2025-08-14 - Not Poison

A day or so ago, Head Chef Cedric Williams received a medium-sized box, wrapped in craft paper and tied off with twine. Fixed to the twine was a simple tag reading To: Chef From: An Amateur Baker. Inside, he would find tucked into tissue paper, a loaf of French bread, freshly made butter infused with rosemary and sea salt, as well as an attempt at kouign amann, which was not bad, but as the pastry was notoriously difficult to execute, could probably use improvement. Alongside the pastries (not touching the food, of course) was a card written in perfect loopy script.

Dear Chef,

What did I do wrong? My layers didn't seem to laminate properly, and this is my fifth attempt. Help me, Chef, you're my only hope.

Sincerely,
Diana Le Roux

P.S. Not poisoned.

It's not often that Cedric receives mail of any importance. Besides bills, which, boring. So when the package arrives for him, he's perplexed. It's unexpected. And what he finds inside upon untying the twine and peeling off the paper? Well, that's something, isn't it.

The note is a curiosity, and the post-script enough to make Cedric laugh with incredulity. Part of him thinks it might be a bad idea to try any of it, on the chance that the note was lying and it is poisoned, but then he just... does it anyway.

Naturally he goes for the French bread first, having it toasted and heavily slathered in that infused butter along with his tea in the morning. When he promptly doesn't keel over, he takes the kouign amann in with him to work that day. It takes remarkably little convincing for his pâtissier to share it with him, so they cut the pastry in half and sample it. Once again, nobody dies, so they spend the next several minutes debating over what the prime issue with the dough could be.

Eventually, they come to a consensus. And then they start to bake.

A day or so later, a similarly wrapped package ends up at Diana's door, this time with a return address to the Château. Inside is a full-sized tarte Tatin, made of apples and pomegranate, as well as a miniature kouign-amann, puffy and crispy. The note included reads:

Chef-

Your butter is melting in the dough while you're handling it. Recommend you bring it down to around 15 degrees Celsius and work quickly.

If you need further assistance, please visit us at the restaurant between the hours of 11:00AM and 2:00PM any day other than Friday - Sunday.

Cheers!

Diana might have been in a wine-induced perfectionist rage when she'd packaged and dropped off the box with the hostess at the restaurant. She certainly hadn't expected a response-- because who would respond to a random box of questionable food dropped off by a magician illusionist?

While she was an amateur chef and baker at best, she did know enough to make a damn good loaf of bread. Splitting time between Las Vegas and her family's country home in the French countryside had instilled in her an early appreciation for food, specifically foods that reminded her of home, and Vegas never really felt like home.

She'd nearly forgotten about the box entirely when she found the package on her doorstep after a long shift. She poured herself a glass of wine, then opened it, nearly keeling over in laughter seeing the tarte Tatin. Tarte Tatin being her best party trick, other than French bread and homemade butter.

She takes a bite of the kouign-amann and she moans, her eyes practically rolling back into her head. She'd picked the right tutor.

Chef-

See you Tuesday at 11 AM

D

Because she wasn't about to arrive unexpectedly.

Tuesday rolls around and Cedric gets up early, making sure he's one of the first to arrive at the Château. Most of the staff won't roll in for an hour or so, which gives him ample time to take care of his usual duties more quickly than he would normally be able to. Working out schedules for the weeks ahead, balancing the budget, boring admin tasks that unfortunately fall to him now that he's in charge.

Soon enough the time is nearing 11 o'clock, and he checks his watch, before he heads out to the front of the restaurant, a small entrance chamber not unlike a foyer, flanked by archways leading to staircases on either side.

The Château is visually, from the outside, run down and decrepit. But inside it's like a perfectly preserved collector's manor-house, cluttered with artifacts and paintings, ornate rugs and antique furniture. Even the lobby features a well-preserved Louis XV writing desk. Not that there's anyone here to staff it, given not a single maître d' or server is here yet. It's just the handful of chefs, Cedric included, holding down the fort and doing much-needed prep work.

He unlocks the front door and settles in to scroll on his phone as he waits.

When Diana isn't performing as the Enchantress, she entertains as herself at the Spider Walk, a couple of doors down from The Château, but hasn't been inside other than to drop off her package. It's a few minutes past 11 when Diana shows up, not wanting to look too eager for her cooking lesson.

It's her day off, and she's fresh-faced with just a bit of mascara coating her thick eyelashes. Her dark waves are pulled back into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, and she's wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and a fitted white t-shirt that showcases a sliver of glowing, golden skin around her waist.

"Chef?" She asks as she steps inside, silver gaze landing on the only other soul in the establishment. She then looks around, taking in the paintings and artifacts on the walls. There's almost too much to look at. "Spellbound always amazes me with the theming."

The relative gloom of the entrance is briefly lit up from the sunlight streaming through the open door that Diana enters from, at least until it closes behind her, plunging the room back into dimness. There are real gas lamp sconces on the walls, ready to be lit with flickering flames, though they don't serve as a particularly great source of illumination considering they're not on at the moment. So it's just a couple of scattered lamps, all matching the theming. Old, valuable, and a bit gothic.

But there's also the light of Cedric's phone screen, on his face. Though he turns that off and pockets it as he stands from one of the chairs against the wall. "Alright, Diana was it?" he asks as he gestures her forward, half-turning towards the open doorway behind the host desk. His accent's definitely British but without the polished edge that is popular in media, something a bit rougher and nasally. There's a smile on his face, partially amused, mostly just pleased as he adds, "Just wait until you see the rest."

Rather than taking Diana straight to the kitchen, he gives her a tour of the ground floor. The rooms are laid out almost like a true château, all of them really only big enough to fit a few tables each. They're cluttered with more treasures too along the walls, things like antique knives, porcelain dolls, shadow boxes filled with pinned insects, and more. He talks about the history of a few items, and points out the large oil painting of the Château's benefactor, Quincy Oglethorpe, all the while being completely opaque about whether or not this is just set dressing or real haunted objects.

There's a whole additional storey of things to see upstairs, but the last stop that Cedric takes Diana through are the swinging doors at the back of one room, leading into a hallway and the kitchen. Which is a much more modern affair, filled with gleaming appliances and lots of tables. It is very, very clean, and the first thing Cedric does is step over to a sink to wash his hands. "So, kouign amann," he says, getting right down to business as he's backdropped by the sound of a knife chopping through vegetables. Another chef, in a white jacket just like Cedric is, busies themselves with prep work nearby. "Have you tried chilling the butter more?"

Diana is in direct contrast to the restaurant, disturbing the dim lighting with her tinkerbell-like glow. While it's subtle, it's always there, and exaggerated in spaces like the Chateau.

She's distracted by the decorations when he begins to speak, and murmurs something that sounds like confirmation, that yes, she is Diana. "Oh?" She asks, smiling over at him when he suggests it gets better. The tour doesn't disappoint. Each room is more enchanting than the last, filled with treasures and curiosities. "I could get lost in here for days," she tells him, a faint French accent clinging to her words.

She bites down on her plump lower lip to contain a gasp as the swinging doors lead to a pristine kitchen. She may make fantastic images for a living, but the way she fantasizes about kitchens like this one makes the usually cool and collected performer falter slightly. "It looks right out of a magazine," she gushes, losing her blasé facade for a moment. But she gathers herself again when he speaks, following suit and washing her hands after he finishes.

"I have," she tells him. "Or... I thought I had chilled it long enough, but maybe it wasn't enough? I also don't think I was working fast enough... or perhaps I should have chilled the dough between working with it?" She questions, not sounding all that confident. "I usually stay in my lane, bread, tarte Tatin," she flashes him a smile. "I wanted to challenge myself, but perhaps bit off more than I could chew."

The kitchen is much more spacious than any of the actual rooms of the Château, especially now when there's only a couple of people in it aside for Cedric and Diana. Neither of whom so much as look up from their tasking, the aforementioned one chopping vegetables, another tending to a big stock pot simmering on the stove. Cedric beams out at them both when Diana compliments the kitchen, and he says, "I can't take much credit. My staff are wonderful."

Vegetable-chopping chef cracks a smile at that, whilst stock-pot chef has his back turned, so his reaction is hard to tell.

"A cooking thermometer is a sound investment, if you can manage it," Cedric says, after Diana questions whether or not she was keeping the butter at the right temperature. "But yes, putting it back in to chill if you need time to work it is a good idea. Once the butter melts, you have to start over." Leading her past the chefs working, Cedric takes her to a side area of the kitchen, towards a prep area next to a commercial-sized stand mixer. There's already everything they need laid out on the table. Which isn't much, really. Flour, sugar, butter, salt, yeast. It's a simple recipe in terms of ingredients, but complex in execution.

When Diana mentions what constitutes her lane, Cedric glances over at her. "Ah, so you're an expert in tarte Tatins, then. What did you think of my chef's? It's going to feature on our autumn menu."

Then he starts in on making the dough, dumping pre-portioned ingredients right into the bowl of the mixer. "We'll get the lamination technique right and then you'll be good to go, no problem," he tells Diana. "Then you can make just about any viennoiserie." Despite his accent, he doesn't struggle with the French word, seeming to have some familiarity with the language. "Challenge yourself now to make things easier down the line, like."

The syncopated sounds of knives on chopping boards are almost therapeutic. She glances over at the other chefs, but doesn't let her gaze linger too long before returning her attention to her host. "I can manage a kitchen thermometer," she assures him with a bit of a smile. Finances were something Diana didn't have to worry about, not when her parents were as successful as they were, although Chef didn't necessarily know about any of that.

"I think that was my grand mistake. I've never been great with pastries that require lamination," she admits. "So temperamental, and the humidity and atmosphere here is so different than back home... it might as well be a different recipe entirely," she laments as she picks up an apron that's been set out. "You left your butter out, Chef. Are you sure you're equipped to teach me?" She asks, unable to help teasing him, even if they have only just met.

She gives a hand wobble when he asks about the Tartin. "Mine is better," she tells him proudly, perhaps trying to save a little face.

She steps in closer to Cedric to watch what he's doing more closely. "You're optimistic," she notes, but doesn't seem to disagree. "Thank you for being willing to teach me. Soon enough, I'll be able to put your pastry chef out of a job," she jokes. She could never. Would never. "Where are you from? The UK, obviously, but where?"

"Lamination requires patience and precision. But kouign amann are worth it, probably the most out of anything you can make with this kind of dough," Cedric replies, and then he gestures with the now-empty dish that had held the butter he's just dropped into the stand mixer. "The butter for this part of the dough should be room temperature. It's the butter that we use later on that you want to keep chilled. Don't worry, I'll walk you through each step."

There's a large bowl on the table covered with a cloth, which he lifts off to check beneath. Inside is more dough, no doubt left to rise.

His eyebrows go up when Diana claims her tarte Tartin is better. "That so?" Cedric's head shakes a bit, but he's smiling, a sparkle of amusement in his eye. "You'll have to bring some for us to sample, then. We're always looking for ways to improve our recipes."

The kneading is done by machine rather than by hand, thank goodness for stand mixers, though more than once Cedric turns it off to check the dough and add more flour. "This is how it should look, do you see how it's starting to pull away slightly?" He motions to where it's doing just that on the mixing paddle.

Soon enough Cedric's dumping out the dough that has been rising, to use the same bowl for this new dough he's made.

"Manchester," he answers, after snorting at her joke about his pastry chef. "How about yourself?" If she's clocking his accent, he'll do the same to her, because he's dreadfully nosey.

Patience was the word she struggled with. Patience was usually where most bakers fell apart. Di glances away to hide any sign of a blush in reaction to the obvious reason some butter was sitting out. Luckily, her glow had a way of masking these things, unless one was particularly observant or knew Diana well enough to call her on her shit. "Of course," she says.

"Mmm, it is," she says casually. "But then I think we all favor our family recipes, and I am not a professional... but if I were to critique, it lacked depth. It needed something..." But she wasn't entirely sure what. She laughs outright when he suggests that she bring in hers for them to sample. "I'm not sure I am thick-skinned enough to handle watching professionals critique my baking. It's why I left the package with your hostess," she chuckles, watching as he works the dough. She nods when he asks if she sees how the dough is behaving.

"Vallée de Chevreuse," she tells him. "In a small village outside of Paris... but I split time between there and the States due to my parents' work," she explains, watching him work, but more curious about him now. "Where did you learn to cook?"

"Your bread was very good," Cedric is quick to say, adding a smile to go along with the compliment. "Been my breakfast for the past several days, in fact." Does it say something about him that he's only had bread and butter (well, along with tea) for his first meal? Maybe.

Then he repeats the word "Depth," musing on it a long time as he sets the dough ball aside and steps away to fetch more butter from the walk-in. "If you're going to splurge on anything, do it on butter for this recipe," he mentions as he wraps the near-solid butter into parchment paper.

Once it's a secure bundle, he hands Diana a rolling pin. "You want to make it into a square. Give it a few whacks, like," and then he mimes doing so, before gesturing her onwards. "Not too firmly or you'll split the paper."

He doesn't press the issue of the tarte Tatin after, but if the topic of France is going to be brought up, he's more than happy to discuss it. "London originally, but then on the Côte d'Azur for a good while before I started traveling," he says, which explains the French leanings of the menu here at the restaurant. "This is my first time in the States for more than just a holiday."

"That is quite the compliment," she notes after he admits to eating only her bread for breakfast for several days. "I don't think there is anything better in this world than good bread and butter. I can be a snob about it."

She nods in agreement to his advice to splurge on butter. "Or make your own... if you have good salt... though I guess it solves nothing since you're still splurging on something," she rambles as she takes the rolling pin and whacks it, looking as if she's done it before, which she has, just with mixed success.

"I love London," she says, but then grins. "Oh, lucky you. Côte d'Azur, oh, la, la," she tuts as she turns the dough. "I have only been a tourist there, but how beautiful." Maybe that was where she'd go when she got time off, whenever that was. "And do you like living here?" She asks. "Spellbound is great, but," she shrugs. "I don't know. I'm not sure if the States have ever felt like home. Just feels like work here... but I've spent much more of my life here, so perhaps I've just romanticized the rest."

Cedric's a man of habits, and toast in the morning is one of them. If it just so happened to be extra delicious toast (and extra delicious butter) well so be it. "Can agree with you on that," he says, head nodding. It's not as if he can avoid having some level of food snobbery, working at a place like this.

He watches on as Diana does as bid, beating the butter into submission. Though he does briefly wander away to fetch a ruler, a clear plastic thing that he sets nearby for her to use once she's done, or nearly there.

"I worked in a restaurant in Nice," he further explains. "But I traveled up and down the coast as much as I could. Until I left to travel around Europe. And then I was the chef for a yacht on the Med for a couple of seasons. Italy, after that."

He makes a quiet noise in his throat at the question, before replying with, "Well enough, I suppose." Cedric's arms end up folded over his chest as he watches the butter slowly taking shape. "Dunno if any place has felt home-y. What's that even feel like? Maybe I just haven't figured it out yet." Blinking a couple of times, he shakes his head and then adds, "That was a bit much even for me, don't mind me being some kind of pathetic sad sack over here."

Diana eyes the ruler and plastic thing he comes back with. "Are you grading me?" She asks, an eyebrow lofting in amusement.

"You have lived quite the life, then," she says. "I've done some traveling, but I've never been on a yacht except for gigs or galas, things of that nature," she says. "I've seen TV shows about yacht staff... that is difficult work." Yes, even snobs watch Bravo.

"Home... well, they say it is a feeling more than a place. So perhaps you just haven't had that feeling yet, or met that person that makes home home, if you believe in that," she muses. "Oh, no, you don't sound pathetic. Sad sack," she shrugs and then smiles. "I'm teasing. I asked."

Cedric immediately holds up both hands, forestalling any more concerns. "No, just giving you all the tools we have available here. I can't sight-measure reliably, everything comes out as a rectangle." He pauses. "Or maybe a parallelogram. Geometry isn't my strong suit."

There's not much he finds he can say in response to the comment on his life, at least not without coming off snooty, so he just demures with a dip of his head and a quick, "I've been very lucky," which is certainly the truth. Not many people get to do what they love in so many amazing places.

"If you need to open the parchment paper up and reform it, there's an offset spatula you can use," he points out, before resuming his mostly comment-less observation.

Well, comment-less in the sense he's just letting Diana do her best without directly guiding her. Maybe just because he hasn't seen anything that requires him to step in, yet. But he's not quiet, either. "Dunno," he says again. "But I'm happy here. My first opportunity to run my own kitchen, and it's the same place where actual, real life magic exists? Count me in."

There is a certain delight that comes with making the Chef sweat. "Ah, just a geometry problem," she says, taking the plastic thingy and measuring the dough. She then works on adjusting it, grabbing the offset spatula. "Has it been out for too long?" They'd been chatting, and she didn't want this dough to go the same way hers at home had.

She laughs softly at his enthusiasm where magic is concerned. "I've always been around 'magic.'" She says, actually air-quoting the magic part. "My parents are very successful illusionists by trade... actually, my family has been in the circus arts for generations, but my parents are the first to really make it big," she explains, stepping back so that he can examine the dough. "They've had a residency in Vegas for most of my life, but we've toured a few times. Spellbound is something else, though," she says, flourishing her hand and making the various spatulas and whisks dance and sparkle a little before dropping the illusion.

"Should be fine, since you're avoiding handling it. The table's cold, and you're not leeching body heat from your hands into it," Cedric explains. "But we'll put it back in after you've got it shaped right." Which Diana seems close to doing, judging by the way he nods as he steps forward to check on the butter.

He lights up when they continue to talk about magic. "Really?" He seems shocked about her parents, saying, "I've been to Vegas once before, it's mental. My mates lost a fair bit of their money at the casinos." Though he sounds smug about it, either because he won big or simply avoided losing any at all by not playing.

When she conjures up an illusion, Cedric can't help the reflexive backward step he takes in shock, but then Diana drops it just as quickly so he realizes what's happened. "Mint, that," he breathes out. "One of our servers can do that too, she puts it to good use scaring guests." Probably not the best thing to brag about in a hospitality position, but Cedric looks well amused by it all.

She nods in acknowledgement to why, in this case, the dough is still viable. She works it just a little longer until it is a perfect square, then preps it to go back in the fridge to sit for a bit.

"Yes, really," she says as she closes the fridge door and then leans against the counter, facing him. She smiles a little wider when he talks about his friends, noting how he leaves himself out of the equation, but doesn't press it. "Vegas can be fun. There's lots of glitz... lots of alcohol. Whenever I go back, I end up just working gigs, though. My parents don't exactly love that I'm here, and my mom is also my manager. She usually books any longer periods off here for work elsewhere," she explains. "But that's showbiz," she rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure your guests love it." The spooking. "Adds to the ambiance."

It's time for Cedric to step back in now, and he starts to roll the dough out with the rolling pin Diana was previously using to reshape the butter. But first he fetches a knife to cut an X into the top of the dough ball, which he explains, "Helps shape it into a square." Then he starts rolling it out.

"We were proper pissed most of the time we were there, yeah," he agrees, when Diana brings up alcohol. "But we were young back then. Dunno if I could keep up with that sort of thing now."

He rolls, turns, and rolls out the dough some more. It's not particularly easy to get the dough into a perfect square shape, so more than once he stops to stretch it by hand, but slowly it begins to take the desired form. "Good for you. Couldn't work with my family like that, think I'd go mental." Then, about the spooky effects: "We all have our wee little tricks, don't we?"

She's watching him, making mental notes for when she tries this at home later that night, and likely again the next day until she's worked the skills into her bones. "How old are you?" She asks since he left that door open. Nosey.

"Oh, I didn't have a choice," Diana laughs. "I have never had a choice in any of this." She's probably being too candid. "I never even went to a real school. It was always entertainment for me. It's why they are so angry I'm here and not back home headlining at some casino or at the very least married to some high-rolling asshole who can help keep the machine moving," she says, and now she's looking around for some wine to slow her mouth before she talks herself into a wall. "In France, we drink wine with breakfast, you know," she lies. Diana just drinks when she lets her mouth move faster than her ability to censor herself.

The question of age has Cedric briefly pausing, but dough waits for no one, so he resumes rolling. "I'm thirty," he tells Diana. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by the admission, though he does add, "Sometimes my knees pop when I get up now, so I'm certifiably decrepit."

He steps away from the dough to gesture Diana forward. "You're going to lay the butter out as a diamond in the middle, so you want the dough to be larger than it by a bit," he explains, holding his fingers apart to show by how much. And then he goes to fetch the butter for her, setting it down so that she can unwrap it.

"That's unfortunate," he says with a sympathetic wince. "Dunno what my parents want from me, but it's definitely not being a chef. So I suppose I can understand in some ways." Diana's white lie about wine with breakfast has him shaking his head in amusement. "Would you like some wine now, then, to take the edge off?"

It's not as if Cedric himself sounds opposed to the idea.

"I've heard that starts to happen once you turn thirty," Di comments. "I'm twenty-four... but hilariously I think just about everyone I'm close with is at least thirty, so I understand your aches and pains well."

She tilts her head as she watches his hands on the dough as he explains. Once he returns with the chilled butter, she unwraps it, and lays it out as he explained, looking over at him for approval or adjustments before they proceed.

"It's alright," she tells him. "Just... a bit outdated... in ways. In other ways? Not outdated but certainly unusual. Stage parents I guess would be the easiest way to categorize them. It comes from a good place," mostly. "Are they supportive at least? You're quite an accomplished Chef, and young... relatively," she winks.

"Yes, Id' love some wine. This butter is making me nervous." Sure, it's the butter that's doing that.

"Can confirm." Cedric shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but thankfully none of his joints make an audible noise at the movement. "I can also sometimes hurt myself just by sleeping wrong. Real gifted, like," he says. Just mention of that makes him wince a little bit, in memory of old pains.

He leans forward, hands behind his back, to inspect the way Diana's laid out the butter. "Should be enough dough," he estimates. "Just fold the dough inwards to completely cover the butter. If you're doing this at home, you could put the dough in the freezer to help keep it at temp, too."

The only answer Diana gets about Cedric's parents is a brisk shake of his head and a, "Oh, not at all," that makes him laugh, the noise rumbling in his chest. There's no doubt more backstory there, but Cedric is more focused on getting this dough laminated at the moment.

And while she works to wrap the butter in the dough, Cedric disappears (not literally). He walks away, calling out, "Red or white?" before he heads out the swinging doors to the hallway beyond. It takes him a few moments to return with the requested bottle, as well as a corkscrew and two glasses. Apparently he's partaking as well.

"Extreme sleeping. That's a talent." She chuckles.

She nods and folds the dough inward to cover the butter. "I wasn't nearly patient enough at home." She was barely patient enough here, but good company helped, as did a stunning kitchen with all the bells and whistles.

Her lips turn downward at his answer, but she doesn't press him for more personal information. "I sometimes feel like Spellbound is Neverland, and all of us are lost boys and girls. I know more people with unsupportive families here than with," she says, making it more general.

"White," she calls back. "It's early... and summer..." And white was closer to juice in her mind.

Cedric's still laughing as he walks away. "Patience is a virtue, or something," he says as a gentle parting shot. But soon enough he's coming back, and the wine bottle should serve in the patience realm. Things are always easier to take your time with when you have a bit of social lubrication, and so he pops the cork and pours them each a glass.

"Cheers," he says after handing Diana hers, then knocks their glasses together. One of the chefs definitely looks over with a raised eyebrow at Cedric, before very obviously miming a look at his wrist (for a watch he's definitely not wearing). Cedric snorts and shrugs over at him, but then they share an amused smile, and individually get back to work.

In Cedric's case, it's having a sip of wine as he takes up the rolling pin to give the dough and butter packet a few light taps with the rolling pin, until the seams of the dough have blended together, almost imperceptible. "Just to make sure it won't spread back open while you're rolling," he says, and then the tool is back in Diana's care, for her to do said rolling.

He takes another sip of wine, sets his glass aside, and leans back against the counter to watch. "I suppose it has something to do with the setting. Why not run away to a fairytale park for a magical opportunity, when you don't have much at home keeping you there?" he asks, bringing the topic back around to something Diana had said previously. "Neverland, yeah. I can see it."

Diana clinks her glass against his, then takes a long savoring sip. It's light, and fruity. She can taste notes of vanilla and apricot. "I love chardonnay," she sighs as she sets her glass to the side to free her hands again. If she notices the chef raising a brow at their choices, she makes no indication of it.

She rolls the dough out, taking her time with it to ensure it spreads evenly over the surface. "Perhaps," she says with a nod. "I think that's certainly part of it... I think another part is the energy. It's new. It's exciting. There are possibilities if you are ambitious enough to look for them or it's easy enough just to fall into the rhythm of the every day mechanics of the place. I don't know if it's my forever place... it might be now," she says as she lowers herself down a little to get a better idea of how thinly she's rolled the dough, then gives it a few more passes. "The guys i'm dating both seem to want to be here."

"It's from Meursault," Cedric comments, of the wine. "I went there once, thinking the Roman fort up on the hill above it was going to be worth a tour. It was barely anything to see, but then I went back down into town and had some amazing ris de veau at a restaurant." He shrugs. "Life's like that. Bit of a hodgepodge. Suppose Spellbound is like that as well, at times."

He steps forward to motion towards the knife he'd used to cut the dough ball open for rolling, and then says, "There's some excess dough at the top without butter in it, see how it's rounded? If you get that you can just slice it off." This is left to Diana to do, rather than Cedric moving in to take over again. He's hands-off now, letting her run the show.

"Think you can start folding it now, you have it thin enough. Though we'll probably have to put it in the freezer for a bit here shortly, if it starts to get too warm." More time to drink wine, which is just fine in Cedric's book.

"I think you've seen more of France than I have," she comments, sneaking another sip. "It's incredible." Some of the best wine she's had in Spellbound. "Yes, I suppose Spellbound is... the other realms make it even more complicated. I want a Chateau in one of the fairytale lands. I've never been a fan of apartment living, I like my space and it doesn't seem like it'd be a terrible commute."

Di picks up the sharp knife and carefully cuts the rounded lump off of the rest. "I wouldn't have spotted that," she admits, brows furrowing as she recounts all the times unincorporated dough bits sabotaged her.

"Should we chill it then fold or fold it once first?" She isn't about to screw it up now, not when they've already been going at it so long.

Cedric's brow furrows in thought as he muses over his wine glass. "Lived there... almost four years, yeah," he admits. "Did a lot of touring about, wanted to see the sights. Loved the countryside especially." He sets his glass aside and smiles at Diana. "Haven't seen anything in the other worlds yet that matches Gascony, but the possibilities are endless, aren't they?"

He picks up the discarded bit of dough to inspect, and then nods. "Yeah. The good news is, even if you cut into the butter, you're just going to fold it back in anyway."

And while he has that bit of dough in his hand, he tests it, squeezing it with his fingers to see how it reacts. "It's not sticky yet, see? So we're fine. But usually by the first fold it'll need about an hour or so to chill before the next fold. I have some ready to bake so we'll at least be able to enjoy a bite this morning, before I have to get back to the grind." That implies a decent amount of prep work done ahead of this, at least two rounds of this dough being made, rolled out, and then set aside to wait.

But Cedric just looks curiously onwards as he asks, "Your partners mean to settle here? I mean, I've seen whole families living in the employee housing, it's not completely out of pocket."

She can't help but smile about the way Cedric talks about the the French countryside. "It is the best," she agrees easily. "I'd move there tomorrow and just live on a farm with some big fluffy dogs and a garden if I could. Maybe have an orchard too." The life. "They are," she agrees about the other realms. "So I hope that one will someday give me the best of both worlds. Will it happen? Probably not... but dreaming is a good thing, right?"

Her brow lofts when he mentions more dough that he's prepped ahead of time. It's astounding, really. "You did all this work for a stranger?" She shakes her head. "You are something else, Chef." She folds the dough and gets it ready for the freezer. At least he'd have another batch for later. Maybe the chefs who have had to endure their chattering would get some treats.

When he asks about her partners she shrugs. "I don't think they are really the long term thinking types... but they are content. Jaime is in construction and is here as long as he has projects, and by the looks of things, he'll be employed for a long time. Jack..." she just chuckles. "He's happy here. I don't think he's much of a formal planner but he likes life here and when I've talked about leaving he's pulled me back in again, so I don't think he wants to leave any time soon either. But who knows? Anyway, are you seeing anyone? With your cooking I can't imagine you're single." Nosey.

"That's the dream," Cedric agrees on a sigh. "I wouldn't mind learning how to grow grapes, make wine, you know?" He reaches for his glass, but just to put his fingers around the stem, not lifting it yet for another drink. Instead he just swirls the remains of the wine around within it.

He shrugs off the praise, saying, "I had help. And my pâtissière is a big fan of kouign amann, so she didn't mind making a few batches with me. It's all going to today's staff meal, anyway. We're doing a brunch for dinner sort of thing." And since this dough is now ready to be chilled, Cedric whisks it away to do just that. He returns with a pair of muffin pans that he sets down, motioning towards the remaining sugar and the melted butter that's been set aside, waiting.

But he doesn't leave Diana to do it all on her lonesome. He takes up a post to her side, letting her handle the buttering of the bottom of the pans so that he can sprinkle the sugar in after, a very short assembly line. "I've seen a few people, but nothing serious," he admits, to answer the question. "Last one ended poorly, anyway. I mean. Most of them end poorly. I'm a bit rubbish at relationships, seems like."

His glass is getting low, and the bottles right there, so she just... tops him off a bit. "Oooh, a vineyard," she gushes. "What would be your specialty? Red? White? Bubbles?" They had options.

She takes another sip of wine, then begins to butter the pans. "Lucky staff," she says. "You're making it tempting to quit my job at the Spookeasy and just bother you all day," she chuckles.

"Most of them do," she agrees. "My ex is..." She shakes her head. "Not worth breath," she'd spare him the details. He didn't sign up for her baggage. "I'm terrible in relationships too. I don't know if any of this will work out... if I were to be honest I'd guess no. How could it?" She reaches for the wine again. "I want it to but it also feels like bracing for a car crash... like if I let my guard down it will all just... kaboom."

Far be it for Cedric to say no to a refill. And he dutifully picks up his glass to sip from it, since it's now full. "Oh, that's a fine question. Probably reds. Mostly so I could drink them with my meals." That suggests the kinds of main courses he prefers, and then of course he just goes and says, "In this dream I'm allowed to eat as much red meat as I want, so."

"Wouldn't want to steal employees from another place nearby," and yet the "but" lingers, unspoken, on the tip of his tongue. Cedric flashes a smile at Diana just before he goes to fetch the dough that's already been fully laminated and brought down to temperature. It's even already cut into rectangles, to make kouignettes, the miniature version of the dessert. And after coating it with more sugar, he shows Diana how to fold them, pinching the corners in to give it a crown-like appearance as he sets the first few into the awaiting muffin pans.

He makes a sympathetic noise to Diana's romantic troubles. "I imagine some of mine might say that about me. I know my faults. Not enough time for them, too self-centered." He eyes the glass of wine he's working his way through, but says nothing about that particular vice. "But I hope it works out for you, at least. If you stop expecting it to all fall apart and instead work on keeping it together, it might... you know... not?" But then his shoulders rise up, and he shakes his head. "Sorry. Definitely not my place to be giving you advice for a multitude of reasons. Mostly because I don't know you," he says, before joking, "But also because of the whole 'rubbish at relationships' bit."

"Reds my preference as well," she says, making a mental note of his preferences for future mystery packages.

She laughs outright, feeling that but lingering in the air. "Maybe I can entertain your guests here and there," she suggests. "Not outright stealing but... borrowing... and you can tip me in pastries," she jokes. "I have to actually make a reservation. I haven't had a meal here yet and fear that I'm missing out."

Di replicates his technique with finesse. She's a quick study, and picking up all the little tips and tricks he's giving her with ease. They look nearly as good as Cedrics when she's done.

She snorts a laugh and shakes her head. "No. I doubt any of your exes have restraining orders against you." She says as she finishes her final pinch and dusts her hands off on her apron. "I hope so, and if it doesn't?" She sighs and sips. "We have wine.... and good butter... and bread... and I seriously doubt you're as awful as you claim. Some people like ambitious."

"We have a storyteller who walks around most evenings, giving guests a bit of the lore of the place," explains Cedric. Which leads him directly into, "Maybe we could recruit you for some of his days off?" That seems like a potentially great idea to him.

As for a reservation? "I can get you onto the books," he assures. "Sort of my prerogative as the head chef, and I try to use it so that employees of the park get to come by."

Soon enough they've moved through the entire amount of sugared dough and both muffin trays are filled, so into the oven they go. Cedric sets a timer, and then there's nothing much more to do than step away and let them bake. Do that and, of course, drink more wine.

Which is what he does. He picks up his glass and shrugs one shoulder, lightly. "You're right," is all he can say about the lack of restraining orders. Which earns Diana another sympathetic look. Not pity, but the sense that Cedric's got enough stories that come close to that, that he can put himself in her shoes. "And I suppose so. Maybe I just haven't met them?"

"Couldn't hurt to switch it up," she offers. "Management hasn't ever minded me picking up shifts here, there, and everywhere. When I'm not at the Spookeasy, I'm the Enchantress, when I'm not there, I'm at the castle... the perks of being versatile." It was probably why Diana had been granted real estate on their posters. That, and she looked damn good in her costumes.

She leans against the counter again, wine glass dangling between her fingers. Her eyes narrow slightly in response to the sympathetic look, perhaps recognizing something in there. Like recognized like, and in many ways this stranger was her match. "Maybe," she says, and sips. "But you also don't need someone to be happy. You could do what I did, sleep with tourists," she grins. "It's fun. They leave. Low stakes."

Cedric nods to Diana's assertion about switching it up. "Quincy's bit is that he's the owner of the Château, so he's the one who curated the collection out there. But I'm sure we could figure out a way to fit you in," and then he's musing over that thought as he sips his wine, head cocked slightly to the side.

There's not much clean up to do except scrape the remains of sugar off the counter and relocate the dishes to the dish pit, and so Cedric gets to work. Soon enough it's tidy, and they're not far from the back of the kitchen where the dishwashers' kingdom is located, so he's able to keep up the conversation.

"True enough. How's the saying go?" He tries to think of it as he drops off the various bowls and prep containers. "'If you can't love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?'" Shrugging, he takes up the bottle and tips it vaguely in Diana's direction, a wordless ask if she wants a refill. "Except for those regulars who keep coming back. We have someone who has apparently come to try every seasonal menu since we opened."

"You won't be disappointed," Diana promises. "I don't like to brag," liar, "but I am arguably the most talented illusionist at Spellbound. I mean, I better be.... I've been doing these kinds of shows the hard way since I was a child... having extra magic is just the sprinkles on top." She also had the best stage presence, if you asked her.

She helps cleaning up where she can. The aroma coming from the oven wafts through the kitchen, and she closes her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet smell.

"Yeah, something like that," Diana finishes her glass and takes him up on his offer, tilting her glass in his direction. By now, she has a good buzz, and the rest of the chefs have likely noticed that not only had they decided to have a glass of wine, but they were going to finish the bottle. "Every single one? That's impressive. Other than the tarte, what is on the fall menu?"

Once their work space is tidy, Cedric gives it a final lookover before he leans back against the counter behind them, after he's refilled Diana's glass. With his own wine in hand, of course. And this is certainly noted by some, especially another chef who walks in, still in casual clothing, having just arrived at the Château. "Before noon, Chef?" he asks, though it's not too harsh a critique given by the way the younger man is smirking.

"It's nearly 6 PM in France," Cedric banters back, which must be some kind of in-joke because the other chef laughs at it.

Waving the new chef off, who only says, "Right, right," in response, Cedric turns back to Diana. "So you incorporate magic as well into your act? Mint," he replies. "I think we should pursue this. For once it might be an idea management actually likes."

He drains the last of his glass and sets it aside. "Dedicated," he agrees, of their regular. "The autumn menu is still in progress but I've got a lobster poached in beurre noisette that I'm working on, and I'm thinking of doing roast duck for one of the mains." There's the sense he has more to tell, but is keeping things close to his chest, based on the way he carefully picks his words. "Some of it's up in the air until we start seeing what the produce looks like."

Diana laughs at Cedric's reasoning. "I knew I liked you," she comments and then sips. The kitchen has become busier since she's been there. The syncopated sound of chopping is replaced by the sizzling of veggies hitting pans and various other activities. There is a soft hum of chatter between coworkers, drowning out much of Cedric's and her conversation in their little corner.

"I do," she confirms. "I don't want to get too complacent here. If my contract ends, or if my momager gets her way and signs me onto a big enough tour, I won't have Spellbound magic to rely on. So... it's a necessity," she explains. "You haven't shown me what you can do yet, assuming you were bitten by the Spellbound bug. That's rude, Chef," she winks playfully. Surely, he'd been gifted some abilities as well.

Her silver gaze narrows when he gives her some details but not all. "I'll have to wait for the grand reveal. See what the produce looks like," she says, echoing his words, an easy smile hanging on her lips.

It's not quite noon yet, but most of the staff have arrived. The line is nearly full of people doing prep work, and someone's playing music from their phone, muted behind the sounds of the kitchen. The pâtissière arrives, revealing that they are apparently in her corner, so Cedric picks up the wine and nods his head towards a table near the front, set aside for now for storage of a couple boxes of produce. But he carries those to the walk-in, then comes back to sit with Diana. After checking the oven. The timer says they have a few minutes left, though his nose is telling him that might be a bit too long.

"You worried about that?" he asks, when Diana mentions her mother trying to wrangle her away from the park. "That's rough. I mean, assuming you're happy here, at least." That's admittedly not for him to assume, no matter what he's gleaned from things she's said.

He wiggles his fingers like he's about to summon some kind of Spellbound magic, but then he shrugs. "Too bright in here," and he gestures around, as if that explains it. Rude indeed!

The kouignettes are starting to smell especially heavenly, and that prompts Cedric back up onto his feet. "I'll pencil you in for when we debut the new menu, then." He walks to the oven, grabs a kitchen towel, and pulls out the muffin trays, one by one. "They'll have to sit," he explains, possibly unnecessarily, "But it's best to get them out after a couple minutes, before the caramel can harden completely and stick."

A few of the staff look between Diana and Cedric, the wine in their hands, the easy conversation, it'd be easy to mistake their lesson for something else, and who didn't like a little workplace gossip?

She cocks her head left, and then right, then shrugs. "I do," she admits after a moment. "I don't like feeling as if my life is not entirely my own... but I also want to be successful. I suppose if a job were so good that I had to leave, it'd be worth it, no?" The drunker she gets, the thicker her accent, and her words start to alternate between her native tongue and English, still favoring English at least. "But at the same time, I like the simplicity Spellbound has brought into my life. I like having friends, lovers, free time. These are things I never felt like I could have..." She sips. "I guess we'll see what happens."

She frowns when he denies her a show. "Then you'll come to the Spookeasy and show me," she tells him. "It's plenty dark there." Not that she knew what dark had to do with it.

"Yes, prying them out later sounds like torture." Perhaps one she's experienced based on her tone.

Let them gossip, then. Cedric isn't trying to hide; in fact, given that they're sat at the front of the kitchen with a perfect view straight down the line, it's almost like he's deliberately trying not to. Hiding would just make things more suspicious!

Thankfully Cedric understands French, so he follows along just fine with the conversation, though his responses remain in English to Diana. "I suppose so, but no place is going to have real magic. Still can't believe it, sometimes, that it's real here." He nods. "I hope it works out for you. Tough spot to be in, yeah? Especially with the ties you have established." His brow furrows at the thought, sympathetic again.

And then the offset spatula makes a reappearance! This time to help ease the kouignettes out of the muffin pans, the bottoms still glistening with that almost caramel-like sheen of the butter and sugar mixture. Onto a wired rack most go, though Cedric does put two onto a plate that he brings back over to the table. One for each of them. "You've got a deal," he says, belatedly, to the invite to the Spookeasy.

"I mean, that depends on what you believe in. I thought the Brits believed in fae folk and all that," she half teases. She didn't know if fairy lore was prevalent in his corner of the UK, but knew it existed elsewhere. "But it's pretty amazing," she agrees. She nods, glancing back at their pastries. "I'll just have to travel with an entourage."

"Great," she says as she carefully picks one up, inspecting it. Just on appearances, it was much improved from the ones she'd ambushed him with days ago. She then takes a bite and moans, her head falling back. "Oh fuck," she says. Several staff members laugh. It was still a bit hot, but incredible nonetheless.

"Dunno if I ever really believed in it, but I ate that sort of thing up when I was a wee lad," Cedric says, of the fae folk. "Now I've cause to question everything. What's real magic? What's fake? How am I supposed to tell the difference?" He blows out a breath, uncertain, and slumps back down into his previously occupied seat.

He waits a moment or two after Diana picks up hers, but her reaction means he really can't hold out for long. "Damn," is all he can say to that, post-bite. Then he goes in for another.

Some of the staff are eyeing up the waiting pastries, and Cedric eyes them imperiously, but only manages to keep that up a moment before he says, "Just hold off, I promise we're saving you lot some."

"I still believe in it," Di says, smiling a little wider when he refers to his childhood self as a wee lad. "I guess we'll never really know. But maybe magic always existed around us, and Spellbound just opened our eyes," she says, but her tone suggests she probably doesn't really believe that.

She takes a second bite as Cedric goes in for his first. "Right?" She says, covering her mouth with one hand since it's full of pastry.

She can feel the staff closing in on them like sharks. There was plenty for everyone and then some, but damn if she didn't want to eat the whole tray herself. "That is like... marry me worthy. That is... that might be the best thing I've had here."

Diana says they may never know, and Cedric nods at that, a bit melancholy. "Who knows what we'll see here at the park," he adds, trying to be a bit upbeat about it all. "Still, I wish the stories I used to read were real. What a thing that would be to discover." Like Di, though, he doesn't really sound like he believes it'll happen.

"And now you know how to make it perfectly," Cedric says, and he's full of pride for that. Why not? He helped her get there! "It's just the fine details you needed a bit of assistance with, anyway. But now you're set." He takes another bite, and then stands, shooing away the chefs circling with a call of, "It's for staff dinner!"

That gets some grumbles, but they do depart back to their stations after that. Cedric returns, though he doesn't sit. "So, do you feel confident now?" he asks.

"But can I recreate them perfectly?" That would be the real test. "I'm going to try on my own during my next day off and will report back. Hopefully you won't have to come in early for a baking lesson again any time soon," she says. Then laughs at the staff, circling like sharks.

"I feel more confident than when I sent you an unhinged box of food. I still honestly can't believe you ate it. I take it that my note that it wasn't poisoned gave you the green light." She laughs, draining what is left of her wine. She can feel the energy inside of the kitchen picking up. "I should probably let you start prepping for dinner service soon." Still, she didn't seem like she was in a massive rush.

"I believe in you," Cedric says, quite seriously. After all, he's just had a hand in Diana's training, and seen her work. So, yes, he believes. And while he doesn't rejoin her at the table, he does bend over to retrieve his half-devoured kouignette so that he can polish it off. Chewing, he just nods to Diana's hope that they won't have to do another lesson.

He dusts sugar from his fingers and gives a delicate little shrug. "I make bad decisions all the time." Eating food made and dropped off by a stranger probably counts, yeah. "We did debate over it a bit though, yeah. Still, worth it. Like I said, solved my need for breakfast at least."

Turning back to the line, he scans down it, seeing what folks are up to. "Yeah, I should get to it," he agrees. He straightens up, shoulders going back a bit, and his expression turns serious. "Gotta be the boss. But keep us all informed on your progress, and thank you for helping me feed my staff today." He'll package up a couple more of the pastries to send Diana off with, in a waxed cardboard take-out box. "I'm sure you're going to nail it, next time."

Cedrics faith is deeper than Dianas, but she gives him an appreciative smile as she gets up from her seat and dusts her fingers off on the apron she'd borrowed. She then unties the apron, and sets it to the side while he's packaging up several kouignettes for her to take home.

"I'll let you know how it goes," she says, then quickly jots her number down on a piece of parchment with a pencil that was laying on the table. "Text me," she tells him. "It'll be easier than mysterious package communication," she chuckles as she closes the distance and kisses both his cheeks if he allows.

"Talk soon."

Cedric passes the box over, and receives Diana's number in reply. He nods to her telling him to text. "Will do." He snorts at the bit about mysterious package communication, and can't help but nod again, to that, before his head dips a little as she kisses his cheeks.

"See you around," he says, and then sees her out to the main part of the restaurant, where they part ways, her to put her newly learned skills to use (eventually, one presumes) and him back into the kitchen, to get back to work. If anyone has anything to say about him doing that on two glasses of wine, well, they keep it to themselves.