Cyd & Olin - Omelette's At Olin's

Cyd gave herself five more minutes of sleep before opening her eyes in the now quiet penthouse. The tinted windows helped keep the light from being blinding, A bedside remote could, at the touch of a button, make the glass more transparent or opaque, right down to light blocking. At home, they had an old, frayed blanket hanging over the window which did little to keep the light out.

Olin was already awake and the smell of brewed coffee, bacon, and eggs wafted from the kitchen.

Cyd looked around the room for her clothes, which were neatly folded on the chair nearest the large desk taking up one corner of the room. Her stomach rumbling, Cyd quickly washed up, slipped into the slik robe left by her side and padded barefoot to the kitchen to meet Olin. “Hey,” she said softly from the door to let him know she was there. She didn’t want to presume breakfast was part of the ‘deal’, one nighters at a rave were usually just that. Wake up, walk of shame home, rinse and repeat.

“Hey!” Olin said with a charming smile. “Come eat, I made breakfast I hope you like omelets. Coffe of juice?” He asked plating one straight from the pan.

“Coffee, please,” Cyd said with emphasis, though thanks to Mathias’ Red Devils, there was very little to be hungover for. Olin, on the other hand, Cyd shook her head to clear it. “This was nice of you- you didn’t have to,” she said, stumbling on her words.

“Didn’t have to what? Make breakfast. I may be well off but I still have manners.” He said teasing her as he poured a cup for her. He didn’t presume how someone took their coffee, so he served it black passing the cream and sugar for her to adjust. He went back putting some actual cheese on the steaming omelet as well as some kind of creamy-looking stuff on top before serving it with a few strips of bacon. “Besides I don’t get to properly host often.” Olin added.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a cook,” Cyd tried to tease back, her stomach rumbling in anticipation of food you didn’t squeeze out of a tube or package.

“I have many hidden talents.” Olin said with a wry smile passing her the omelet. “It keeps people around me on their toes.”

Cyd resisted the urge to say he could keep her anyway he wanted - Olin just had that affect. She hated that she was reduced to acting like Serena whenever a cute boy said hello, but he brought that out. “You do,” she agreed coyly, scraping her mind from the gutter, but damn if she didn’t like that gutter. “like last night. Your polyrhythmic mix really got the crowd going. Three beat loop on a 4/4 track? I’m going to use that in my next set.”

“That’s good hu?” Olin he smiled a little more childish. “That is a high compliment coming from you.” He paused a moment considering his next words a little carefully. “Maybe whenever you get a free moment you and I can … collaborate sometime? I am sure there is plenty more you can show me.”

“Sure,” Cyd said, a tone of genuine happiness in her voice. “ Hooks and transitions? Cutting? Running things by a fresh set of ears is the best way to get better. The last thing I want to be as a DJ is predictable. Some of us use the same drop, over and over. I mean, for Trance, that’s fine, but if you want people to dance you…” She caught herself and laughed. “Sorry, shop talk. I don’t get to speak music much without someone rolling their eyes.”

Olin gave a broad smile. “No, no please continue. I like seeing you so passionate it’s what separates the good from the great.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, spearing a piece of omelet, savoring how the different flavors came together. “I like trance, I mean, any EDM really, breakbeat, electro, even dubstep, feed off the crowd’s energy. Nothing better than seeing shuffle to your beat, someone cutting shapes to your hook. Homespun, down and dirty raves.” She took another sip of coffee, which felt like velvet in her mouth. “What about you? Tell me what you’re passionate about. I know Olin the party-thrower. What about everyday Olin?”

“Ah, now we are definitely at risk of eye-rolling boredom.” Olin said with a good-humored chuckle. “He is a boring person who follows this schedule, not made by me. But out of my entire family, I seem to be the only one born with a personality and some charm. When someone needs showing around, needs a good time, or when no one wants to make that token appearance nobody else wants to go to … they send me. So I throw parties, big ones not only because I can but because then I get to meet people I actually like.” He gives Cyd a softer smile. “Is the omelet to your liking?”

“I’m doing everything I can not to float around like a cartoon dog,” Cyd admitted, “Where’d you learn to cook like that?” She’d had eggs before, of course, powdered, reconstituted diner eggs.

“France. They are very particular and a good omelet is how they test new chefs.” Olin answered. “I also just like to cook.”

Cyd’s eyes lit up. “France?” It may have as well been another planet. “You, believe me, are not boring,” she asserted. “Were you a chef there? A student?”