Dream Fantastic

[alexander]

[alexander]

The bubbles stopped abruptly. The surface of the water foamed and frothed, fine white bubbles popping, to join into larger bubbles with their neighbors, again and again, before finally popping into nothingness, leaving empty space behind. A hollow tube slowly came to view as the foam around it faded, yellow plastic an inch across, twitching slightly back and forth as steam rose from the water around it. As the foam started to fade away, leaving a filmy layer over the water, it rose suddenly, water cracking around it as a head broke the water, the tube firmly clamped in its mouth.

Thunder sat up against the back of the roman tub, cracking her back against the porcelain and stretching a bare leg almost daintily out of the water, foam dripping from her heel and outstretched toes back into the water. "AAAAHHHH. Now THATS how to relax. " Running a hand over her leg, she debated whether to shave or stave it off another day or two, when a sharp, authoritative rap on the door broke her reverie.
"Umm.... ONE MINUTE!"

She threw on a terrycloth robe that hung from a hook next to the tub, and padded gingerly through the bedroom and into the forward room of the suite. She stopped for a moment and looked in the full length mirror by door to make sure nothing stuck out inappropriately, then cracked the door and stuck her head around it. "Yeeesss?"

A bellhop held out an envelope to her, starkly plain white in contrast to all the finery of the stationary she had seen here before. "Meal Tickets for you, Miss McMillan. Complements of the chef, you've been invited to join us in the dining room for a complimentary lunch. Chef Johan asked me to tell you that among our normal fare, he is serving bacon and cucumber sandwiches. " As Thunder took the envelope, the arm snaked back and the bellhop again stood ramrod straight. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss McMillan?"

"N... no?"

"Very good. Then enjoy your rest, and thank you for staying with us."

With that, the bellhop disappeared down the hall, and Thunder slowly shut the door. Opening the envelope, there were four tickets, labeled "Chef Invite". Two stated they were for Dinner service, two for lunch or breakfast. There was also a handwritten note, on the back of a service ticket.
"Thunder, big fan, hope you join us for a meal or two while you are here. Johan. "

Staring at the tickets, Thunder weighed options. On one had, free food is free food. On another, this was a fancy place. What would she wear? Would she be expected to make conversation with people? And... bacon and cucumber. Blech.

Thus it was that twenty minutes later, she found herself walking into the lounge adjoining the hotel restaurant. A central table had been set up buffet style with platters and chafing dishes, silver and chrome against a verdant red table cloth and red draped pillars, holding dishes at different heights. Several people crowded around the bar, a couple or two had claimed seating around the edge of the room, and an elderly woman dished up some unidentified gray substance onto a plate while reading from a small leather-bound book. Thunder watched a moment, amazed at her ability to accurately shovel one handed while not watching the motions of the spatula. Thunder walked up to the buffet, snagging a warm plate from the pile, and looked sideways at the old lady.

"Anything particularly good?"

Thunder watched in amazement as the withered woman aimed one eye at her for a moment, the other still glued to the page, moving across the lines. "Its all good honey. Roberto cooks with the best of ideas, the creme of the crop, as it were. I'm a fan of his gravy, myself," she said, waving with the spatula at the grey goo she was ladling over some small piece of meat. Looking at the sign, fine calligraphy on thick creamy stock, it was labeled "Catcher in the rye gravy".

Personal stories are the best, the ideas they had as a child, distilled in essence. Roberto knows how to make it... sizzle." With that, the old lady sniffed her plate, breaking eye contact with her book for the first time. The look of hunger that twisted the wrinkled old face shocked Thunder, but was gone before she was even sure what she was seeing. Her face turned wistful, as she looked up, directly into Thunder's eyes. "But... old ideas, even presented in new ways, may sustain, but they do not nourish. You understand, don't you?"

With, that, her eyes returned to her book and she shuffled off to sit by herself at a small table. Thunder started to put things on her plate, noticing the literary theme continuing in the names of dishes, with about as much creativity, or lack of it. She paused a moment over a platter of triangular sandwiches, pale green and dark red fillings peeking out. The platter was labeled Sally's Cucumber Bacon tricut sandwiches. She shook her head, and moved to grab a Dharma Bun barbecue sandwich.

"Not going to have a Sally's?", a deep voice rumbled from behind. She jumped, and watched as food tumbled back onto her plate, mostly landing from where it had left. She whirled, to see a tall black man in a white uniform and chef hat.

"You must be... Roberto?"

The man chuckled, a not unpleasant laugh, though a bit throaty. "You've been talking to Adelle. She's the only one that calls me Roberto. Chef Robert Johan." With this, he stood ramrod straight and bowed, one hand at his breast, one behind his back. "And you are Thunder McMillan, an artist of some talent in satisfying hungers as well." The man smiled, teeth shining as white as his uniform.

"Ahh, I uhh, that is, uhh." Thunder stopped, closed her eyes, mentally counted to ten in Japanese, and opened her eyes back up. "Thank you Chef, for the kind words, and the sandwiches. Honestly though, they were something an ex of mine used to make all the time, and I needed a random food item for the character. I can't stand them myself."

Johan smacked his hand against his forehead with an audible thump, pushing his classic chef hat back from his forehead. "That explains it! No matter how I tried to codify the sauce, reading and rereading, condensing the ideas, it came through with a bit of bitterness. " He shook his head, a half smile on his face. "Ah well, they still sustain. "

"I would think any bitterness would be too much salt." Thunder gave the chef a strange look.

"The salt of tears, my dear. Every story has its flavor, if you but know how to present it. But, I hear that you might be giving us a reading later?" The hungry look she had seen previously on other faces that day crept across his as well, the feeling of being a piece of meat, being diced and prepared for others to eat, crept up her spine. She shivered involuntarily, not wanting to meet his eyes, but unable to break her gaze away from the blue orbs, black pupils boring into her skull.

Again, as fast as it appeared, the look faded, leaving a smiling chef. " Per... perhaps. Anyways, I'm coming to the party later, I agreed to that much. "


"Good! I look forward to it. Well, I must continue cooking. So much to do. Enjoy your meal Thunder."

[alexander]

Thunder sat with her plate, goops and cremes and pieces of different color and texture haphazardly arrange in front of her. She decided to start with the country fried steak and "Catcher in the Rye " gravy. Taking a bit of fried steak, dripping with dark grey gravy, she closed her eyes and smiled as the meat melted in her mouth. The feeling of rain across her face and the sound of the white noise of a heavy rain drifted across her senses, half there, half not, and she felt like she was spinning. No, she realized, she wasn't spinning, it was more as if she was watching something that was spinning, and it made her happy. She wrenched open her eyes, and the sensations faded. Looking left and right, she was embarrassed and desperately hoping she hadn't made some strange face or noise, or, if she had, that no one had seen or heard it. She thought she saw the old lady looking at her, but eye contact broke as soon as it occurred. She took dainty tastes of this and that, and while a few things gave her strange sensations, nothing hit her anywhere near as strong. She ate maybe half her plate, then left the restaurant, oddly hungrier than she arrived.
She stopped in her room for a notebook and pen, then headed back to the lobby. She popped outside into a small garden tucked alongside the back of the hotel, and sat at a wrought iron table near a small waterfall built into the wall. Taking pen from the tangled web of her hair, she turned to a blank page and started working on some outlining. Shadows moved across the table, and at one point she scooted her chair around without realizing it, to avoid a sudden glare on the paper in front of her. Paragraphs coalesced on the paper, ideas flowing easier than usual. She didn't stop to think about why, she rode the wave, and worked. As reality slowly came back to her, she realized that her pad was filled, 46 blank pages now written on, front and back. A month worth of work, completed in... She looked up at the darkening sky, realized that a few hours had passed. Leaning backwards against the iron chair, tendons cracked and snapped as her arms curled in the air, a yawn escaping like a caged beast. Air passing over dry tongue and lips, she realized that she was THIRSTY! Even as the realization hit her, two sudden thumps rattled the table, chunk-cha-chunk. The two large glasses, both misted with condensation,