Sampling The Local Cuisine [Candice, Dorian]

"It is indeed a high-speed culinary environment, so I can forgive you if you've not kept up."

Dorian's polite demeanor dropped, not especially willing to maintain some charade of courtesy. Nothing compelled him to do so, and this woman had no signficant impact on his life or well being.

"These are certainly critiques, but I'd hoped that someone with as much to say as yourself would be able to provide a genuinely meaningful insight rather than spending so many words on simply saying you didn't much care for it."

His gaze was sharp, the typical warm expression of 'Dorian' having given way to the icy exterior of 'Chef Demoiselle.' One didn't keep perfectionism by entertaining the words of those who knew less, who spoke simply to hear their own voices. He had left that life behind, but if she wished to act as though they were in such an environment, he would play the part. It was astounding, he hadn't smoked in a few years now, and yet the familiar need for it seemed to creep back in with everything else.

"If you intend to criticize a meal, I suggest you do so meaningfully. Otherwise, you're wasting both time and oxygen with every word out of your mouth."

Yes, this was indeed everything Dorian had quite intentionally left behind in Paris. It was impressive, really, that it had chased him back here to the City of Lights, and he knew he would need to step out and buy a pack of cigarettes after it was all said and done. What a shame.

There was nothing remarkable about this woman, or anything she was saying. He'd heard it all before, and he simply studied his nails as she spoke before he looked at her with that expression of disappointment, as if he'd been expecting something far more out of her. Well, in a sense he had been. This was, frankly, just a modest distraction.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it pales in comparison to whatever painting on a plate you would have expected. I've no doubt I already know what you would have liked to see. Something extravagant, an effort that none but a master could ever have crafted. But that's been out of style for the better part of a decade, or haven't you been keeping up? You certainly look as though you at least attempt to stay in fashion."

Dorian shook his head, tutting disapprovingly at the very idea of it as if he were chiding a young girl. There was rather little outright hostility in his voice, in truth. Rather, there was just a sense of acquiescence, a remarkably bored tone to everything he said.

"If you're finished, you can go now. I don't want your money, and you're really a bit of an eyesore."

As if to punctuate his point, and his complete apathy toward her, he simply shooed her out with one hand, the same sort of dismissive attitude that one would give to an annoying child that was not one's own. Dorian wasn't the sort to feed into the ego of the wealthy.

Dorian laughed at her retort, finding it so genuinely childish that it amused him more than anything. He glanced over to one of the front of house, a somewhat apologetic look coming over his features now that he was speaking to someone that merited a proper demeanor.

"Could you sweep that up and put it into our charity funds? Do wear some gloves, though. Goodness knows where that's been."

A joke at her expense, and Dorian was right back into the kitchen, the experience frankly already mostly passed in his head. He still had the faint need for a cigarette, but it wasn't something that mattered much. Frankly, it would be gone by the end of service.