glumshoe:

glumshoe:

Sometimes I’ll want to write characters sitting down for a lavish meal only to remember that I have… very little understanding of food. I have always had a rather limited palate, so my concept of what people might have at a delectable feast is like… raw fruit, some mushrooms, buttered bread… some, uh, salmon…?

People often seem to like sauces. There are probably sauces at a feast.

“Yo,” said the detective into the hidden microphone. “I’ve infiltrated the banquet. I wish you could see me now – I look right at home in this swanky establishment. Actually, hang on, I’ll take a selfie. Why don’t I wear suits more often? I’m incredibly handsome and dashing.”

“I had to help you tie your tie,” replied the secretary dryly. “That rather spoils the effect.”

The detective blew a raspberry into the mic.

“So, have you solved any murders yet, or have you just been peacocking around?”

“I’m working on it. Someone murdered a really large, delicious bird and left its corpse on a table, so I’ve taken a few samples for gastronomic analysis.“

“What did I tell you about tasting evidence?” said Ellen, the lilt of her voice betraying a smile.

“‘Only if you buy it dinner first?’” The detective glanced around, then withdrew a napkin from an inner pocket and unwrapped a damp lump of half-squished hors d’oeuvres. “Seriously though,” she said, carefully selecting a crispy, brightly-colored tube and popping it into her mouth. “I don’t know what most of this stuff is even supposed to be.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Lots of… pastes.”

Ellen shuddered on the other end of the line. “Augh! Mouth sounds! God God, woman, I can hear you crunching. How haven’t you been thrown out yet? You’ve got the manners of a wild boar.”

“Like I said,” replied the detective cheerfully, “I’m incredibly handsome and dashing. Man, why can’t rich people get murdered more often? I’d love to go to more fancy parties like this. You could come with me and identify pastes while I identify killers, and we’d both look very good doing it.”

“Shut up!” hissed Ellen. “Someone is going to hear you, you idiot. If you get yourself caught, I don’t want to scrape your body off the sidewalk.”

“Aw beans,” said the detective, scuffing her shoe against the marble floor and wiping crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand. “And here I thought we were ready to take our relationship to the next level.”