Chapter Text
Work has gotten increasingly more tiring for Ishmael. She can’t help but make her way over to a nearby ramen shop (double checking she wasn’t in district 4) and walks in practically starved.
“Oh a new face?” A friendly voice came from behind a bar. A man, tall and well built, has a huge grin on his face. He hands a menu to Ishmael. “Welcome to Broth Mania! We got the best ramen there is!” He smirks proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. Ishmael has been to many ramen shops before, but this announcement made her curious. It’s the first time she’s walked in this place— let alone heard of this place— so she smiles back at the man, accepting his challenge.
“Mm… Then I’ll take a spicy beef noodle with a side of steamed pork buns.” Ishmael orders after briefly glancing over the menu. She might as well go with what she’s used to, no need to get adventurous. The man shouts “Coming right up!” before disappearing in the back, presumably where the kitchen is.
Ishmael looks around the shop. It looks well kept, with minimum light that contrasts with the light blue wallpaper. Dark spruce lines the bottom of the walls and stops at dark flooring. She sat at the bar coated in similar spruce as the walls, but with a darker sheen. There are barely any customers, some spaced out within the tiny shop with happy expressions.
The man came back, his smile unwavered. “Can I interest you in any drinks?” He asks. Ishmael mulls for a moment, it’s well into the night now, so she shouldn’t be called out for a mission. It’s happened before though. She isn’t sure if she should chance it. “An Old Fashioned?” The ginger asks before her brain could catch up. The man gives her a thumbs up before working on her drink.
BAM!
The door to the shop swung wide open hitting the wall unceremoniously. Ishmael startles, whipping her head around. “I HATH ARRIVED!” The intruder exclaims removing her hat and placing it on a rack at the front. Her uniform is from the Cinq association; skillful with one on one fights and graceful wielding of the sword.
The bartender didn’t look disturbed by the intrusion, the easy-going smile stays the same. “Hello, Don Quixote, it’s nice to see you again! Would you like the usual? Or do you want to branch out this time?” After she takes a seat next to Ishmael, Don Quixote’s eyes shine as she digs in her pocket for something. She pulls out a rough cut out of a magazine, slipping it in front of the bartender. “Mine wishes are for this drink to be precured along with mine usual arrangement!” Don Quixote pointed at the colorful cocktail in the magazine and the man gave her a nod. He slides Ishmael her old fashioned and starts on the next drink.
“Aaah! I recognize thine uniform! A fixer from Liu, no? What meticulous material!”
Ishmael pauses mid-sip as she realizes that Don Quixote is talking to her. The blonde’s eccentric speech mannerisms caught her off guard.
“U-Uh yeah. And you’re from Cinq?” Ishmael coughs, she’s not used to small talk, especially with chatterboxes. Of course when she finds a quiet place to relax, someone needs to ruin it. She almost facepalms at her grim luck.
“Aye, patrolling the streets and rooting out evil doers is my utmost task! Though after an egregious shift, even heroes must recuperate.” Don Quixote grins while stretching sore muscles.
“Heroes?” The term bothered her. She never considered her line of work to be associated with heroism of grandeur. A job was a job, nothing more nothing less.
Don Quixote doesn’t answer her question. Her attention was on the bartender announcing the arrival of her “Tequila Sunrise”. The blonde looks happy as she tries her drink, humming her appreciation.
Then her eyes are on Ishmael again.
“Forgive mine hastiness for I hath not asked thy name!”
For a moment Ishmael decides whether to use a fake name. After all, she doesn’t exactly know what Cinq Association does… but as she looks into the other woman’s imploring eyes she downs the rest of her drink and takes the risk.
“Call me Ishmael.”
“Oooh~ A name befitting a fair maiden like yourself!” Don Quixote says, downing her glass as well. “Mine name is Don Quixote! Doth thou frequent this eatery?”
Even if I did, why should I tell you? Ishmael thinks, but stamps down her aggression. “No… it’s my first time here.” She opts for instead. Don Quixote giggles, it’s strangely calming. “Thou shall marvel at the food,” She beckons Ishmael to lean in with the wave of her hand and whispers: “Even I keep secrets from mine subordinates.”
As if on cue, Ishmael’s food arrives. The wafting smell of the beef broth was enough to make her salivate.
The food is beyond amazing!
The rich broth was nothing like she’s had before. A different take on what she knows, but a welcome one. She digs in, wasting no time as if trying to chew and swallow her impending doom. If she gets a phone call now… she doesn’t know if it will be worth answering.
Don Quixote’s food arrives shortly after her own. She got a bowl of noodles as well, with a side dish of rice with something else on top. It kinda looks like fish, but not quite—
“Doth thou wish to try?” Don Quixote asks while nudging the bowl. Ishmael is caught off guard yet again, she flushes a bit. Was she really staring that hard?
“What is it?”
“Hath thou tried eel before?”
“Can’t say I have.” As a sailor she never branched out of her comfort cuisine of the bare minimum, so she really can’t say.
Don Quixote nudges the bowl even closer until it’s touching Ishmael’s fingers. The blonde is looking at her with anticipation. Ishmael sighs before taking a piece and chewing. It’s more dense than she thought it would be; practically melting on her tongue. “It’s good!” Ishmael says, a little surprised at her own enthusiasm.
Don Quixote gives her a smug grin.
“Aye, did I not say so?”
Ishmael briefly wonders why Don Quixote opts to eat here alone if she’s so eager to share with someone she doesn’t know. Does she do this with everyone? Probably. Should Ishmael care? Not really.
When Don Quixote looks up at her Ishmael realizes she’s staring again. Her amber eyes curiously shine and her lips curl up in a smile.
“Doth thou want more?” Her head tilts in a cute way and… fuck. Ishmael quickly retracts her internal statement, shakes her head and focuses on her refilled whiskey. There is no way she’s getting herself caught up with this woman from a ramen shop—a different association no less. She finishes another round and asks for another refill.
Unlike Ishmael’s tendency to scarf down food out of urgency, Don Quixote savors her food down to the last bite. It made Ishmael slightly envious of the blonde’s ability to be so carefree.
After chugging the last of the spicy beef broth, her food was finished. Ishmael didn’t get to finish her meals often as she got called in for work frequently during her breaks.
“How’s the food ladies?” The man behind the counter pauses from cleaning his drinking glasses to regard them.
“Maravilloso!” Don Quixote answers.
“It’s really nice, I ought to stop by again.” Ishmael says while nursing her drink. Her eyes land on Don Quixote again (they can’t seem to look away). She wasn’t exactly a pretty eater, but she made it up with enthusiasm. She was humming in between most bites, the happiest Ishmael has seen someone eat.
She remembers Don Quixote’s question from earlier. “What about you? Do you come here often?” Ishmael doesn’t know what propelled her to ask, but for now she’ll blame it on the alcohol.
“Most certainly! Well— in passing.” Don Quixote coughs, embarrassed by her own slip up.
Ishmael's phone rings, causing her to roll her eyes. She picks up and of course it’s for another job. “Really, right now? Can’t you get someone else to do it?” She argues even when she knows it’s futile. After getting scolded briefly, she ends the call. She sighs and goes to pay her tab.
“M’ sorry.” She gives a sheepish smile to Don, her company turned out to be surprisingly nice, so leaving now felt wrong.
“I can’t help mine woes, thou ingested far too much liquor…!” Don Quixote’s worried tone doesn’t go unnoticed to Ishmael.
“I’ll be fine, Don.” Her first steps on the floor are a little shaky, but she can handle it.
“My lady, thine face is rosey in hue! A knight cannot stand to watch a fair maiden amble the streets without protection! Hark, on a job no less!” Don Quixote gets up after the ginger, stumbling before correcting her footing.
“Fair— Are you flirting with me?” Ishmael asks after concentrating on Don Quixote’s words for longer than necessary.
“Was it not obvious? I hope I hath not appear as troublesome.” Don Quixote responds bluntly. “Ishmael— I digress— I shall escort thee to the destination.”
Ishmael hopes her blush isn’t noticeable. At least Don Quixote’s actions from earlier make sense now. Ishmael didn't realize the woman she finds attractive was making advances toward her. She has no intention of blaming herself for that. How was she supposed to know? Then Ishmael realizes with a start, she’s intrigued by the blonde. She wishes to understand her better through more lighthearted conversations over a steaming bowl of ramen.
“I-I’ll be fine Don Quixote, I promise!” Ishmael tries and fails to maintain her stammer.
“Verily?” Don Quixote gives a look of concern as she pulls a pen from out of her pocket. “I see… thou art quite the capable Fixer.” She scribbles something down and hands Ishmael the crumpled magazine. “Call this number lest something may arise!”
“Not enough business cards?” Not that Ishmael does not mind the lack of formality, members of associations usually carry businesses cards or whatnot.
“Ah— nay, ’tis mine own personal cell,” Don Quixote corrects before adding, “Mine office, though comforting for respite, is mostly vacant for I see to a job well done!” She laughs at a joke Ishmael doesn’t get. Don Quixote could be laughing at her cluelessness for all she knows.
“I’ll see you around then.”
“Aye,” Don Quixote waves, “‘Twas a pleasant time albeit short, may we meet again!” The radiant light of her smile was enough to make Ishmael avert her eyes and quickly head out of the ramen shop. She sighs as the cool air barely does anything to settle the warmth in her face.
Whoever she’s tasked to kill is about to feel a whole world of pain.