#+ its such a gloomy ass weather here i’m even more annoyed

[defsbeom]

//

[presleepthoughts]

Purpose

Pairing: Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale

A/N: Had this story on my computer for over two years now....slightly based on the movie “Hangman”.

Photo credit: Brandi Kitten from pinterest

/

Balancing a tray of hot coffee, Detective Mitchell wobbled her way between the FBI station cubicles, already feeling annoyed in the early morning. She loved her job but getting up at 5 am in the crack of dawn wasn’t her idea of fun. The station was already buzzing with energy, employees starting their day just like her. She rounded the corner and maneuvered by an officer guiding a suspect away in handcuffs and pushed the door open to her office.

 The room was fairly empty, the walls painted a light shadow of brown. Her large desk was pushed back and stationed in front of the windows and like usual it was covered in file cases in unorganized piles. A light-colored couch was pushed against the wall, perfect replacement of her bed whenever it was necessary. Often times important cases demanded her attention and she couldn’t afford to waste hours to go home.  

 She rounded the desk and settled down in the black leather chair, pushing away some of the paperwork she hadn’t completed last night on her desk and sat down the tray. The cracking of the door hinges alerted her of a newcomer and she looked up only to see her partner, Jesse Swanson.

 “I would greet you with a good morning but I don’t think you would appreciate that.” His signature easy going smile made her shook her head. They have been partners for the last five years now and Beca trusted him with her life but if she was being honest, the kid could be a huge pain in her ass.

“Rough night?” He must’ve noticed her unenthusiastic expression as he inched his way inside the room, sitting down with a smile before her desk. “Is one of them for me?” He pointed with his finger and without waiting for an answer, leaned closer and stole one of the two coffees, tearing off the lid and sipping the beverage happily.

 Beca rolled her eyes. “Well, that was just rude. It could’ve been for somebody else, Swanson. Don’t be self-centered.” She smirked, showing him, she was messing around. She grabbed the other cup and took a generous snip and sighed, leaning back on her chair.

 “I was here ‘til two in the morning. Haven’t slept much.” She admitted as she closed her eyes just for a second. Beca knew that working for the FBI would come with its challenges but the continuous intensity of her job started to take a tool on her body. She had lost weight in the last couple of weeks and her mind was overwhelmed.

 Jesse raised his eyebrows curiously. “New case?”

 Beca shook her head as her jaw clenched. “No, just some paperwork I had to finish for the Johnson’s case. One more reason for me to hate that fucker.”

 Kevin Johnson was one of her biggest cases since joining the FBI five years ago. He was a teacher who got obsessed with one of his student and tried to kidnap the girl. On a late night, he climbed in through her window and drugged her, took her from her house and put her in the trunk of his car. Her parents notified the FBI and Beca was the first one who responded to the call. She tracked him down in Chicago, Illinois and rescued the girl, putting him away for life. All that happened a week ago.

 “He’s got what he deserved.” Jesse said. “The girl is safe and he’s going to rot in prison for the rest of his life. I mean, if the other inmates let him live for that long.” Jesse commented, crossing his arms across his chest. “Crimes involving children aren’t very popular, even in prison.”

 She nodded knowingly. “One more lunatic off the streets, at least.” She mumbled, grabbing some of the scattered files and trying to organize them neatly, stacking them into the drawer.

 Jesse let the conversation die down as drank his coffee while looking out the window over Beca’s shoulder. The weather was gloomy, grey skies gathering over their heads and Jesse wondered when it would rain. The comfortable silence was interrupted when one of the agents peeked his head through the door, addressing Beca.

 “Mitchell. Captain Posen wants you in her office right away.” He waited for her to nod and left the two of them alone.

 “What do you think she wants?” Jesse asked and Beca shrugged her shoulders.

 “No clue but I’m about to find out.” She pushed her chair away from the desk and stood up. “You’ll wait for me here?”

 Jesse shook his head. “I have some things to finish too. I’ll come by later. We can go to lunch?” He suggested, receiving a nod in reply as Beca left her office and made her way down the corridor.

 Five doors down, she reached a wooden door with a sign ‘Captain Aubrey Posen’ in bold, black letters placed on the surface. Beca knocked slightly and after hearing an invitation to come inside, she opened the door. The Captain’s shoulders were hunched over a file, not lifting her gaze to look at the detective, simply waving her hand in her direction, directing her to sit down on the available chair. Beca stepped inside, noticing another visitor with her back to her, sitting in one of the seats. Her bright red hair was falling in waves on her shoulder and she was wearing a brown leather jacket.

 “You wanted to see me?” Beca asked strongly, not taking the offered seat, opting to stand.

 Captain Posen finally lifted her gaze and looked at her with her eyebrows raised. “Yes. Detective Mitchell, meet Chloe Beale.”

 The redhead, now Beca knew to be Chloe, stood up and turned around. The first thing Beca acknowledged was her ocean blue eyes as she stood with her hand outstretched for a handshake. After a stunned second, she shook her hand firmly.

 “Ms. Beale here is a journalist from the Times magazine. From now on, she’ll be your new partner alongside with Detective Swanson. She’s partaking in an all access project to write an article about our station. Wherever you go, she goes.”

 Mitchell furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The Captain wanted to partner her up with an untrained civilian, a journalist nevertheless who had no idea about the danger Beca and all the other officers faced daily. She shifted on her feet, scrunching up her nose in distaste. She didn’t know babysitting was a part of her job description.

 If the Captain noticed her reaction she didn’t show it as she turned her attention to the journalist. “Ms. Beale, I trust you can partake in this project and write your piece without interfering with my detectives and future cases, yes?” Her tone strong and hard, indicating she wasn’t messing around.

 Ms. Beale nodded seriously and replied. “Yes, Captain.”

 Despite her frustration of the situation, Beca’s eyes kept glancing at the journalist.  

 “Good.” Posen nodded sharply, looking at her detective and Beca snapped her eyes back to her. “You’ll do everything by protocol, just like always and make sure she’s unharmed. It’ll be like she’s not even there. Got it?”

 “Yes, Captain.” Beca replied confidently. The Captain dismissed them and as Beca guided Ms. Beale back to her office, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen.

 /

 The door barely closed behind them before Ms. Beale started talking. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.” Beca rolled her eyes when her back was turned as she took her seat, motioning for Chloe to do the same.

Beca adjusted her blazer and crossed her arms across her midriff. “Captain Posen didn’t really give me a choice in the matter but you’re welcome.” She answered sarcastically. Her defense mechanism kicked into gear. It made her uneasy that she didn’t know her intentions. She was just a regular detective, she didn’t know why she was special enough to write about.

 Her negative answer stunned Chloe into an awkward silence as she glanced down at her notes in her lap. Beca clenched her jaw before she sighed in defeat. It was an order and there was nothing that she could do about the situations. Ms. Beale was only here to do her job and maybe if Beca helped her she would leave sooner.

 “The Captain said you’re writing an article.” She stated matter-of-factly and watched as Chloe glanced up in curiosity. “She never said anything specific. What exactly is it going to be about?”

 The first smile appeared on Ms. Beale’s face and Beca wondered why. “It’s about female detectives. I’d like to shed some light on how it feels like to be a woman in a dominantly male profession.” Her kind eyes lingered on Beca’s while she gently explained.

 Beca gazed back curiously. “Why aren’t you interviewing the Captain then? She’s the first female captain of the station in this town. She’s basically a walking legend. Why are you interested in me?”

 Chloe let her eyes roam over the detective, taking in her stormy blue eyes and hard, defensive expression. Despite her hard demeaner, Beca intrigued Chloe. The journalist learnt to always look behind the picture, dig deeper to found out the truth and she had a feeling Beca was more than what met the eye.

 “I already interviewed Captain Posen before you and I will dedicate an article for her. But she has a lot of responsibilities to take care of instead of going outside where the action is. I need somebody who’s out on the fields. I heard that’s you.” Her eyes looked deep into Beca’s and saw a slight change in her expression.  

 But before she could identify it Beca’s poker face emerged as she let her arms fall on the armrest of her chair.

 “A journalist job is to find stories worthy of being told.” Chloe stated and pulled her phone out of her pocket, boosting up the audio recorder app and placed it on the table between them. “I think yours is one of those stories.”

[marvelatthisfanfic]

Ignorance Is Bliss

prompt: Tony and the reader are extremely close friends, that is until Wanda decides to give Tony a little talk about her. Awkward avoidance between them becomes annoying and confrontation ensues.

a/n: hello there! i finally got around to answering and writing these prompts that people had asked me about! here’s a fluffy lil’ piece i did with the one and only tony stark! enjoy (;

warnings: fluff, a lil’ steamy scene, probably swearing?

word count: 1,026

“Why can’t you just see how she feels about you?” Wanda exclaimed angrily, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Can’t you take your head out of your ass for more than two seconds!”

Tony stood before the Scarlet Witch in shock and a little but of terror as she scolded him, in his own lab, too.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” the technological genius retorted, slightly hiding behind his suit he was working on.

“(Y/N)!” Her eyes began to glow an ominous red color, sending shivers down his spine. “Do not play dumb with me right now, Stark. That is my best friend, and if you continue to be oblivious and hurt her, I will hurt you.”

Wanda turned quickly on her heel, slamming the lab door closed behind her, leaving Tony alone, to think about what the fuck just happened.

“You didn’t happen to fuck with Tony again, did you?” you narrowed your eyes at Bucky accusingly, seeing that the philanthropist had avoided you all day.

“For the tenth time, (Y/N),” Bucky growled back in annoyance. “I haven’t even talked to him in the past two days. I just got home from my mission.” Sighing, you agreed with him, resting your head on your hand. You felt utterly defeated; one of your best friends had been ignoring you, and you couldn’t figure out why.

Just as you began to get lost in your thoughts, Tony waltzed into the gathering room, plopping down in the chair across from the sliding glass door.

“We haven’t had a party in a while, Stark,” Sam grinned wickedly. “I’m beginning to get a little disappointed in you.” Tony only rolled his eyes, staring out into the gloomy city. The weather had been absolute shit for the past week, and today didn’t break the streak.

“I’ve been really busy with work calls,” he answered from his trance. You felt your heart plummet at his words, because his “work calls” usually meant a girl.

“Natasha texted,” Clint spoke up happily from the island bar just a few feet from where we were sitting. “We’re going out tonight!” Clint whooped excitedly. He hadn’t see her in almost two months since her mission was all the way in China.

“Isn’t that cute?” Sam cooed mockingly, taunting the archer. Clint simply rolled his eyes, hopping off the barstool and heading down the hall.

“Well, if Tony isn’t throwing a party, I guess I’ll go out for drinks tonight,” Same feigned hurt.

“Me and Buck will come with you,” Steve smiled from next to you. His smile was so contagious, you couldn’t help but smile too.

“That leaves these two mopey assholes to be depressed,” Sam quipped, booking it out of there before he got his ass handed to him on a silver platter by you.

After the room cleared out, you glanced at Tony, wondering who was going to speak first. Frantic eyes darted back and forth, trying not to make awkward eye contact.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” you asked harshly, getting over small pleasantries and sticking to the point. His eyes drifted up to yours, and he honestly looked completely defeated.

“Let’s just say Wanda gave me a little talk,” he hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

You were taken aback, a look of shock plastered across your face, and you didn’t exactly know where to start or what to say.

“W-what did she say?” you questioned, eyes squinting slightly as if you were analyzing him, which you were.

“She just told me not to hurt you and all that jazz,” he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck awkwardly, not really sure where the conversation was going. You let out a puff of air you didn’t know you were holding and stood up, walking over to where Tony was sitting.

“Where does this leave us?” he asked you from his sitting position on the couch, looking up to your slightly taller figure. Your hands pushed his shoulders back as you straddled his lap, looking directly into his eyes.

“I’m tired of playing cat and mouse, Stark.” His mouth gaped, and he struggled to find words, but you found a simple solution to that. You leaned forward, closing the gap between you two, feeling his soft lips against yours.

After a few moments, Tony went from sitting idle to hands all over. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you into him while his free hand was cupping your cheek. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, nipping lightly, causing a moan to rumble from your chest. He chuckled darkly, pulling away to look at you, breathless and writhing in his arms.

“That was a good answer,” he quipped with a smirk across his face. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, pecking his lips before rolling to sit next to him.

“Well that sure was a hell of a way to tell him,” Wanda’s accent called from the kitchen. A light flicked on and you looked towards it, finding her sitting at a barstool along the island.

“Were you just sitting there?” you exclaimed. “In the dark kitchen?!” Her eyes crinkled as she let out a deep laugh, finding pure amusement in your embarrassment. Tony joined in on the laughter and you scowled.

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart,” Tony cooed mockingly from beside you. You narrowed your eyes at Wanda evilly before letting your gaze rest on Tony.

“Tony Stark,” you growled at him. His arm snaked its way around your side before he continued.

“Ignorance is bliss,” he smiled at you.

“If you mock me one more time, you’re gonna get it.” His eyes widened at your threat before a smirk made it’s way back onto his lips.

“And what exactly will I be getting?” It took you a moment before you realized his sexual innuendo.

“ANTHONY!” His laugh rang around the room as he darted away from you, avoiding your punches. As the rest of the Avengers watched you chase each other around, you smiled a little, happy to be exactly where you were in this very moment.

perm tag list;

@ailynalonso15 @thecrazyoneshavetakenover

[yeonjuins]

Oh that’s really understandable, I get like that too when it rains but I hope you’re mood and motivation gets better overtime ♡︎

And I have been well ♡︎ just preparing myself for my exams,, I know I said I’m not as anxious for them but my history exam is cumulative and like even though I take notes and stuff,, the material just doesn’t click for me and I am worried (but not too worried to the point where I’m going to shut down like I usually do KAKSKS I’m just going to have to wing it <3)

But my professor said she’ll post anything that will be of help for the exam so I will take advantage of the that (small rant: I really hate when exams are cumulative because 1) why put all those questions on an exam 2) I hate having to go that far back into the class material because my memory is like yikes and 3) the studying- but then I’m like I shouldn’t be complaining because this is my only cumulative exam but !! it irks a nerve)

And IT WILL!! I will manifest it 😌 I’m going to be so annoying when my family checks the mail SKSKS “is there anything for me? Did I get something?” and Okay!! So about that, I keep forgetting to go by there (I’m sorryy ♡︎) but !!! I’ll be doing some errands on Friday so I’ll write down to go by there when I’m out ♡︎ ( I feel like I worded that wrong LMAO but i set a reminder for Friday to go by there)

Ahaaa yes 🤝 but I haven’t because I tend to be indecisive BUT I’m leaning more towards just using my summer break as a break and just going to school afterwards but then I feel like I just see how I feel once the school year rolls around but mostly likely I’ll just go back to school after summer break KAKSKS (witnessing my indecisiveness firsthand it’s like it gets worse and worse as I grow up) and thank you ♡︎ ♡ I really appreciate you ♡︎

Hmm hm understandable well then I hope the rest of the year is good to you ♡︎

ohh understandable to feel that way. I’m not that familiar with web development,, but hmm… maybe you can try to improve your work before your internship is up or once you go to a new company, the work may be to up to your standards,,, it’s only an internship so that might not show all of what’s it’s going to be like once you move forward in that field. Maybe once you have more experience, the job experience will be better for you (?) ♡︎

Ooh yeah that’s good (Ikr? It should really be illegal to start school that early SJSJDK) but yeah that was the plus side when I did online learning,, my classes didn’t start until 12pm or so lol and yeah exactly and I feel like I learn better with in person but at this point I’m not sure

aww of course ♡︎♡︎♡︎ always happy to help :)

(lengthy response!)

WHAHHAHA its raining here again ;; so as a result, my mood is gloomy ):< seriously i think living on the northern side for so long has made me so !?!?? i want to know what it's like living near heat !! continuous heat that is !!! i watch this youtuber (she's like... my biggest inspiration really- inspired me to go into ux/ui design) called nameishana and she lived in toronto but will be moxing to texas and im so !!! jealous !! rainy weather go away !!!!!!!!! ):<

whaaa preparing for exams... this is going to sound so hard but i wish i had something to study...? this is all going to kick me in the ass when i enter uni since i'll be flooded with exams and constant studying then but i literally... have not studied for a test or written out proper notes in a year and a half now...? and even then- i don't recall me really putting my heart into it... i think in 9th grade i was super diligent and studied SO so so hard (wrote out notes and everything)... i think overall i'm missing some sort of routine since mines currently seems lacklustre )":

i hope u did well on the exam/feel more confident about the content now ): i know what it's like being wary about the final results but i really do think hard work pays off in the end... you're building resilience after all, right? (": u have every right to complain my love ;; exams overall are super nerve wrecking and it's really tedious to have to go far back into the course content to review minuscule details that may not even be important on the actual exam ):< overall, i hope all is well and that it'll all work out in the future <3

no pressure to buy stamps my love ! if you don't have time either, you can always respond to me through dms <3 (i've emphasized this like 5000 times but just wanted to make sure ur aware that this shouldn't be an obligation ! just a lil fun tid bit for us but if not, it's all good <3)

definitely just going with the flow sounds nice after a long arduous school year </3 do whatever feels right for you my love

i find that whenever i talk to my employer more frequently and have a closer communication about our plans/projects, i end up enjoying my internship a lot more (that happened today, after yesterday i felt a bit in defeat from another lacklustre day). i also did talk to a friend about it, and she reassured me that as i get more into the field itself i'll have plenty of other opportunities to build my personal style and that i'm just ahead of the game rn which is reassuring to hear (":

oddly enough, despite being 'ahead of the game' i still feel... behind? but this could just be dumb brain trying to pick at something that doesn't really matter anyways ;; my friend recently got a summer job in which she gets paid above minimum wage which i'm super happy about for her ! it's a really good field (one that i'm also slightly interested in) but of course, i can't help but feel slightly jealous as well? i had to take less shifts at my current job in order to work at my internship and since it's highschool internship... i don't get paid (":

lately it just feels as though i've been doing continuous work for nothing beneficial? and so hearing that made me feel like i was just being left behind? (being paranoid, i also did the math and calculated that she will make my years worth of savings within the three months she will be at this internship). overall, i just feel at a stalemate with life right now and i have no clue where everything is going ! i want to get out of highschool ! i want to ! have a transition ! and make good money ! ):< anyways i'm sorry for rambling

regardless, i hope ur day has been going well love and that you're taking breaks while studying/your exams are going well <3

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 12-3

[pleasedontbelame]

Medium Bloody Well

Published in · Talent Implied 2016 Author · Pablo Tognetti Editor · Aaron Chapman

Public holiday. Australia Day. I still don’t know what it means. Maybe they’re celebrating the day they gained independence from Great Britain. Maybe they’re celebrating being part of the Commonwealth or maybe they’re celebrating not having that ugly, foggy British weather. Something like that. A public holiday that doesn’t allow us to breathe properly. The heat making love to the humidity and vice versa. A second hand orgy. Every tiny movement makes me sweat. Not moving makes me sweat as well. The seven-minute walk from the tram to the restaurant becomes an agitating adventure.

        Today I have a big section to take care of. Two round tables of seven people, two standard tables of four people and two big tables of eight people each. An impossible section on a busy night for one human being but it’s lunchtime and we don’t expect so many guests. Maybe eating Italian isn’t the most patriotic way to spend Australia Day.

Slowly the guests start building an imaginary line next to the entrance. Punctual and here punctual means arriving before your booking. In my South American homeland punctuality is a word that tends to be more lax and senseless. Arriving late isn’t a sin.

I pretend I’m busy while waiting for our part-time model/hostess to seat guests at one of my tables. I check the stations where we keep side plates, wine glasses, entrée and main cutlery, dessert and minuscule teaspoons, Tabasco, share plates and everything else we need to reset tables in a wink. I know they’re in order. Checked them ten minutes ago but I do anyway because pretending you’re busy is always a wise strategy. Always.

        Before feeling useless I decide to help a friend with a demanding table. Not because I want employee of the month, just because a gorgeous brunette has caught my attention. Unexpectedly five Asians march to one of my round tables. Maybe a family. One of them acts and looks like the big brother and the other three are around fourteen years old. Undefined sexualities. I welcome them and they choose how and where they’re going to sit. Every table always has a leader. Mark my words. As a waiter, I need to identify that leader as soon as possible because they’ll be the key figure, the sensei. The big brother assumes the role quickly pointing at the menu. The family beside him absorbed by the Milky Way and its gravitational emptiness.

Usually Asian people tend to share plates. That means all the different dishes are displayed in the centre of the table. ‘As it comes,’ they say. And they don’t mind using those side plates for their meals. They grab a bit from here and a bit from there. Everything is going to end up on those unpleasant, tiny plates. A plate that will become art by the end of the meal. They tend to eat everything at the same time: pizza, pasta, salads, sides, desserts. They don’t divide the meal into sections or give a shit about the concepts of entrée, mains or desserts. It’s all part of the moment where they fight fiercely to put food on their tiny plates. I only need three moments of interaction with Asian tables. Tap their order into the system. Run the food. Print the bill. Ciao. All while smiling occasionally.

Cucina Vivo doesn’t want to be Hungry Jack’s. That’s why guests wait for their orders. To wait, such a lovely and charming concept but not everyone can embrace the idea. Waiting gives my Asian family time to connect with each other. Time to interact and feel alive. Time they use to check their phones, getting lost in those shallow screens. Five humans. Five phones. Each of them trapped in their own galaxy, for endless minutes. Makes me feel uncomfortable even though I’m not sitting there. At times they shyly stare because they want to know how long the food is going to take. They expect me to understand that silent look. Want me to approach the table and say the food is coming. And it’s always coming. I’ve learnt never to give any kind of specification about time. Never measure time unless you want to end up going wild and punching a guest. If you do, guests will constantly watch their watches. We don’t want that. Always guarantee the food is coming or being plated. No one is actually going to check if you’re lying or not. In this particular case I don’t approach the table to give them a meal status. Asians tend to be patient and in general don’t complain. I let them be.

While pouring the red sparkling Moscato bottle I realise one of the underage kids is not actually underage. All the food starts to appear at the same time. One pizza margherita, one pizza cicca, two spaghetti carbonara, one gnocchi, one fettuccine bolognese, one cape grim, one Caesar salad and one arugula e pere salad. I glimpse arms moving from one place to another. Deep silences. Mystical concentration. No smiles. Side plates full of food suddenly empty and then full again. And again. Different aromas fighting to be the protagonist. Art. Louvre. Bill please. ‘Would you like a copy?’ Ciao and one final lesson, apparently the word tip doesn’t have a fucking translation.

Worst-case scenario working at an Italian restaurant is taking care of Italian guests. It doesn’t matter which city they come from, which latitude and longitude, they’re going to stab your patience to death. Maybe, as an Argentinian, I can identify with that sort of annoying attitude. Most of the time we don’t realise we’re tiring customers. Sometimes we’re rude and impolite, even when we’re asking for salt and pepper.

        The first thing I learnt from Italians is that the menu is an item without any sort of value. Or sense. Or utility. The menu’s existence is ephemeral simply because Italians are going to ask for something that hasn’t been printed on it. A printed menu means the executive chef went through infinite alternatives before having the final version in his hands. Endless hours of trial and error blending different ingredients, recipes and always keeping in mind the restaurant celebrates Mediterranean cuisine. All effort is put on hold with Italians.

‘Pablo, the chefs are Italian right?’ Roberto, the head of the table asks me while sipping his white pussy wine – this is why he abandoned Rome. Classic question. I pretend to pay attention. My eyes wander around my section. Busy night at the restaurant and Roberto is having dinner with a stunning sculptural blonde. I don’t dare ask if she’s his wife, lover or escort.

‘Of course they’re Italian my friend.’ The truth is not all of them have the same passport. Just a few are Italian. My answer aims to comfort him. Roberto and his sex worker are going to have the pizza of the day, the four smelliest cheeses I’m able to sell. It would be wonderful if Italians could comprehend that Cucina Vivo is a restaurant and not their grandma’s house. That house where you just open the cupboard and find whatever you’re looking for. If you need parmigiano from a small fishing town with a picturesque sea view, it’s going to be in that cupboard. If you need black olives which rested in a gloomy humid corner for nine years, they’re going to be in that cupboard too. And if you need more rainy-season Vietnamese chilli, you’re also going to find it in the bloody cupboard but you’re not going to find grandma’s cupboard in every single restaurant you decide to visit. The food offerings are limited. A concept Italians don’t understand. Or maybe they don’t care at all. Everything involves technical specifications with them.

I like when food becomes an important issue. I love food and consider myself a non-professional critic. Most of the time I just want Italians to understand they’re not architects. They’re not designing the next mansion for a Saudi Arabian sultan. They’re just having a meal, in a restaurant, on the Gold Coast. If the mozzarella is not buffalo mozzarella, I can assure you that you’ll survive. The planet will continue in its regular rotational and translational motion. You’re not taking a blind walk through a minefield. You’re just trying to eat a bloody pizza. Roberto seems to be loving his pizza but he complains about some burned spots and because it’s not as ‘foggy’ as it should be. Two objections is a humble victory.

        Italians are emotional and definitely cool. Certainly not all of them. But their loud voices and excessive body language make me feel at home. When they figure out I’m Argentinian we’re going to talk about football, Maradona, Messi and who the best football player in recent history is. Sometimes they just cross themselves, look up to the sky and thank me for Maradona, ‘the hand of God’ and the fact of his existence.

        By the way, there’s one similitude Italians and Asians share, they’re not familiar with the tip. Roberto thanks me for my service and gives me a friendly hug. I kiss the blonde girl in slow motion and walk them to the entrance. My manager gives me a wink and screams in Italian, ‘Gorgeous ass!’ I laugh. Roberto turns back. I pretend to look confused resetting the table.

One of the things I miss from my land, with all my heart, is what we call merienda. I still can’t find an exact translation. It could mean snack, night tea or picnic. But neither represents the real concept. Basically it’s a light meal between five and seven in the afternoon where we have coffee with croissants. If you’re brave enough you’ll have that croissant with ham and melted cheese. Or maybe fresh orange juice with some sort of recently baked pastry. Or a hot chocolate with churros con dulce de leche, similar to the Spanish churro but filled with extra sweet condensed milk.

That’s why we have dinner around ten. All of us familiar with the merienda lifestyle now feel as though something is missing in our existence. Now I understand why guests arrive so early to have dinner at Cucina Vivo. Simply because they’re starving by seven. Merienda doesn’t exist and dinner is the replacement. During the week our kitchen closes at nine and just the pizza oven remains open till ten. I always hear the chef complaining and cursing.

One night, the lady with the hat is the last guest to walk into the restaurant. I wouldn’t say the lady with the hat is actually wearing a hat. I would say she’s wearing a beret, Parisian style. The lady with the beret smiles and contemplates her surroundings. She grabs the menu with total confidence. Most of the time guests drown in the menu, holding it as they would a quantum mechanics book. Quite funny and stupid at the same time. But that’s not the case with the lady with the beret. She closes the menu and waits. I slowly walk to the table. Before opening my mouth, she glances at my name badge and asks, ‘Pablo, which red wine do you recommend?’

I feel like giving her a standing ovation. I remain silent and rush to the bartender Diego, asking him to pour me a sample of Peppoli. My favourite Italian red wine from the Chianti region. Viscous. Spicy. Opaque. Tastes like wet dirt. An excellent blend with pasta or steak. After the first sip the lady with the beret salutes me asking for a bottle. Now I own her trust and dinner and bill. I tap into the system. Antipasto and calamari fritti for entrée. Filetto di manzo and polpette di pollo for mains. Tiramisu to share for dessert.

       The lady is married. Both work in the development of new hotels around the world. In other words they’ve lived in France, Belgium, Peru, Vietnam and Kenya, among other countries I can’t remember. Sixteen years ago the lady with the beret adopted a baby in the Philippines. That grown up baby is now sitting next to her fighting with the calamari.

Listening to these kinds of life stories is music to my ears. Good music. I’m not talking about Taylor Swift or Beyoncé. I’m talking about a John Coltrane, an Albert King, a Jim Morrison.

        Sometimes I believe I have a good eye. Sounds raw but I really feel that way. Once I read Malcolm Gladwell’s book Blink, a wise American writer with an afro who invites us to trust more in our first impressions. Since childhood we’re told a completely different story. But after reading that book I felt more confident listening to my first impressions. To my feelings. Especially when I meet a person for the first time and maybe the last. I feel the woman with the beret is special. Actually she is. While pushing the last bite into her mouth, she moans and theatrically grabs her daughter’s shoulder pretending she needs medical attention.

The night slowly fades away and I’m hanging out at the bar. Just chilling next to a stunning vintage coffee machine. I make eye contact with the lady, her right hand giving me the international sign for an espresso.

‘Diego, a short black from the house please. Strong.’

The tiramisu appears from the kitchen and goes straight to the table. With a surprising timing the espresso is ready too. She gives me the scuba diving sign for ok.

‘What’re your plans after Australia?’ She has assumed I’m not staying. Accurate.

After a long pause, I fire back, ‘Japan is waiting for me.’

She steals my notepad and pen. ‘Come back in ten minutes,’ she both whispers and commands staring at the small canvas. She unleashes the ink.

      The lady with the beret and her daughter are one of the last tables in the restaurant. They seem to enjoy each other’s company. They enjoy food. They enjoy being there. They enjoy without end. When I clear their table I find a juicy tip inside my notepad and handwritten in the bottom “The only people for me are the mad ones. Be mad.”