(1942-08-24) Meeting Townfolk
Meeting townfolk
Summary: Quinn gets visitors at the bakery.
Date: 1942.08.24
Related: none
Players:
quinn..dot..leona..jesse..

It's probably no surprise that Leona Styne is visiting the clinic of the same name. For those who are old hat in town, the doctor's grand-daughter-turned-town-Vet is a staple of the society. For those not so old hat? Well, she's a dark-haired, light-eyed, freckled woman with poise, grace, and a classic sense of fashion who seems to be in and out of the clinic on the regular, of late. Today's one such day.
She's exiting now, wearing a pink short-sleeve cotton shirtwaist dress with navy colored buttons and trim. She has a navy pillbox hat on her head, and is wearing pink shoes. A bag hangs delicately over one arm.
"I'll see you soon, thank you," she calls to someone in the clinic before closing the door behind her.

The smell of baking is thick in the air, and even the front door of the clinic is not immune. Delicious, yeasty and sweet smells floar and linger, tempting one to follow them to the new bakery in town. It's painted a soft eggshell white, with a new, striped awning, and cafe tables in front of the plate glass window. The window is painted with gilt lettering proclaiming the new place "Taste of Paris." The wine painted door is open, and the smells only get richer from there.

Inside is not yet finished, there are still signs of refurbishing, but the display counter is certainly done, filled with muffins and croissants. There's a blonde woman behind it, hair smoothed up into a french chignon, a wine hued apron over a blush colored dress. She's humming to herself as she flutes the edge of a pie, occasionally singing in French.

Dot is on her lunch break from the clinic, and in a pair of black trousers and a blouse, which she wears when coming and going, keeping her nurse's uniform at the clinic to change into there, rather than get dust all over it from tromping up and down the mountain. She went and picked up some more cigarettes from the general store, but now the smells from the bakery draw her. She heads that way.

Leona, having exited the clinic, entered the bakery only a little before Dot by the looks of things. She's making her way to the main counter up front, heels clicking softly on the hard wood. Her smile is broad, warm, and welcoming. "Hello," the brunette says, pausing in front of the counter with a lovely poised posture. "I don't think I've seen you here before." The woman talks with a stylish, crisp mid-Atlantic accent. "And it's a small enough town that we locals say such things," she adds with a bit of an amused grin. "But welcome."

The humming ceases at the sound of heels, before she looking up from working on that pie. "Hello. I don't think I've been seen by you before, either." Her tone is educated, no slurring or country diction, and clearly a bit more Yankee than local. "I'm not from such a small town that I'd know to say such a thing." There's a smile as she moves to the sink nearby to rinse and dry her hands. "Thank you for the welcome. Quinn Bouvier, the new baker in town. Is there something you're looking for, miss…?"

"Ms. Styne!" Dot declares as she steps up to the counter beside the veterinarian. "Good to see you, how are you today?" she asks, before giving Quinn a broad smile. "Did you just open recently? It smells delicious in here." An almost Canadian accent, originating likely up north somewhere near the border.

"I'm-" Leona begins, but then Dot's voice carries from behind doing some of the introducing for her. Leona turns and her warm smile remains strong on her features. "Miss Walker, good afternoon. I was just introducing myself to our newest townie." Leona says the word fondly, with a touch of amusement. She looks back to Quinn. "It's a pleasure, Miss Bouvier. Leona Styne, at your service. Though as the town vet, unless you've a pet, I wonder how much service I can be. Still, I just thought I'd wander in to visit; I didn't have a particular thought or wish beyond curiosity. Not yet, anyway." Her mind can be changed! She could be a potential sale!

Brown eyes travel from the first woman to the second and back. She will incline her head towards the newest arrival, a smile lingering a long moment. "I have yet to actually have my grand opening. I'm waiting on the full finish here in the front, some more cafe tables have been ordered, that sort of thing. But as the saying about idle hands goes…" There's a smirk, a glance down into the display case. "I can sit and overthink everything and drive my contractor crazy, or I can start getting back into the swing. After all, moving and setting up has me weeks out of practice." There's a chuckle as a timer dings, and she'll move to pull out a small tray of berry tarts to cool.

"Welcome to town, Miz Bouvier. I'm rather new here myself. Came to stay with family up on the mountain. I'm a nurse over at Ms. Styne's grandad's clinic." Dot's nose twitches at the smell of the tarts. "Oh I think I'll need to get a few things for sure. What do you recommend?"

"Thank you for the welcome, Miss Walker. I'm sure I'll see a fair bit of you, then, working just across the way." Mitts slid off, Quinn hums to herself a moment. "Well, that all depends. Are you more a sweet, or savory sort of gal?"

"Oh I like both, but it's my sweet tooth that's itching today," Dot declares with a chuckle. Her blonde hair is back in a tight bun, a concession to her work as a nurse. "Something buttery maybe?" They rarely have butter at the homestead.

For Leona's part, she simply stands perched where she is, listening politely and with some interest. "What is your particular specialty?" She finally decides to ask. "The thing that you make particularly, uniquely well?" Her eyes turn to travel over the cases and the half-done space, but settle back on Quinn to hear her answer.

"Buttery I can do." There's a quick flash of a grin that lights brown eyes, before she'll reach into the case and puts a croissant on a plate. "Try that on for size. Croissants are, honestly, a pastry excuse for buttery flavor."

Her gaze will shift back to the vet, a flicker of her dimple when she smirks. "Tarte tatin, but I haven't yet made any of those up. I thought I'd start with the classics, until I get to know my potential customer base better. Then come the eclairs, and the macarons, and opera cake."

Dot takes the offered plate and she plucks a piece off the croissant, popping it into her mouth. The expression of pure pleasure the taste invokes is immediately recognizable. She swallows down the morsel. "Oh yes, can I take four more of those to bring home?" she inquires.

Leona watches Dot and the crossoint curiously, interested to see how the new fare is recieved. She turns to look back at Quinn. "Forgive my ignorance, but what is a tarte tatin? I don't believe I'm familiar with that. Though my family are English stock going back quite a ways, so unless it's bland I daresay it's not in our vocabulary." She offers a warm, self-depricating chuckle.

There is a small moment of prideful expression, before there will be a good deal more than 4 croissants placed in a white bakery box, and slide across the countertop. "And since the delivery of my cash register has not yet occurred, these are, as I used to say in Paris, gratis." There's a wink for Dot, before there's a deep breath. "Tarte tatin is, at the most basic level of explanation, an apple tart cooked upside down and flipped over before being served. Which gives you carmellized apples, which are a delight all on their own. Though you can make them with other fruits. "

"Oh goodness, I can't possibly take them for free! Let me at least bring you down some veggies from my garden tomorrow?" Dot offers. "You've been to Paris?" she asks curiously.

"Oh, that sounds rather delightful. I'll surely be looking forward to that," Leona says, but doesn't interject anymore as to allow Quinn time to answer Dot's question.

"You can, you know. I'm baking to keep myself from getting into trouble. I bake in the early part of the day, then go for long walks in the afternoon." Quinn will be quiet a beat, head tipping slightly to the side as she looks at Dot. "Fresh veggies, however, I will not turn away. It's too late in the year to start a garden for myself out back. I do love to barter, one of the things I miss." She swallows a moment, eyes looking away. "I went to Paris to study cooking and baking. I'd still be there, if not for.. Nazis." She may have just omitted a curse word in that pause, but what can one expect of someone of some breeding at least.

There's another glance at the vet, a hint of a smile. "I'll have to make one up for you soon. Where should I send word so you can come have some?" She moves, to pluck up cooling tarts to put them into the display case.

Dot frowns at the mention of Nazis. "Those bastards ruin everything," she confirms with a sharp nod. She takes another bite of her croissant because it's too delicious not to. The family is going to be over the moon when she gets home tonight.

Leona's attention turns sharply back to Quinn at the talk of the Nazis. "Oh, no need to make anything special on my account," she says, waving a gloved hand. "I'll be in the shop often enough when you're up and running." She glances once to Dot, and then back to Quinn. "I host an occasional knitting circle to put together care boxes for our troops overseas. If you'd be interested, I'll be sure to let you know when the next one is."

Quinn turns her gaze on Dot, that smirk reappearing. "They do seem to ruin everything. I was enjoying gay Paree, truth be told. Baking and cooking and having late nights in little jazz clubs.." There's a sigh. "Maybe, after the war, I can go back for a visit." It sound wistful, but not terribly likely. Her gaze brightens, a glance at Leona. "I bake excellent cookies, if we can smuggle some of them over. Give the boys something sweet to bright their days."

"Do you think they'll ever get to our shores?" Dot asks, her brow furrowing in concern at the prospect. She continues to eat the croissant as she looks between the two women.

"Oh heavens, no," Leona says with an easy, confident shake of her head in Dot's direction. "There's no greater defense than an ocean to separate us. We are a world away." The brunette does look back to Quinn thoughtfully. "I don't see why not. As long as whatever we put in the boxes will keep for the long journey."

Quinn pales, just a shade or two, at that question. "I certainly hope not. It was hard enough seeing them in Paris, I can't imagine seeing them in Philadelphia." Lashes lower, and the baker will fidget, rearranging tarts as if it is a matter of importance. "I will look at my recipes to see what's best for mailing and what will keep best." She doesn't look up at Leona with that answer.

"Well I hope you're right about that," Dot says quietly. She finishes off the croissant and plucks up the box Quinn put together for her. "Thank you so much, Miz Bouvier! I need to get back to work, but I'll bring those veggies by tomorrow!" She gives Leona's arm a squeeze. "Good to see you, Leona." With that, the young nurse heads out and back over to the clinic.

Jesse was playing in the square and he was doing a decent job…he's been bringing the guitar out since the fiddle has a broken string that has yet to be replaced. That's when he started getting those delicious scents…and it wasn't coming from the direction of Berenice's house! Interesting. When the drizzling started, he packed up the guitar and started following the scent to what used to be an empty storefront but now smells like delicious baked goods! This is new…

He doesn't go in but stands just outside, guitar-case in hand, as he takes in those tantalizing smells.

"Wonderful. I'm sure I'll see you around town, then," Leona says, nodding respectfully to Quinn behind the counter. "I'd best be heading back now, but have a most pleasant day, Miss Bouvier." The vet offers another warm smile as she turns to head out the door following Dot…
Only to see Jesse! "Oh! Hello, Mister Walker. Going in to get some lunch? Apparently the croissants are quite the thing."

"You're quite welcome, Miss Walker. I hope you enjoy them. I look forward to seeing you again." Quinn smooths her hands down her apron, a nod to Leona. "Of course, Miss Styne. A good day to you." Then she'll note the young man standing in the doorway, a gleam of a smile. "I assure, despite the lack of a sign that says so.. I'm at least sort of open."

Jesse gives a little start as the vet addresses him but he recognizes her voice immediately. "Hey there, Ms. Styne…and the what?" This particular Walker is unfamiliar with the French word that was mentioned to him. "Lunch?" is asked before he hears an unfamiliar voice and takes a moment to feel for the doorway, not wanting to push through Leona. "Your door is, at least," is offered with a smirk, "What -is- this place? This must be what Heaven smells like…"

Leona allows Jesse by and gives the man a little chuckle, before moving to continue on her way toward her parked car.

"Well, I was hoping for the rain. I do love the scents of a good rain." Quinn responds. "This place is Touch of Paris. Newest bakery in town. And who might you be?" There's no tables on the inside floor yet, so there's nothing much for him to bump into until the display counter. "I'm Quinn. Quinn Bouvier, and while I'm no angel, I'll take the compliment."

Jesse says, "Touch of Paris?" Jesse repeats before he steps through the door, holding the guitar case close in front of him so that he doesn't slam it into anything. As he speaks, he can tell that the place is a little empty…although not quite to what extent. "Jesse Walker," is offered as he walks carefully towards the voice. "So, you set up a shop here? I'm bettin' Berenice won't be too happy," but he seems pretty thrilled. "Smells like it'll give her a run for her money.""

"Are you related to the Miss Walker that's a nurse across the way, then? You just missed her." There's a warmth to her voice, though there's not much mistaking the educated tone. "Touch of Paris, because I trained there, in baking and cooking. I only left because of Nazis. " There's a low laugh. "I have heard of the Widow Higgins, though I have not had the pleasure. Whether she's happy or not, I won't tuck tail." There's that dimple again. "Another compliment. You must be a charmer."

"Oh, she was in here?" It smells like a place she might frequent…although it also smells far too expensive for him. "She's a cousin. If you meet any Walker in town, we're all related." Because this is the way it is here. His own accent is most definitely regional to the area. "You escaped the Nazis? Did you see them? The news ain't so good about France…or most of Europe. Wish I could have helped…" but the reason why he couldn't might be clear, might not. At the compliment to him, he shrugs, "I only tell it like I see it, ma'am. Besides, you already seem a lot nicer than Bernice."

Quinn fidgets with things, before she's glancing his way over the display counter. "Alas, I have no family around here for quite a ways. Must be interesting to have so much of it close by." She's moving to pick up some ingredients, and a jerk makes her measuring cup clang against the large metal bowl. "I ran away from Nazi occupied France, yes." Her voice has dropped in tone, and in volume. Then she's taking a deep breath, trying to shake it off. "I try to be nice, until people won't let me be." She'll glance over at him, and something..she'll frown at. "So, are you one for buttery flavors like your cousin, or do you have more of a sweet tooth, Jesse. May I call you Jesse?"

Jesse gives a little tilts of his head at the clanging and turns to follow her voice as she moves. "That must have been crazy! Runnin' from Nazis…" They just get to hear what's on the radio and whatever newspapers someone reads to him. "Must've been rough," is offered before he looks a little confused by the first question. The second is easily answered, "Sure, that's my name." He then realizes what she's asking and he lifts his free hand, "Oh, I can't afford to buy somethin', but thanks. I'm just happy to be standin' here and smelling it all."

"It was…an adventure." Quinn doesn't sound terribly enthused at the memories, and it's just as well Jesse can't see her hands shake as she tries to measure out flour before she gives up for the moment. "Well, it wasn't a pleasure cruise, but there are lots of others who have been through worse." There's a low laugh, as Quinn drifts back to the display counter. "I didn't ask what you could afford, Jesse Walker. I asked what you liked."

Jesse doesn't need to see to tell that she doesn't seem to want to talk about it much. "I'm not lookin' for charity," is offered when she asks again, but then he tries to soften it with, "I'll eat anything. Just ask my cousins." He doesn't want to sound harsh or anything, but…well, it's a Walker thing. They're used to either being pitied or reviled; rarely is there anything in-between. "Can I ask…what are you doing?" He can hear things, but can't quite identify what's going on.

"And since I don't have a cash register and such for tallying up things, I don't have much of a use for cash laying around, now do I?" Quinn will counter in a smooth, soft voice. Clearly a man's pride is nothing new to her. "Besides, your cousin promised me some vegetables tomorrow, so the price has been paid. Honestly, you'd be doing me a bit of a favor. I need to bake to keep myself from driving my contractor crazy or wanting to change things around on her. But if I have too much of the way of goods on display, people will think they're no good, you see." There's another long look at him, something noted. "How about I start you with some croissants, and then you can decide? Dot seemed quite taken with my croissants. There may be some at home when you get there, she left here with more than a half dozen."

Vegetables? Where is Dot getting vegetables?? Jesse continues to look confused some as he listens to the explanation. Some of it clicked, however, and he manages, "Well…I mean, wouldn't want it goin' to waste." He'll take a couple steps closer until he manages to find the counter. "I ain't never had a cwa…c…what you said. Never even heard of it." Sounds French though…and very fancy.

"And if I ate it, I wouldn't fit in any of the dresses I smuggled out of Paris, and trust me, that would be a real tragedy." Apparently she's figured out he's blind.. or she's guessing. "Croissant." Quinn says it a bit slower. "Fancy French word for a light, fluffy pastry with lots of buttery flavor." Quinn will take one out of the display case, and tossing up the one section, will carefully press the pastry to his hand. "I need taste testers, after all. American tastes are surely different from French, and even Higsi from Philadelphia's, for that metter."

"You and Dot should talk dresses. She brought more luggage than I've ever seen in my life when she came here," Jesse offers. He then tries to repeat the French word, his own accent making a hash out of it. "Don't often get butter," he starts but then the pastry is pressed into his hand. There's a moment of confusion before he puts down the guitar case right there beside him so that he can figure out just what this thing is. "It feels sorta like a roll…"

"She did seem a bit fascinated by the idea of Paris." She watches him, brown eyes watching his face. "It is a roll. Most often eaten for breakfast. But it's made with puff pastry, so it is lighter and has a lot of flaky layers, more so than a biscuit."

"It don't feel as heavy as a biscuit…" Jesse offers, "And I bet Dot would like it. Seems all fancy and right up her alley." He does feel rather sorry for his cousin, having to live in their poor neck of the actual woods. He tears off the end of the pastry, sniffs it for a moment, and then pops it into his mouth. His eyes widen and his free hand goes to cover his mouth as he chews the bite, obviously quite astonished. "My god," he offers once that bite's gone down his gullet, "I think that's the best thing I've ever eaten in my life!"

"It's meant to feel lighter than a biscuit. It's supposed to be kind of puffy and fluffy." Quinn will move back towatds the counter when his hand goes up, and he'll hear her jerk back towards him, perhaps worried he was choking. Then there's relief when he speaks, before she's laughing, a warm, slightly smoke tinged sound as she leans back on the display counter. "Aren't you the sweetest thing?" She will dart forward, a kiss to his cheek, before she's humming and heading back behind the counter. "Those are just the basic pastries, though. Just wait until I get more supplies in."

Jesse gives a start of surprise when she gives him a kiss to the cheek…must be a French thing. He's heard about that. "It's true," is offered through a blush as he takes another careful tear from the pastry and eats it slowly. He has to savor it all! "I think you beat Bernice by miles."

For Quinn, it was more high spirits and feeling less and less dread that she might fail. "You keep complimenting me, mister Jesse Walker, and you'll be stuffed fatter than a Christmas Goose." Her tone has shifted drastically since the talk of running from Nazis, and there are sounds again behind the counter as flour is measured and sifted, sugar added, the crack of eggshells. "When you're done with that one, you can have another.. or you can try something else new."

If she keeps feeding him for free, she's going to have a frequent moocher. "Ain't never met a meal I coudn't finish," and still be hungry afterwards. But he might yet meet his match! The croissant is deftly finished off and he's licking the butter off of his fingers before wiping his hands off on his jeans. "You so sure about that, Ms…" does he remember how she pronounced her name? "I don't want to eat you out of everything you got made…"

"Please, call me Quinn." The blonde baker responds, and Jesse will hear the sound of a whisk against metal bowl as she blends things together. "Well then, you certainly have come to the right place, haven't you? See, I've been out of practice for a bit, on account of running away from Nazis and fleeing Europe, trying to avoid the war and all. Then getting the building and getting things ready.. well, I'm just needing to get back to fine form. You wouldn't mind taste testing for me, for a while, I hope? I can't pay you but in the baked goods."

"Good lord, Ma'am…uh…Ms. Quinn. If you want to pay me in baked goods, I'm good with that!" He'll even try not to eat them all and bring some home for the others when he can. "From what I can tell though, you're already in fine form. Folks here are used to pies and cakes and cookies and bread. They ain't used to this fancy stuff, but I can't see how someone wouldn't fall for 'em."

"Well, I need to make sure I'm turning things out the same way, every day. So that's why I'd need your help, you see. Someone other than me to taste them all. And you seem a likely young man,.. never knew one with your build yet that couldn't eat all day and eat some more." Quinn is nothing if not honest. "I also do pies, cakes, cookies, and bread. Though I believe I will be offering more variety than the esteemed Widow Higgins." She will glance over at him, a hint of a smile.

"Even if you didn't," Jesse offers, "Most folks probably wouldn't notice or care, long as it tastes good." He leans forward just a little, "Is that what you're doin' now? Makin' stuff?" He can smell the ingredients, certainly. "She don't usually sell her stuff except at the County Fair and certain socials. But I've certainly snatched more than a few from her windowsill when I was a kid…" like he's so old now. "You keep feedin' me like that, Ms. Quinn, I ain't sure my build'll stay the way it should." But he's grinning, knowing that surely won't ever happen.

"Ahh, but I would care, Jesse. It's very important to me that I turn out reliable products, you see. There are people in Paris that earn their livings, tasting food. So why not find a likely young man like you to help me out? You probably won't be snooty if something tastes a little different, but tell me about it and if one way seems better than the other." She's humming for a moment as she gets out a spoon. "Cookies. Do you like chocolate chip?" It seems like a likely shot.Then there's a sound of contemplation. "The county fair is coming up, right? Maybe I should see about a booth or something. Do they have baking contests?"

"I don't think I got a snooty bone in my body, Miss Quinn," Jesse offers truthfully. "And I'll tell you if somethin' seems off…" she certainly picked the right one for that sort of thing. Hooray for other senses growing stronger when one is lost. "I like any kind of cookies…don't usually get 'em." The question about the fair has him shrugging, "They have contests for nearly everything. Dunno if there are rules and the like, but bet you could sell plenty if you had a booth."

"Which makes you perfect, because if you're not snooty, I won't want to punch you." Quinn states cheerfully, as she's spooning dough onto the tray. There's a faint little humming as she works, as her focus sort of shuts Jesse out for a moment. "Well, I like chocolate chip, and I'm going to make a big batch and eat till I burst. But that's just between us. No telling anyone my secrets as my taster, you understand." There's a hint of laughter in her voice. "Well, I will have to look into a booth. Tell me, Jesse, would you interested in a day's work at the Fair?"

Jesse shrugs, "What you do with your baking ain't no business of mine, Miss Quinn. Although if you ever get sick of the cookies or have some you ain't willin' to sell, well…my cousin's awful fond of sweets. He won't say as much, but I think he is." He kept on mentioning jam there for a while. There's a tilt of his head at the question, "I'm always interested in work, but what were you thinkin'?"

"Well, it will be if I'm giving it to you to taste test, Jesse." She chuckles. "You can drop the miss, I think, if you're going to be my taster. How many cousins and siblings do you have?" She asks innocently enough, moving to put the first tray into the oven. "I was hoping, if I get a booth, I might get some fliers printed. I'd need someone to stick around the fair and hand them out."

"Right now, just the four cousins and me. My older brother died a few years back and my older sister left even before then…" No mention of parents or anything. "Fliers? Like papers? I can do that, sure. Wasn't sure if you were askin' me to help take money. I'm good with coins, but not so good with paper money."

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. I have a younger brother, back at home. I know how I would feel." She glances over at him. "Yes, like papers. I was thinking if you stood somewhere near the booth, it might help generate some interest if there were fliers. Maybe run some sort of special on cookies or something, a coupon for when the fair is over. I wouldn't ask you to do anything you didn't feel up for."

Jesse gives a nod, "Thanks. Is your brother back in France?" Is that where she's from? Maybe he didn't get the whole story. As she mentions standing near the booth with the fliers, he shifts his weight a little before commenting, "Because you're new to the town, Miss…Quinn, you should know. My family ain't looked on too kindly here and those that associate with us can get…well, in trouble with some of the more…well, some of the townsfolk. I'll hand out fliers for you, but you might not want me near your booth then."

"Oh thank heavens, no. Jack is back in Philadelphia, with our parents. He's too young yet to join up with the army, and I pray the war is over before he can." She's putting more scoops of dough on a tray, as she looks over at him. "You've been a perfectly polite and well mannered young man in my shop, Jesse. I have no doubt that while you are on the clock with me, that would be how you present yourself. And if you're near the booth or not, you'd be handing out fliers that would tell people you're doing it for my place, no?" She puts her spoon down, moving to the display counter and plucking out one of the berry tarts to bring to him. "What is someone going to say to me, for hiring a young man willing to work to pass out fliers for me?" She will carefully find a way to meet tart and hand without smashing fruit against fingers. "I'm sure you've had a berry tart before, but I hope you'll try these."

That's the thing. Most don't seem to understand that the Walkers generally -are- polite and decent people…unless they're feeling particularly ornery or their tempers are made to flare. Or they just feel like making mischief. "I'm just warnin' you. So that you're prepared," when they start commenting on it. He wouldn't want her to lose business because he's there helping out. "You might be surprised at what they'd say," is offered before the tart is placed into his hand. "I've had pie with berries. Is this like that?"

"If someone's going to be a jerk because I hired a nice, polite young man to hand out fliers for me at the fair, they can be a jerk to my face. I don't believe in snap judgment on a person." There's a chuckle. "Think of it as a very small, slightly lighter crusted pie." She will beam at him. "How about I get you a chair? You wouldn't mind keeping me company while I bake, right?" And she will get him a chair, and make him try more baked goods.. and poor Jesse will get sent home with a sack full, because she will assure him she has too much stock.

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