Badfic 3 challenge by verushka70
Apr. 12th, 2021 06:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Francesca’s Cooked-To-Order, Not-on-the-Official Menu, Impromptu Pizza Puff Panzerotti
Prompt:"So the gang works at a combo coffee shop-bookstore called The Two-Seven & The Consulate, with Welsh as coffee shop manager and Thatcher as bookstore manager - and solves mysteries on the side. Dief has a mysterious vest/license set up as something vaguely resembling an emotional support animal, though Fraser would never admit he needed any such thing, which allows him to hang around the coffee shop and beg for baked goods at every opportunity. And Fraser has a coterie of regulars who show up just to stare at him. He also makes sure all their leftovers at end of day go to feed the homeless. And when we join our heroes for this story, Fraser has just come back from vacation and discovered that his usual partner in coffee slinging has disappeared and been replaced by another guy who claims to be 'Ray' and also that they're dealing with a couple of arson cases that hit close to home. And to top that off, their usual cashier, Elaine, has been hired away and been replaced by Ray's annoying sister. What's a mountie to do??"
Author: verushka70
Rating: G
Word count: 763 according to LibreOffice Writer
Notes/Warnings: Um. I had a really hard time trying to write something to such an incredibly specific prompt... to the point of writer's block, almost. Hopefully this captures the spirit of the prompt.
Summary: A customer questions the menu at Francesca's Cafe, provoking manager/co-owner Welsh's ire and manager/co-owner Frannie's attempt at compromise, as Fraser and Ray look on.
For: For kinetikatrue
* * *
“I thought,” Mort’s melodious, deep voice boomed unhappily, “this was an Italian restaurant.” He let the thin, light, barely card stock menu slap down on the small, wobbly cafe table, which wobbled.
Welsh stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest. “It says ‘cafe,’ Mort. Not ‘restaurant.’ And definitely not ‘The Italian Village’.”
Mort looked at him over his large glasses. “It says ‘Francesca’s Cafe,’ and Francesca Vecchio is Italian.”
“I can offer you a fresh, hot, frothy cappuccino with extra shot of espresso,” Francesca offered eagerly. “We got a new machine, direct from Italy–”
“‘Direct from Italy’?” Mort complained. “‘Francesca’s’? Yet no chicken tetrazzini?” He was outraged.
Disappointed, Francesca’s eagerness dimmed like a lightbulb about to burn out. “But I make really good cappuccino, Mort,” her big brown orbs of eyes beseeched him.
Fraser and Ray considered the scene from their tiny table across the room.
“Should we step in?” Ray asked uncomfortably, sipping his cappuccino and yelping briefly because it was too hot. “I mean, she’s not my real sister, but I don’t like anyone but me yelling at her. Well, me and her real brother.”
“I think they can handle it, Ray,” Fraser said calmly, sipping from his mug of imported organic bark tea harvested by indigenous people and providing economic investment in their community, impervious to the scald of it.
“Look, Mort, it’s a cafe,” Francesca soothed. “Not a restaurant, like, well, it is a restaurant, but we just serve cappuccinos and lattes, sandwiches, small stuff, and desserts.” She nervously tucked a lock of lustrous hair behind her ear.
Mort picked the flimsy menu up and looked it over again. “‘Panzerotti’?” he boomed, slightly contemptuously.
“It’s really a pizza puff,” Francesca said quietly, leaning closer. “But in this neighborhood” –she gestured at the yuppie paying for his latte as Dewey rang him up and Huey frothed milk behind him– “that would be too lowbrow for them, and we couldn’t charge as much.”
“Pizza puffs are a gift from the gods,” Welsh intoned, still looking down on Mort from his arms crossed over his chest. “Especially Francesca’s homemade pizza puffs. But her forte is her cappuccino.”
Mort considered. “Cappuccino...” he mused, then paused and looked significantly at Frannie. “Can this pizza puff panzerotti have chicken tetrazzini inside it?”
Francesca looked questioningly up at Welsh, who nodded slowly. “You’re in luck. She made chicken Vesuvio for me and the kids just last night.”
“Yeah, the leftovers will make great tetrazzini!” Francesca agreed happily. She looked up at Harding and touched his elbow gratefully before turning back to Mort. “It might take a while–” she untied and retied her apron. “—but it’ll be worth it.”
“But… can there be no pizza in it?” Mort pathetically implored Francesca.
“Sure, no pizza in it.” Francesca nodded like a bobble-head in agreement. “Just chicken tetrazzini.”
“You see, Ray?” Fraser nodded decisively. “The situation is in hand.”
“I guess you’re right, Frase,” Kowalski agreed. “Thought I’d have to step in there a minute.”
“I can wait,” Mort boomed decisively. “For real chicken tetrazzini. Even wrapped in pastry.”
“For Francesca’s cooked-to-order, not-on-the-official menu, impromptu chicken tetrazzini pizza puff panzerotti–” Welsh half-growled, half-threateningly, leaning closer. “–you will wait.”
“Not at all, Ray,” Fraser leaned closer to Ray to speak more quietly. “He’s become quite aggressively protective since they got engaged.”
“Sure has,” Kowalski agreed softly.
Welsh stood up straight and wrapped an arm around Francesca’s tiny shoulders, slouching slightly in order to do so. He looked down at Frannie affectionately as she looked up at him adoringly.
“But,” Welsh warned Mort, “we will be personally insulted if you don’t have one of Francesca’s famous cappuccinos.”
“Well, it would have to be after dinner,” Mort pointed out genially, perusing the display case of pastries and cookies. “With dessert.” He eyed Huey and Dewey, then shifted his gaze back to Frannie. “You must make it yourself,” he added hopefully.
“I’d love to, Mort!” Frannie agreed happily.
“Perhaps, if there is enough to go around, we might get some as well, Ray.” Fraser brightened at the prospect.
“She does make enough for an army,” Ray agreed. “And it always hits the spot. Though she does have an army to feed.” He took another sip of his cappuccino, whimpering at the temperature this time, instead of yelping.
“Francesca’s cappuccinos are the best,” Welsh declared, nodding, satisfied at the successful resolution of yet another customer service complaint.
His expression softened into loving and slavishly devoted as he kissed Frannie’s forehead, adding,
“And I stand by my barista.”
Prompt:"So the gang works at a combo coffee shop-bookstore called The Two-Seven & The Consulate, with Welsh as coffee shop manager and Thatcher as bookstore manager - and solves mysteries on the side. Dief has a mysterious vest/license set up as something vaguely resembling an emotional support animal, though Fraser would never admit he needed any such thing, which allows him to hang around the coffee shop and beg for baked goods at every opportunity. And Fraser has a coterie of regulars who show up just to stare at him. He also makes sure all their leftovers at end of day go to feed the homeless. And when we join our heroes for this story, Fraser has just come back from vacation and discovered that his usual partner in coffee slinging has disappeared and been replaced by another guy who claims to be 'Ray' and also that they're dealing with a couple of arson cases that hit close to home. And to top that off, their usual cashier, Elaine, has been hired away and been replaced by Ray's annoying sister. What's a mountie to do??"
Author: verushka70
Rating: G
Word count: 763 according to LibreOffice Writer
Notes/Warnings: Um. I had a really hard time trying to write something to such an incredibly specific prompt... to the point of writer's block, almost. Hopefully this captures the spirit of the prompt.
Summary: A customer questions the menu at Francesca's Cafe, provoking manager/co-owner Welsh's ire and manager/co-owner Frannie's attempt at compromise, as Fraser and Ray look on.
For: For kinetikatrue
* * *
“I thought,” Mort’s melodious, deep voice boomed unhappily, “this was an Italian restaurant.” He let the thin, light, barely card stock menu slap down on the small, wobbly cafe table, which wobbled.
Welsh stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest. “It says ‘cafe,’ Mort. Not ‘restaurant.’ And definitely not ‘The Italian Village’.”
Mort looked at him over his large glasses. “It says ‘Francesca’s Cafe,’ and Francesca Vecchio is Italian.”
“I can offer you a fresh, hot, frothy cappuccino with extra shot of espresso,” Francesca offered eagerly. “We got a new machine, direct from Italy–”
“‘Direct from Italy’?” Mort complained. “‘Francesca’s’? Yet no chicken tetrazzini?” He was outraged.
Disappointed, Francesca’s eagerness dimmed like a lightbulb about to burn out. “But I make really good cappuccino, Mort,” her big brown orbs of eyes beseeched him.
Fraser and Ray considered the scene from their tiny table across the room.
“Should we step in?” Ray asked uncomfortably, sipping his cappuccino and yelping briefly because it was too hot. “I mean, she’s not my real sister, but I don’t like anyone but me yelling at her. Well, me and her real brother.”
“I think they can handle it, Ray,” Fraser said calmly, sipping from his mug of imported organic bark tea harvested by indigenous people and providing economic investment in their community, impervious to the scald of it.
“Look, Mort, it’s a cafe,” Francesca soothed. “Not a restaurant, like, well, it is a restaurant, but we just serve cappuccinos and lattes, sandwiches, small stuff, and desserts.” She nervously tucked a lock of lustrous hair behind her ear.
Mort picked the flimsy menu up and looked it over again. “‘Panzerotti’?” he boomed, slightly contemptuously.
“It’s really a pizza puff,” Francesca said quietly, leaning closer. “But in this neighborhood” –she gestured at the yuppie paying for his latte as Dewey rang him up and Huey frothed milk behind him– “that would be too lowbrow for them, and we couldn’t charge as much.”
“Pizza puffs are a gift from the gods,” Welsh intoned, still looking down on Mort from his arms crossed over his chest. “Especially Francesca’s homemade pizza puffs. But her forte is her cappuccino.”
Mort considered. “Cappuccino...” he mused, then paused and looked significantly at Frannie. “Can this pizza puff panzerotti have chicken tetrazzini inside it?”
Francesca looked questioningly up at Welsh, who nodded slowly. “You’re in luck. She made chicken Vesuvio for me and the kids just last night.”
“Yeah, the leftovers will make great tetrazzini!” Francesca agreed happily. She looked up at Harding and touched his elbow gratefully before turning back to Mort. “It might take a while–” she untied and retied her apron. “—but it’ll be worth it.”
“But… can there be no pizza in it?” Mort pathetically implored Francesca.
“Sure, no pizza in it.” Francesca nodded like a bobble-head in agreement. “Just chicken tetrazzini.”
“You see, Ray?” Fraser nodded decisively. “The situation is in hand.”
“I guess you’re right, Frase,” Kowalski agreed. “Thought I’d have to step in there a minute.”
“I can wait,” Mort boomed decisively. “For real chicken tetrazzini. Even wrapped in pastry.”
“For Francesca’s cooked-to-order, not-on-the-official menu, impromptu chicken tetrazzini pizza puff panzerotti–” Welsh half-growled, half-threateningly, leaning closer. “–you will wait.”
“Not at all, Ray,” Fraser leaned closer to Ray to speak more quietly. “He’s become quite aggressively protective since they got engaged.”
“Sure has,” Kowalski agreed softly.
Welsh stood up straight and wrapped an arm around Francesca’s tiny shoulders, slouching slightly in order to do so. He looked down at Frannie affectionately as she looked up at him adoringly.
“But,” Welsh warned Mort, “we will be personally insulted if you don’t have one of Francesca’s famous cappuccinos.”
“Well, it would have to be after dinner,” Mort pointed out genially, perusing the display case of pastries and cookies. “With dessert.” He eyed Huey and Dewey, then shifted his gaze back to Frannie. “You must make it yourself,” he added hopefully.
“I’d love to, Mort!” Frannie agreed happily.
“Perhaps, if there is enough to go around, we might get some as well, Ray.” Fraser brightened at the prospect.
“She does make enough for an army,” Ray agreed. “And it always hits the spot. Though she does have an army to feed.” He took another sip of his cappuccino, whimpering at the temperature this time, instead of yelping.
“Francesca’s cappuccinos are the best,” Welsh declared, nodding, satisfied at the successful resolution of yet another customer service complaint.
His expression softened into loving and slavishly devoted as he kissed Frannie’s forehead, adding,
“And I stand by my barista.”
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Date: 2021-04-17 09:32 pm (UTC)Everything about this was ♥ ♥ ♥
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Date: 2021-04-18 06:13 pm (UTC)Right?! Agree 100% even if Francesca/Turnbull is canon (though we never really see it go anywhere, so "semi-canonical" might be a better description).
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Date: 2021-04-19 02:18 am (UTC)Yep. If we'd gotten more Francesca/Turnbull interaction I'd be more enthusiastic, but even then, I just love her dynamic with Welsh. ♥ ♥ ♥