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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 20, 2013 13:26:32 GMT -8
tagged: HAROLD HERSCHEL. time: may 7th, 2pm. notes: let me know if anything needs to be changed. It had been a relatively productive day so far. He'd picked up some food for his cat, which the cat had accepted (even if it seemed mildly annoyed by the whole thing). He'd even gotten himself a nice lunch. Now, though, it was time to treat himself. He'd had plenty of stress over the past week or so, and he'd done very for himself. Realistically, he wasn't the sort of person who did do things for himself. You simply couldn't think like that while living in a base in one of the remotest parts of the earth, far from any sort of backup plans or supplies. Everything had to be done for the group. You couldn't hog food to yourself, couldn't waste time or energy. You couldn't just 'go out on the town' and treat yourself, because there wasn't a town.
LA had changed that though. There was no excuse for not treating himself. He had money, time, and the ability to do so. He was overly stressed and had plenty of ways to relax. So he'd actually asked around--what did people do to relax? While most of his coworkers had seemed a bit confused by the question, eventually one had given him an acceptable answer--he went shopping and bought some candy.
A quick google search later had turned up a small candy store not far from his usual route. Small and compact was probably going to be a bit more manageable for him, so he'd headed out there via the bus, heading for the store itself. He wasn't the sort of person to wander off-route, and he found himself there soon enough.
The store was just as small as he'd imagined, and everything in it smelled insanely good. Of course he had no idea where to start--he'd never had any candy before, and he stared incredulously at the very first display, having not the slightest idea of what to look for.
He must have looked particularly out of place, being pale as a ghost, but it was the long sleeves and pants in the summer heat that would stand out in LA the most. |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Aug 25, 2013 5:43:48 GMT -8
"Welcome to Herschel's," Harold said automatically as the bell above the door rang again to indicate another customer. Today was an average day for business, not too slow, and there were already a couple of people milling about in the shop. He himself was engrossed in reading, and so was a bit reluctant to jump to assist anybody who wasn't in dire need of candy-buying assistance. Surely they'd forgive him, he assumed. He was an old man, after all.
He did, of course, look up at the end of every paragraph to make sure that his customers were content enough, and that's when he finally took note of the newest of the bunch. He hardly batted an eye at the boy's attire. Hadn't he seen enough odd things? This was L.A., after all! It was more the fellow's baffled look in front of the display where he currently stood. He looked like he'd never seen a sweets shop before. Good grief.
Harold dog-eared his current page and set his book down beside the register before making his way from behind the counter to stand beside the young man. "Can I help you, son?"
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 25, 2013 14:54:40 GMT -8
tagged: harold. time: may 7th, 2pm. notes: notes. Mikhail would have died a bit inside if he'd realized that the shop owner had bent his page. He'd yet to even notice he was reading at all, and he'd more or less completely missed the greeting. It wasn't until the old man approached him that he realized he was there at all, jumping and turning to glance at him. Most people couldn't get away with calling Mikhail 'Son', but then from the looks of the man, he was at least old enough to be his father. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but there were a whole lot more elderly people walking around LA then there were walking around the Society bases. Elderly people were fairly rare within the Society, simply because of how dangerous it was. Hunters rarely lived to be old. There was just too much risk associated. That was on-base anyway--off base, anything went.
"I... think so." He paused a moment, glancing back at the shelf as he tried to compose his thoughts in a way that didn't scream 'I'm from the one place humans really shouldn't be living'. "I've only recently arrived in America, and I'm not used to... well, to American candy." His accent didn't entirely support it--his English was fine, and his russian accent was fairly minimal. It was still at least plausible, so he was figuring going with it was the best possible option. "I can't say I have any idea what half the names mean, and I have no idea what sort of candy I might like. Could you possibly make a suggestion?" Whatever the old man thought was good, Mikhail was certainly willing to try. He really didn't have anything to compare to, although he knew that he enjoyed sweet deserts. |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Aug 26, 2013 6:47:18 GMT -8
Harold had decided some time ago that he wasn't the best salesman, especially when questions were as non-specific as this. It's what he kept employees for, really, and so it was only his occasional misfortune to have to field these sorts of things. He could only hope that summarizing the whole shop would manage to get him somewhere. He certainly didn't mind talking about candy, if nothing else.
"Well," he started, turning to indicate to the whole of the shop. "All of the candy we carry is American-made, so you're on the right track. We stock a wide variety of classic brands and hand-made sweets, curtesy of yours truly. As to suggestions... Our fudge is very popular, made daily in both year-round and seasonal flavors. Summer means chocolate and dried fruit, mostly. I've also got some 'Peaches and Cream' still going. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but... Anyway! We offer samples, of course, if you'd like to try it."
He pointed with his thumb toward the counter display of fudge, which he thought was particularly fetching. There was also a little cabinet that stored caramel and candied apples and another that held a variety of chocolate-covered fruits, nut-clusters, and specialty chocolates. These were things that Harold had made. The rest of the walls were lined with brightly-colored packaging, most of which called back to their original hay-days.
"Alternatively, if you tell me what you like from... wherever you're from, I can point you in a more specific direction." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 26, 2013 21:28:12 GMT -8
tagged: harold. time: may 7th, 2pm. notes: notes. It sounded like a sales pitch, and that was fine with him. He could deal with sales pitches. Most people disliked how canned they sounded, the way it seemed like they'd been said a few hundred times before, but Mikhail had very little experience with shopping, and they were largely new to him. Chocolate and dried fruit? Peaches and cream? At the very least there were samples, which would probably help him a good deal. He wandered over to the fudge counter when it was gestured to, staring into it in confusion. It looked vaguely appetizing, but he had nothing to compare it to, and no idea how any of it would taste. Was it hard? Soft? He actually had no idea. It was embarrassing how ignorant he was on a subject that most people too for granted, and he rapidly discovered he wasn't going to be able to fake it properly. He didn't even know the names of any Russian candies--if they'd been mentioned around him, he'd long ago forgotten.
Instead he straightened up from peering through the display, clearing his throat. "I... actually didn't really eat candy back at home. My family was very strict growing up." Which they were, but that wasn't the reason he'd missed out. "I really don't have any idea where to start. Just... what do you like? What's your favorite?" And then he'd just get a bunch of that and branch out from there. |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Aug 28, 2013 6:50:37 GMT -8
What was his favorite? He paused in the midst of thinking of how odd and unfortunate a life without sweets might be like to consider the question. It was something of a long pause, and he wasn't sure he could come up with a clean answer. He laughed lightly at himself, shrugged out a yielding gesture, and answered, "It's hard to say. I like candy enough to have opened up a whole shop, don't I? I spend all day making it. I wouldn't stock anything that I wasn't sure other people could enjoy, now would I? That'd be bad business."
That probably wasn't the most helpful answer, however. Harold moved, walking from the sales floor to the counter, talking while he went. "I'm really not the sort to make decisions for people. I'm a speculation guy, myself. My Edie is the one who knows how to influence people, but I'll tell you this..." He paused, holding up an index figure in the midst of rinsing his hands. "What I like is for my craft to make folks happy, so you pick whatever you'd like to try, and you can figure out for yourself what you wanna take."
At that, he took up the little cutting tool that he used for sectioning out fudge, samples included. |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Aug 28, 2013 12:19:10 GMT -8
tagged: harold. time: may 7th, 2pm. notes: notes. Well, that certainly wasn't the answer he was hoping for. He was hoping for something nice and firm and solid as far as answers went. Something like 'I really like this one' or 'people seem to love this other one'. At least that way he'd be given something to go on, but instead he was let out in the proverbial cold. He inched over to the fudge counter, looking over each one. It was difficult--if not impossible--to work out which one he'd like. Maybe he'd like all of them. After a long, long moment of staring at the flavors he simply opted to pick the one that looked the most interesting.
"I'll try the... raspberry chocolate swirl." At least it gave him something to go on--he'd tasted raspberries once before, a rare treat. Did those count as 'candy'? Probably not. They probably just counted as a treat. It was at least something he knew the flavor of, and he opted to try for smalltalk while trying.
"Edie? Your... wife?" That made sense, right? The man was relatively old and owned the shop--he probably had a wife at his age, and while Edie was a strange name to Mikhail (as were most English names), it sounded feminine enough. |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Aug 31, 2013 19:30:04 GMT -8
See? Making a decision wasn't so hard, even if the fellow didn't sound too convinced about it! Harold would have half a mind to remind the young man that life was trial and error, but he could save it in favor of doling out samples to help with the minor trial. He answered the conversational question as he slid open the back of the display case to get at the requested flavor. "That's right. Been forty years, now."
He chopped off a small square of the Raspberry-Chocolate Swirl and passed it over the counter. "Here you go," he said encouragingly. "Let me know what you think and if you wanna try anything else. I'm all ready to go on the sample-delivery." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 4, 2013 15:13:13 GMT -8
tagged: harold. time: same. notes: notes. Forty years. To someone like Mikhail, that number seemed utterly mind blowing. They'd been together for six years longer then Mikhail had been alive. The shopkeeper was more then old enough to be his father, and it seemed strange to Mikhail that he'd still be working in the shop. Didn't people retire? He was vaguely aware of the concept, but retirement among Society hunters was a much different beast then it was in the civilian world. You retired when you were injured, or when you were no longer fit for duty. Then you ended up behind a desk, dealing with paperwork and bureaucracy because your body couldn't handle the strain of it, and one more mission would kill you.
Retirement from a candy shop obviously didn't have the same effects.
He took the offered square, staring at it for a moment before giving it a nibble. The flavor was impossible for him to compare to. He'd never had an actual raspberry, although he'd had things that were supposedly flavored by them, and the whole thing was just a brand new experience. It was unmistakably good though. There really wasn't any way to argue that.
He gave a small little smile at the taste before giving a nod. "I think... maple pecan? And then whichever I like more I'll take a block of." He felt sort of bad he was taking up so much of the man's time with stupid questions that anyone would reasonably already know. "I can't imagine having been with someone for that long though." |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Sept 11, 2013 5:01:14 GMT -8
"That's what I like to hear!" Harold proclaimed joyously at the fudge decision. See? Something as simple as picking out a candy that suits your tastes shouldn't be a big to-do, no matter where you're coming from. He smiled and bent down behind the glass once more to snip off a sample of the Maple Pecan, an especially good seller during the fall, but carried the year through.
The small-talk came up once more as Harold passed the sample of fudge back over the counter to his customer, and he shrugged at the observation. "What can I say? The girl's easy company." Which wasn't always true, but that was everybody. He certainly was inclined to give her more patience that he did most folks, and he'd never been tired of her or angry with her for too long, stubborn and unapologetic as she could be sometimes. The time had passed quickly, in any case. He let out a breath of laughter, continuing, "People make it seem harder than it really is, I think. That, and... Well, you aren't forty, are you? It's hard to see past what you've lived." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 11, 2013 18:15:16 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. He accepted the sample carefully, long fingers taking it before he popped it in his mouth. The flavor was different, distinct in it's own way, even if the texture was largely the same except for the occasional chunks of pecan. He'd at least had a pecan before, so that part wasn't entirely unexpected. He savored the taste slowly, probably giving it far more thought then most people gave to their sweets, and then finally made a decision.
"I think a pound of the raspberry chocolate. The pecan is good, but... a bit..." He wracked his brain for the right word, coming up more or less blank. "I'm not even sure what it is." He finally decided with a shrug.
He shook his head a bit. "No, not forty yet." A bit less then six years and he'd be at that milestone, and by and large it felt like he had nothing to show for it. He'd had a good job, and that had gone out the window. Relationships were almost entirely foreign to him, and the whole idea of being together that long was completely alien to him. "I suppose it is hard. It's impossible to predict where you're really going to end up." Which was especially true when you worked for an organization that could ship you literally anywhere. The whole thing just left him particularly uncertain.
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Sept 14, 2013 7:16:15 GMT -8
It was fine that the fellow wanted to take his time in making a decision. Again, Harold was satisfied that the whole process was going somewhere. At the final announcement, the sell of a pound of Raspberry Chocolate Swirl, Harold gave a firm nod with a brightened smile. There was definitely a satisfying feeling that came with making a sale, especially of a ware he'd crafted himself. Perhaps that's why he'd decided on this business in the first place.
He wiped his cutting implement free of the bits of Maple Pecan residue and chopped off a good chunk of the Raspberry, setting it in some waxed paper before moving to lay it on the scale sitting atop the display. He didn't read the measurement right away, but cut another thick slice from the fudge and set it onto the scale. He moved to point to the read-out, visible from where the younger man stood.
"That's about a quarter-pound. Are you sure you want a full pound?"
For all Harold knew, he was bringing it back to his office or his family. This guy's also foreign, though, and it could be that he's not used to Standard measurements. Either way, a quarter pound is more than a person would want to eat alone in a sitting. |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 14, 2013 15:11:44 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. Alright, definitely not a pound. He eyed the particularly large pile of fudge and cleared his throat, shaking his head. "I'm not... well, used to pounds. It's hard to get a good idea of what it's like." A pound was far, far too much. Even a quarter looked like it would last him for the better part of two weeks. He wasn't going to put any of it back though--not after he'd made the man cut it. Really, he was a bit too worried about how the shopkeeper was going to react to him. Most people wouldn't care. Even the polite people would simply ask for a bit less, but Mikhail gave him a small little smile anyway. "I think a quarter pound is fine." Why exactly did America feel the need to use imperial? Metric was far cleaner, far more organized... far better in every way. Never mind that there weren't subtle differences between different version of metric the way that there were with imperial. "I think that'll be all for now." Maybe he'd come back when his fudge was done and try something new. |
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Post by HAROLD HERSCHEL on Sept 21, 2013 1:14:50 GMT -8
"Fair enough," Harold said with a bit of a chuckle, reaching up to wrap the waxed paper around the weighed fudge in a well-practiced movement. It was over to the register, then, where Harold reached under the register to get a bag from the shelf below. The smaller size of bag, with the shop's logo across the front, would do just fine. He popped one open and set the packaged fudge inside, presenting it to his customer with a small, satisfied smile. Presentation counted for something, after all.
He tapped the cover of his book idly as he rang it up, squinting at the cash register for a moment before his expression brightened again. "There we go. That'll be $4.25." |
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Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Sept 25, 2013 17:16:40 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. Money, right. Mikhail was actually surprisingly bad with money, simply because he'd almost never had to use it. It wasn't as if the societies isolated base was going to deal with money for things happening on-base. Everyone was expected to do their bit, and anything from the outside was handled by supply requests. You simply didn't just get five dollars and go out to buy milk--you either got it as part of your regular food supplies, or you wrote up a proper requests for it.
It took him a moment of awkward fumbling with his money to locate the right bill--a five dollar bill, which put him a bit over. He set it on the counter with a faint smile, pleased that he'd managed to figure it out at all, and reached to take the little bag. He was going to enjoy it, one way or another.
"Keep the extra. I'll be sure to come back when this runs out." And maybe he'd share it around the office to try and foster some friendships. With a quick goodbye, Mikhail parted with his fudge--happy to have gotten it at all. |
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TERRESA
UNKNOWN ENTITY
RESIDENT UNICORN
小書瑀
Posts: 105
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: HOW DARE YOU ASK A WOMAN HER AGE?
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: Guardian Kirin of the White Rice Paddies
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Post by TERRESA on Sept 27, 2013 9:41:03 GMT -8
| | | Finished Thread
You have been rewarded with ONE RESIDUE as this thread is now complete. It has been placed in the archives under the 'finished' sub-board. You are more than welcome to PM fate if this thread is not finished or if you are unhappy/unsatisfied with the amount of residue that has been rewarded. Keep up the great work and keep posting with other members.
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