Man Buns And Tips Please
Posted on Jun 19, 2017 @ 9:44pm by Iphigenia Bonviva
Edited on on Jun 19, 2017 @ 9:45pm
Mission: The Romulan Way
“Man-buns and Tips Please”
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Drama is very important in life: you have to come on with a bang. You never want to out with a whimper. Everything can have drama if done right. Even a pancake.
-Julia Child
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Location: USS PHOENIX
Scene: Vulgar Tribble
Appetizers were going well, people were mingling; awkwardly but it was still happening. Iphie had music cued up but for now it wasn’t playing. The music would be the marzipan topping on the cake of tonight if people needed it, but for now the cerulean chef held off.
“We need more Lobster Mousse Croustade,” Iphie ordered Hobbes as he came wandering towards the back where the kitchens were. As the Bynare nodded as he filled up his tray with the flavorful lobster mousse made with sherry, tarragon, lemon, garlic, and cream piped into bite sized puff pastry shells. When he turned around Iphie noticed a knot at that base of his skull. “Are you kidding me? Hobbes! You’re sick,” she hissed. Tapping the commbadge she said, “Calvin, get here now.”
As the other Bynare toddled over she said, “I know there’s a lot of pressure for tonight but if you two are sick you can’t be serving food to guests. Go to Sickbay.”
The Bynares looked at each other, spoke in binary, and then looked at Iphie. “We are--” Hobbes began.
“--not sick,” Calvin finished off.
“Then what in blazes is at the base of your heads?” Iphie hissed. “If Cap’n Homie sees this I won’t have to worry running out of appetizers because I won’t make it to the main course!”
There was some gesturing -- some intergalactic symbols of “No, you tell her” -- before Hobbes began, “It’s our--”
“--man-buns,” Calvin finished off.
Iphie glared, her cool gray eyes never wavering. “Let me get this right. On the biggest night of -- screw the PHOENIX -- of MY life and you two decide to unveil a new haircut?! And what is a man-bun?”
“It’s an elusive, tricky, hairstyle--” Hobbes began sincerely as he turned around to show a tangled web of cords at the base of his neck.
Calvin began to point at the intricate web of bun as he finished off “--and worn only by the prettiest, buffest dudes.”
“Just serve the food,” the chef said waving her hands in a sign of surrender.
=/\=
TI: Sometime later
Dinner was close to being served and Iphie watched as the dinner was being plated. Everything was being served tapas style to encourage sharing with one’s neighbor. There were traditional Federation dishes such as a Terran crispy braised bacon BLT on artisan ciabatta bread and Bajoran ratamba stew served over the traditional thin wide noodles. For Romulan dishes, there were jumbo Romulan mollusks over aromatic rice and a variety of traditional travit meat rolls.
“Is that osol twists I smell?”
Iphie turned around to see a tall imposing Romulan woman with stuff on her uniform; honestly why people felt the need to decorate themselves was beyond her. Then again she dyed her hair so who was she to talk? “It is,” the cheerful chef grinned as she gestured to where the osol where was with the other desserts for later. “I was going to serve it for dessert.”
“Prepared how?” she asked as she continued his inspection over the bar of the food and ale being prepared.
Iphie tilted her head at the question but eventually shrugged at that; maybe she was a secret foodie. Beaming with pride, the chef explained the process of acquiring the osol fruits, peeling and drying the fruit, then candying them to the appropriate sweetness level before twisting them into traditional Romulan pride symbols. At the end of the explanation Iphie ran into the kitchen and took out the osol twists that were already completed. “See here are the ones that are done,” she showed.
The Romulan nodded at that. “That is appropriate,” she nodded, her praise evident even if it was sparsely given.
Iphie recognized when someone didn’t want to give praise over food; it was as rare when Cap’n Homie gave a “This is good,” over his precious crispy bacon sandwiches. “Are you a foodie?” Iphie asked hopefully as she shelved the osol twists for later.
The Romulan woman blinked at that, momentarily confused by the question but burying any thought of confusion. “No. I am a Centurion; Centurion Ratal to be precise.” Looking at the chef she asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Iphie,” the chef explained as she leaned on the bar.
“What is an ‘Iphie’?” the Centurion asked seriously.
The Bolian-Human woman was tried very hard not to laugh, going so far as to bite her lip. **Bad, very bad to start an intergalatic incident now,** she reminded herself. “No, that’s my *name*. I am the Head Chef and Proprietor of this establishment,” she explained. “My name is Iphie Bonviva.”
“Bonviva...Bonviva...Bonviva,” Centurion Ratal repeated as if the name was an unsavory fo; she narrowed her dark eyes as if trying to place the name. Looking at the chef she asked, “Are you from BOLARUS IX?”
Briefly Iphie glanced at the Romulan ale and had to refrain herself from chugging it all down. Her older sister was a plague set upon her (even if she kinda loved her). Xana “I want to save the universe” Bonviva had fought on BOLARUS IX a little over a year ago during the Incursion of BOLARUS IX...against the Romulans. Iphie even kinda sorta maybe remembered Xana mentioning once or twice (or like a hundred times cause it was Xana) that she had led an an attacks against the Romulan leaders. Even the loquacious chef knew this was *not* appropriate dinner conversation.
“I was born on EARTH,” Iphie replied honestly as she stared back at the Centurion.
“Hmmm,” Centurion Ratal replied, lifting a chin.
Waving her hand carelessly around the cerulean woman continued on, “And really I consider myself to be a culinary genius of all the quadrants.” Looking as smartly at the Centurion she said, “I spent most of my life in the Gamma Quadrant...none of the Romulans there ever had a problem with me. And I knew...well let’s say I knew I how to make their osol twists for a price.” That would have worked better and a lot smarter if Iphie hadn’t nearly knocked over a tray of beer but there was more of that. She was on the way to getting her tips, and she was not going to be deterred.
“That sounds pervy,” a female voice while coming up from behind, “Ya know, making osol twists for a price.”
Iphie gave a glance over her shoulder but didn’t need to to know it was the copper haired Marine sauntering over. “It’s not. We’re all swell and above board here,” she said in an all but “Thank you so much, have an ale -- now go” tone of voice.
The thing was Kassandra Thytos did not *do* subtle; or perhaps she did and didn’t give a hlai’s ass about it. Either way her midnight blue eyes, which stared past the other two conversation participants, almost had a gleam to them as if she was going to enjoy a conversation about osol twists -- pervy, confectionary, or somewhere in between.
“So Iffy, if it’s not pervy, what else would you do osol twists for?” Kass asked propping her hip up against the bar.
Iphie glared at Kass. “Look, Kass, it’s different here but--”
Centurion Ratal, having no use for Human (or even Human/Bolian frivolity) dismissed both out of the way. “I believe Chef Bonviva is implying she used to take...credits for discretion by members of the Romulan Star Empire stationed in the Gamma Quadrant.” There was a long heavy silence as the Romulan woman leaned across the bar, picked up a wayward osol twist, considered the women, and walked away. Turning around she said, “The osol twist is good and it is not, to use your colloquialism, “pervy”.”
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NRPG: Not what I was intending but hey I got a post out so yay me!
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Sarah Albertini-Bond
~writing for~
Iphie Bonviva
