East Maddock Ylsa's Restaurant Dining Room
Built with an eye to experience and practicality, and decorated with the flash and vigor of the Mexican Southwest, Ylsa's Restaurant presents a clean yet efficient picture: Round tables can comfortably seat four, and they are flanked by sturdy wooden chairs capable of holding even the stoutest miner. The walls have considerable windows, but all are fairly small and those side-windows are pitched high enough that the outside can be viewed by a standing adult inside, but the opposite is not true. They provide light and ventilation, through fabric screens. Several large front windows allow patrons to be seen, or to see, the activities on the streets. Decorations of a more southern nature - hanging flowers, straw hats and pictures of Mexican notables - hang on the wall. To the back of the restaurant is the swinging door that leads to the kitchen, from where much noise and odor issues. The prime tables in winter are those around an old Dutch oven that serves as both coffee-warmer and heat-source. In summer, those near the breezy windows are generally preferred.
[Alexandra] Alexandra wears a too small dress. The sleeves are too short and the hem of the skirt is too high. Not only that - the dress is rather torn and dirty. And at the age of 14, Alexandra could use a dress that doesn't quite show her newly formed female curves so obviously. She's lean and stands about 5'2". Her face is
heart shaped and when she does smile - which is rare - she has dimples. Her long blond hair is free and hangs in a tangle mass down her back. Her stormy blue eyes look around at the world with a darkness to them - as if she finds everything she watches
contemptible. A pair of sturdy boots cover her feet, at least a couple of numbers too big for the girl. There's smudges of dirt on her cheek and her hands are dirty, her fingernails
black rimmed.
"Me, yes," nods Halvard. "That thin boy out there will probably have his hide handed to him though" -- it comes out: -is -ide -anded to -im. "The other one was the troublemaker." And, having given his deposition, as if to the authorities, Halvard forgets the subject. "I can pay for a meal, if you are open."
"There," Ylsa responds finally to Halvard, and she glances at Naco, then puts the knife away, "There, find a table and sit down and we will -- You want the special?" Ylsa looks again at Naco.
[Ylsa] At first glance, Ylsa appears to be a typical, albeit very dark, young (20 years?) Mexican woman. A second glance, however, reveals that she carries a great deal more Indian blood than the average Mexican. Her hair, blue-black and poker straight, seems pure Indian. Her features follow a more Spanish cast--they are sharp, casting her face in nearly straight lines. Matching her hair, her large eyes also seem black; only in close proximity can one note flecks of brown coloring the irises. Ylsa is of delicate build on a 5'0 frame. Wiry muscles hardly fill out her form, but overall she -is- somewhat curvy. Somehow. A feline grace and .uncanny. nimbleness marks her movements. A gold band glints on her ring-finger. A vibrant aqua-blue men's tunic, which refuses to stay on both of Ylsa's shoulders at the same time, is belted at her waist and drapes over a flaring grey-and-maroon ankle-length skirt. Ylsa wears black leather boots and a matching belt, from which hangs a slender dagger in custom sheath. Her long hair hangs loose and straight like an occasionally breaking black curtain. The tips touch her thighs.
Ylsa and Naco stand near the door. A table has been shoved over, and its contents litter the floor. Halvard, with a bunch of luggage and a gunbelt in his hand, has just arrived.
[Halvard] They say blue eyes can be cold, but this man's eyes only soften the line of a mouth that tends towards seriousness. They are not gentle, exactly, but in his face they seem to be gentle things -- in contrast to the set of his jaw, the line of that mouth. When they come, his smiles seem like tourists in a strange country, or worse, icebergs caught in the midst of an African savannah.
He's a bit unwieldy, grown tall and muscular too recently for the old grace -- the boy grace -- to learn new ways. The new, adult grace is just a promise ... hinted at in the way his hands seem capable, hampered by an almost animal uncertainty when in the presence of too much civilization.
His hair is straight and blond, cut sensibly short, and he looks about six feet tall.
He's dressed like a woodsman: buckskin pants, soft boots and a brown shirt.
Halvard moves to sit, dropping the gunbelt on the table and setting his luggage down on the floor beside his chair. "Thank you," he says, the accent perhaps Nordic. "What is the special?"
Naco dusts his hands together, gives the table a little shake to be certain it won't lean over, then answers, "Beans and some beef and tortillas, senor."
A figure appears at the door. Alexandra is peeking inside through the door, hovering on the
threshold.
Halvard looks from Naco to Ylsa. "Like turtles you mean?"
"No, it is not turtle." Ylsa returns, looking hard at Halvard again. "Tor-/tilla/." With the ll being a y, torteeya. "There are no turtles to cook here. They bite." Ylsa adds rather pragmatically. "Stew then?"
Alexandra laughs out loud when hearing Halvard and stares at him. The scuffle outside the restaurant has lost her interest, though she keeps a wary eye on it from time to time. Now she steps inside and
addresses Ylsa. "I want food." she declares and holds out a hand where a quarter is in her palm.
Halvard nods to Ylsa. "Stew, please," he says. His accent is still there, but its intensity comes and goes like the tide, some sentences heavy with it, others smooth, almost native-sounding. He sits straight in his chair, not slouching or affecting an air of casualness like some of the men and boys his age do. When Alexandra arrives, he looks at her frankly, and then returns his mind to his own business.
"Sit down." Ylsa directs Alexandra. "Marcos!" That would be the young Mexican youth over there, with the coffee pot, "Get her some stew." Alexandra doesn't even get a choice with but a quarter. But Marcos grins, eyes Alexandra, and heads into the kitchen. At Halvard's words, Ylsa calls out, "Dos!" to Marcos, who nods apparent understanding.
Halvard says, "Maybe also some beef."
Alexandra grins at Ylsa and turns to sit down. Passing Halvard she sticks her tongue out at him. But as soon as she sits down she puts on a face of great
innocence and sweetness, neatly placing her hands in her lap and folding them.
Halvard catches the insult. His first reaction is surprise and his second is a startled grin. He looks at the dirty-fingered girl again, and reaches into his pocket for some change. He flicks a heavy coin to her table in a long, lazy arc. Before it lands he has already turned his attention back to his table, removing Theo's gunbelt from it and bending to put the thing inside his luggage.
A few moments later, Marcos will emerge from the kitchen to deliver a bowl of stew to Alexandra (who gets a brilliant smile from the Mexican lad who is, say, about fifteen), and more disinterestedly, to Halvard. "Coffee, Senor?" Marcos will ask, while Ylsa pads toward the window, to watch the fiasco outside.
Halvard shakes his head. "No thank you."
Alexandra snatches out a hand speedily and catches the coin. Pocketing it immediately, glancing at Halvard, clearly surprised. Marcos is offered a glare and a straight out challenging look. "Thanks." she tells him when the bowl is placed before her and she begins eating quickly, scooping up the food and barely chewing before swallowing.
Naco catches Marcos before he can head back into the kitchen and murmurs a few quick words to him in musical Spanish. "Bring them both a tortilla, mm?" Since
Ylsa's watching the fight and can't argue.
On his way back through, Marcos will glance again at Alexandra, but Naco's words give him a better direction. He heads back into the kitchen, returning with a few warmed tortillas. In Spanish, Marcos will wonder to Naco, if the girl has worms.
"How is he doing?" Halvard turns to look at Ylsa, no real sign of interest on his face, though the question was asked.
Alexandra concentrates solely on her food, clearly ravenously hungry. It takes her less than five minutes to eat it all, and when she is done she sniffs and wipes her lips on the sleeve of her dress. Staring at Naco and Marcos when the boy returns from the kitchen with the tortillas, the open hostility not so apparent on her face any longer.
"The big man has hit the little one, but lightly. The little one tries, now, to pick up some dirt." Ylsa returns, without looking back at Halvard, either. The guns have been put away, or Ylsa couldn't stand in the window and watch. This
is probably not common knowledge, however.
Halvard nods at Ylsa's report, apparently deciding that the situation is in hand. As Alexandra finishes, he begins his stew. He eats methodically, quickly but steadily, without allowing haste.
"No," Naco answers Marcos. "She has no father to tell her that questions like that are rude," he scolds the boy, still in quiet Spanish. Tsk. Naco glances at Alexandra and asks, "Better now?"
Alexandra nods at Naco. "Yes. Good stew." She allows some nice words to slip past her lips, to her own great surprise.
Running commentary from the window, but now in Spanish, "Who are these two, Naco? Do you know them? The little one is down again, got hit. He doesn't try to fight back, only to dodge."
A wolf's howl pierces the silence.
Naco nods to Alexandra. "Good, good." He glances toward Ylsa, then goes to join her at the window. "No, I don't know them. Some people just like to fight."
By now the fight has ended and the larger man has walked off, probably without paying for his coffee, either. The slight one is half-curled over, leaning against a post, and a stout young woman walks toward the
restaurant. Ylsa looks up at Naco and grumbles, "It's a /restaurant/. Can't they keep the fighting to the bars?"
Alexandra has stood up now and she sort of hesitates as if she don't know if she should leave, or stay. But it's *nice* here. It's not so nice outside. And there's
someone here the same age she is. She approaches Marcos and tells him straight to the face; "I could kick your ass." Well. That's some way to get a friend.
The fighting, she spreads. Naco grins a little, first, and murmurs, "I think for those sorts of people, Ylsa, it is like breathing, to want to fight." Of course, then there's Alexandra. Naco startles and looks over his shoulder, glances from Alexandra to Marcos and back again, and despite every urge to intervene, he ... watches Marcos.
Marcos' eyes widen and he looks at Alexandra and then over her toward Naco and Ylsa. The youth almost grins, but evidently has enough Strong Women in his life to forgo the actual testing of Alexandra's claim. He instead clears his voice and, with a slight smirk, repeats in words heavily laced with Spanish: "You could kiss my ass? I do not think that either you or I am old enough for this, Senorita."
Alexandra blinks rapidly. He was supposed to say something else. Every other boy would, at least. She's stunned to silence - but she doesn't look
embarrassed, just confused. "You're stupid." she finally retorts with a pout. Couldn't he just have tried to punch her instead? Would have been easier to deal with.
"How many languages do you speak, Senorita?" Marcos asks. "I speak two. If you speak more than two, then maybe you are as stupid as me. If you speak less than two, maybe you are more stupid." He winks and then, with a half-bow sketched most royally, steps away and heads toward Halvard, "More stew, Senor?"
Crisis averted. Naco grins. "You see what I mean," he asks Ylsa.
Irving saunters over from the road outside.
Irving has arrived.
Ylsa shakes her head at Naco, but seems to enjoy watching this spectacle.
"Well, you can't understand English good, can you!" Alex howls after Marcos, furious now. "An' I can still kick... I mean, beat ye up!" Hah. That should do it. Feeling stupid, Alexandra moves back to the table and throws herself down on the chair, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest and pouting.
Ylsa stands with Naco, near the front window. Inside, various patrons dine, including Halvard and his luggage, and a young Alexandra. Marcos, a young Mexican boy, now speaks to the former, having stepped away from the latter. Marcos seems deaf to Alexandra's assertions.
[Irving] She's that sort of smooth-cheeked and wide-eyed pretty that really only finds its home in the faces of the young, still slightly peculiar for it's near doll-quality. Eyes a clear and simple, clear pale blue like this big sky. She has a small, snub nose and plump cheeks splattered in pale freckles that mostly take over her face. Her that lick at her head in ginger blonde, pulled into two braids down the sides of her head-- it's farmgirl lack of fuss, with wave still showing through and perpetually breaking from the braids. Her expression is placid, nearly always that way, it only contributes to the doll-face. A long, slender neck and broad, work-strong shoulders. She is generous of size, not quite plump, but tall and strong, and for the delicacy of her face and fingers, broader in her hips and chest than one might glancingly expect. She's the type that survives winters in those first terrible years of babyhood in these wild lands. Uncorsetted, she wears plain, poor clothes, a long, homespun skirt of rough, undyed cloth, and a blue-and-pin-striped shirt what's clearly been slightly altered from the man's shapoe it once fit. She has with her usually a cowboy hat, but on church days, wears a plain white bonnet.
Irving stops just inside the door, keeping her bonnet on her head. She's all washed up and shiny clean, but the for dust that's fluffed up on her skirtbottom in the walking her. She looks a spot anxious.
Naco calls, "Hello, senorita. Please, find a seat wherever you like, and when you are ready, we will bring food for you."
Irving gives a quick swallow of whatever might have been in her torat. Mouth opens, shuts, and opes to escape words, "I had come, actually, te see Ysla." Quite the accent she has, too! A
mongerling of Northern English, German, and a good bit East coast. It's discernibly
American, discernibly dialect, but-- unique, very.
Looking more interested, Ylsa glances now toward Irving. Naco had handled it, but now the woman's named her. "Si? You are -- You are the woman who looks for a job?" Ylsa's accent, south-of-the-border, holds
definite hopeful expression. She glances at Naco.
Alexandra decides to try her best to ignore Marcos back. And Irving brings a welcome distraction. Alex stares at the young woman. Interesting things happening in this restaurant. Distractedly, she's kicking the leg of the table with her foot.
Naco glances at Ylsa, and back at Irving again. A job. We're hiring? Well then. Naco smiles a little wider.
Irving smiles, it's full of bright teeth, a sort of country girll genuine that spreads to the faces of farmer's daughters everywhere. "Yes, yes, Tat wudt be I, m'mam. A pleasure te meet thee, a pleasure."
"You want to work here?" Marvel of marvels. Ylsa glances again at Marcos, who has decided tht since Alex is ignoring him, that he'll try to catch her eye and grin at her. Then Ylsa looks back, trying not to appear amused, "What can you do, then?"
Irving says, "Anting tat thee ask of me. I can cook, clean, wash plates, I'm not fussy when tere's honese work te do."
Alexandra catches one of those grins, when she can't help but glance at Marcos. She kicks the table leg harder, once, annoyed at herself. Stormy blue eyes go back to stare at Ylsa and Irving. She opens her mouth to say something - probably something filled with contempt, by the look on her face - but she shuts it again. Maybe she better not push her luck.
"And how much can you work? How many days? Do you have somewhere to live, or do you need a room?" Somehow, in Ylsa's mind, employees have the option of living in.
Maybe she'd better not. Ylsa owns the place; Ylsa handles the hiring and firing. Besides which factor, there are accents that Naco can piece out, and others that give him a headache if he tries too hard. So. Instead, he'll watch the kids.
Irving says, "I have a camp set up, but I imagine tat won't be an option come harvest time, aye? Aaah-- tere is no time but Seventh day tat I cannot work"
Halvard finishing his food, leaves payment. He also leaves Theo's gunbelt with Naco, before hefint ghis luggage and heading out of the restaurant, looking no doubt for a place to stay.
"Which day?" Ylsa asks, puzzled. She looks over at Alexandra again, but Marcos seems to have that covered. He has to slip into the kitchen to get another refill on his coffee pot, but he'll be back out again.
Irving says, "Te Seventh day, Sabbat', when te Lordt rested."
Oh, right, that. Ylsa nods then and looks at Naco. Opinions?
Was Naco supposed to be paying attention? He glances down at Ylsa, then at Irving. "You need a place to stay?"
Alexandra really has no reason to stay here any longer, and she knows it. But still she lingers, showing no sign of wanting to leave. Now when Marcos isn't in clear sight she is looking straight at the kitchen door, waiting for him to come out again. So she can continue to ignore him when he does.
Halvard steps out the door onto the street.
Halvard has left.
Irving says, "Tat isn't at all necessary, friend. I have found a roof tis long in my life, I have."
He's out again, then, accommodatingly and as if he might be aware of the other youth's reluctance to leave. Marcos /might/ have even straightened his hair while he was in there. There's no telling. But he's back out again, with another merry smile at Alex, and he's starting anew the coffee rounds. Let no man say that they didn't get too much coffee at Ylsa's
restaurant.
Ylsa nods to Irving, then. "I think we can pay you a dollar a day, then, if you do not stay here. You can work the days except Sunday?"
Irving says, "Any time at all but te Seventh Day."
Alexandra quickly looks away when Marcos comes back out. Finding a great interest in the Mexican decorations on the wall, staring at them as if they are the most fascinating things she has ever seen. But suddenly she gets a bright idea and when Marcos passes by fairly nearby she suddenly calls out to him. "Can I have some coffee too?" A
pause. There's a word you're supposed to say to be polite. "Please."
"Maybe washing dishes, Ylsa," Naco suggests. "Or helping us to clean in here, when the restaurant is closed, si?"
"Si, Senorita. I will get you a cup, if you can wait." And Marcos heads /all/ the way over there, and /all/ the way back, before he'll pause there and pour the mug, "But you must promise me that you do not beat me up." Marcos is, clearly, grinning far
more than the words would warrant.
Ylsa nods to Irving. "Is the dollar a day good? Enough? And when do you start?"
Irving says, "A dollar a day is more tan generous. I can begin whensoever it suits thee."
Alexandra waits patiently enough, even stopping to kick the table, and sitting up more straight. She accepts the cup of coffee eagerly, nodding at Marcos. "I ain't gonna beat ye up. But I *could*." She grins back at Marcos, charmed by him despite not wanting to be. "My name's Alex. What's your name?"
"Tonight, then?" Ylsa would welcome the help, the respite from the last three day's of constant toil in getting the restaurant back up again. "Tonight, could you come in then and help?" Naco is given a
grateful glance.
Marcos' eyes glitter, dark as his fathers', but with two instead of the one. "Senorita Alex," he murmurs in that trilling Mexican accent, "I am Marcos Mendez. She is my aunt, and he, my uncle." There's a glance toward Ylsa and Naco, respectively.
Naco promises, "You will not have to do all the work alone, senorita. We all help, with the cleaning and the closing up of the restaurant. Even the smallest of us." Yes, even Marcos over there, when he's not making eyes at the girls.
Irving gives another broad, farm girl's smile. She bobs her head low, once. "I will, tonight, yes."
Alexandra looks to Naco and Ylsa as well. "They're nice." she murmurs. Taking a sip of the coffee, obviously used to the flavor. She relaxes, and the hardness of her face softens a little. "An' yer not so bad either." she adds, facing Marcos. Wow, what a compliment.
"Even if I can be beat up by a girl that wants to --" Marcos just grins then, white and clean teeth flashing instead of his completing that sentence.
"Gracias, Senorita Alex. And yes. They are nice, when they do not want me to do something." Like, say, serve coffee. But hey, it has its parks.
Ylsa nods to that. "We are here, then... Come before we close and then you can help and maybe we will see."
Irving gives another sharp nod affirmative, confirming in her warm voice, "Just before close. I'll be here."
Ylsa says, "Gracias -- what was the name again?" Ylsa asks of Irving."
Irving says, "Kissinger, I'm Irging Kissinger."
"Better than going to school." Alex explains to Marcos. Not sure if he goes to school or not, because she hasn't actually been there much yet. She slurps some coffee, eyeing Marcos.
Bless you, Ylsa, for asking what Naco was trying to figure out how to ask. "Senorita Irving." There. Naco said it. And he doesn't look too *terribly* perplexed, does he?
"Senorita Kissinger." Ylsa decides. Long name. Maybe we'll come up with a shorter version of that, easier on the tongue. Then Ylsa grins at Irving, "Senorita Irving. I like that better. Tonight? Good." Ylsa glances over at Marcos again, who regards Alex with slightly raised brows. "I have not seen you there. Maybe," Marcos murmurs, "You are too busy out kicking asses. Do they kick back?"
Irving beams. She's happy-- a job, money, food, all sorts of good things falling into place. And she says, "Irving, just Irving is fin. I answer te tat just fine, afterall.
"Don't ye mean *kissing* asses?" Alex bites back with a grin. This is sort of fun. Then she shrugs. "They don't kick back when they're lying down."
"Ylsa." Ylsa grins at Irving. "We will see you then tonight. If you want to eat, sit down -- Marcos!" Ylsa calls to the boy, then goes off in quickfire Spanish, so that he can only wink at Alexander, then grin to Irving and head back into the
kitchen, to fetch something. Irving better sit.
Irving sits-- she's not tin the habit of disobeying maternal figures-- that can only end in tears. She folds her hands in her lap, almost laughing softly. She's amused, at least, in the motions of the family, charmed, even.
Naco offers, "And you call me Naco, Senorita Irving." Pleasant smile. Naco's always wearing a pleasant smile, when he's wearing one at all. He glances out into the street. Last of that fight is all cleaned up, is it? What does he do with the gunbelt?
Alexandra actually smiles now - not a grin, but a genuine smile, her dimples being prominent on her face. The smile offered to Marcos. She sits back in the chair when he leaves and drinks her coffee quietly, looking at Naco and Ylsa and Irving. It *is* nice here.
Marcos is back, presently, with a cup hooked in one pinky and a bowl of stew, and a spoon. He says something over to Ylsa and Naco, in Spanish: About the new person, ought to get used to Mexican food, but the stew was quicker since Miguel was back there hogging the coffeepot again. It's evidently a running joke with the Mexican clan, about Miguel and the coffeepot. He drops the stew in front of Irving, and the cup too, but Marcos detours by way of Alexandra, in order to refill her mug before he gets Irving's. Ylsa glances at Naco and the belt too. "Why do you have a gun?"
More coffee. Means she can stay for a little while longer, and another smile, a thankful one, is offered to Marcos from Alex. "Thanks." she murmurs and cherishes the hot strong liquid, savoring the taste of it as someone who has been drinking it for years already.
Caught. Naco startles a little, then looks as if he's got a snake by the tail. A snake that won't behave, but he's trying to hide nonetheless. "It is not mine, Ylsa. It belongs, I think, to one of the men who was fighting. The man who left, just a little while ago, he gave it to me to hold." Not that Naco's afraid of guns. Far from it. But for Ylsa's sake, he wouldn't be caught, er, dead, holding one.
Alexandra finds herself finishing the coffee finally. And reluctantly, she stands up and leaves the cup on the table. She wipes her lips on her sleeve again as she moves towards the door. "Thanks fer the food." she tells Naco and Ylsa. "Nice grub, that."
"Senorita," Marco turns his regard to Alexandra, "Maybe I will see you in school?" There's that grin again. That's the same grin that has gotten Marcos' father into /so/ much trouble.
Ylsa nods, slowly, to Naco, then she begins to head back toward the kitchen. "If that other man comes back -- the one who tipped the table. Someone should tell me." That roughly translates to, Ylsa will Make Trouble, and it'd probably be better if no one told her.
Alexandra hesitates before replying to Marcos. School. She hates it. But, now she *knows* someone there. "Maybe." she agrees and smiles almost shyly. Yep, Naco and Ylsa may want to keep an eye on Marcos - that charm is definitely working, even on a girl like Alex. "Mebbe we could..." she stops. Do what?
"Senorita?" Marcos has, even, a quiet murmur. Maybe that's genetic too.
"Si, Ylsa. We will tell you." He and Marcos. If he can pry Marcos away from the girl. Which seems unlikely. Which means that, probably, no one will tell Ylsa. Darn.
"Mebbe we could go fishin' one day." Alexandra finally says to Marcos, shifting her feet. "After school." she adds hastily, glancing quickly at Naco.
A moment's thought, then Marcos smiles. "Si. Maybe. Maybe we can take Ylsa's mare out, too." Cream, the ubiquitous horse for both Kevin and Marcos, for Ylsa never rides the mare. "Senorita Alex. Thank you, for not beating me up." Marcos winks and half-bows, then heads over to refill Irving's cup.
Alexandra lights up at the mention of the horse. That sounds very fun, indeed. A smirk to Marcos as he teases her, and then she heads for the door. As soon as she's outside she begins running off towards town.