Chapter Text
Vincent forced himself out of bed that morning, still stuck on what Rody had said to him, keeping him from managing to sleep.
"Like... if something happens to the building, its all gonna be gone?-"
"If you have enough time to talk nonsense, then you're ready for work."
...No. Nothing would happen to his restaurant, not under his watch, and if any of his chefs burned his bistro down, they would be losing far more then their jobs.
He made his way towards the closet and clicked the light switch next to it, the lights burned against his retinas as he shoved the closet door open, grabbing his chefs uniform as well as an undershirt.
...It was deep red, not a color he wore often, but one that dressed his walls- not that anyone would ever see under neath his chefs uniform; Hell, he could wear a pink undershirt with a cutout, and no one would ever see it.
He couldn't care less about what color was under his apron.
Making his way into the hallway, his footsteps echoed off the walls- the sun was still down, and he didn't feel like searching for the light switch, so he let himself wander in the dark until he reached his bathroom. The door didn't creak as it opened, and he ran his hand along the wall until he found the switch. The lights blared on and he set his clothing down on the counter, turning on his heel to turn the bath on.
He stared at the water for a while, watching it fill the ivory container.... ugh, he didn't want to wait this long- he should be down in the kitchen. Who knows when the chefs would arrive? Or that bumbling idiot?
Vincent stripped and threw his clothes to the floor with little abandon, he didn't care that the water was still boiling as he shut the valve off and near fully submerged himself into what could be considered liquid fire. It did burn, yes, but he didn't have time to worry about that- he cleaned off quickly and quietly, draining the water as he stepped out and making his way back over to the counter, dressing himself before struggling with his contacts.
Ugh. If only his stupid glasses didn't fog up, then he'd wear those in a heartbeat.
Reaching for his comb, he finished with tidying his appearance quickly, before making his way out of the bathroom and out the main door- he slid the keys in and locked it, before making his way down the stairs.
No one had arrived yet.
Thank fucking God.
He unlocked and opened the restaurant's back doors, sighing to himself as he found the light switch again. The kitchen was spotless- as it always should be, and as it always will be- he unlocked his office, went through the double doors and unlocked the front door, though he didn't change the sign from closed.
Anyone thinking to walk through these doors would be smart enough to know that unlocked did not always mean opened.
...Well, maybe not everyone, but all customers would.
Vincent made his way back to the kitchen, watching as the chefs started to trickle in like rain water, setting up their stations like clockwork as he leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette and placing it into his mouth; the chefs had arrived.
Now, they just had to wait for Rody.
Rody shoved the door to the restaurant open, stumbling inside with a grin, "Salut, Vince-"
"You're late, Lamoree." The chef interrupted, glaring at him.
"Only by five minutes!"
"That's ten minutes too many."
"...What?"
Rody sighed as Vincent turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen, cigarette still hanging from his mouth, "...ugh."
He retied his tie and grabbed his tray, tucking it beneath his arm as he got ready for the day- wiping down the tables, setting out the wine, preparing and looking over the menus for the day. Nothing he really knew anything about, but as long as he knew the names, that was good enough.
"We're all set out here, Vince!!"
"It's Vincent." He called back, "And don't yell."
"But you just-"
"Lamoree!"
"...Yes, 'chef'." He groaned, flipping the closed sign to open and settling himself behind the cash register- no one ever came this early, it was completely worthless to open a dinner based restaurant at 7 am.
Vincent walked out, making his way into the dining room- he was tall, lean (it was on the verge of him being concerned for the chefs health.), and he always looked presentable- he never seemed tired, or he wouldn't, if he didn't always have persistent eye bags decorating his pale face.
"Did you bring back my umbrella?"
Shit.
"Heh..." He laughed, "Sorry, Vince, I... left it at home. I'll bring it back tomorrow, I swear!"
"You better- I'd rather not have my stuff infested with whatever lives in your apartment."
"My apartment isn't that-" He began, "...Wait, you've never been to my- Vince?!"
But the chef was already through the door, leaving him alone in the dining room... he probably just guessed: that was a Vince thing to do, guess his surroundings based on his appearance... his apartment did suck, though.
He'd clean it when Manon was coming over!-
....Right... she... wouldn't be coming over. Ever.
Rody held his head in his hands for a moment before the bell above the door rang- a party of four, alright, not a terrible way to start the day, "Good morning!"
"Good morning, Monsieur." The head raised an eyebrow, he shrugged it off and made his way over to the booth as the party followed him, "...Do you work here?"
"Yes, Monsieur, I do." Rody smiled, "I'll be your waiter for today."
"...Mm." The man hummed as he handed out the menus, "...We'll take four appetizers."
"Of course."
He made his way back to the pass, handing the orders in, "Four apps, please!"
"Don't talk to the chefs, Lamoree." Vincent hissed- ugh-, "They have a job and so do you. Go offer them some drinks."
"It's only 7:30-?"
"Not alcohol, you idiot."
"Oh."
Rushing back to the table, he smiled, "Would you like anything to drink?"
"Yes, we'll take four cups of coffee."
"I'll be right back."
He came back shortly and set the coffees on the table, before making his way back to the pass to collect the appetizers- placing the dishes back on the table with a smile, he started to turn away and allow the patrons to eat their meal-
"Excuse me? Bus boy?" One lady called, "When will our actual waiter be arriving?"
Rody paused, and turned around again, "I apologize for any confusion, mademoiselle- I am your waiter for today."
"I find it hard to imagine the Vincent Charbonneau hiring.... whatever you're meant to be as a waiter." The woman continued, "Where is the rest of the staff? There has to be someone else we can have serve us."
"Je suis desole, I'm the only waiter working this early." He forced his smile wider.
One of the other patrons piped up, "Are you sure? May we see your shift manager? There has to be someone else."
"Of course, Mademoiselle." He gritted, turning on his heel and making his way into the kitchen- he called with a sigh, "Vince?"
"What could you possibly need right now, Lamoree?"
"They'd like to speak with you."
The chef paced over to him, scowling, "What the fuck did you do, Lamoree?"
"I didn't do anything!" He defended, halfway panicked, "J-Just go talk to them with me!"
Vincent inhaled sharply, plastering on a smile reserved for customers, and pushed the kitchen doors open with Rody following close behind- no one else was waiting for him, thank God, or Vince would throw him out for keeping patrons waiting.
"Good morning... You needed me?"
"Bonjour, Monsieur Charbonneau-" The head of the party smiled, "We were simply asking where the rest of your wait staff was."
"...Did Lamoree not explain already?" Vincent smiled, gesturing to Rody, "...This is our wait staff as of the moment."
"He told us." Another commented, "Surely, you have more then just some bumbling... homeless rat serving your customers?"
"...If you have complaints about the service, you're free to leave." He forced it out through gritted teeth and was no longer smiling, "I assure you, Mr. Lamoree here is professionally trained and has as much experience as I do in the field of hospitality."
The first complaining woman scoffed, "He doesn't look the part."
"This is my bistro, correct?" He hissed, "If you have no interest in treating my staff with respect, you may simply pay and leave."
The head scoffed, stood up, and made his way towards the register, "As if we're paying for this!"
With that, the whole party left in a huff- if Vince could explode without getting sued, he would've pounded their heads in, no doubt- he had seen Vince angry before;
He didn't really want to see that again.
"...I'm not saving your pathetic ass again." Vincent growled, "If they ask for a different server, you get a cook. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes, Vince, jeez-" He mumbled, "...shouldn't we call the cops or something...?"
But he was already back in the kitchen.
Vincent sat down in his office with a sigh, picking up the phone with a sly smile as he dialed a number.
"Allo?"
"...Good morning, Mademoiselle." He answered, "This is Vincent Charbonneau- this is the France-Soir, correct?"
"Yes, Monsieur, that is us... is there something you would like to report for the paper?"
"Simply add a warning for other restaurants." He muttered, "....A well known critic, surely you've heard of him, is walking around Paris refusing to pay for meals and disrespecting wait staff."
"Oh? We will need more information, Monsieur Charbonneau."
"Gladly..."
Rody sighed as the last customers for the day paid for their meal- tips today... weren't the best. They didn't get many customers, and those customers were low tippers- he flipped the sign to closed, and turned to start wiping down tables and clear the trash.
"Lamoree."
"Agh- Shit, Vince, don't sneak up on me!" He fell backwards against a table, "What is it?"
"Those unpaid meals were coming out of your salary-"
"W-wait, what? But it wasn't my fault-"
"-If it wasn't for the fact that you had told them all the correct things."
Thank God, "...Oh.... uh... thanks?"
"Close up." Vincent finished, "...I have errands to run, so if you aren't done within the next thirty minutes, I'm locking you in here until I get back."
"A-Alright! Jeez!"
"Get back to work."
Rody had finished within thirty minutes and had left the building as Vincent locked up, sighing to himself as he did- he had errands to run, groceries to pick up because he needed them for his smoothies... if they could be called that, they were more like.... slushies made of meat, vegetables, and everything else he needed to function.
Walking down the street was simple, and he picked up a copy of the evening newspaper as he did... Perfect:
Acclaimed Food Critic Frank J. Refuses To Pay For Meal After Insulting Waiter.
Well, that would make that idiot rethink his decisions in the future. He tucked up the newspaper and smiled as he pushed the door to the store open- he didn't need high quality ingredients for himself, only the simple things that would get him by.
No one was in the store this late, and he took his time wandering down the aisles as he picked up various fruits and some chicken he could cook and blend.
...He stared at a pack of lemon candies on the shelf and tucked them into his basket, before grabbing a bag of lemons (for during his shifts, or when he was pissed off at Rody and needed something to do other then slap him.).
The cashier wasn't busy, and he checked out quickly and started on the slow walk back to his apartment- he wanted to go quickly.
Nothing would happen to his bistro under his watch.
Sadly, his eyes were elsewhere.
Upon arriving at his bistro, there were firefighters.
The building was flaming, looking like nothing but an unorganized bonfire- he nearly dropped his bag of groceries as he stared up at the inferno.
"Mr. Charbonneau!"
Ugh, a goddamn reporter.
"...I'm not in the-" He began.
"Mr. Charbonneau!" She had run up to him- not a reporter, one of the nurses, "...Thank God you weren't in the building. Can you tell us what happened?"
"How should I know what happened?" Vincent argued, "I was off at the grocery store- what-"
"Arson, Mr. Charbonneau." She answered, "We caught the man who did it-"
"Are you a nurse or a cop?"
"Both, monsieur." She smiled quickly, though it wasn't joyful, "At least trying to be."
Slowly, the flames died down- a firefighter made his way over to him, "Monsieur Charbonneau."
"....Yes?"
"...The bistro is fine." The man assured, "A bit scorched, yes, and the wallpaper will have to be replaced, but nothing extreme- luckily, there was no one inside."
"My office?"
"The door in the kitchen? It.... is incinerated, but no flames made it past that point."
".....Incredible." He cursed under his breath.
"...However, the fire began upstairs." He muttered, "...Only a few things survived that."
"...What?"
"The apartment above the bistro has to be condemned." The firefighter finalized, "...No one could live up there until its repaired. The... cello and the safe, however, somehow didn't burn."
"....At least... that is something." He muttered- he was so filled with- what? Anger?!
How could he be so angry that he couldn't bring himself to yell?
No, it couldn't be anger.
Slowly, the stream of officials pattered out as he stared endlessly... He'd have to find out who did this, he'd have to fix everything, call his workers-
....First, of course, he... had to find somewhere to sleep for the night.
There was no way he would be staying at some disgusting, overpriced hotel, where they were hardly taken care of... He hadn't realized he had been walking to the payphone, inserting a quarter with a sigh as he debated which number to punch in.
No need to trouble his mother with this...
Who else....?
"Huh? Allo?"
"....Lamoree."
"Oh, hey, Vince!"
"....May I... spend the night with you?"