1964-11-12 - Corn on the Run
Summary: Two strangers meet over some hot corn in the park.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
pietro-maximoff carmelita 

The sun was close to setting in central park, and not a line was seen in sight. The cart that Carmelita owned was nearly out of business for the day. Corn is what she was sold, peeled back, dipped in mayo and covered with special cheese and seasonings, which oddly enough was a hit among the locals there. Still, it was a little bit chilly this time of the year, so the grill that she does have set up for the remainder of the ears was used as something to warm herself.

Her tip jar was filled with various coins and dollars, and there was a smile on her face because.. what luck! She happened to park here right next to the hotdog man and the both of them made a killing! Though.. he admittedly ran out of food faster than she. "Last call! Got ten ears left!" She hollars out, taking the tongs to roll the corn around, getting the butter, mayo, seasonings and cheese ready to slather them up.

"I'll have one," a European-tinged voice calls out. He seems to appear as if from nowhere, his sudden arrival almost like teleportation. He's clad in a shearling coat, lined with thick wool with brown suede on the outside, the high collar framing his throat. His snowy hair is swept back tight to his skull, although a few errant strands always escape to play across his forehead.

"Butter and salt, liberally applied," he says, reaching in and drawing out his wallet, placing the requisite bills down to pay and adding a couple more to the tip jar.

"WOOF!" Carmelita nearly shrieks, her hands tossed into the air which causes the tongs to fly, flip, and land right into the bucket of butter that sat upon the grill to keep it warm. She quickly counters, a bright grin upon her face at the suddenly-out-of-nowhere guy, who.. looks older maybe? Who cares, he was paying and he was paying well! "Butter and salt, that's it? You don't want to try any cheese on that amigo?" Cause, cheese makes the world go round, and rarely anyone has had it the way her tia made it..

"I'd say fifty cents, but it looks like you're a generous tipper. Thank you so much. Would you like an extra one for the road?"

White hair or no, his face is unlined, even youthful, belonging more to someone in their twenties than anyone who should have that color hair. Maybe it's a trend of some sort or the result of some kind of…mutation.

"I like simple things. Butter and salt will do me fine," he says, "And I have no objection to getting seconds. I can always use the energy and I'm no fool to turn down the benefits of generosity," he says. "Are you new here? I don't recall seeing your stand before."

Carmelita shrugs her shoulders as she begins to butter up the ear of corn, the brush painting on the elixir along with the dash of salt as if she were allowing her fingers to dance within the air. "You have to at least try the crumbled cheese on the second ear. I promise you, you'll never eat an ear of corn the same way again. Keep an open mind, you know?" Her brows lift as she studies him, handing over the corn as she prepares the second one. Apparently, she doesn't know the meaning of no.

"Yes I'm new. I've mostly been working in restaurants to pay for the repairs to my cart, so I missed out a good crowd this summer." She didn't look too happy about that, but.. it is what it is.. "Though, better late than never."

Pietro Maximoff smiles, "On your recommendation alone, I shall try it. Never let it be said I deny a beautiful woman a simple favor," he says.

He frowns, "I'm sorry to hear your cart was in a state of disrepair. Accidents are unfortunate, especially when they interfere with good work such as this," he says. Not that Pietro's ever had a conventional job, but he's always been able to steal what he needed when he didn't have the means. He sinks his teeth into the first one and manages to restrain himself from eating at superhuman speed, but it's still rapid, quick bites counterpoised with swipes of his napkin.

There was a grin, and Carmelita gets to work. The second ear was slathered with mayo (which she didn't tell him), greased down with butter, seasoned with her special blend of herbs and spices. And then the cheese. Crumbled all over, it almost looked like a christmas snow tree the way she does it. Occasionally, she watches him eat quickly, and there was a little hint of concern as she prepares to take out another ear of corn to dip it into butter, just to salt. Yes. She was going to keep feeding him until he's full.

"When was the last time you've eaten? If my nan saw you eat the way you do now she'd invite you to dinner and force you to stay for a week."

Pietro Maximoff shakes his head, "I eat often, I simply have quite an appetite," he says simply. He takes the second ear and eats it with as much, if not more, relish, even licking some of the seasoning from his fingers in a way that anyone who knows him would find almost shocking.

"You truly have a talent. Whatever restaurants lost your services must mourn," he says. "Pietro Maximoff," he says, offering a hand of introduction.

"Well, either way, my nana would be happy to have you. She'd consider the way you just ate a compliment!" And she did too. Despite the slight chill, her cheeks were reddening just a bit, her nose wrinkled as she holds the third ear of corn out for him to take.

..Which was promptly shoved into his outstretched hand in introduction!

"Carmelita Herrera." She hesitates to say, so commonly using her -entire- name awkwardly in introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you, and trust me. Tons of other chefs out there who can run circles around me. This is just an old family thing." She gestures to the card, then looks towards him once more. "Still hungry?"

Pietro Maximoff takes the corn with a laugh, "Old family things are where the best cooking comes from, or so I'm told. I don't know much of my own family history, but I grew up around some tight-knit groups and all the best food was some lost grandmama's secret recipe," he says.

"A pleasure to meet you, Carmelita," he says. "My thanks to you and your nana for the warm repast," he says, digging into the third ear.

"That's true! Most of the chefs that are classically trained do not have family such as that. I mean they do, but its usually pork chops and applesauce, which I don't think is a bad thing.." Now she was rambling, but listening to his words with a nod, then turning away a bit to quietly address another who dumped change into her bin, and taken a quickly lathered up ear of corn to eat.

"It's great to meet you too, Pietro. You a German fellow?"

Pietro Maximoff considers how to answer that question as he eats his third ear of corn, taking al ittle bit more time on this one. "I spent some time in Germany, but my family travelled a great deal during the turmoils in Europe, during and after the war. My sister and I were orphans of a sort and ended up tossed along the tides of humanity for quite a few years before we were able to row our own boat, so to speak," he says.

"I usually consider myself Transian by nationality, first and foremost, but I have lived all over the world."

With the last of the corn given away by way of cash, Carmelita still managed to keep an open ear for Pietro, taking a step back to examine her cart briefly as she tucks underneath to pull out a bucket of water.. that didn't look all too clean. "I have no clue what Transian is, but your accent is really pretty." For her to have a decent education, her head was mostly in the clouds. Carmelita dreams of Sushi, and all of that jazz.

With a hand lightly reaching out to carefully try to guide Pietro back, she splashes the water upon the grill, cooling the coals within to bring it all to a sizzle, which would be scooped out near a dumpster later. It seems, underneath the cart she had all of her things. A dufflebag, along with a sleeping bag, and a few ratty shoes that hung there. "I've spent at least four years in Me-he-co. Then came here to live with my pa in the Hamptons." She wrinkles her nose. "It's not what you think, we live -on- the property but work it."

Pietro Maximoff smiles, "A small territory in Eastern Europe, near the Caucasus mountains, adjacent to Romania and Estonia," he says. "A rural place, full of crags and tiny villages, hamlets nestled in the shadows of old castles and older legends," he says.

He shakes his head, "I make no judgments about the way in which people make their livings. The wealthy and the poor alike have their sins, they simply tend to be punished differently for them," he says. "So long as you have a place to lay your head. I'd hate to think such a pretty genius was forced to sleep in discomfort."

It was as almost as if she could imagine it, even as she begins to quickly scrub down the carts. Carefully put away the bins to be discarded, snatch the money from the top to lay it neatly in a fold which was soon shoved down her top and into her bra with a healthy grab and a fix to appear normal. He spoke, she worked, and it was a lovely soundtrack that allowed her to move as she does, with grace (luck), and a quick cover of the entire cart itself with a tarp thrown over it.

"Yeah, people are people." She says quietly, then clears her throat, her shoulders shrugging as she moves to the front of the cart. "I sleep where I can go. I actually was planning on taking up a space on the east side of the park until I can find means to get back to the Hamptons. Though, don't think there's anything that could haul the cart. I was going to walk it eventually." Which was true! Girl needed a dang-ol- truck.

With the wood handles soon taken, she grunts and hitches up the cart and begins to walk. "Well, thank you for the compliments, senor!" She calls out as she begins to drag it along. "You're probably my favorite customer I've had today!"

Pietro Maximoff frowns a bit at the thought of her out here, "This park isn't always safe," he says. "Perhaps I could offer you some degree of shelter?" he says. It sounds like a pick-up line and it isn't, not really. He finds her attractive, but he's also genuinely perturbed at the thought of her being left to her own devices in Central Park. The place is not precisely the safest.

"I understand if you prefer to go on your own. I have had my pride, too," he says softly. "But I will worry, at least a bit."

"Oh, I've heard about the park, but I'd like to think that I can hold my own!" She sounds cheerily and cheeky enough, even dropping the cart for a minute to put her dukes up to swing her fists like.. well, like someone who couldn't really take care of themselves. "To be honest, Mr. Maxi-hoff, I don't go where my cart can't fit, and if I'm not allowed in a place without it, then that's just too bad. Plus, I save more money this way."

To elaborate: "I already got dinner and breakfast hidden underneath me cart. Just a couple of sandwiches and a small tin of lighting fluid if I need to warm it on the grill. Got a few bins with water in it, though I did manage to spend a little for a bottle of coke, though it would be warm when I drank it." She lifts the cart again with a drag, then keeps on. "If a beggar comes by, I got my pots and pans to help me by. Trust me, I'm okay."

Pietro Maximoff puts his hands in his coat, "Very well. I won't fuss over you like an old woman," he says. "But I may make a point to come check upon you a time or two, if you don't mind. It isn't much for me to do a quick run through the park at a moment's notice," he says. "I run rather fast."

He can also make sure to clear the nearby area of muggers with relative ease, should it come to that. "And I'll be wary lest I end up taking a pot to the head for my trouble if I surprise you."

"I don't mind that. If I'm awake, talk to me. If not, shake me awake. I don't mind the company." She grins at that, finally getting a good groove in dragging the cart, hitting down the hill which gave her a quickkened pace. "Just remember to duck. I got five brothers and they all taught me how to swing high and low if I need-ta."

Pietro Maximoff smiles, "I'll keep it in mind. Luckily for me, I"m good at dodging," he says, letting her get herself ready for bed…and taking a moment to dart around once she's out of sight to clear out any lingering mooks with a mind to victimize the pretty vendor.

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