milliways_bar | (no subject)

Gaeta wasn't expecting to find a door this soon. Part of him, despite knowing (and knowing of) several people from Galactica who'd successfully reached Milliways, may have even expected that he wouldn't find a door at all after leaving Colonial One.

That could account for a lot: the way the door rocks backward with the full weight of Gaeta's shoulder behind it, the galley tray in his hand, the more casual civilian clothes (gone is the suit; gone, too, are the layers of someone living in a cold climate), the mildly dumbfounded expression as he stares around the room. After a moment, he heaves a sigh and makes for the nearest open seat -- in this case, one at the bar. His tray drops onto the bartop with an unceremonious clatter.

"Can I please at least finish my frakking dinner first?" he asks a beat later, too tired for the curse to carry any real heat. He gets no reply except a second napkin with a long string of zzzzzzzs scrawled across it, and so, with a quiet exhalation of, "Fine," he gets up and makes his way around the bar.

Eventually:

HAPPY HOUR
Hot Lunch
Coffee 43
After Dinner Mint

EXHIBIT A: A meal from Galactica's galley.
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(Here sits his unfinished dinner beneath the chalkboard.)

Offer suggestions to make it edible & drink half price.

It looks, for the record, like globs of something that might be mashed potato substitute, a bowl of wilted and depressed-looking greens, and a sickly-colored soup.

[tinytag: trudy chacon]

[OOC: ffffff. My body does not want to respond to pithy back room threats, alas; I am crashing and crashing hard. Mea culpa for bailing an hour early -- however, new tags are very much welcomed, and all slowtimes will be picked up!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I consider that an inherent part of the 'edible' description," he says, no less dry.

Then his forehead wrinkles.

"What?"

"And now I know you've never worked at my school's cafeteria."

She pauses. "Are you vegan? Vegetarian? I was just trying to figure out how you wound up with that, and 'only meatless option at the Ground Round' was one of my guesses."

She has others.

" -- Oh." The expression clears. "No, ah, I'm not."

Any picky eaters in the Fleet had their minds broadened by necessity pretty fast.

He points to the soup. "Supposedly that has beef in it," he adds, with the full dubiousness that claim deserves, "so I'd be frakked if I was anyway."

Buffy looks at the soup with new fascination. "Really?"

Okay, guess #2. "So is the Galactica a ship that doubles as the floating infant ward of a seaside hospital, and you guys lost the adult rations when a storm shipwrecked you on a desert island, leaving you with nothing to eat but the baby food?"

"You got the ship part right at least," he manages at last, struggling not to laugh.

It's a bit of a losing battle.

If she can't fix his dinner, at least she can provide mirth?

"I have absolutely no idea how to make that edible, by the way," Buffy informs him, "in case you couldn't tell. But I came up here to order nachos, and I will seriously order extra just for you if you promise I won't have to look at that while I eat."

Hey, it's better than nothing. Still smirking a little, Gaeta shakes his head.

"It was worth a try, but, if thousands of officers couldn't manage it by now..." He grabs one edge of the tray, careful not to touch the maybe-sort-of-potatoes, and slides it around the chalkboard until it's hidden from view. "Any kind of nachos in particular?"

"I didn't actually get that far," Buffy says, and then remembers what this man was planning to put in his mouth, and wonders if this is a mistake. "But feel free to load them up. This is my escape from dining hall food."

They're in the same boat!

Ha?

Cue the rimshot.

"Got it," he says, and begins to turn away, only to remember himself and quickly offer a hand. "Felix Gaeta, by the way."

Buffy blinks. (Hypocrite.)

"Buffy Summers."

She has a firm and well-moisturized handshake.

"Pleasure."

Sadly, moisturizer is not included in packages of Fleet rations, so Gaeta's only falls into one of those two categories.

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he says, "I'll...get started on those, one minute," and goes to start the hunt for tortilla chips and cheese.

Buffy takes advantage of the lull in conversation to actually snag a bar stool. Which makes her about three inches taller.

Then she waits. And wonders why Milliways always has cuter bartenders than the Bronze.

Well, okay, because Milliways can kidnap people from all over the megaverse, and the Bronze would be a shitty place to work even without the 10%-eaten-by-the-undead yearly turnover.

Some of the nacho toppings Gaeta finds in the fridge and does not consider adding: spicy jellyfish spread, alligator (100% NEW YORK RAISED!), cat food, and Venetian birdcrab eggs.

Ones he does: cheddar cheese, olives, tomatoes, lettuce, salsa, guacamole, and sour cream.

A quick run through the microwave later, he delivers the nachos to Buffy with a, "There you go."

Buffy surveys the spread. "Ooh, these look great."

She reaches for the edges of the plate, and pauses. "Wait, where's my second plate? Or did you split it up already?"

With a quick grin and a small flourish to go with it, Gaeta lifts a second plate of nachos onto the bar.

Ta-da!