fridgetothefire | 022 ☣ Video (Open + locks + locked spam)

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022 ☣ Video (Open + locks + locked spam)

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Okay, this is a long shot, but I know we've got all kinds of magic and tech here that I don't know all the capabilities of, so here goes:

Does anybody have, or know of, something that can like...turn memories into photographs? We never really had cameras around when I was little and I guess I'm just. Being maudlin about a few things.

[aka she misses the twins when they were stupid babies]

[Private to Arthas.]

I know things are different. But I wanted to say thank you, for looking out for me.

[Private to Cassel]

Still think I should give him the squid hat?

[Private to Alex

Were you really into the Space Race too?

[Private separately to Babs and Charles]

[With a warm smile]

Thanks for helping me out.

[Private to Tosh]

Would you teach me how to program?

[Private to Touko]

You were a really cute kid.

[Spam for Erik]

[She gives him a little time to himself, after the flood, but there are some things she needs to say. She's not dressed for effect this time, just in jeans and a soft, light sweater despite the summery barge atmosphere.]

[Spam for Jesse]

[She's used to coming in and out of Lua's room whenever she feels like it. She knows it's early, but there's a comfort to being here, for her, simply existing in a space she shares with someone she trusts. She didn't expect to to see Jesse making breakfast, but she puts it together pretty quickly. She leans against the little table, arms crossed, not smiling even though she wants to, a little.]

Well. So. You and Lua, huhn?

[Private to Lua, later]

Hey, are you free? Nothing to worry about, just checking in.

[Because if not she can check in...later later.]

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[It's not really a problem for Jesse that they got caught, so to speak. He's sort of not-exactly-hiding the situation from Claire, but as far as he knows, there's no overlap with Anya, right? And as much as he doesn't want it to be a competition thing, he has to figure that Lua's inmate would be Team Lua, anyway.

Still, he's not exactly expecting it first thing in the morning, so for one thing, he's not dressed. When Anya comes in, he's sneaking around the kitchen in his boxers -- white with a black and silver crossbone print -- quietly pilfering eggs and bacon and trying to figure out how the fuck to make coffee. It's the sugar skull tattoo between his freckled shoulderblades that actually greets her, but he turns when he hears her voice, startled.]

Oh. Uh... hey.

[He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles at the question. Without all his baggy gangster clothes he's an odd study in contrasts: the boyish, almost shy smirk that pulls at his mouth and his skinny frame, the domesticity of the bowl in his hand, at strange angles to the many tattoos, the bones on his shorts, the pack of cigarettes and the heavy brushed-metal lighter sitting on the nearest counter. He sets down the bowl, reaches for the pack, and clears his throat.]

I didn't know you'd be coming over, or I would've... [Gotten dressed? Left? He's not sure he's ready to leave and face what's coming today, but he's not sure he's ready for whatever this talk is going to be, either.] My bad.

I don't mind.

[She smiles, sweetly, and it's a warning, although not nearly her worst. He's off-balance; she can work with that.]

Is it new?

Yeah. [He is off-balance, although he's hoping this cigarette he's lighting right now will help. He inhales deeply, flashes that same shy smile on the exhale, scratching at his unshaven jaw.] As of, like... yesterday.

But not just yesterday.

[Like she already knows, like she's just double-checking. She remembers, through the haze of a child's solipsism, how cute they were being at the pool party. It's not a one night thing.]

...Mostly yesterday. [He gives her a quizzical look -- what else does she know about it?] I mean, I guess I asked a few days ago... [Or rather, she'd said yes a few days ago; he'd asked weeks ago, started falling months ago, but none of that had seemed to matter much anymore the night before.]

Future, not past.

[She raises an eyebrow.]

Yes?

[It's uncannily close to something he'd caught himself thinking just the day before, enough that it makes him startle. She's not a mindreader, is she?] What? What's that mean?

[He is so manifestly flailing that she decides to have mercy on him. For a certain value of mercy.]

It means if you break her heart, I'm going to pull your eyeballs out with a crochet hook, okay?

[He's gotten similar lectures before, but invariably, from mean-looking dads. And, actually, usually skipping the parts about if: there weren't a whole lot of dads back in early-2000s Albuquerque who'd been happy to find out their daughters were dating the failing loser who smoked too much pot and drew cartoons over his Fs. Getting the actual version of the lecture, the one that tacitly implies some level of approval, is new.

And getting it from a sixteen-year-old girl is definitely new. He stares at her for a second, then laughs, some of the tension in his spine fading.]

With a crochet hook, huh? That's specific. [He reaches for a saucer and uses it to stub out his cigarette, then picks the bowl back up and gets to beating the eggs.]

I work with the tools I have.

[It's sweet to the point of being angelic, and also very sharp.]

Yeah, well, I got no immediate, like, plans to, okay. [But he still sounds mildly amused, which he is. He gets back to moving, trying to set up a passable breakfast. He's no home cook, but bacon and eggs -- how hard is that?]

You know how to make the coffee work in here?

I do.

[But she does not volunteer any further information at this time.]

But you're serious? I mean, you like her?

[He's looking around the kitchen now, but he glances back at Anya when she says that, and something in his eyes softens, the amusement fading from the quirk at the corner of his mouth. He nods, slowly, and turns back to the drawers.]

Yeah. Yeah, I really, really do. [It's more than that, he knows -- he knows he's in love with her. He knows he turned down the girl he almost married once upon a time because of her. But that's maybe, you know, a little heavy for a morning talk with her inmate.]

It's good of you to worry, like, I'm glad someone's looking out for her and all, but... that's not a thing you gotta worry about. Like for real. I plan on sticking.

Worrying is kind of my thing. Worrying and elaborate vengeance plots.

[This isn't even a threat. It's just - honest, a little raw and listing to one side. With Bruce gone, Lua is her oldest real friend, and Anya wouldn't know how to stop and wouldn't want to stop being protective, fierce and perhaps a little more obsessive than she should be.]

But that's. Good.

No vengeance necessary, Anya. Honest to God. [He rubs the back of his neck again, biting his lip as he considers her concern.] I mean... let's put it this way: she knows stuff about me even my lawyer don't know, so if anyone's breaking it off, it's gonna be her.

[There's a pause, more stubbornness than actual suspicion, though she'll definitely be spending more time around him and getting his measure in the future, after the debacle with Dylan. But all she says is -]

Just boil the water in a pot on the stove. When it's at 95 degrees - Celsius, so, about 200 Fahrenheit? Right before it boils, when there's little bubbles at the bottom of the pot, just dump the coffee grounds in. One big tablespoon per cup of water. Then turn the heat off and let it sit for a few minutes.

[He turns back to look at her, surprised, but relaxes gratefully when he processes the instructions she's giving him. He even knows how to measure the temperature by now without a thermometer -- all those long hours in the lab paying off, apparently. At least he can make his new girl some freaking coffee.]

Thanks. I've never really done it without the machine before. I don't drink a lot of the stuff. [He sets to, getting busy in the kitchen, with more enthusiasm than actual skill. There may or may not be eggshells in the eggs he's scrambling.]

So are you, um, planning on sticking around for breakfast, then... [Quickly:] 'Cause you totally can if you want.

It's okay. I wouldn't know how to do it with a machine.

[She'd figure it out pretty fast. But it's easier, going that way. She picks up her bag again.]

I'll let you treat her, I think.

[She's glad they had this talk.]

[He can't say he's not a little relieved. She's being kind of cute, all protective of Lua like this, and he would have let her stay without protest, but this morning's going to be eventful enough as it is. It'd be nice if the first breakfast for him and Lua could be him and Lua.]

Well, uh, maybe next time, okay. [But yeah, he looks gratified.] You needed something?

Nah. I just hang out here sometimes.

So...I'll be seeing you, I guess.

[This is something like permission, something like a warning, and definitely a promise.]

...Yeah. For sure. [It seems a little like a threat to him, but this is a thing they're both going to have to get used to, right? After all, this was how him and Lua had gotten close in the first place -- via her first inmate, and the weird little four-person family they'd been for a while.] Come by any time.

[A warning is a threat, from a Lehnsherr.]

I know I can.

[It's just the slightest bit prickly: it's Lua's to offer, not his, and she already has run of the place. But she knows - mostly believes - that he means it only in the spirit of friendly welcome. And her smile is easy as she slips out the door.]

[It was sort of an automatic response, and he grimaces to himself as she leaves, because in retrospect it was a pretty stupid one. For now, he goes back to breakfast, but a little while later she'll get a text:] I meant the art room.

[She laughs to herself when she sees it.]

Okay. Sorry for assuming.

Erik's teaching me to draw, so I guess I'll be around more anyway. Practice practice practice, right?

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022 ☣ Video (Open + locks + locked spam)

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