[log] chips but no salsa [closed]

[mrcreamsicles]

Characters: Davesprite, Karkat, the Cat, Beckett, Angel, Rhys (the dickcheese one), and Enoch
Location: Building 309
Date: Day 285
Summary: A whole bunch of people meet up, tablet chips get handed off, and maybe pancakes happen.
Warnings: Nothing planned.

309: A house, green on the Geiger counter, that probably should have been redecorated ages ago. Everything looks to be from the 60s or 70s. There was carpeting here, but it's gone now, revealing a locked trapdoor in the bedroom. There's a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. "зеленый" is written on the inside of the door. A ration box from the convenience store has been attached to the inside of one of the kitchen cabinets with wood glue. On the kitchen wall beneath it, a message has been painted in black: "i left a ration box here for storing food. if you want to leave rations for the people exploring it should hopefully protect them from radiation. any other supplies can go in the cupboard outside the box. contact davesprite (@featherydouche) if some fucker steals it".

Comments

[bookofnope]

[A bump isn't going to phase him, especially when he doesn't have a pancake at hand he might drop. So Beckett stays - cautious at the balance of keeping at Enoch's back, a tangible encouraging presence, but also letting him back away from Rhys for some space they both clearly need. His eyes are fixed on the pancakes, so it may not be too obvious that the rest of his senses are on his two friends. If anything at all goes wrong, he's going to jump, and do - something.

This is fine, though. This is the kind of intervention he's actually done before. He's very used to navigating the traumatized and traumatizing.]

You take it, Enoch, I can't eat if your stomach is going to tell me off about it. It sounds so determined.

out of turn but establishing the "fight"

[warriorscribe]

[Enoch chuckles, embarrassed. Betrayed by his own internal organs. Which, now that food is at hand, is becoming more insistent. He doesn't think he's been so aware of his mouth watering ever. He swallows it and turns a bit to the side, making a "you first" gesture at Beckett.]

As if my stomach rules my heart. Look at you, you can hardly look away from it. I insist.

[Well, Rhys...they're kind of fighting for it...]

[headjacked]

Oh my god. Nerds.

[ Rhys brandishes his Cooking Implement with a flourish -- turns out someone has mastered the Twirl since it was last brought up, eh Beckett -- and divides the fresh cake in twain. ]

You've got like a million years of knowledge between you but didn't figure this out right away. Sh-aaaame.

[ Look at that, genuine levity! ]

[bookofnope]

No, no, I insist - [One corner of his mouth quirks up - it's worth waiting at this point just to poke fun at Enoch a little - but then Rhsy steps in with a twirl, which is frankly startling, and Beckett stares at the pancake halves with reluctant amazement.]

Well, jolly me. The wisdom of Solomon. Which none of you know about for equally bizarre reasons... [Just shut up and stick it in your mouth nerdpire.]

[warriorscribe]

[He's about to counter-protest again but he sees that quirk. He reaches up for a light, playful shove to Beckett's shoulder. Silly vampire. Whatever he might have to actually say, though, is also cut off by Rhys's intervention.

Between the good cheer and playfulness from them both, the smell of good food, and the sheer need of it, he laughs, light and so free of pain and sorrow it could even be called pure.]

A story to be told over good food?

[...Which he then sets himself up to sabotage unwittingly, of course. Yes, Beckett, eat instead.]

[headjacked]

It seriously took a wise man in ancient times to figure out how to cut things in hAUGH - !

[ He tried, then, to peel a tiny piece of pancake off the pan, a little munchie for himself as he cooks, but stuck his finger right on the hot surface.

Because it's some kind of rule that Rhys fucks up after doing something remotely cool. He Gotta. At least he doesn't drop the pan! ]

[bookofnope]

[It's like he had some special gift. He ought to monetize it, is what Beckett thinks for just a moment there, before he thinks he's worried and goddamnit he was just about to have a Nice Thing.]

Don't set yourself on fire. Put your hand on the floor. It's cold.

[He even puts off sticking the entire half-pancake in his mouth as he leans in to supervise. One advantage of Norfinbury: burns aren't a Thing.]

[warriorscribe]

[Yep, it's all worry now. He falls a bit behind Beckett rather than crowding Rhys out, but he is watching.]

I- I have some water, if you need it.

[He also can do nothing but watch, as he has nothing useful for burns.]