Ned the Piemaker

Ned tried to take all that information in. How was it even possible to have an income like that plus benefits? Oh, not that the piemaker struggled to make ends meet. He did well enough for himself (most of the time), but it always came with a heaping helping of stress and guilt - would he be able to afford rent this month? Should he turn on the heater or just wear another sweater? Did he really need to see a doctor about that weird-looking bruise? He frowned. “What do you mean ‘run the house?’ My mother used to say stuff like that, but it was a much smaller operation, I get that, but aside from cooking and cleaning, what do you do to keep a house going? When did we, I mean, like ‘we’ as in the human race, start saying things like ‘keep the house running?’ Houses don’t run. ANYWAY,” he paused, “um, who’s Mira?”

"Well-" Alaula said offering a semi-vague motion of her hand. "I know that for Bernard it means taking care of the bills, making sure that everything is kept clean, making sure that the cars get looked after, that the house is kept in repair… He organized for any parties or functions that my Uncle throws as well as decorating for them, greets guests and deals with some of the other random chores that my Uncle doesn’t want to bother with." She ended vaguely. "And besides who said our house doesn’t run? Maybe we’ve got one like Baba Yaga." She winked and laughed. "Mira, is a wonderfully fantastic woman and my Uncle’s head cook. She runs the kitchens with an iron fist and a smart wooden spoon." Alaula ran her fingers over the back of her hand unconsciously in memory of that very utensil. "You won’t meet a nicer lady though, or more down to earth and some of the food she makes! Mmmm!" Here the blonde rose on her toes, gave a small leap forward and then settled back into walking regularly again.

"Baba- oh, yeah. I remember. I think." Ned was not a scholarly sort of guy, but he had read myths and fairytales while at school. "The old woman, right? With the uh, uh. The things that pharmacists have adopted as their symbol...?" Mortar and pestle.

Ned asked himself if such a thing could be possible. He wasn’t anyone special and he certainly couldn’t recall other people saying anything remotely like that about his person. “Aw, thanks. I mean, I do my best. Best with food, with talking,” he spoke at a normal level, despite being back in the kitchen - he wasn’t sure if Enya could hear. He wasn’t even sure if he said it.

She picked up his voice easy enough. Sight and smell may of been shot, but her hearing made up for it. And though he was in the other room, gaze elsewhere, she nodded in agreement. “You’re pretty good at both. Feels pretty natural at least. Not, like, forced conversation. Awkward shit.”

"I think a lot of people think that about coffee. It's...well, bean-water. Weird. Lots of food things are weird. But they end up being good anyway. Um, unless, you know, allergies. Intolerances. Stuff like that." 

((Wanna wrap soon?))

((sure we can wrap up. Would you like to start another, or are you swamped?))

((I'll have to take a rain check - my activity, sparse as it is, will go down until the holidays are over. But I would love to thread with you again soon.))

"Well," Ned began, "I’m sure people want one, but the whole idea just…like, what’s the going rate for butlers these days?” The piemaker laughed lightly. “Born an old man, huh? My grandpa used to say that about people…” 

"Going rate? I don’t know but he probably doesn’t make less than a hundred grand a year, plus benefits and he basically runs the entire house, the only three people that can overrule any decision he makes are Mira, myself and my Uncle." She shrugged and worked her lip between her teeth her eyes focusing on the stall with the wreaths.

Ned tried to take all that information in. How was it even possible to have an income like that plus benefits? Oh, not that the piemaker struggled to make ends meet. He did well enough for himself (most of the time), but it always came with a heaping helping of stress and guilt - would he be able to afford rent this month? Should he turn on the heater or just wear another sweater? Did he really need to see a doctor about that weird-looking bruise? He frowned. "What do you mean 'run the house?' My mother used to say stuff like that, but it was a much smaller operation, I get that, but aside from cooking and cleaning, what do you do to keep a house going? When did we, I mean, like 'we' as in the human race, start saying things like 'keep the house running?' Houses don't run. ANYWAY," he paused, "um, who's Mira?"

"Mm?" Rene turned his attention back to Ned. "My father was a banker." A slight pause, then: "I began accounting as something of a necessity." A small, slightly grim smile on his face hinted at some larger story, but he went on. "I have always had a talent with mathematics, as you have for baking, it seems. It was only natural I put it to good use."

"Inherited, huh? D-did you always want to do that?" Ned always thought a desk job would be too tedious or boring.  "Oh, I dunno if it’s a talent. It’s just something I’ve always done." He shrugged.

"Not inherited. I made my own business." Le Chiffre gave him a stern look. "I told you; I began accounting as a necessity. I needed a job. Wanting to do so was not particularly a factor." He disliked telling people he’d kept books for the Nazis. You never knew who would blame you for doing what you had to, and he hated the pity he got whenever it came up. "But I suppose I would have taken a similar job if given a choice, yes. Again, similar to yourself, it is something I enjoy; why not make it my work?"

"No, n-not like, inherited, like someone gave it to you!" Ned said, hurriedly. "Uh, I meant like...bookkeeping was something your father did, so he handed the skill down to you...?" That would be a nice thing, he decided. Like when your father taught you to shave. Except with numbers. The piemaker couldn't argue with the sound logic of taking a job one enjoyed. "As long as you enjoy it." Maybe Le Chiffre was more like Ned - preferring to be tightly wound. 

Le Chiffre’s handshake was equally practiced. To be a businessman with dangerous people meant he needed a handshake and a poker face he could depend on not to waver when it counted. “Ned, then.” He nodded, and took a bite of crepe.

((I like the idea of him being a bumbling and/or accidental super villain. Or maybe a Mrs. Lovett situation.))

"Mm?" Rene turned his attention back to Ned. "My father was a banker." A slight pause, then: "I began accounting as something of a necessity." A small, slightly grim smile on his face hinted at some larger story, but he went on. "I have always had a talent with mathematics, as you have for baking, it seems. It was only natural I put it to good use."

"Inherited, huh? D-did you always want to do that?" Ned always thought a desk job would be too tedious or boring.  "Oh, I dunno if it's a talent. It's just something I've always done." He shrugged.