"Okay girl, you got this." I said to myself, looking into my reflection for what I hoped to be the final time. I wanted to make sure every flaw was covered, every hair in perfect place, every inch of my being screaming "I am confident, fear me". Now I just needed to believe it. With a deep breath that I was sure to be my last, I exited the bathroom.
The first thing that came into view was my roommate, standing in the hall across from the bathroom, impatiently tapping her foot against the wood floors, sending vibrations down the long hallways that echoed back to me. Her hair was frazzled, and her eyes were heavy, but impatient. I shrugged gently.
"Sorry, Keelin... I'm just nervous."
"Girl," She said as we traded places in the bathroom, a hairbrush pointed at me, as if it were supposed to be a menacing object, "You've been cooking since you were 8. You've been to 5 schools in 8 years, and you have toured the world in search of bettering yourself. You're a freggin' idol." She said. Somehow, none of those things comforted me, even though I knew them all to be true facts, but the grin on her face spread like wildfire. "If those jerks in that tower don't immediately offer you a job upon arrival, they are idiots, and deserve any thrashing you give them."
"I'm NOT going to give them a thrashing..." I grumbled. "...I'm certain they'd like it." The comment eased the tension between us, and in spite of my nerve wracking fear, I found myself laughing with her. "...Alright, I should go. I want to beat traffic, and NOT be late for this job I'm definitely not getting."
"Way to be optimistic!" She shouted as I made my way down the hall. I picked up my purse, shoving my phone, keys, and wallet inside of its ever spacious compartments, before making my way to the outside world. I stood on the doorsteps for a while, gazing into the scenery of the concrete jungle surrounding my apartment, the occasional trees there to give it some color, surrounded by dark gates to keep you from ever reaching said color. The streets were littered with newspaper, and people who were walking to work with headphones in, along with the occasional cars. This early in the morning, hardly anyone was on my street. Good for me. I closed my eyes for a moment before taking the first step down.
It took me a few minutes, but I eventually found myself in front of a very looming building; Tall, and quite intimidating with the large 'M' on the front, signifying exactly who this particular building belonged to. Before I could even assess the nervous bubble rising in the pit of my stomach, the door opened, giving me a fright, and I jumped away from the opening. The door maid smirked from the other side of the glass pane.
"I believe you are expected this morning, yes?" She said casually, still grinning at me. I pulled my purse closer and cleared my throat.
"Yes. I have an interview. I was asked to come in early."
"I believe they are already here, expecting you." That's unsettling. Am I late? I looked to the watch on my wrist. I was, in fact, way too early for my own good. "Come in." She said, motioning into the doorway. I pulled myself through it, envisioning myself leaving all of the bad luck and nervous vibes on the sidewalk to melt in the sun. I was greeted by a second set of doors, which was also opened for me. The man holding this door was less chatty, and merely stared into nothing as I went by, even after thanking him.
My heels clicked loudly on the tile of the room, the silence in the air really not settling well with me. I couldn't hear the air movement of the conditioner, even though it was absolutely freezing inside. There were no fans, no hustle and bustle. Just silence. It was unnerving, and growing more so with each slow click of my heel. I looked over each neatly kept table, each with its own centerpiece, with each chair in its place surrounding it. The place was absolutely stunning, befitting the name of the owners.
"...Where is everyone?" I wondered aloud, looking around. The dining hall was large, and yet not a soul to be seen. And the eerie quiet pushed me to make a decision: I was going to the kitchen.
I found the doorways quite easily, and pushed into them, grinning as I came upon the view. It was fully furnished, with everything an aspiring chef could dream of. I awed in how pristine it was, and how clean everything seemed. I'd never seen a kitchen sparkle before. I set my purse down on the counter, browsing the various equipment; Fryers, retarders, pots and pans, knives. I stopped at the sharp objects sticking from the magnet in front of one of the counter tops, which I assumed was for prep. I reached for one, interested in it.
"Typically, those are reserved... for the chef." A very British, slightly cross voice echoed through the kitchen. I jumped, turning towards the sound as the echo died around me. He had slacks on, with a slightly opened shirt, as if he'd just woken up from a deep slumber in fairy tale land. He was scruffy, and his hair was beautifully disheveled, but his eyes were bright and beautiful, albeit hard as he stared at me. He was extremely attractive, and I found myself gaping. His hands were behind his back as he slowly approached the table I was frequenting. "That is, when we have one." The voice came out of his mouth, and I found myself speechless. "Might I ask what you are doing in my kitchen?" He said, standing on the other side of the table, just an arms length away from me.
"I-" I said quietly. He tilted his head slightly. I cleared my throat gently. "I apologize. I am here for an interview, but I didn't see anyone, and I wasn't directed." I said, looking towards the door. "I got a little carried away thinking I might find someone in here. The place is stunning." I grinned before turning back to him. He seemed less than amused, forcing me to lose my grin. "Uh... Anyway, I'm Tassryn." I said, extending my hand to him.
"I don't remember scheduling... Well, you, to be interviewed today." He said, looking me over and disregarding my hand. "In fact, I don't believe I'd scheduled anyone today." I felt a twinge of anger somewhere, but quickly pushed it away as I let my hand fall to my side. As I was about to say something to him, A voice interrupted.
"That's because you didn't, Niklaus." Another man, and another British accent, stepped into the kitchen, looking entirely more prepared than the previous, donned in a suit and tie. He ran a hand through that wavy hair of his, as if it wasn't perfectly in place already. His face was well kept, his suit well pressed, his entire being well furnished. Was he a god? Had my heart stopped? My eyes darted between the two. The first, clearly more rebellious of the two was staring at the other, and the suited one was staring at me.
"I told you I'd handle it this time." The rebellious looking one, Niklaus, said through gritted teeth.
"And I told you no." The man said, turning to view him. They stared at each other for a while before Niklaus turned to glare at me, giving me a once over, and leaving the room with haste. The Greek god turned back to me with a sigh. "My apologies for his behavior. It appears he is in need of more coffee." He gave a slight grin, and my heart fluttered. He approached, hand outstretched to me. "Elijah Mikaelson."
"Tassryn." I said with a grin as I shook his hand. "I didn't mean to wander off." I confessed.
"Not to worry. I'd like you to get familiar with the surroundings." He said. "I've read a great deal about you. You're quite the novice."
"Am I?" I chuckled nervously. "That's certainly bold."
"Am I wrong?"
"...Well, I... Suppose not." I said gently. "What does one call an accomplished food taster?"
"A chef." He mused, to which I laughed. "Not to rush, But I do have several things to attend before tonight. May I?" He said, motioning to the doors to the dining hall. "I'd like to discuss what we expect from you."
"Expect?" I inquired, taking a few steps toward my purse I had left. "You talk as if I already have the job."
"Did I not make that obvious?" He grinned, walking with me. "Well, you're only partially hired. The way we interview is a bit different than most. Please." He motioned again to the doors. I swiped the purse up and headed into the hall, finding myself being lead to a table with several papers on it, scattered about. I was made to sit in the most gentlemanly way, my chair being pushed in before he, himself, took a seat next to me.
"So, what is it that should be expected of me?" I started. He flashed a grin at me.
"Quick to the draw..." He said gently. I gripped my purse hard in hopes to keep myself from blushing. "The interview process starts with a taste test." He said, pulling about some papers before handing it to you. "These are a few of the lists from several of our chains, to give you an idea of what we try to accomplish here." I looked down at the lists, skimming over one. I turned to the second and became confused. More so when i hit the third, really reading it now.
"...These are all different." I looked up at him. "Vastly so."
"Exactly." He grinned. "Each restaurant we've opened, we've asked for each chef to bring their individuality. We want their best, and their favorites. I tend to find that things from the heart are the best things to serve." He shrugged slightly, and I found myself smiling. "So! The way this will go is such: You will have 3 days to come up with a menu. We ask you make a minimum of 5 courses, simply so we can have a variety of your desired flavors. Obviously, one of those should be a desert." That was a given, I thought to myself.
"There will be a handful of people here from other restaurants, and myself included, to eat these dishes. You will be staffed as if its a full kitchen, as if its a full restaurant. You will have any resources at your disposal. Am I clear so far?" I nodded. "Good."
"Should I expect to practice here?" I inquired, to which he perked up. "And how many people will I be serving for? Is your team prepared to follow a chef they don't even know? Or even know that It's only my trail run?" He laughed slightly.
"Those are all very good questions. Surprisingly, you're the first to ask rather than jump in head first."
"And how many of those head first chefs did you fire?" I said, a grin spreading on my face. He leaned back in his chair.
"...5 of them." He mused. I gave a small smile and he tilted his head. "Alright, then. I'll send you a list that will answer all of your questions by the end of today, at the latest. I assume this is your current place of residence?" He slid a piece of paper closer to me, which i immediately recognized as my application. I looked at it briefly and nodded. "Then I shall have it delivered there."
"Thank you so much... Uh..." I cleared my throat. "...It's strange to just call you Elijah." He raised his eyebrow slightly before chuckling.
"Would Mr. Mikaelson roll off the tongue better?" He said coyly, to which I had no answer. I probably looked like an idiot, sitting there with my mouth open. He laughed. "I'll let you ponder on that choice." He said as he stood, knocking me out of my befuddled trance. I stood as well, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it. "Pleasure, Tassryn." He smiled.
"...Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Mikealson." I said with a grin, turning to take my leave before he could say anything else to make my heart leap. As i was let out of the first set of doors into the street, I noticed my nervousness had not melted into the sun, but it'd come back with a vengeance. I turned to look up at the building, the realization of my encounters today as the 'M' looked over me.
I had met both of the Mikaelson brothers, and I'd never wanted to die more in my entire life.