My head hurts thinking about this, but:
Nov. 29th, 2006 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fenellaI've added Firefly to the mix - since Danny (Sydney's fiancée in Alias, a doctor - hence the healer) has the part of Atherton Wing in Shindig. This also leaves open the door for Gina Torres goodness :) Anna/Zoe - who would win that fight?
So.. Kitchen Confidential/Tamora Pierce/Alias/Firefly. The cross-over that won't die.
Imogen, I may have to kill you yet :P
Supper Spy pt. 2 - Culture Shock
With Michael Vartan as Duke Hilam of Tusaine
Jennifer Garner (in morally ambiguous, skanky mission mode) is Lady Estelle. We'll see more of her later.
*
The Tusainie were passionate about their food so despite their other freakish customs, Bradley was inclined to like them. Except that he was there as a spy and George’s goons had schooled him well in concepts such as professional detachment and defensive self-preservation. Or since George’s goons tended to favour the direct mono-syllabic approach, “You’re going to screw them over.” Grunt. “Don’t get stupid.” Eye Twitch.
It wasn’t his fault that the people of Tusaine knew how to treat a chef right.
To stop himself from falling wildly in love with his newhomeland place of residence, Bradley – breaking in his new identity as Jacques Bourdain – started to keep a mental checklist of all the things that he found uncomfortable, and not at all normal.
1. Hugging, kissing, groping.
Bradley was a physical person. Extremely demonstrative by Tortallan standards. But in Tusaine he felt primmer than a Stone Mountain Lady, fresh from the convent.
When Duke Hilam – by all appearances the grand puppet master of Tusainie affairs – had welcomed his new chef, he’d done it in front of his illustrious dinner guests.
“Jacques,” he’d leered at Bradley before getting up from the table (waving down his guests) to clasp him around the shoulders. “You are a gift from the Gods’ hands, a wonder like no other!”
The Duke kissed each side of Bradley’s face. “You will not run away with some tramp like my last chef, yes?”
Once on the mouth. “Call me Hilam.”
And rubbed his hair. “Bourdain, you make music out of food! And this duck sauce, it has a certain -- je ne sais quois.” Without missing a beat the Duke continued, “Have you met our chief healer, Lord Atherton?”
A slightly disreputable looking man seated beyond the Duke raised his goblet, and Bradley wasn’t sure that Lord Atherton wasn’t leering as well.
“Lord Atherton has a necklace today,” sing-songed Hilam with a nasty smirk, causing Bradley to wonder how many goblets of wine the Duke had already consumed. “Her name is Lady Estelle, a pretty little girl, and beyond her...” Hilam continued naming all the guests seated across the table, an accompanying biography for each.
Bradley wasn’t listening though; his eyes were fixed on the Lady who was draped over the healer, indeed like some garish accessory. She was hardly Bradley’s idea of a little girl. Lady Estelle’s orange dress was inappropriately low (or perhaps her skirt was unusually high) and tight enough to be skin. She stared back looking bored, fingers raking through Atherton’s hair the whole time.
Bradley was sure he’d seen her before.
But that wasn’t even the point. In Tortall, such behaviour was reserved for bedrooms, bars and whore houses. Not, from what he’d heard, state dinners. Except that one time when a Lady from King’s Reach had decided that she was much more interested in exploring Naxen’s Reach -- but that was only once and quite obscene. Perhaps funny in theory but in a "Bradley doesn’t want to watch" kind of way. Except that he kind of did. See what they'd done to him already?
Having finished his introductions, Hilam moved to sit down. Before he could do this though, his attention fell once more on his new chef and the Duke’s temper shifted so quickly that it made Bradley jump. From the nobles’ lack of interest, Bradley gathered that the Duke’s mood swings weren’t uncommon.
“You are still here? What of our dessert? Are you not the cook?”
“Well you see, there’s a pastry chef that-”
“Insolence! Why did I hire you? Did I hire you to hear to talk? You are a dessert deserter, Bourdain. Perhaps I will bring back the tramp chaser, yes? Offer worthy incentives-” Hilam waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Bradley made a hasty retreat to the kitchen, but not before being patted on the backside by the Duke.
The whole experience left him feeling rather violated.
*
2. Starting the day early… and with a bang.
Bradley nearly choked the first time he took a drink straight from the bottle that he was using to cook. As it was, he spit red wine down the front of his sous-chef’s white uniform. This did nothing to endear him to Stephen who felt that as a long-time employee, the head chef job should have been his.
Tusainie wine made Tortallan wine taste like water. Weak water. And in Tusaine, they drank from the time that they woke up (too early, for those working in the kitchens) until the time that they went to bed.
This, Bradley reflected, could account for the over-demonstrative displays.
Like when Stephen smacked Bradley’s ass and smiled shamelessly, “Whassa matter, Jacqueline? Too strong for milady?”
Bradley wiped his mouth and held the bottle at arm’s length, squinting at the label. “No, no. Of course not!” He took an emphatic swig, promptly felt the blood go to his head.
Theodore “Teddy” Le Couteaux, the palace’s resident fish man, grinned. “You know – while I support that Bourdain here is a bit of a girl and in dire need of a male role model, I would argue that Stephen doesn’t set the bar of achievement very high.”
Stephen gestured rudely.
Bradley slung his arm around Stephen’s shoulders and generously offered him the wine. “You can be my man anytime you want.”
Stephen took the bottle and wrapped his free arm around Bradley’s waist. “Thanks mate.”
Eleni had often told her sons that sometimes to gain a little respect, you need to lose a little of your dignity. Of course she didn’t add that in giving manly hugs to professional thieves, you might also lose your keys and belt purse – that was more George’s area of expertise.
As it were, Stephen already felt a bit like family.
*
After two and a half weeks, Bradley’s list still consisted of unseemly displays of unwarranted affection and compulsive alcoholics. Except that he was thinking of renaming his list “Reasons for Becoming a Tusainie Citizen”. Excess of love and alcohol? It was kind of like Bradley’s perfect country.
And then strange things started to happen.
The King’s other brother, Count Jemis, came home.
The King got out of bed and left his chambers for the first time since Bradley’s arrival.
And finally there was a wine shortage in the kitchens, which was simply not acceptable. Because how was Bradley supposed to keep several hundred people happy if his coq au vin was vin-less?
So Bradley decided to step up his spyder senses and find out what was going on. And because as much as he liked skulking around his kitchen, terrorizing the palace help and keeping the court well-fed, he had another job to do.
Unfortunately, he suspected that the so-called Lady Estelle did as well.
*
Psst, Sally are you free on Friday Dec 15th?
So.. Kitchen Confidential/Tamora Pierce/Alias/Firefly. The cross-over that won't die.
Imogen, I may have to kill you yet :P
Supper Spy pt. 2 - Culture Shock
With Michael Vartan as Duke Hilam of Tusaine
Jennifer Garner (in morally ambiguous, skanky mission mode) is Lady Estelle. We'll see more of her later.
*
The Tusainie were passionate about their food so despite their other freakish customs, Bradley was inclined to like them. Except that he was there as a spy and George’s goons had schooled him well in concepts such as professional detachment and defensive self-preservation. Or since George’s goons tended to favour the direct mono-syllabic approach, “You’re going to screw them over.” Grunt. “Don’t get stupid.” Eye Twitch.
It wasn’t his fault that the people of Tusaine knew how to treat a chef right.
To stop himself from falling wildly in love with his new
1. Hugging, kissing, groping.
Bradley was a physical person. Extremely demonstrative by Tortallan standards. But in Tusaine he felt primmer than a Stone Mountain Lady, fresh from the convent.
When Duke Hilam – by all appearances the grand puppet master of Tusainie affairs – had welcomed his new chef, he’d done it in front of his illustrious dinner guests.
“Jacques,” he’d leered at Bradley before getting up from the table (waving down his guests) to clasp him around the shoulders. “You are a gift from the Gods’ hands, a wonder like no other!”
The Duke kissed each side of Bradley’s face. “You will not run away with some tramp like my last chef, yes?”
Once on the mouth. “Call me Hilam.”
And rubbed his hair. “Bourdain, you make music out of food! And this duck sauce, it has a certain -- je ne sais quois.” Without missing a beat the Duke continued, “Have you met our chief healer, Lord Atherton?”
A slightly disreputable looking man seated beyond the Duke raised his goblet, and Bradley wasn’t sure that Lord Atherton wasn’t leering as well.
“Lord Atherton has a necklace today,” sing-songed Hilam with a nasty smirk, causing Bradley to wonder how many goblets of wine the Duke had already consumed. “Her name is Lady Estelle, a pretty little girl, and beyond her...” Hilam continued naming all the guests seated across the table, an accompanying biography for each.
Bradley wasn’t listening though; his eyes were fixed on the Lady who was draped over the healer, indeed like some garish accessory. She was hardly Bradley’s idea of a little girl. Lady Estelle’s orange dress was inappropriately low (or perhaps her skirt was unusually high) and tight enough to be skin. She stared back looking bored, fingers raking through Atherton’s hair the whole time.
Bradley was sure he’d seen her before.
But that wasn’t even the point. In Tortall, such behaviour was reserved for bedrooms, bars and whore houses. Not, from what he’d heard, state dinners. Except that one time when a Lady from King’s Reach had decided that she was much more interested in exploring Naxen’s Reach -- but that was only once and quite obscene. Perhaps funny in theory but in a "Bradley doesn’t want to watch" kind of way. Except that he kind of did. See what they'd done to him already?
Having finished his introductions, Hilam moved to sit down. Before he could do this though, his attention fell once more on his new chef and the Duke’s temper shifted so quickly that it made Bradley jump. From the nobles’ lack of interest, Bradley gathered that the Duke’s mood swings weren’t uncommon.
“You are still here? What of our dessert? Are you not the cook?”
“Well you see, there’s a pastry chef that-”
“Insolence! Why did I hire you? Did I hire you to hear to talk? You are a dessert deserter, Bourdain. Perhaps I will bring back the tramp chaser, yes? Offer worthy incentives-” Hilam waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Bradley made a hasty retreat to the kitchen, but not before being patted on the backside by the Duke.
The whole experience left him feeling rather violated.
*
2. Starting the day early… and with a bang.
Bradley nearly choked the first time he took a drink straight from the bottle that he was using to cook. As it was, he spit red wine down the front of his sous-chef’s white uniform. This did nothing to endear him to Stephen who felt that as a long-time employee, the head chef job should have been his.
Tusainie wine made Tortallan wine taste like water. Weak water. And in Tusaine, they drank from the time that they woke up (too early, for those working in the kitchens) until the time that they went to bed.
This, Bradley reflected, could account for the over-demonstrative displays.
Like when Stephen smacked Bradley’s ass and smiled shamelessly, “Whassa matter, Jacqueline? Too strong for milady?”
Bradley wiped his mouth and held the bottle at arm’s length, squinting at the label. “No, no. Of course not!” He took an emphatic swig, promptly felt the blood go to his head.
Theodore “Teddy” Le Couteaux, the palace’s resident fish man, grinned. “You know – while I support that Bourdain here is a bit of a girl and in dire need of a male role model, I would argue that Stephen doesn’t set the bar of achievement very high.”
Stephen gestured rudely.
Bradley slung his arm around Stephen’s shoulders and generously offered him the wine. “You can be my man anytime you want.”
Stephen took the bottle and wrapped his free arm around Bradley’s waist. “Thanks mate.”
Eleni had often told her sons that sometimes to gain a little respect, you need to lose a little of your dignity. Of course she didn’t add that in giving manly hugs to professional thieves, you might also lose your keys and belt purse – that was more George’s area of expertise.
As it were, Stephen already felt a bit like family.
*
After two and a half weeks, Bradley’s list still consisted of unseemly displays of unwarranted affection and compulsive alcoholics. Except that he was thinking of renaming his list “Reasons for Becoming a Tusainie Citizen”. Excess of love and alcohol? It was kind of like Bradley’s perfect country.
And then strange things started to happen.
The King’s other brother, Count Jemis, came home.
The King got out of bed and left his chambers for the first time since Bradley’s arrival.
And finally there was a wine shortage in the kitchens, which was simply not acceptable. Because how was Bradley supposed to keep several hundred people happy if his coq au vin was vin-less?
So Bradley decided to step up his spyder senses and find out what was going on. And because as much as he liked skulking around his kitchen, terrorizing the palace help and keeping the court well-fed, he had another job to do.
Unfortunately, he suspected that the so-called Lady Estelle did as well.
*
Psst, Sally are you free on Friday Dec 15th?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:32 am (UTC)Hee!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:38 am (UTC)I see your Sinatra and raise you an O'Toole.no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:46 am (UTC)I see your O'Toole and raise you Canadian Idol season two finalists. *Cringe* No, I'm not even going to pretend that I can win this.no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:48 am (UTC)This is my only icon with a Canadian in it. THAT I KNOW OF.no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 05:02 am (UTC)Taylor Kitsch is also Canadian, how that I think of it.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 05:13 am (UTC)My theory is that everyone has an inner Canadian. Except maybe Tom Cruise. Nope, even he works. Gay scientologist? Begging for my fair city!
The Scientologist have at last given up on me, thank goodness. Two years of "Come inside, we lure you with a free stress test little girl." They should figure out that uni students don't need a test to tell us that we're stressed out. We know already, honest!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-30 05:39 am (UTC)I have never actually met a Scientologist. As such, I'm not sure they really exist. Much like, um, Jains or something.
I don't even have the words....
Date: 2006-12-13 07:14 am (UTC)I had the biggest, dopiest grin on my face, as soon as I saw the pic of Michael Vartan, aka Hilam, the sleaziest french duke in all of tusiane. I can't stand Vaughn, but I adore his inner dirty french chef where his sense of humour comes out to play. I could hear the accent, and the scruffy sleaze the whole time, especially in this:
The Duke kissed each side of Bradley’s face. “You will not run away with some tramp like my last chef, yes?”
And then Atherton Wing showed up as a usless decorative upper class snob (!), decorated by Jen Garner in full-on bitch-goddess euro-trash mode, how we all love her best. Danny and Syd re-unite-- ahahahaha!
And this, straight out of KC dialogue, which made me want to watch it all over again:
“Insolence! Why did I hire you? Did I hire you to hear to talk? You are a dessert deserter, Bourdain. Perhaps I will bring back the tramp chaser, yes? Offer worthy incentives-” Hilam waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
And we haven't even gotten to Theodore "Teddy" Le Couteaux yet, or Stephen.
This:
Eleni had often told her sons that sometimes to gain a little respect, you need to lose a little of your dignity. Of course she didn’t add that in giving manly hugs to professional thieves, you might also lose your keys and belt purse – that was more George’s area of expertise.
As it were, Stephen already felt a bit like family.
It just works so well, in either verse, and doubly-so for the x-over. And Stephen is doubly family to Will/Brad/Jack. Kind of like Yo-Saff-Bridge. I don't know what to call him.
And you leave a nice little plotty tag at the end, for more.
If you'd tailor-written this to make me smile, you couldn't haven't done a better job. -----> :) (me smiling)
Re: I don't even have the words....
Date: 2006-12-13 04:40 pm (UTC)