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Quinn shoulders the door open to Maddy's, his big can headphones in place over his ears; he waves vigorously to the staff, moving to the same seat at the same booth he waits for every night. He has a routine: Enter restaurant. Wave. Sit at booth. Use bleach wipe on booth. Set messenger bag to one side. Withdraw folio to work while eating. Quinn doesn't bother with a menu; it's Monday, and Monday night is always Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, gravy on the side, green beans on the side, no bread, one root-beer Milkshake left in the tin, not poured into a glass. Quinn is nothing if not consistent. His t-shirt tonight is black and reads "The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors" in a red-soaked script.
Maddy comes sweeping out of the kitchen not seconds after Quinn sits down, carrying exactly his order, and makes her way over to the table where she starts laying things out in front of him. "Good evening," she says cheerfully. "You're right on time. I hope you didn't suddenly decide to change your routine, or I'm going to be really embarrassed."
Quinn looks up and does an instant double-take, lifting both hands to slide his headphones around his neck. He blinks owlishly at Maddy, lips parting just slightly; he pushes his glasses back up on his nose. "...You're Maddy!" He proclaims, clearly stunned that Maddy herself is bringing his plate. "No ma'am, um, miss, missus, mix. Whichever one it is. Lady Maddy? No, that's ridiculous," he rambles, twisting his hands together. "No, I never change my routine; that would defeat the purpose. I like my routine. Your meatloaf is much better than the meatloaf I tried to make at home. I couldn't get it to..." He gestures packing something together with both hands, brow furrowed. "Loaf."
"Just Maddy," Maddy laughs, and she waves the rambling off. "I'm not the formality sort, except when it's required. Since this is my own damn place, I get to decide it's not required." This is followed by a wink. "I'm glad I didn't decide to add something special, if the routine is so important to you. Does that also mean I should leave you alone, so you can enjoy your dinner and your..." she gestures to indicate the headphones. "Or would you like some company?"
"No! I mean, yes! Yes, please join me!" He scrambles to clear the table of his stuff, gesturing to the seat across from him. "I actually like having company very much, so yes, please sit." He gives her a furtive, almost impish smile, gaze averted. "I will not even tell the owner that you are sitting down on the job."
Maddy laughs at the joke and then slides into the seat across the table from Quinn and reaches across with a hand. "You already know who I am," she says. "What's your name? One of the charms of owning this place is that I get to meet people. Know everyone, or close to it. Not having had a chance so far to meet you, I figured I should fix that."
He beams a smile; he might not give her eye contact, but he's clearly delighted by this. His handshake is wooden, something he researched online and practiced until he got it just right. "My name is Quinn, Quinn Tolliver. It is a delightful pleasure to meet you, Maddy. What is it like, knowing so many people?"
Maddy's handshake is light, friendly, and brief. She seems a little surprised when she's given a last name as well as a first, but she doesn't comment on it at all. "Most of the time it's a boon," she admits with a crooked smile. "Except when I run into people in public in embarrassing situations. One time I was at the grocery store and accidentally dropped a carton of eggs, turned around, there's Baldur right there looking at me."
His shy smile surfaces again quickly, a coy thing that flickers on his features. "That must have been startling. That does not happen to me all that often, but I do not go to the store very much." He pauses a moment, thoughtful. "Oh. Probably because I eat here a lot." He spreads both hands to the dimensions of the table. "But your tables are the perfect dimensions for me to work on; the perfect height and width. And I like that your staff let me stay so long as I at least eat or drink something and do not ask me to leave." His expression shifts, turning cold. "Not like Sheryl at Green Eggs and Ham," he spits.
"I don't really either," Maddy admits with a laugh. "I grow most of my own produce," she makes a motion toward the window, outside of which are large gardens. "I also don't eat a lot of meat, so I don't end up with a lot of reason to go to the store, most of the time." She tilts her head in clear curiosity and admits, "I never really gave much thought to the table dimensions and so on. It's just what fit in the constraints of the old train car. I'm glad that works out for you." Once again she laughs and asks, "Sheryl doesn't like loiterers, I take it?"
Quinn shakes his head a little, lips pursed. "Her waffles are not as good as yours anyway," he informs Maddy. "Have you always been a good cook, or did you have to learn it so you could have a restaurant? What kind of produce do you grow? What is your favorite thing in your garden? Do you choose not to eat meat out of ethical, environmental, or spiritual reasons? Or all three?"
"Well, of course they aren't," Maddy answers with smirking smile. "Mine are made with the ancient magic of the druids. I've always loved cooking, though. It's a primal, communal thing for people to eat together. It's why the gardening is so important to me, too. Since the beginning of our species, that's how so many people have come together. So many problems have been worked out." She gives him a smile. "That's a lot of questions." She backtracks in her thoughts. "I grow pretty much everything we serve here, vegetable and herb wise, in the garden here. My favorite are strawberries. I don't eat meat much, mostly for all three reasons. When I do, it's usually because I hunted it."
Gaze on the table, Quinn's smile turns nearly radiant. "You would have done very well where I grew up. They believe the same things, and eat only meat they hunt. Mostly reindeer, wild game. If you like strawberries, you should try eating them sliced and sprinkled with black pepper." His hands flutter and fidget as he talks, his tone an even, almost neutral tone. "I do not know how to cook but cooking is a science, as are flavors. Significant research has been done to find flavors that are compatible on a near-atomic level to bring out and enhance the flavors of the foods."
"Black pepper?" Maddy asks. "I hadn't thought of that, but I'll have to give it a try. I pick up some of the best, fresh black peppercorns from India when I'm there, sometimes. That sounds like it might be delicious." She gives him a bright smile right back. "It is a science, that I won't argue with. Unlike a lot of druids, I don't have any issue with science, per se." Finally she asks, "where did you grow up? If it's okay for me to ask."
"It is okay to ask," he confirms. "Have you ever heard of the Sámi people? My parents did field research with them for many years. I was very young, so they brought me along. I spent a good deal of childhood with them in Sápmi - ah, their homeland. It is the northern parts of Scandinavia, for reference."
"Oh! Yes! I love that region of the world. There are some absolutely stunning vistas. It's a little cold for my taste, though." Maddy shrugs a bit and points out, "Master of Space. I get everywhere, eventually. I don't know the people so well as the land, though."
"They are an interesting and loving people, in my estimation. Which is very biased, of course." His eyes widen, flicking briefly towards Maddy, not quite reaching her eyes. "You are a Master of Space? That is remarkable. I am fascinated by the Arcana, but...I have not studied it. I feel that it would be one I could take a shine to; my work...sort of...deals with space, in a way. Geometry, sort of."
"What kind of work?" Maddy asks with genuine interest, as she leans forward to rest her chin on her hands, elbows propped up on the tables.
The speed of his response suggests he was desperately waiting for her to ask! Quinn flings open his messenger bag to withdraw a large book. The book is handbound and by an amateur; the cover is soft and without hard backing, made more for utility and to stringent specifications. The large book - perhaps 12 inches long by 9 inches across, and perhaps two inches wide - is set between them at the courtesy space, and Quinn flips it open. Inside is page upon page of sketches, clippings, photocopies and x-rays (x-rays?) of well known works of art. The Mona Lisa is there, sketched in such a likeness that an observer can tell it's the Mona Lisa; this is annotated with small notes that almost cover the page, things like "note spherical nature of anatomic structure to Davinci eyes" and "Does not use post-impressionist slab-geometric style of eyelid". There are hundreds of works of art and artifacts in Quinn's book exactly like this.
Maddy leans forward to look at the book with interest, but blinks in incomprehension at what she sees. "Wow," she says, not feigning her admiration. She can admire the effort, even if she doesn't understand it. "That's... impressive," she remarks. "I have to admit that it's well beyond my realm of understanding. What's your goal?"
He clasps his hands together, placid; it's clear he expected the line of query. "I am an art conservator," he explains. "I restore works of art and I can restore three-dimensional artifacts as well. I also examine artwork for signs of forgery. To do both of my jobs, I must be the best at what I do, so I study every artist that I may be called upon for. I study the materials used, the methods, the geometry of each piece. Art is just pretty mathematics." He pauses, amends: "Good art is just pretty mathematics."
"I think our perspectives are different there," Maddy says with a laugh. It's joyous, not demeaning. "I think that good art is the emotions it stirs. Pretty mathematics alone might be pretty, but they aren't necessarily good art. In my opinion, which is less scholarly and reasoned, but certainly no less valid, right?"
Quinn furrows his brow in a thoughtful moue, fingers going still for a moment. "...You do not feel a stir of emotion regarding mathematics?"
"Dread?" Maddy answers with a laugh. "It was never my best subject. The natural world and the mists of fate and time are, and while there's plenty of math involved in all of those things, the actual calculation of it doesn't really come into play in the things I do." With the offering of an apologetic shrug she says, "That doesn't mean that your opinion is any less valid, either. Or your evident love. Mathematics are just not the love of my life."
"But..." He begins to protest, and seems to be at a loss. "But...there is so much beauty in mathematics. The perfect curl of a nautilus shell. The exact proportions of the human figure, reliable calculations that result in...in...the length of a forearm, or the spread of your arms. The pattern of the seeds in the strawberry." He wrings his hands together, but a smile does surface in a shy flicker. "..I shall just have to love mathematics for both of us, then," he decides.
"Oh, I'm not doubting you that the beauty is there." Maddy answers with a shake of her head. "Just try to think of it in the same what that you might people's preferences in the appearance of their romantic partners? Some people like men, some people don't. Some people like people with long hair, some people don't. Some people find mathematics suit their tastes, and some people don't. It doesn't mean I can't recognize the beauty, it's just not a beauty that calls to my soul, like it does yours." She gives him a brilliant smile. "As you say, that just leaves more mathematics for you to love, right?"
He's smiling, offering a hesitant nod. "I am not sure about the preference of romantic partners, but yes, more mathematics for me. That is agreeable."
"A preference not to have them is a perfectly valid preference as well!" Maddy answers cheerfully. "I fully support you in that, if that's how you feel." She taps the table with her knuckles a couple of times and stands up. "I hope you don't take this as you having said anything that pushed me away, because I have been enjoying this conversation, but I should be getting back to work. Maybe I'll have a few minutes to talk tomorrow, though? Pot pie, right?"
He beams up at her, gazing at her mouth. "Pot pie," he confirms. "It's Tuesday."
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