//------------------------------// // Interlude - Pasta al Forno // Story: Magica Ex Dolori // by Posh //------------------------------// “You ever think about how dangerous restaurants are?” Lorelai asked, spinning a butter knife between her fingers. “They sit you down in a dark room at a table lined with sharp objects, then leave you to starve. I could leap across this table and stab you right now, y’know? And who could blame me? I’m not the one who brought the weapon.” Wallflower stared. “I’m not starving,” she said through a half-eaten breadstick. “Well,” Lorelai muttered, “I guess there are benefits to bringing granola bars to a witch fight.” Not that Lorelai would know. She had a strict policy about keeping meals and witches separate — nothing could ruin a good filet mignon more than worrying about getting your throat slashed. And Lorelai hadn’t heard of this Olive Garden® restaurant before, but Wallflower swore it was the best Italian joint in town. But they’d been sitting in that dimly lit dining room for half-an-hour, with naught to show for it but room temperature water and an empty breadstick basket. Lorelai drummed her fingers on the table. “Great service here. How many Michelin stars does this place have again?” “I dunno, I didn’t check Yelp.” Wallflower looked around at the families that filled the tables surrounding them, smiling and laughing and scarfing down fettuccine. “It’s pretty busy tonight though. I’m surprised we got in without a reservation — this place is, like, super fancy!” “Yeah?” Loreai said, eyes frozen on a nearby man’s tomato sauce-stained Spider-Man t-shirt. “Doesn’t really look that way to me.” “C’mon, you can’t always judge a book by its cover.” “Nice cliche.” Lorelai slid her gaze over to Wallflower. “But in our line of work, it pays to strike first, ask questions later.” “Okay, edgy… Edgy McEdgerson.” Wallflower paused for a moment then asked, “By the way, what if I started calling you ‘Canon?’” “Excuse me?” “I figure it’s like this,” Wallflower said, spreading her hands over an invisible schematic diagram in front of her. “Your name is Lorelai. I keep wanting to shorten it to ‘Lore.’ And when I think of lore, I think of video games and stuff, y’know? And stuff that’s in a game’s lore is part of the canon.” Lorelai stared. Wallflower smiled back. “Also you shoot crossbows, which are sorta like cannons, but not.” “No.” Lorelai shook her head. “Definitely not. No.” “Aw, why not?” Wallflower said, putting on puppy-dog eyes. “It’s such a cool name! And you’re always calling me Fluffy.” “If you call me that I’m going to shoot you.” Groaning, Wallflower slumped back in her chair. “Fine… But I’m keeping you listed as ‘Canon’ in my phone.” Before Lorelai could leap across the table and strangle her, a man appeared from the linguini-scented air. “Hello ladies,” he chirped, pouring out more water for them. “Ready to order?” “Finally.” Lorelai snapped her water-ringed menu up. “Okay, question: I see here you’ve got a ‘Five Cheese Ziti al Forno,’ but the actual cheeses you use aren’t listed anywhere. I assume it’s got parmesan, mozzarella — what are the rest? Pecorino? Taleggio? Fontina d'Aosta?” The waiter — his nametag read ‘Paper Plate’ in smudged black marker — took a long breath, smile faltering for just a moment. “You know, I’m not quite sure!” he eventually said with a grin. “I’d have to ask the chef, but you know, I bet you’re on the right track there.” Lorelai snorted. “Right. Well I’m not ready to wait on you for another hour, so why don’t you put me down for the asiago tortelloni alfredo,” she said, pinching her fingers in the air for emphasis.  The waiter reached for her menu, but before he could take it Lorelai pointed down at her order again and smirked. “By the way, I think this should be tortellini, not ‘tortelloni.’ Tell your copywriter she’s welcome.” Paper Plate just grit his teeth, nodded, and turned to Wallflower. “And you, miss?” “Chicken scampi, please.” Wallflower handed her menu to him. “Thank you!” “And anything to drink?” “I’d love a glass of pineapple juice,” Wallflower said. “You’ve still got pineapple juice, right?” Lorelai scoffed. “Really? This is a fine Italian eatery, not a Hawaiian barbeque.” “I know that!” Wallflower said. “Pineapple juice goes great with everything!” Rolling her eyes, Lorelai turned to their waiter. “What white wine pairs best with my order, do you think?” “Asiago tortelloni alfredo, chicken scampi, pineapple juice,” Paper Plate recited, scribbling into a small notebook. “Got it. I’ll be back with your drinks in a jiff!” He walked away, disappearing back into the lasagna-scented air and leaving Lorelai with her mouth hanging open — but she quickly shut her yap and took a drink of water. Must be grabbing a bottle of the chef’s choice. “How do you know so many cheeses?” Wallflower asked. “I never pegged you for a dairy queen.” “No one pegs me,” Lorelai snapped. She picked up her knife and started flipping it between her fingers again. “My uncle owned a villa in the mountains near Rome. My parents would take me there in the summers when I was younger.” “Really? That’s hella cool.” Lorelai raised an eyebrow. “Hella?” “Hella,” Wallflower said with a sagely nod. “What’d you do there?” “I ate cheese. A lot of it.” Lorelai smiled. “The town my uncle lived in had more cows than people. You couldn’t walk a block without smelling them — or hearing them. Do you know what sound a cow makes?” Wallflower blinked. “Is this a trick question?” “Sort of,” Lorelai said. “They don’t moo. They scream. They scream and scream and scream all through the night, and you can’t ever block out the noise.” “Oh jeez.” Wallflower frowned. “You think they figured out why they were there? Like, they knew they were gonna get eaten?” “No. Cows are really stupid.” Wallflower’s frown morphed into a glower. “You’re no fun.” “You think that cows begging not to get chopped up into hamburger meat is fun?” Lorelai asked, throwing a hand to her heart. “My god. What kind of psycho are you?” “What? No, no,” Wallflower said, eyes going wide. “That’s not what I meant!” With a tsk tsk, Lorelai leaned across the table and stole all of Wallflower’s silverware. “Remind me never to trust you with a knife again! You might hurt somebody.” Wallflower pouted. “Could I at least get my spoon ba—” “The point here is,” Lorelai said, jabbing Wallflower’s spoon at her, “I know a lot about Italy, and Italian food, and Italian cheeses. More than most people. So when I point out a typo on the menu, they should listen! I know what I’m talking about! Right?” “Right.” “Right,” Lorelai repeated. “You ever been to Italy?” Wallflower shook her head. “I’ve never even been out of the country.” “No wonder you ordered pineapple juice.” Lorelai grinned. “If you could visit any country, right now, where would you go?” Wallflower’s face lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to—” “Don’t say Japan.” Silence. It took a good ten seconds for Wallflower to continue with, “Well, France looks nice. And England. But honestly? I think if I could go anywhere — aside from Japan — I’d go to Canada.” “Seriously?” “Yeah, definitely!” Wallflower said, nodding. “I just think, like — it’s so cool, isn’t it? It’s kinda like our country, but not really. Everything is just slightly different. They’ve got different money, and different units of measurement, and different milk, but we speak the same language! And everyone’s super nice, too!” “Uh-huh.” Lorelai chuckled. “C’mon, that’s not a real answer. I could take you to Canada.” “You — you could?” Wallflower said. “Of course I could. It’s, what, five hours away by car? We’d need to get you a passport probably, and you gotta promise not to talk to the locals like they’re aliens, but we could definitely do it.” “Oh.” Wallflower’s mouth hung open, and she seemed to shrink into her chair. “That’s. That’s cool! Yeah. Maybe in the summer?” “Sure.” Lorelai checked out her manicure. “Assuming you don’t get strangled or sliced in half or lobotomized first.” “Right.” Wallflower crossed her arms and looked away. “Yeah.” Their waiter reappeared from the ravioli-scented air, carrying a tray with two glasses and two plates of steaming Italian cuisine. “Hello again, ladies!” Wallflower perked up in her seat, snatching her silverware back faster than Lorelai could react.  Paper Plate laid their food and drinks out before them and disappeared again before Lorelai could ask him if he’d inquired about the five cheeses. “Bon appétit!” Wallflower cheered. “Buon appetito,” Lorelai said. She stared down at her pasta, which oozed molten cheese over chunks of scorched grilled chicken. Her stomach said to dig in, but her brain — her incredibly large, experienced, and wrinkled brain — held her back. “They made this really quick. It’s been, like, ten minutes.” “Yeah, that’s why this place is so great!” Wallflower said through a mouthful of chicken. “You got the big portions, and they cook really quick, and it’s not even that expensive. If only we’d brought Kyubey along — I bet he loves Italian food.” “Of course he does. That’s why I threw him in the dumpster out back before we came in,” Lorelai said. She looked back down at her food. “But nothing in life is cheap, quick, and high-quality. Something’s wrong here.” Wallflower took a long swig of pineapple juice, then let out a pleasure-filled sigh. “Speak for yourself.” Regarding her plate like a yet unawares witch, Lorelai picked up her fork and poked at the pasta. When it didn’t fight back, she speared a tortellini shell and slice of chicken, then brought it to her mouth. Her lips closed around it and her brain screamed: Wrong. Lorelai grabbed her napkin and gagged the faux-Italian mush into it. “Holy shit!” she said, punctuating her words with another spit. “What is this?” Wallflower didn’t stop eating. “Uh?” she said, pasta falling out of her mouth. “That may have been the blandest — no, the saltiest? I can’t tell!” Lorelai snatched up her glass of wine and chugged it, only to double over in pain again. “Christ! Is this grape juice? This is stale grape juice!” The tastes on her tongue were a paradox, an impossibility. Chicken and pasta so bland that Lorelai couldn’t be sure they really existed. But asiago cheese so salty that she felt her arteries constricting in horror. And the wine — it brought back repressed memories of being forced to drink cheap champagne at her great aunt’s Kentucky Derby parties. “Auntie,” she murmured, gripping the table hard enough to make the wood groan. “I’ll see you in hell.” Wallflower managed to swallow and not choke. “Are you okay?” “No, I’m not.” Lorelai took a deep breath. “You said that this was the best Italian restaurant in the city. Were you lying to me?” “Of course not!” Wallflower said. “I love Olive Garden®! When I’m here, I’m family.” “Then something is seriously wrong.” Lorelai stood up. “And I think I know why.” “Um. Why?” Lorelai pulled out her Soul Gem. “There’s a Witch in the kitchen. Let’s go rip its head off.” “What?” Lorelai stormed off, a crossbow appearing in her arms.  Wallflower jumped out of her seat, tripped on the carpet, face-planted into a small child’s plate of macaroni and cheese, then jumped up again and sprinted after her partner. “Lorelai, no!” Ten minutes later, Lorelai and Wallflower stood on a roof overlooking the now-evacuated Olive Garden®. Police sirens filled the air — evidently, cops responded fast to calls about teenage girls shooting crossbow bolts at Italian chefs. Lorelai growled. “I had the shot lined up. I could have taken it out.” “I’m telling you, the chef wasn’t a Witch!” Wallflower said, panting from exhaustion. “I’m pretty sure he goes to my church!” “Uh-huh.” Lorelai stuck her hands in her pockets. “Well, that’s dinner ruined. Thanks for the suggestion, Fluffy.” “You’re welcome. Unless you’re being sarcastic. Then sorry.” “Apology accepted. Now what am I supposed to eat?” “Well it’s not much, but…” Wallflower reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a granola bar, then handed it to Lorelai.  Lorelai stared for a moment, but accepted the offer. She tore off the wrapper and took a bite — chocolate chips and almonds. Turning to hide her smile, Lorelai said, “Thanks, Fluffy. Now let’s go.” She sprinted away, leaping from roof to roof in the direction of her hotel. Cheeks flushed — definitely from the cold, absolutely — Wallflower ran after her. “Right behind you, Canon!” Wallflower screamed as a crossbow bolt whizzed inches away from her head.