𝑜𝒽, 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽

𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗  :   8:30pm, after dinner rush  .

𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟  :    kitron , back of house .

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 of a certain bag of goodies that had peeked out the pocket of a passing server; the vibrancy of green & smell of the purest herb mankind has to offer making its way through the swinging doors of kitron's kitchen — stealthily following behind — & scampering behind vent hoods that block the maître de from spotting the intruder. he's swift in conversation when they've noticed him tailing behind, flashing them a smile & distracting them long enough to swipe it with skillful paws, luring them in with a tone of interest as he lets them pander on; complaining about the tightness of their shoes & reciprocating with a promise of a massage, coy in offer ( he won't see them again, god willing ) — before he's being snatched at the collar by a burly chef; a man of great stature & a penchant for shouting berations should anything go wrong in his kitchen. lucky's shining an innocent smile before he's being dragged out, sweatshirt lifting at his throat & body shoved through double doors without a second to waste. a gruff ' stay the fuck out ' as he's jostled forward with a strong ' oof ' , knocking back a walking bystander & nearly taking them both out. he's smacking his teeth with nonchalance, shaking his head at the baggie that's fallen somewhere near them during the scuffle. ❝ rada rada, ❞ he mocks without looking back, eyes searching around the floor for it, not yet having met their stare. ❝ my bad dog, you good ? ❞

𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄  𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓  𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄  vacationing  in  greece  places  her  at  kitron,  &  though  she'd  marveled  at  the  grandiosity  of  the  interior  at  first,  she'd  quickly  grown  tired  of  answering  the  typical  distant  relative  questions  —  what  are  you  studying?  what  do  you  plan  to  do  with  your  degree  once  you're  done?  oh,  i  know  you  just  got  here,  genie,  but  you've  got  to  have  a  plan.  have  you  looked  into  a  summer  job  yet?  i  know  it's  only  fall,  but  it's  good  to  be  prepared.  she'd  excused  herself  to  find  the  bathroom  to  catch  just  a  glimpse  of  reprieve  from  the  badgering,  a  puff  of  air  blowing  loose  strands  of  hair  out  of  her  face  as  she  rounds  a  corner  —  only  to  be  entirely  accosted  from  the  side  &  nearly  sent  flying.    “  hey  !  ”     she  scowls,  turning  to  the  imposing  force,  only  to  find  that  he's  searching  the  floor  for  something  &  uttering  a  very  insincere-sounding  apology.  “  i'm  fine,  no  thanks  to  you,  ”   she  mutters  with  an  irritable  frown,  small  hands  smoothing  her  dress  back  into  place.  an  expression  of  recognition  crosses  her  features  at  the  sight  of  him,  &  then  realization  when  it  occurs  to  her  where  she's  seen  him  before:  avila's  roster.    “  phosphorus,  ”     she  exhales,  her  tone  dreamy,  excitable  —  like  she's  found  a  missing  piece  of  a  puzzle.  she  steps  slightly  closer,  sticking  a  hand  in  the  space  between  them  (  and  inadvertently  —  or  maybe  entirely  intentionally  —  blocking  his  line  of  sight  )  for  an  introductory  shake.    “  i  knew  you  looked  familiar.  i'm  genie.  ”     her  lips  curl  up  in  a  coy,  proud  smile.   “  iphigenia.  ”

𝐃𝐎𝐄  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍  𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘  when  it  occurs  to  her,  suddenly  &  all  at  once,  just  who  exactly  she's  asked  for  help.    “  théo  !  ”    the  realization  leaves  her  in  a  verbal  exclamation,  &  for  a  moment,  she  seems  to  flail,  busying  her  hands  with  different  tasks  in  rapid  succession  —  outstretching  them  in  front  of  her  in  surprise,  before  one  covers  her  own  mouth  in  surprise  at  her  own  volume,  then  moving  to  tuck  her  hair  behind  her  ears,  before  coming  to  rest,  folded  politely  behind  her  back.  despite  her  awkward  fumbling,  she  absolutely  beams  up  at  him  —  up  being  the  keyword  —  &  suddenly,  she  feels  like  a  kid  again,  ogling  at  the  charming  older  boys  at  school  who  wouldn't  even  look  twice  in  her  direction.  “  god,  i . . . i  knew  you'd  come  to  daskalos,  but  i  didn't  think  i  would  run  into  you  so  soon . . .  ”  théodore,  after  all  these  years,  is  so  awfully  different  &  also,  somehow,  all  the  same;  tall  &  suave  &  self-assured  &  oh-so  charming.  her  gaze  tracks  his  hand  as  he  plucks  that  damn  book  off  the  shelf,  &  she  wonders  if  the  heat  rising  to  her  cheeks  is  visible.    “  yes,  well  —  it's  not  like  it'll  be  very  hard,  ”   she  tries,  grinning  in  jest.  it's  her  best  shot  at  mirroring  that  same  sort  of  confidence  he  seems  to  radiate  endlessly,  shrugging  a  shoulder  in  an  attempt  to  make  it  all  seem  effortless,  but  it's  clear  as  day  that  she's  trying  so  very  hard.  small  hands  wrap  around  the  book,  fingertips  grazing  over  the  embossed  title  wistfully  —  the  way  he  hands  it  to  her  makes  it  feels  like  a  gift.   “  it's  such  an  honor,  ”    the  words  leave  her  on  an  exhale,  almost  absentmindedly,  as  she  reflects  on  what  the  book  implies:  her  official  first  step  into  this  intellectual  community,  this  society.  the  dionysia.  grateful  doesn't  even  begin  to  describe  it.  his  question  draws  her  out  of  her  musing,  &  she  looks  up  at  him  once  more,  that  beaming  smile  making  another  appearance.   “  oh,  of  course  !  it's  the  least  i  can  do,  since,  you  know  —  you  helped  me  &  all.  plus,  what  else  are  old  friends  for  ?  ”     her  grin  turns  nervous.  is  labeling  herself  an  old  friend  too  transgressive  a  label,  shoehorning  herself  into  his  life  ?  she  doesn't  consider  for  even  a  moment  that  she's  playing  right  into  one  of  his  little  games. . . or  that  he  likely  owns  his  own  copy  of  the  book  already.