Roderich Edelstein
Internet Famous
Cake Bitch
One accessory Roderich will surely be wearing is a frown. It's always fashionable.
Posts: 28
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Feb 26, 2012 20:01:35 GMT -5
“Nestled between an antique shop and a boutique lays a treasure of a New York long forgotten, a remnant of the Lower East Side’s Little Germany, the old German part of Manhattan which has evaporated into China Town and Alphabet City. This relic of the early twentieth century is Muller Kafehaus, a coffee shop that also prepares fresh Viennese-style pastries. One of the last few remaining Viennese coffeehouses left in New York, it also happens to be celebrating its 100th birthday.
Muller Kafeehaus has kept it’s old Mittel European charm and it’s food exactl-“ -Zagat Review, 2012.
Roderich's coffee spills over the review of his relative's coffeehouse as he picked it up too quickly. He make a pain-expressing sound and sets the cup back on the marble counter. The brunette examines the coffee stain and sighs over the fate of the page the Zagat review had dedicated to his boss's shop. And Sebastian had been planning to frame it as well.
He cleans the mess up as he thinks about America and how different it is from Austria. Wien is clean, especially where he grew up. New York makes him stop and stare frequently, whether from it's boldness or how eccentric it's inhabitants seem. English is also hard to get accustomed to. Roderich knows the language and can read and write in it proficiently, but talking in it is a whole different matter. The words roll out of his mouth slowly and clumsily. He forgets words often and then he screws up order.
Thankfully his father's second cousin isn't the kind of man who would make a fuss over Roderich's frequent slip-ups. He's an easy going man whose German is worse than Roderich's English, not anything like the family he knew back home.
Roderich smooths his hair back as he checks the large, ornate clock on the wall. 12:45. Time to open for Lunch then. He quickly unlocks the door and flips a sign to say "Open". There, everything was prepared.
The Kafeehaus isn't usually crowded. It's a soft, accommodating environment. His boss wanted regulars, people who sat around for hours, ordering coffee once a every hour and a half. Roderich is used to this, the cafes he grew up around consumed more than money, but time and space. But this seems to be something odd in America. Every Starbucks in the city seemed too crowded and too much of a hurry to properly enjoy it.
Personally, Roderich thinks it is their loss if they do. He seats himself on a stool and begins reading his psychology journal as if time stood still for the coffeehouse.
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Post by Sven De Ruyter on Feb 26, 2012 22:23:38 GMT -5
With his busy busy life of modeling, Sven made sure to fully enjoy his free moments. Afonso was off at work, so he had the day to himself. He was sick of sitting around the apartment all day, entertaining their new puppy, Gaufres, so he tied her up on her leash and dragged her down to the street in search of something to do. The two weaved across the sidewalk, down various streets and alleyways, and occasionally around whichever poor couple dared to come close enough to endure her excessive enthusiasm. So maybe she needed some training. Sven wasn't going to judge her on her bad behavior, she was just a baby after all.
After a good hour of wandering aimlessly around the city in search of something interesting to do, the pair came across a coffee shop Sven had never seen before. He was always a fan of good coffee, not just Starbucks or whatever cup of crap Americans called edible these days, but real coffee. He'd had his share of Italian, and even the occasional mug of strong Turkish coffee, and here he was, in the middle of New York, standing before a Venetian coffee shop. His mother had been a fan of Austrian sweets and coffees, and that had certainly rubbed off on him. He checked the windows quickly for a "No Dogs" sign, and seeing none, quickly escorted his lovely Gaufres inside and sat on a stool at the coffee bar and snatched up a menu.
"We'll have...ah... a cup of Schwarzer and a some of the Linzertorte," he started in his heavy Dutch accent, and glanced down at his puppy companion. "Do you have any sandwiches? And can I get a bowl of water?" Of course, Sven was not going to allow Gaufres to be removed from the coffeehouse. It was atrocious to even think that someone would not want his adorable puppy in their shop. Surely she would be good advertising in what seemed to be a largely empty shop. To drill in his point, he stared the...surprisingly attractive barista right in the eye and quirked a brow. "Nur dann, wenn das ist nicht zuviel verlangt."
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Roderich Edelstein
Internet Famous
Cake Bitch
One accessory Roderich will surely be wearing is a frown. It's always fashionable.
Posts: 28
|
Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2012 22:25:31 GMT -5
He’s incredibly engaged in an article about the effect social media has on the mind that he doesn’t even notice that the door opened and the first customer of the day had entered. In fact he doesn’t even hear the customer seat himself or that little patter of feet besides the customers that usually means a child or something else, probably a little dog. That’s why Roderich almost jumps in his chair when he hears a voice break him out of the article he was reading. The psychology student quickly regains composure, standing up straight and pushing his glass to his nose, looking as if nothing happened. Well that was embarrassing. ‘How long had the customer been waiting for him?’ he asks himself. Roderich might as well have fall asleep on the job.
The Austrian émigré briskly goes over to the stool at the bar where the guest was seated, reaching the other man in time to hear him speak in his native language in a West Germanic dialect, Franconian he deduces. There is a tiny puppy yipping about excitedly near the customer and Roderich briefly runs through the protocol of how to treat customers with dogs. This was the LES after all, people with dogs were a given. He ponders it for a second before remembering that Sebastian had told him there were some bowls for dogs to drink out of in storage. The man was well dressed, his appearance carefully arranged, also frequently seen in the LES.
“Verzeihung..ah, pardon me, sir. I’m afraid I didn’t catch you entering.” He beings in German but stops himself to change to his heavily mangled English. Practice made perfect after all, as his Mutti was fond of saying. Although it was odd to encounter another German-speaker in America, especially one with an accent like the customer’s. The waiter takes out a little notebook pad and positions a pen to write on it and begins reciting the order stiffly.
“A slice of linzertorte, a cup of schwarzer and a bowl of water for the dog. We have several sandwiches currently served. We have a selection of customizable open-faced sandwiches, or brotchen. We have many varieties. I can also get an assortment of them delivered to you.”
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Post by Sven De Ruyter on Mar 21, 2012 20:56:47 GMT -5
Sven was actually very surprised to find someone who spoke German so well in this country, and in this city in particular. He'd met his share of Italians and their offspring while wandering around the city, and he'd be pressed to say he wasn't disappointed with how their accent had warped in this melting pot of a nation. While he generally made a point to avoid using what he considered to be a vile and gritty language, he'd hoped to catch the poor man off guard. No such luck. The man seemed to only take note of the language change and respond appropriately. A bit disappointed, Sven studied the man for a moment before tilting his head back a bit and asking seriously, "You're not German, are you? If you are German, say so now." Even if he spoke the language to some extent, he couldn't say that he could recognize dialects and accents well. His only experience with it was in Luxembourg, and he was sure his accent sounded strange enough to others. None of his friends spoke the language, so he had no reason to pay it much mind, other than his brief attempts to bother baristas in New York.
"Ah, it looks empty enough in here," He tried to wave the man off and glanced about the shop, his eyes settling on a case of desserts. He really shouldn't have ordered one, he thought to himself, as he'd likely end up having to order another and another. That was the problem with chocolates. He had very little self control when it came to them.
"Thank you, monsieur," He nodded and reached down the side of his stool to scratch at the puppy's ears, She was getting a little too big to sit in his lap at restaurants, but she was still his baby, and he was going to continue feeding her whatever sort of food she could possibly want. "Do you have anything with beef? She likes beef. No onions of any sort, though." Sven turned back to the waiter, and after a moment, noticed something about him. "You look like a doctor." His lips split in a toothy grin. "I'll call you 'Der Artz'."
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Roderich Edelstein
Internet Famous
Cake Bitch
One accessory Roderich will surely be wearing is a frown. It's always fashionable.
Posts: 28
|
Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 24, 2012 21:39:30 GMT -5
He paused in his quick scribbling of orders on his special waiter's notepad as he thought for a moment. The dog’s owner wanted beef for the dog. The only pet Roderich ever had was a lazy, spoiled cat named Amadeus, and Amadeus was a picky eater, demanding fish and thinly sliced pieces of meat. He had no idea what dogs ate, besides dog food. Well, Roderich did remember his Oma feeding her pet daschund tiny cooked sausages and little Schwarzi lived to be 13 years old. He'd hate to feed something to a customer's dog that killed them. Sebastian would have his neck and the dog on the customer’s lap too young and cute to be subjected to such horrible death.
"I will slice up a lean beef sausage for your dog and put it in a bowl, ja?"
Roderich's feet tapped on the polished floors as he waited for the other brunette’s answer. The man was odder by the minute, first asking, no, demanding whether he was German and then saying Monsieur. The behavior made very little sense to Roderich as he thought it over while waiting for the customer's okay to go and get his order.
Then the customer decided to call him "Der Artz". True Roderich was technically almost a doctor-like professional, but he didn't have "psychologist" written on his face, ja? Roderich briefly thought how terrible it would be to have "Psychologe” written in sharpie on his forehead. He'd always be approached with people's problems no matter he went, no doubt.
Shaking his head of more pointless pondering, Roderich posed a question in his accented German, a less harsh sounding dialect of the standard German. Some Northerners would even call it mumbled and even whiny, too sweet and drawn out (Roderich didn’t really like people from Northern Germany, so he didn’t really care).
"Sie sind aus Luxembourg? You sound like it."
The Franconian dialect and the fact the other called him a name in France supported that idea. Roderich wasn’t usually this deductive with people he met; it seems to have become a habit of his in New York, where everyone was so different.
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Post by Sven De Ruyter on Apr 14, 2012 21:33:09 GMT -5
So maybe Sven spoiled his dog. She was certainly growing fat quickly, which should be no surprise at all, given what he fed her on a daily basis. She always had at least her breakfast of dog food, a lunch of half a sandwich, and about half a plate of pasta or quiche, or whatever Sven had for dinner. She was a tubby little thing, certainly, but she was growing, and Sven still thought she was lovely. Gaufres would probably grow into her tummy anyway. Sven was never allowed to have pets as a child, and his record of taking proper care of them as an adult was a bit sketchy. All of his fish had starved to death after cannibalizing each other. At the very least, his puppy wasn't starving to death, even if she was on the verge of becoming obese. Afonso promised to run with her anyway.
"That sounds perfect," He nodded, scratching Gaufres' furry ears. "She loves sausages. Ah, and nothing with onions please! Those are bad for puppies, right?" Sven cooed at her.
Curling his hair back behind his ear, Sven leaned forward on the counter and grinned at the Austrian. He was good looking enough, Sven noted. Not really his type, though. Too young, too effeminate, but he was clean and smelled nice. Those were always good qualities for a friend, but not for sex. Sven was taken anyway. However, Sven was the sort of man to gather distinctly exotic and attractive friends around him. He could be very shallow when he goals in mind.
Sven had good reason to refer to this man as "The Doctor". He had a distinctly bookish look about him, like an aristocrat in the old paintings hung around the Musée d'Art Moderne Grand-Duc Jean. Sven eyeed him up and down, his eyes catching on the callused fingers gripping a notepad. Sven had been looking for a sort of psychologically analyzing friend (he had a check list of people he wanted to befriend), and he had no problem pushing a complete stranger into that role.
Sven laughed, "Oui, ech si vun Lëtzebuerg. Schwätzt du Lëtzebuergesch?" He didn't have high hopes for that. He'd never encountered another Luxembourgish speaker outside of the country. This situation was refreshing enough as it was, though, as he never found a descent reason to speak German. Normally he hated to even speak the language, as it made him feel barbaric, but here, tucked away in some tiny shop in New York, he couldn't bring himself to care about his childhood nationalism.
"This is your last chance to confess to being German. If I find out after I get my food, I'll sue you," he quirked a brow at the man, giving him another look over.
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