(no subject)

There are only a few weeks of art classes left for the little ones at Green Gardens, and then summer sessions begin. That'll be more taxing, but more interesting, as well, Grantaire thinks, working with the older children who have art classes -- from what he still thinks of as proper instructors -- available to them during the school year.

But toward the end of the year, the days end early, with projects just winding up, and so he has plenty of time to amble towards Edgar's work in time to meet his boyfriend when he clocks out. It's on this walk, familiar and relaxing, that he spots a new sign.

Grantaire is very familiar with the city. It's a point of pride, in fact: he likes to know where the best place is for this and that deal, the attractive staff, the food or the clothing. He'd memorized it as he had memorized Paris. It's taken a while, but Darrow is smaller, and he's done a good job of it, in his own estimation.

This interloper, then, takes him by surprise. What really catches him off guard is the nature of the place. It's a rather nice, young-looking establishment: from the street he can see copper lighting, a nice wood bar, round wood tables with little glass mason jars. He could have sworn just a few days ago that --

"Wasn't this place a florist's shop?" he inquires of the delicate-featured young man standing outside.

"Before us?" he says with a small smile. "Yes, I think so. Were you looking for a florist?"

"No," he says, and laughs. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that I've never seen this place before."

"We're quite new," the young man says with a tone of endless sympathy for such a mistake. "Would you like to try a free sample of our food? I promise you, it's like nothing you've tasted before. The cuisine of my homeland," and he says a word, but Grantaire's damned if he could repeat the series of syllables that roll off his tongue.

"Well, I suppose I've time for a sample," he agrees, and the server disappears and reappears with a small plate. On it, there's a glazed piece of meat, curled around by what look like the rind of some sort of fruit, and speared through with, rather than a toothpick, something like rosemary, the wand of an herb. The plate is drizzled with a green dressing, and the effect of the whole thing is as though he's ordered an entire entree. It's impossible that this could be the sample, this vibrant, aromatic dish.

He baffles at it, and then he takes a picture and sends it off to the internet, exclaiming about this place.

"It's even better eaten than looked at," the server encourages, rosy lips curling into a smile, and Grantaire laughs and lifts it to take a bite. The meat is succulent, with a slight underscore of gaminess like venison or duck that he can't quite name, and the sweet, tangy fruit explodes into life with the smoky herbs in his mouth.

"You're right," Grantaire says, dumbstruck. "It's like nothing I've ever tasted." He pauses. "Might I order a whole plate of it? To go --" he reminds himself, for the time had left his head. "I've got to meet my boyfriend. I have to bring him some."

"Lucky man," the server says. "But wouldn't you rather sit down and have yours, here, before taking something home? We're between lunch and dinner, you see," he waves to the empty restaurant, placing a hand on Grantaire's back. "It won't take us any time to whip you up something."

Grantaire blinks at the empty restaurant. It seems so very inviting, the wood interior, lush decor that he hadn't even noticed looking in. "I suppose it won't," he agrees, sitting down at the nearest table. "Yes, I'll take an order of -- that, and one to go."

"Perfect. Let me set you up with a paired drink while you wait."

Grantaire nods, then catches himself. "Wait, I don't drink --"

"Oh, you'll find its intoxicating quality has nothing to do with alcohol," the server chuckles, and Grantaire nods, watching him disappear into the kitchen.

[OOC: Neil and Edgar can TL/thread back and forth with each other under this and I'll put a separate TL below for rescuing Grantaire if that's good?]