"The perfect bowl, huh? Well that's really... huh? No, the bar's fi-- I mean, uh... y-ye-yeah. Be-better make it a table for two." Dulcinea's face flushes a deep pink color, like a sunrise. She quickly hides her cheeks in her hands and shyly looks down at the ground. Disaster. Oh, what a disaster, this is bad, there is no way this is not very very bad. But it's totally her fault for being so easy to talk to! So it's... it's, y'know... It's fine, right? For today? Yeah. Just for today. It's just a good deed. Doesn't have to mean anything more than that. She flops indelicately onto the pine booth seating and is halfway to unlacing her shoes before she remembers where she is. Maybe she's first, maybe she's second, can anyone [i]really[/i] measure something as imprecise (and more importantly, sneaky) as time? Yes, but not without a functioning calendar. Lousy good for nothing thing. She sighs and sips at a perspiring glass of ice water already waiting for her. "What was I saying? Oh, um, right yeah. Perfection. Mmm... isn't that impossible to say, really? I mean, that's the promise and allure of Infinity in the first place, that every new zenith looks out over a higher one out in the distance. I will tell you something, lady, every person needs a project, at all times, or they'll die. It might even mean they're dead already and it's more a question of waiting for fate to catch up with them or, or, well you know let's not bring metaphy-- hm? Oh. Yes yes, two cups of sencha, if you don't mind. Yes, hot. No, don't burn it. Yes, I know how your strainers work. No, don't talk t-- just let me take care of this. Thank you. Begone." Dulcinea plucks a single menu out of the server's hands and uses it to wave her away, fishing a pen out of her bag with her opposite hand and twirling it back and forth between her fingers. She doesn't have anything to write on, but this feels important right now. She needs to be in control of this not-date for it to go right. Which is to say, properly. Which is to say, un-date-ily. "Anyway not to belabor the point too much, but the day the world presents me with a fully answerable query is the day the universe finishes dying its heat death. But, you know, having said that... there [i]are[/i] a few hard and fast rules! For one thing, the noodles are inescapably critical. If you don't have good ones you're just in for a bad time, I don't care how well you nailed the broth. For another thing, those have to be the first thing you eat. They're the last to go in and the least permanent. Noodles first, egg last. That's always the order of consumption, don't let anybody named Rinley tell you otherwise. For another, never overindex on acid or spice. There's no such thing as too much salt. Oh! And, for the the love of everything good in this world, never ever [i]ever[/i] let someone sell you on grilled fruit as a topping. Or any amount of anything piled so high you can't actually find the soup. Those are distractions from the true path. Supplements should remain as supplements, that's critical. I feel." Everything she orders, she orders in duplicate. It's easiest for her if she makes this easiest for Jasper, and that means giving her a functional mirror to copy behavior from. Chili oil to the side, please. Let's not curse this from word one by discovering too late this lovely perfect... platonic stranger has a tongue that doesn't handle spice very well. And by then it's too late. But boy, does everything she's doing make this feel [i]very[/i] date-y. The knowing looks and the winks she keeps getting are going to be the death of her. Dulcinea is pinker than pink and trembling furiously by the time she finally gets another moment alone with her target. Acquaintance. Research specimen. Argh! "S-so... um, you know anyway enough about me, ha ha ha, what's your... I mean, like, what brings you 'round these parts anyway? Your type's usually much too important and fance to get caught slumming it down here with us trash mobs for very long. So is it business or pleasure? Both? What kind of bet [i]did[/i] you lose, anyway? What's your story, hon?" Her lip quivers on the edge of a smile, and her pen hovers eagerly over the unblemished pages of a fresh notebook.