British Moondust

I chased Markus until he stopped in front of this quaint-looking restaurant the looked deserted. It looked more like a British cottage surrounded by a white picket fence with tables and a storefront, really. The front had an arched trellis supporting climbing white with purple bordered dianthus caryophyllus with a wooden sign that said "Moondust." The cottage was full of flower bushes and trees to add effect. 

Markus saw me gazing at the place and gently brought me out of my dazed state, opened the picket fence door and led me to a marble table with cast-iron chairs as I admired the dashing scenery.

I feel as though Tinkerbell, Clank, Bobble Terrence and the rest of Pixie Hollow could just pop in at any moment here and it wouldn't be shocking at all because look at this place! It's absolutely dreamy. Like it isn't actually... real.

S**t. What if this is a dream? Oh my god. I'm dreaming. Wake up before Mogs come out of the cottage with pikens on hand! Am I one of the Garde? Is Markus my Cêpan? That would be so awkward! What if I have a Xitharis in my pocket? Hmm, damn. Too bad. Wait. I have to wake up! What if I'm in class sleeping away while my fake baby daddy takes pictures of me sleeping? After a few seconds of intense deliberation, I decided to lightly slap myself awake.

It took me a few moments and reddened cheeks to realize I wasn't dreaming. That this "Moondust" place is real and that... Markus is ordering food for me!?! What the hell! Everybody knows not to order for me unless it's my regular! Is Markus trying to get himself killed? Because it looks like he does and he wants it to happen as soon as possible because nobody, nobody ever orders for me.

When the waitress left, I looked at my companion with my eyes glaring daggers and lips curled into an annoyed pout of which I assume people would call 'cute' like a grumpy cat meme or Godzilla. If anyone wondered what happened to Markus after home ec, he dieded.

He seemed to have sensed my want to break his bones, cut up his skin like fillet mignon castrate him and cauterize everything because he's started to explain himself. "Before you decide it's a great and golly day to kill a man I want you to know I ordered something I overheard your aunt said you liked to eat back in the Philippines. I did my research and this place makes them."

I tilt my head to the side and furrow my brows. What kind of food is he talking about? Knowing my aunt it'd be something sugary. I hope it's not oatmeal cookies. For some mundane reason, she assumes I love those along with raisins, the LT in a BLT and the TL in Tomato, Lettuce and Cheese. Gross-uck-roo. I think I'm turning green from all of this. Ew.

Once again I found myself staring into his very soul, questioning the epitome of his existence and racking his mind for answers to his entire being. Markus seemed to understand I mean a game of Staring and willingly obliged. Our eyes meet and suddenly our gazes felt like wands emitting sparks of green and white, trying to outdo each other at keeping our antagonistic eyelids from shutting out the world momentarily and making us lose hope in humanity for a few seconds. We were at wits end, nothing could stop me from beating him.

 Absolutely nothing except the waitress putting our food on the majestic marble table and then leaving us to argue over who won the non-bloody battle and who should be left to mourn the loss of proverbial nonsense.

As I yelled out, "You lose!" to my companion, he simultaneously shouts "I win!" which turned into a vicious re-contest of Staring. It was going well with me in the lead and then the freaking waitress comes back with our drinks and scurries away from my neck-wringing grasp. Once again. I'll get you next time, lady!

"We might as well eat, Chris." Markus suggested. Yeah, he's probably right. I looked down at my plate and I swear to Charms Candy Sour Balls that what I saw should not be there. Two waffles each folded into a sandwich and a brown-ish milkshake with brownie crumbs donning the top with a candy-stripped straw.

I looked over at Markus' side of the table and saw he had a similar meal, only his waffles weren't folded into a sandwich and they had whipped cream on them and his milkshake seemed like vanilla with candy sprinkles on top. Yech. I'm not really one for whipped cream with that one incident with my retainer and all but sure, if that's your cup of tea, man, fine.

I picked up a tissue and snatched one of the waffle sandwiches like a hungry bandit and took a bite. My mouth was instantly greeted by the taste of peanut butter and chocolate and then the waffle. The crispness complimented the beautiful harmony of the chunky peanut butter and the erotic chocolate as it danced in my mouth, like a complicated tango it wowed my taste buds. Oh buttsnaps the food porn is killing me. Another bite brought me into a flurry of ecstasy and I felt a tingle of thirst creeping into my throat. It is time to taste the mysterious milkshake!

I raised the glass, connected the straw to my lips and sipped. It's a bit salty, somewhat sweet, and great crepes suzette! It's a Salted caramel milkshake! I stirred the concoction with my brightly colored straw and discovered more brownie crumbs floating inside of the shake. Diabetes here I come! I put down the glass of absolute heaven and tried more of the delectable sandwich from gods themselves. 

Minutes into my found haven I looked up from my slice of pure bliss to see Markus looking right at me with his usual lopsided grin, his left hand delicately holding onto a fancy fork and his right holding a knife of similar quality. I rolled my eyes at him when he noticed me looking back at him. Fine, he doesn't get killed today. Back to the food.

We ate in covalent silence for about thirty seconds before I realized he was about to open his beautiful mouth to utter more beautiful lips in his greatly distracting voice when a not-handsome but equally distracting gruff voice broke through the silence from the left side of the cottage that seemed to be a room. "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!" Markus and I were both also equally shocked when the voice yelled. 

A shrilly voice from the other side of the cottage that seemed to be the kitchen replied, in an equally urgent voice. "I need six eggs!" Making the birds on the roof tweet violently and fly away. To the milkshake! What? I can't just sit here and listen to these faceless voices argue without a drink! 

"Too many! We won't last a week with you breaking all the eggs!"

"It can't be helped that our customers deserve the best, Gaston!"

"Just make the baguettes, Marie!"

"Fine!" Marie said with such finality that we, including the birds, thought it was over and we started to go back into our ruts of normalcy.

"And Marie!" Gaston yelled again with so much intensity this time that I'm pretty sure I've gone deaf in some way. 

Marie's shrill voice pierced our ears as she replied and the birds flew away, never to return, like my hearing.

 "What now!?"

"I love you!" Cue inner squeals of delight.

As Marie yelled back the affectionate words, I sensed finality in her words. Like somehow, she was finally going to start making those baguettes and jump in delight that Gaston had told her those three words. Judging from the seconds of silence before her reply, I feel as though this might be the first time he had said those three words to her.

While my mind drifted off to thoughts of what Marie looked like, I realized that Markus wasn't done eating even though I had finished my aphrodisiac-like meal long ago. I sipped my salted caramel milkshake until I knew that I was entering the point of slurpy wurpy, sippy wippy with my delightful drink.I gazed down on how many sips I had left, intending to drink to the last drop, and saw a baked brownie on the bed of the glass.

Oh my fracker noodle! To the mumblesense of quirtdrench! Apathy of gnocchi! Kami-sama! Sempai! Onee-chan! Daisuke! Yukito-sama! Oh pag-ibig na ito! Pwes! Hindi na ako magdusa pa! Someone thought it was a clever idea to put a brownie on the bed of a milkshake! Absolutely f*****g ridiculatastic!

I looked around the tablet for a spoon and found none. F**k. The waitress that served us didn't seem to be in an earshot. Again, f**k. Freakity, nickety, hickety, shlicketity. There is no spoon for me to use to as a spoon to break that delicious brownie into two pieces to eat. Great. Somebody press the red butten. We might as well prepare for the end of the world! And then I realize that Markus was using a fork.

Forget how many diseases I could get by using that fork! This is a national emergency! Wait! I'm not yet a citizen of this country! This is an international emergency! I need that fork! 

I looked at my day old friend who looked at me with my required tool enfolded in his middle finger and the one next to that while the rest of his fingers raised, looking at me alarmingly. Before he could react, I snatched the fork from him and let out a "sorry!" and scooped up the slightly soggy-but not too soggy- brownie and dropped it onto my plate and returned his fork, sheepishly grinning at him as I picked up another tissue and supposedly ate the brownie with lady-like grace. 

Author's Note

Hi there. Welcome to the end of Chapter Seven. You have five more chapters to go until you've caught up to my readers of Sparkatale. :3