that I used one of the prompts on the list!
Delphine is wildly uncomfortable.
Speed dating is nowhere in the realm of experiences-admittedly, somewhat staid and conventional thus far- that Delphine ever thought she would have. Spending 120 seconds staring across a laminated tabletop at a total stranger inside an industrially lit Panera Bread franchise hardly seems an appealing prospect.
And Delphine is certainly not desperate.
She has been single for a surprisingly large number of consecutive months but immunology fellowships don't earn themselves and there is always Paul, if she finds herself with an itch that cannot be scratched. Paul is charming in a way that completely lacks warmth or animation but his is a body that hers knows and together they move in a pleasantly dispassionate tandem toward mutual completion.
Delphine's hand is rifling through her purse, clutching around the slim line of her phone and she's mentally crafting her invitation to Paul when the table creaks, wobbling under a pair of slender, strong hands with bejeweled fingers that brace the weight of lithe, sinewy arms inked symmetrically in black at the tender, vulnerable wrists.
Delphine looks up, startled, to find a pretty, smiling woman peering down at her through whimsical, plastic-framed glasses.
"Ah, no thank you," Delphine murmurs vaguely, pinching out an embarrassed smile to soften her words.
The girl, whose hazel eyes sparkle softly against dark slashes of eyeliner, holds up her hands placatingly, smiling her wry smile. "Yeah, no. I just work here. Not here for the speed dating. And I don't think you can just pass on somebody anyway, you know? Like, I think it's spin the bottle rules. No take backs, you feel me?"
"I'm sorry," Delphine sighs. She rubs black lacquered fingers over her eyes quickly and opens them again to find the woman staring back at her curiously. "I will have…un cafe. A coffee, please."
To Delphine's everlasting surprise, the woman spreads her hands wide, dark dreadlocks bobbing along with her shrugging shoulders, saying, "I'm totally kidding. I don't work here. I'm here for the speed dating."
Delphine, frowning her puzzlement, confesses, "I'm confused. Should I order coffee from you or ask you the questions on the notecard?"
Gesturing to the chair across from Delphine before promptly parking herself in it, the woman exclaims warmly, "We don't need notecards. It probably just has talking points on it, right? Where am I from? What do I do for a living?"
Delphine looks down at the blue card and shrugs. The stranger is more or less correct.
"Let's go off-script," the woman urges. "That's theater speak," she adds, brow furrowing, as if she suddenly realizes Delphine might not be a master of American stage slang. "My sister is a massive theater nerd. The lingo rubs off on you after a while. You like theater?"
Delphine waves a hand dismissively, "Not really."
Grinning, the woman agrees heartily, "Same! I'm forever being dragged to see Ali's plays and it's like, I get it, man. You have to embrace the muse but theater kills me."
"My parents met in rehearsals for a school play," Delphine inexplicably blurts.
"Classic meet-cute," the woman says, nodding thoughtfully. "My parents met in jail."
Delphine's eyes widen comically and the bespectacled girl across from her chuckles. "They didn't meet in jail, buddy. Not gonna lie though, they occasionally dabble in some less than legal pharmacopeia activities. Nothing serious though, you know?"
Delphine smiles bemusedly, glancing down at the list of her prospective dates. She'd assumed all the names belonged to males but perhaps there was a unisex option? Shelby?
"I'm definitely not on the list," the girl chips in, smiling still, though suddenly looking somewhat bashful. "I'm Cosima."
Confused, Delphine trains wary eyes on Cosima and tries to infuse all of her desire for clarification into one meaningful gaze.
Cosima visibly starts after a moment, shaking her dreaded head and moving her hands around emphatically, saying, "Right. So, I don't work here. And I mean, strictly speaking, I'm still not here for the speed dating. I'm supposed to meet Alison at a Panera Bread for dinner but it dawned on me about ten minutes ago that I'm totally at the wrong Panera Bread. There are like, 12 of these stupid places in a five block radius. Alison loves them but I'm not big on soup in a bread bowl, you know? It's hot outside. And I'm trying to cut down on gluten." Glancing conspiratorially at Delphine, she confides, "It's not going so well."
Delphine, in the face of Cosima's towering, bewildering monologue, finds herself smiling again. The official timer goes off, somewhere to their right, and the first of Delphine's would-be suitors approaches the table with a shy smile on his gentle, handsome face. His hair is a bit long and his beard is a little unkempt, not unpleasing altogether but more rustic than Delphine usually finds attractive. He starts to introduce himself, perhaps emboldened by Cosima's playful wave.
"I'm Cal," he announces, sheepish despite his respectable height and rugged good looks. Delphine smiles politely and lifts her eye brows to indicate that she's noticed his polite looming but Cosima starts to drift back from the table, trying to extricate herself with what's left of her dignity. She's surprised when Delphine's hand darts across the surface and fastens itself, surprisingly gently, around Cosima's bracelet-bound wrist. Not entirely certain about her own spontaneous, probably foolish choice, Delphine slides her hand down into Cosima's cool, open palm and smiles apologetically up at Cal.
"I'm sorry," says Delphine, squeezing Cosima's hand. "I've met someone already."
Cosima's lips turn up, hopeful but measured, as she sympathizes with the befuddled guy, "I work fast, guy. They don't call it speed dating for nothing, you know?"