Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
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.
.
The Chef wasn't avoiding anything.
Nope.
Not avoiding anything.
She was merely taking care of herself. A self care day. She was shot, after all. That's why she had called Marcus, telling him she was taking a day for herself. Self care, not avoiding anyone. Nope.
Not at all.
Alexandera had bused up to the nicer side of town, where the Glitzies patrolled, showing off nice clothes and bad attitudes. Not that she was one to talk, self proclaimed bitch that she was. Sure things here were over priced and pretentious, but coffee was coffee, and she always made sure it was right. Food industry workers seemed to recognize each other, and in her experience, they took care of each other. Don't say she didn't do anything nice for people. Well... That was a bit more accurate back in the day, back before things were about survival and paying rent. Not worrying about people's lives and love-
Not thinking about it.
The Chef ran a hand through her hair, gripping the roots and growling in frustration. This was not helping! Scrolling through her old phone, not the one in her boot, not the one Edward had made her, her old cracked piece of shit, The Chef tried to distract herself with memes and forum boards. Music blaring in her ears, the heavy beats not helping block her thoughts. She had toyed with the idea of talking to Harley, but quickly decided against that. She wouldn't be any help. Noriko and Gene were busy with Crotch Goblin's quickly approaching birthday, and Noriko's pregnancy. Alexandera even thought about calling Alfred, but she was still angry at him, and Damien was a kid.
"Dammit!" The Chef seethed, making herself angrier with thoughts of the kid. This wasn't helping. Sipping the dregs of coffee swimming at the bottom of her cup, The Chef slammed the plastic cup down, splitting the sides. As if her bad mood was permeating to the other patrons of the overpriced coffee shop, they soon filtered out, eyeing the angry, scowling, growling woman warily, leaving just the barista, and The Chef. Playing with her straw, Alexandera scrolled through her phone, debating calling Crane or not, when a cup blocked her vision.
"I didn't order that." The Chef glared at the barista in front of her, curly dark hair pulled back in ponytail, generic black apron covering a rose printed dress. Her name tag reading, Elle. She looked like something out of a 1940's advert.
"I know, but you looked a little down, and I figured you might like a little pick me up." She was soft spoken. "Plus, you scared my customers away, so it's also a little thank you." The Chef snorted, grabbing the cup.
"Long day?" Black, strong, and iced. Barista girl remembered her order. Though it's hard to forget a 12 shot espresso. Elle sighed heavily, smoothing her hands down the apron.
"I don't know why people are so rude! It's not like I'm the reason their bosses are assholes!" Maybe soft spoken was the wrong description. "Sorry, I shouldn't be complaining to you."
"Bruh, I own a restaurant, complain all you want."
"Is that why you're here, the epitome of rage? Worried your employees are going to ruin things?" The Chef laughed, gesturing to the seat across from her. The Barista took the seat, loosening the aprons tie around her waist.
"Naw, my boys can handle the diner just fine."
"Sons?"
"Fuck no! Just some idiots sent my way."
"I wish my boss would hire some more people." The Barista sighed wistfully. "I'm Elle, it's nice to meet you." Elle held her hand out, The Chef grabbing it tightly. A weak handshake was a weak person.
"Alexandera." The Chef pulled her flask out and wiggled it in front of The Barista, asking for permission. When Elle shook her head, The Chef pouring a generous amount into her own cup.
"Where do you work? I've never seen you around here."
"My place is in the Narrows. Hodge Podge."
"Oh! I heard of it, in the Gotham Times!"
"The gossip column, no doubt." The Chef rolled her eyes, placing her phone on the table.
"Actually, there was a recent review of it, in the food column, you got two stars."
"Two? Who's the limp dick jackass who gave me two?!" The Chef squeezed her cup, denting the plastic, Elle's eyes widening at her tone before laughing.
"Don't worry, that guy is known for being harsh. Two means four, I promise." Elle gave a hesitant grin, eyeing The Chef. "You... you wouldn't happen to be Magenta, would you?" The Chef jumped at the accusation.
"I don't advertise it, but... Yeah, I play Magenta at the Gotham Aria."
"I love you're costume so much! I go every year it feels safe enough and watch the show." The Chef snorted at that, memories of the show being canceled because of Crane. "I applied to be a costume designer there, but I never heard back."
"Tell you what, you keep me supplied with coffee, and I'll put in a good word for you."
"Deal!"
.
.
.
"Harley, I'm not... I'm not showing up to his place is a blue teddy! I don't like him like that!" Yep, calling the jester was a bad idea.
"Suuuuure ya don't, Sunshine. Remember I am a psychologist."
"You lost your license."
"Still have the experience! Look, you're ignoring your own feelings, which is understandable, just take the day to take care of yourself, do your hair, get your nails done, just don't think about Jervis confessing to you, think about how you feel towards him."
"That's... surprisingly normal advice..."
"And what's that supposed to mean?!"
"Bye, Harley." The Chef hung up the phone, sliding it into her boot. The bus had been late, but that didn't bother The Chef, not like she had anywhere important to be. Harley may be onto something though, maybe a day without worrying about her friends or her diner would be good. The coffee shop girl was nice. Normal. Maybe some more normal would do her some good. Pulling the cord, the bus slowed to a stop, letting her off. People mulled about, in and out of shops fronts, in Little Japan. The Chef decided with some of her spare income it was high time to decorate her apartment. Deep down she knew she wouldn't be leaving Gotham anytime soon. Especially with...
Otaku Awesome. Really, that was the name of the store. Filled to the brim with posters, wall scrolls, manga, snacks, even a little clothing section for cosplay. It was high time The Chef embraced that small facet of her soul. High time she indulged in her guilty pleasure. Time for her to dive deep into slice of life, shoujo filth. Sure this place could be a little pricey, but it was worth it. It didn't take long for her to hull a thick stack of bound paper up to the counter. The Chef particularly excited for something called Food Wars. A good haul in her arms, she wandered back outside, meandering the streets. A rare peaceful day. Since her rescue, Gotham was blessedly quiet. An unspoken truce hovering in the air. Gothamites were taking full advantage of the reprieve. That didn't mean Alexandera wasn't keeping an eye out for trouble.
She knew better.
Peckish, she wandered inside a sushi bar, taking a seat at the bar, and ordering. Engrossing herself in her favorite story, she didn't notice the figure sitting down next to her, absently bringing the piece of octopus to her mouth, flipping through the pages.
"Excuse me. Do you have suggestions?" Breaking away from the story, The Chef turned to the voice. Jet black hair, deep blue eyes, striking jaw line. Handsome.
"Chef's choice. Always go with Chef's choice. They know better than I do." Alexandera replied gruffly, going back to her story. Shew wasn't here to socialize.
"Thank you." The man said, accepting her advice and ordering. Another bottle of sake was slid next to her, the empty bottle taken away. She poured herself another small cup, steam rising from the heated liquor.
"Why is it hot?" The man asked again, rich voice washing over her ears, making The Chef stop the cup an inch from her lips, sighing.
"It's traditionally hot." Alexandera side eyed the man. "Have you never been to a sushi bar?"
"I usually get sushi from the grocery store." The man replied, head ducked sheepishly. "I wanted to try a real sushi joint, you know?" The Chef sipped at the cup, mulling over his words.
"Sake, hot. If you're a lightweight, stick to one bottle, it will sneak up on you. Chef choice for sushi or sashimi, but order the octopus. Wakame for an appetizer. It's crunchy."
"What's sashimi?"
"Just fish. No rice." The man nodded.
"And wakame?"
"Seaweed salad." The man's nose wrinkled a bit. "Not that kind of seaweed. Different. Good." It was quiet again, and The Chef went back to reading, grinning softly to herself as she read about commoner coffee, alternating between hot rice wine and perfectly seasoned sushi rice. The man's food arrived some time later, and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him look at his plate, mulling over the food.
"Start with lighter colour fish, work your way to dark." The man looked at her again, Alexandera not looking up from her novel.
"Why?"
"You taste everything better. Most dark fish is richer in flavor, might over power light coloured fish."
"You know your stuff, huh?"
"Sure hope so."
"I'm Todd." The man turned fully to The Chef. "I appreciate you helping."
"Don't mention it." The Chef tried to ignore his eyes on her.
"What are you reading?" The Chef closed the book.
"Are you deliberately dense?" The Chef finally made eye contact again. "I'm trying to enjoy my day off."
"I'm sorry, it's just... I haven't been in Gotham long, and it's just nice to meet a friendly face."
"I'm not a friendly face."
"I think so, you didn't have to help, every one else just ignored me, but you didn't. I appreciate it." Todd rubbed his ear. "Sorry if I overstepped." His grin was hesitant. Boyish. Charming.
"Hmmm." The Chef kept her gaze on him, watching as after a minute, his face turned a little pink. "I'm reading a girly as fuck manga."
"How girly we talking?"
"Reverse harem. Oblivious as fuck main character. High school hi jinx."
"Sounds fun!" It was genuine, his tone.
"Alexandera."
"Is that what it's called?"
"It's what I'm called." The Chef placed the book down between the two of them, flipping to the first page. "Know how to read a manga?"
"No?"
They together, her teaching him how to read the novel, enjoying good food, and even better booze.
His company wasn't too bad, either.
.
.
.
It took the better part of the afternoon for The Chef to finally decide where all the posters would go. The girlish ones hidden away in her room. She lounged on her couch, devouring page after page, intermittently responding to texts from both her phones. Gene was teasing her for decor, Harley gushing at the cute boys made of ink and paper. It was a blissfully normal day. Even the fighting down the hall wasn't as loud. It made her forget all about her panic... until...
She had forgotten about that chapter. The one where the main character is dreaming, and everything was Wonderland themed.
Some god took pleasure in her discomfort.
Jervis was a sweetheart, despite his... madness.
He was kind, and caring. Took care of her when she sick, when she was shot.
Never pushed her. Was patient.
Maybe even a tad cute.
The little lisp endearing.
So...
The Chef sent a text.
.
.
.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep. It was a tapping on her window that woke her up. Groggy, The Chef looked to the sound blearily, rubbing at her eyes. Damien was at her window, making eye contact briefly, before disappearing. He was still keeping his promise. The Chef looked at her phone, wincing at the brightness. 5:17 AM. She slept in later than expected. Rolling off the couch, The Chef stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of juice from the fridge, drinking deeply, wincing at the combined taste of tart fruit and post sleep bad breath. Knocking on her door drew her attention.
"It's open." Alexandera called, placing the bottle back into the cold. When she shuffled back into the living room, Jervis stood there. Top hat proudly sitting atop his head, the collars to his jacket slightly askew, brightly patterned vest clashing with the paisley design of the button down beneath.
"My Dear." His voice was quiet, a surprising difference to his usual exuberance.
"Jervis." The Chef ran a hand through her hair, wincing when she caught a knot. "So... I thought about... Wait..." The Chef scrutinized Jervis, searching his eyes.
"I'm here." He was. Not just physically. He wasn't in the throes of madness. He was lucid. "You thought about what?" His eyes were wide, nervous. His wrung his hands to distract himself.
"I don't... have the best track record when it comes to romance." The last word made Jervis twitch. "I'm not great with it, in my opinion."
"I see." Bless him, he tried to hide his disappointment, but he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice.
"So," It was The Chef's turn to fidget, shuffling awkwardly. "Let's just... take it slow. I know we ain't gonna have a normal relationship, but I don't mind taking a shot at it." It was quiet.
"Dear?" Jervis' voice was a whisper.
"I'm not saying it's love... but I'm fond of you." Jervis stopped fidgeting, stark still, before he split into a wide grin, brightening the gap in his teeth prominent. Cute. He stepped closer, hand gripping hers. She could feel the slight sheen of sweat, but it didn't bother her.
"We can go slow. I understand." A gentle tug, and she was engulfed in a hug. He smelled herbal, like dried earl grey. They stayed like that for some time, simply hugging each other, and The Chef slowly relaxed in his hold as he gently rubbed between her shoulders, touch light.
"Would you like some tea, My Dear?" Jervis whispered in her ear, and Alexandera gave a soft smile.
"I'd like that very much, Jervis."
Nope.
She wasn't avoiding anything.
Not at all.
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Here's y'alls holiday gift. Merry whatever you celebrate.
To the winners, y'all will appear in separate chapters, don't worry your cameos are coming.
Don't forget to stalk me on tumblr.