Hot Kofe

"Uh...reservation for two?" Miller mumbled, unsure of why he had phrased the statement as a question.

"N-Name please?" the waiter asked, tearing his wide eyes away from the giant alien as he swiped at a touch panel that was embedded in the wood.

"Miller."

"Ah yes, you're in the database. Please wait a moment, sir, I think that we might need some...specialized seating arrangements for your companion."

He hurried away into the restaurant, and Miller took a moment to admire the décor. It was all earthy tones, beige and brown, with imitation wood finishes. The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling cast a dim, yellow glow, only the light from the windows that looked out onto the torus brightening the establishment. The floor was wood, probably imitation, as was the bar. The tables and chairs were lined up in rows, also wood, and the whole place had a very rustic vibe. They were clearly going for a traditional farmhouse aesthetic, like a bar or an inn that one might find the French countryside.

It was very impressive considering the restaurant's location. It wasn't easy to make the matte white metal of the station look like anything besides sterile hull material.

The place was pretty packed, most of the tables were occupied by patrons who were consumed by their gourmet food, a few of the nearer ones looking up to examine Kofe. They appeared to be mostly civilians, tourists either visiting the station or passing through on their way to other colonies. The outlying worlds were shitholes if Miller was being honest, but Franklin was a popular destination for tourists and businessmen that bordered contested territory. Those damned cowboys were tenacious, it would take more than a few Bug scouting raids to shake them off their rock.

Private yachts generally weren't given docking clearance on the Pinwheel, because at any moment a battle damaged fleet might show up for a refit, but the upper classes tended to find their way to the station on liners and civilian vessels. Adventuring across the galaxy was a popular pastime for those with too much money and time these days.

The head waiter returned, looking flustered.

"Please follow me, sir, we can seat you now."

He guided them between the tables, Kofe paying close attention to her wide hips so as not to crash into the other patrons. They arrived at a table that had been moved some distance away from the rest to make room for Kofe's bulk. The head waiter gestured to one of the chairs, indicating that Miller should take a seat.

"My apologies, ma'am, but we don't have any chairs that are suitable for someone of your...stature. If you'd like, we can bring you some cushions to sit on."

"Don't sweat it," she replied aloofly, patting her rump. "I brought my own cushion."

Miller covered his face with his hands, but the waiter seemed relieved. Perhaps he had expected her to protest. He quickly hurried back to his post and out of sight. Kofe sized up the table, then sat down cross-legged, tall enough that she was at a fairly comfortable height. Miller handed her one of the laminated menus, and she opened it, her eyes narrowing as they played over the text.

"What is...pommes frites? Mother's mercy, how many languages do you humans have? I can't even read English all that well yet."

"Those are fries," he replied. "Hang on, I'll come and help you."

He left his seat and circled around the table to peer over her shoulder, reading the dishes off to her as he traced the menu with his finger.

"How about this one? Filet Mignon. It's a choice cut of beef, sauteed with a yellow tomato vinaigrette. You might like that. It comes with grilled asparagus."

"Alright," she replied. "I'm kind of lost, so I'll just trust your judgment."

Before very along another waiter appeared, a woman this time. She set down a basket of sliced bread and a pitcher of water on the table, then asked them if they were ready to order. Miller relayed their choices, and she took their menus away, disappearing into the kitchen behind the bar.

"Are these for us?" Kofe asked, gesturing to the items that the waitress had left.

"Yep, you can eat those. But don't spoil your appetite. Wait, what am I saying? You could eat all of the bread in the restaurant, and I doubt it would put a dent in your appetite. Help yourself."

Apparently, she was more concerned with the water, lifting the jug in one hand and downing it in a few gulps. She set it down like she had just slammed a beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her furry forearm and exhaling contentedly.

"Thank goodness, that's ice cold. It's really hot in here."

"Yeah, I guess it's pretty warm," Miller confirmed. Restaurants like this were often pretty hot, that was why he hadn't brought a jacket. So many people crammed into such a small space, with a hot kitchen only feet away would always cause the temperature to rise a little. Kofe seemed to be swallowing as if she still had a mouthful of water even after setting down the jug. Before he could ask her about it, the waitress returned with more laminated menus.

"Anything from the wine menu, sir, madam?"

"No wine for me, thanks. I'll take a coffee, black. Can you bring us some more water too?"

"Of course," the woman replied. "Anything for you, madam?"

"Uh..." Kofe examined the menu for a moment. "Can I get some sparkling water?"

"Right away. Would you like me to bring you the bottle?" she asked with a smile. This waitress at least seemed to be happy to see Kofe. After serving dozens of snooty tourists, it must be a breath of fresh air to have an alien patron who wasn't quite so uptight. Kofe nodded, and the woman left again.

"You thirsty?" Miller asked.

"Yeah, I'm getting pretty warm," she replied as she fanned herself with the wine menu. "You humans sure do like it hot."

"Come on, you live in an arctic environment. I almost lost all of my fingers to your apartment."

"Ugh, my pads are starting to sweat," she grumbled as she wiped her hands on her dress. "I wish you would have let me wear less clothing."

"You can't eat at a restaurant like this wearing a pair of shorts and a blouse," he said, "I doubt that they'd even let you in."

She reached across the table and plucked one of the decorative flowers from a small vase, popping it into her mouth and shearing away the petals with her sharp teeth before Miller could stop her.

"Well this isn't very tasty," she complained.

"Will you put that down? Not everything on the table is edible. Why the hell did you think that you could eat a flower?"

"I don't know, I thought maybe it was some human delicacy. I don't know what your kind eats."

"Just eat the bread if you're hungry, the main course shouldn't be too long."

She started on the bread as he glanced around the restaurant nervously. A couple of people at neighboring tables had taken notice, one lavishly dressed woman muttering under her breath at the sight.

Kofe finished the basket of bread off quickly, plucking a hunk of butter from its dish with her claws and eating it whole, rather than spreading it on the slices.

Soon the waitress returned with their drinks, placing the water before Kofe and handing Miller his coffee. He stirred it with his spoon, watching the steam rise from it in a lazy plume.

"My name is Kofe," she announced loudly to the waitress. "Like the drink!"

"Is that so?" the waitress chuckled, putting a hand daintily to her mouth.

"We're on a date," she added, loudly enough that everyone nearby could hear her. Miller groaned, hiding his face with his hands as his Borealan companion shot him a toothy grin.

"I'll be back with your meals soon," the waitress said with a wink, heading off to take orders from the other tables. Kofe wasted no time, downing a second jug of water in a few gulps, ice cubes and all. She sighed, refreshed, licking her lips with her long tongue. She eyed the bottle of sparkling water, popping the cap and bringing it to her mouth as Miller scrambled to stop her.

"Kofe, wait! That water is carbonated! It-"

Too late, she had already downed half of it, her eyes widening as she realized that something was amiss. She placed it back on the table, shaking her head vigorously and sticking her tongue out.

"It stings my tongue!"

"I tried to tell you," he muttered, "it's a carbonated drink. It's fizzy, full of tiny bubbles like a can of soda. It's also full of-"

Kofe belched loudly into her hand, the woman at the adjacent table shooting her an outraged look.

"...gas," Miller finished. "Go easy on it, and do try to mind your manners. I don't want to get kicked out of this place."

"Alright, alright. I'm doing my best here. I doubt you'd fare so well at a Polar banquet."

She resumed her drinking, taking smaller sips this time around, seeming to enjoy the sensation of the cool liquid in her mouth. Miller found himself wondering how a Polar would cool itself when it began to overheat. Dogs and cats panted when they got too hot, but he had never seen Kofe do that before. She said that her pads were sweating, but furred animals couldn't sweat across their entire bodies, at least he thought not. He remembered reading something about horses being able to sweat, perhaps he was wrong.

He wasn't cruel. If she genuinely couldn't take the heat, then they could always leave early, but he at least wanted to enjoy one course before that happened. It wasn't often that he found an excuse to eat gourmet food.

As if on cue, the waitress returned, carrying a stack of plates in her hands. She placed them before the pair, Kofe's eyes lighting up as the scents reached her nose. The Polar had a square, porcelain dish with a choice cut of steak, lightly drizzled with garlic sauce and garnished with asparagus. Miller had opted for the Ratatouille Nicoise, a French specialty comprised of stewed vegetables. He was saving room for the desserts, the restaurant was somewhat famous for its pastries and cakes.

"Wait...this is it?" Kofe stared at her plate, pouting. "With the amount this cost, they should have brought me a pile of meat up to here," she said as she mimed with her hand. "This doesn't even look large enough to satisfy a human. We could have bought our weight in burgers instead."

"Quality over quantity," Miller chided. She made to spear the steak with her claw, but he stopped her, gesturing to the cutlery that had been laid out beside her plate. Kofe rolled her eyes, picking up the knife and fork reluctantly, fumbling with them like someone using chopsticks for the first time.

"I have perfectly good claws," she grumbled, "humans only use cutlery as a substitute."

"You promised you'd behave," he said, and she nodded.

"I know, I know."

She cut off a small piece of meat, the tiny implements like toys in her giant fingers, and popped it into her mouth.

"Good?" Miller asked, eating a spoonful of his stew.

"I guess it's alright," she admitted, hastily cutting off another piece. She finished her meal very quickly, despite making visible efforts to restrain her usual appetite.

"If it's only alright, then why are you eating it so quickly?" Miller chided. "Hey, don't lick the plate!"

"Fine, it might be as good as street food," she confessed with a grin. "It's a lot like you, actually. Very tasty, but not a lot to go around."

She eyed his own plate hungrily, and he reassured her that more courses were to come. As Miller finished up his Ratatouille, he was distracted by sudden movement, watching as Kofe began to lick the exposed fur on her arms. She dragged her obscenely long tongue from the elbow to the wrist, coating her fluffy fur in saliva, strings of it hanging from the corners of her mouth.

Their neighbors mumbled and gasped in disgust, shooting her angry looks, glaring at Miller too as if he had any control over the alien.

"What the hell are you doing?" Miller hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

"It's far too hot in here," she replied, using her surprisingly dexterous organ to lick her chest through the v-neck of her dress. Her tongue must have been a foot long, the dull barbs that lined its upper side combing the fine strands of her coat.

"What the...why are you licking yourself like that? Are you taking a bath in the middle of the restaurant? They'll kick us out, can't you restrain yourself?"

"I'm overheating!" Kofe protested, pausing her licking for a moment to explain. "Humans and Equatorials don't have fur like Polars do, you can sweat to cool off. We can only sweat through the pads on our hands and feet, so when we get too hot, we have to use other methods." She resumed her licking, the wet fur glistening under the light from the chandeliers. "We lick our fur, and when the saliva evaporates, it cools us like sweat would. We drool, and when the situation really becomes dire, we start to pant. If you ever see a Polar panting, it means they're in trouble, and you should help them."

She wiped away one of the dangling strands of saliva with the back of her forearm, Miller cradling his head in his hands. Kofe was going to give him an aneurysm before they even got to the dessert at this rate.

"Can you at least go to the bathroom to do it?"

"Not if it means getting through another door," she complained, resuming her grooming.

The waitress returned, standing beside their table with the dessert menus in hand as she watched Kofe curiously. She seemed more amused than disgusted, in stark contrast to the finely dressed woman at the adjacent table who was shooting daggers at the Polar. The angry patron reached over and tapped at the waitress' arm to get her attention.

"Can't you do something about them?" she spat, acting as if Kofe and Miller couldn't hear her. "We came here to enjoy a nice meal, and these...people are making a scene. I have half a mind to complain to the manager."

Kofe paused her licking to glare at the woman, who shrank back into her seat, as if afraid that the giant alien was about to pounce on her. The man who was sitting across from her, an older fellow who was likely her spouse, sat quietly as if he was afraid to speak out of turn. He looked to Miller like a cowed husband who lived in fear of his tyrannical harpy of a wife.

"I'll talk to them Ma'am," the waitress said as she handed Kofe and Miller the laminated menus. "I will have to ask you to try and refrain from disturbing the other guests, guys," she added with a quick wink when she was sure that the woman and her husband weren't looking. "I'll be back in a little while to take your orders. More ice water, miss?"

Kofe nodded happily, and the waitress retreated to the kitchen. The Borelean resumed her licking, their belligerent neighbor glancing over at them every so often as she mouthed inaudible complaints to her terrorized husband. When all of Kofe's exposed fur was suitably damp, she finally stopped, Miller breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't double over to lick herself beneath the table like a giant cat.

He wanted to diffuse the situation that was clearly brewing between Kofe and the aristocrat at the neighboring table, but he doubted his ability to do so. Trying to engage the furious woman would probably just make things worse. He exchanged a sympathetic glance with her husband, then turned his attention to the dessert menu.

As he had known before choosing this restaurant, it was famous for its wide selection of confectioneries, made in a traditional French style. The menu touted eclairs, macarons, choux pastries and tropezienne tarts amongst other things. It was all very decadent. Cream-filled brioche lightly dusted with powdered sugar, croissants loaded with chocolate and custard, it should be enough to drive any Polar to distraction.

Kofe grew visibly excited as he read off the menu to her, her round ears perking up and her pink nose twitching. Miller was unsure now whether she was drooling because she was too hot, or in anticipation of the cakes and pastries. She couldn't decide which ones she wanted, and so they elected to order a sample tray of everything. It was a lot of food that was intended to serve a whole party of people, but it was a good excuse to let Kofe eat a more appropriate portion without simply ordering an embarrassing number of separate menu items.

The waitress returned to take their order, placing another pitcher of ice water on the table which Kofe quickly drank, much to the ire of the increasingly angry woman at the table across from theirs. She seemed to take umbrage with everything that Kofe did, watching her like a hawk so that she could huff and mutter at every perceived slight or faux pas.

It was actually beginning to get under Miller's skin. Yes, Kofe was behaving strangely in a public setting. But she was an alien, immersed in a foreign culture whose social conventions were very different from her own. She wasn't being intentionally disruptive, and she had ceased her licking now. He resolved to say something to the woman if she made another comment that was directed towards his companion.

The waitress approached their table carrying a large platter of cakes and assorted desserts in her hands, placing it down and smiling at Kofe's awestruck expression. There was every variety of French patisserie imaginable, including a few slices of the larger cakes that were on display behind a glass counter near the bar. Kofe looked to Miller, perhaps waiting for permission to start destroying the confectioneries.

"Don't eat everything all at once," he said, giving her a knowing nod. She plucked a chocolate eclair from the stack, removing the little frilled wrapper and popping the whole thing into her mouth. A wide smile brightened her face as she chewed, no doubt discovering the cream filling, and the waitress chuckled at her expression.

"Enjoy your dessert," she said, "I'll be back in a while with the bill. Try those little cakes that are stacked on top of one another, miss. They're called religieuses, they're good." The waitress glanced at the couple behind her for a moment, then lowered her voice as she whispered to Kofe. "Let me know if you need anything else, alright?"

"Fhank 'oo," Kofe mumbled as the grinning waitress made her way over to another table. She swallowed her mouthful of cream and pastry, moving on to the religieuses as the waitress had suggested.

"I'm starting to warm up to this dating," she said, licking her furry fingers clean of the chocolate glaze. "Enjoying food together is a noble tradition."

Miller heard the woman at the neighboring table give a disgusted huff, turning up her nose as she complained to her husband.

"Honestly she's even talking with her mouth full, it's making me sick."

Kofe overheard the comment. Her round ears drooping a little and her smile fading. She popped the cake into her mouth, chewing quietly, her enjoyment of the desserts clearly marred by the continued nagging. Seeing her upset filled Miller with a sudden and unexpected flush of anger. Kofe was naive, innocent, any offense that she inadvertently caused the other patrons was no fault of her own. This woman was being completely unreasonable, vindictive at this point.

Miller was no diplomat, he worked a job that left little room for bullshit. When something went wrong on the Pinwheel it needed to be fixed pronto, as quickly and as efficiently as possible. If someone fucked up, it could result in very real danger to the station's inhabitants. He was no stranger to chewing out colleagues and dressing down new engineers for their mistakes, he had a short fuse, and he had been conditioned over the years to come down hard and fast on people who wouldn't follow protocol. He was in a restaurant, however, flying off the handle and cursing them out would accomplish nothing besides getting them kicked out and ruining Kofe's date in the process.