|
  |
Beautiful as paperwork might be, and thrilling as peering into newspapers and classified ads for open apartments could sound, even these miraculous pastimes need an interruption. Lunchtime dawns. Mind, the usual solution is go upstairs to the noodle restaurant serving half of Chinatown. Though if one's palate favours something other than congee porridge or silver needle noodles, might as well search a bit further beyond into the wilds of Tribeca for a proper place to eat. On wages that SHIELD pays — or doesn't — certain delis get moved up the bill much, much higher than other options.
This particular one is rather a landmark with quite the crowd out the door. Katz's is an institution, a one-storey paradise to corned beef, rye bread, huge pickles, and Russian dressing over pastrami for some of the finest sandwiches known to man. Of course, a vegan might be a terrible person to inform them of this, but she has a cultural touchpoint. Given half the people in here are Eastern or Central European? It's a little like coming home to a cross-section of New York from rich to poor, many ethnicities, and also, delicious meat. Tables aren't much to speak of, universally four toppers, but it's meant to be a place where the masses congregate and eat.
Wanda wears her burgundy coat and, just to be different, a scarf in a shade of pomegranate red. It makes her easy to spot in the throngs of people, and further attests to how damn cold it is outside that even she's given up on wearing thinner layers. "The line is long, but the good makes it worth it."
*
Carol walks in with Wanda, wearing a denim jacket over her civilian clothes and not seeming to mind the cold at all, oddly enough. She smiles over at Wanda, "Katz's? Well, I used to live here before I got transferred down to Houston. It's just amazing. Perfect for celebrating an end to paperwork, even if Coulson refused to bring me the finest coffee and donuts throughout the land."
Carol then glances up and over towards Brian, "Don't suppose they have delis quite like this across the pond, do they? Besides, it wouldn't hurt to take a break from the apartment hunting, no?"
*
"You lived in the deli?" The moment of doubt there leaves Wanda trying to parse the statement until the literal sublimates into the general, and she slowly dips her head. "You mean New York. This part of the city is very busy. But I like the deli." Her hands are tucked deep into her pockets to keep warm, the usual gloves part of her attire, but insufficient to hold the cold completely at bay.
*
Carol nods, "Well, figuratively, I came here quite a bit. It's a great deli." She makes a bit of a show of being somewhat cold, but really doesn't seem fazed despite the relative lack of bundling. Since Brian hasn't caught up yet, she says, "So, what do you think of the new guy. Brian?" She glances back towards the door, wondering where he is but not trying to draw /too/ much attention to it… which is exactly what she's doing to her fellow agent.
*
To be fair, when Wanda gets to the line, she really only has two things to order: a pickle, and a pile of French fries. This may hold all the nutritional value endowed in a potato, but her eyes brighten for the scent of those deep-fried joys being delivered up on a plate with the greatest of expedience. At least she didn't order a side of coleslaw and marble rye with nothing in it. Possibly prone only to snacking, it's not without precedent.
"I do not have much idea of him. How he treats us will decide." Her shoulders lift in a shrug to Carol's question. "Very tall. English are not always easy to read. They hide their feelings well. Maybe he will be someone who keeps up to you. Maybe he will not want to fight with girls."
*
Carol grins, "Well, we'll see, I suppose. I mean, he seems cute enough." She hmms, then shrugs, making her normal order, and getting a rather large deli sandwich, as well as a side of fries and some coleslaw.
Carol then looks over at Wanda, "Hey, did you want my coleslaw?" While Carol isn't a vegan, she knows that Wanda is, so the offer is made over to her as Carol also gets a Coke from the counter. "Seriously, I don't need it."
*
"No. I do not like the…. white… sauce they put in." At a lack for the word mayonnaise, Wanda shakes her head slightly. "Thank you though. I do like the pickles, though. You should have two. Very proper pickles." Such does the world turn upon an axis where two Polski Ogorki dills will make everything better. Suck it up, Doctor von Doom, a pickle will take that bitterness right down. Ronan? J'accuse no delicious pickle. Thanos won't need gloves with the power of a knobbly perfect dill sliced up just so to go with his date with Death.
She slides along as the preparations are made, carrying her tray to the cashier. True to form, a proper sandwich costs very little compared to some. "He looks like a healthy man." The best she can offer on that front, at least with the fellow still in earshot. "I like dark hair better. But I am particular in that direction." Her tone lilts a little towards the sound equivalent of a cat smugly kneading its favourite blanket or catching the favoured perch.
*
Carol grins, "Oh, really now?" She takes an extra pickle, then hmms, "Definitely didn't have anything like this in Houston. There it was all barbeque and Mexican, which isn't bad… well, in moderation anyway."
Carol then carries the tray over and pays for her lunch, glancing back at Wanda, "Anyone in particular that has dark hair that you've noticed?" She chuckles a bit, apparently needing to catch up on other people's relationships as well since she's been away.
*
"Bar-bah-kyuu?" Add a new word to the witch's lexicon, for she glances at Carol with her eyebrows arched slightly, fathomless eyes wrought in inquiry. The tray balanced in her hands is easy to carry; finding a place to sit on their own, less so. "I have not had it. There are many foods here I do want to try. Pasta! So much pasta." A soft spot for Italian apparently chases her around, and there may well be some poor restaurant that ends up with her nibbling down all the breadsticks in existence alongside Pietro, albeit the staff will probably never /see/ him eat, only wonder how she puts away so many.
The answer to the loaded question is a faint raise of her brows, the whisper of a smile. "One finds many things in New York. It is hard to keep them, of course. That Briton? He is the type I think who would be hard. Very popular. But maybe he is loyal."
*
Carol grins, "Maybe so. Barbeque is… well, maybe sometime you can come with me down there. If we can't find a barbeque spot in the city." Which seems a touch odd, since New York has /everything/.
At the mention of 'keeping' them, Carol rolls her eyes a bit, finding a small table, "That's always been my problem, keeping them." She smirks a bit, "Either that or they aren't used to somoene that's assertive."
*
Vegan barbeque is not something worth talking about, but good barbeque sauce might be enough for her to melt into, dipping chips into it or some arrangement. All being said and done, the brunette squeezes into a chair and puts down the tray. "They do not expect a woman with a mind of her own, and ways she acts are not the same, yes?" The tone is not rude, neither is she put off by the prospect Carol might be — obviously! — different from a run of the mill 60s Stepford wife. "Then here is to you finding someone who is worth you, if that is what you hope for."
Yep. She just totally toasted Carol with a pickle. Wanda has no compunction about putting it down and breaking it in two with a knife, something the plastic cutlery has trouble managing. But necessary if she's to have a proper meal. "Now you are here, what is your goal? Work more direct on things, or have you another task?"