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Arastoo felt like having steak.
Sure, he’s very often craved a nice grilled steak. A well-grilled beef steak cut to the perfection. That’s not new.
What’s new is that he wildly wanted a blue rare steak. Just warm enough, and bloody. By the way, such a carnivorous hunger never struck him in the morning.
He blamed that strange nightmare where his stomach came to control his thoughts and body without any rational explanation. (Sure, the part where he ate a random student was creepy, but he was more upset by the complete lack of control. If he ever turned into a zombie, he’d make a point of asking authorization from his prey.)

Steak was out of question at this hour. But Ara needed something more filling than fruits. What appropriate meal could he find today? The student wasn’t wearing much more than Andeon: checkered boxers, black slippers and an immaculate T-shirt. However, he still had a bandaid on each cheek (one of them being only there to maintain a sort of symmetry with his face). He came in the kitchen, and recognized the guy living next to him, though he never really got to know him. “Good morning. What’s the fuss all about, if I may ask?” he asked with a tired voice.
And he recognized something else. Maybe. “What was that now?” Damn, don’t tell me I start seeing that thing everywhere now. I’m not that traumatized. Really.

Steak was not out of the question for Fallon.

Quiet careful steps took her from the second floor kitchen down to the first floor, her cart clicking quietly along at her heels. Typically, she cooked on her own floor, but right now, it wasn't worth the risk. Dreams were silly, sure, but Fallon doubted she would be able to look Serenade in the face for a bit. Not after she had dreamed of, well, eating that face -- eating all of her, actually. Granted, Fallon had dreamt of eating Serenade a dozen times before, but never like that. Perhaps she would have felt more comfortable if she had only dreamed of Miss Johnson? Hm, it wasn't something that she thought she'd ever chat about with Andeon, but as she turned the corner into the kitchen, she found herself staring up at him, and not just him -- several students milled about the kitchen.

Fallon cast her eyes down, staring at the black slip-ons she wore under fitted black work-out pants. Of course, the dark-haired girl only slept in them, and with a properly ironed matching camisole. Despite the ungodly hour, Fallon looked as though she might be preparing for class. She had on makeup, her hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail, and a cardigan with a belted waist eliminated some of the "these are my pajamas" elements of her choice of dress. And yet, she was embarrassed. This was far below her normal standards of attire, and now, it was too late to change it. Great.

If she hadn't of been so damn hungry, then she might have considered it. As it were, Fallon was in the first floor kitchen to correct what she believed to be a nutritional problem. Clearly, she had dreamt of eating Serenade due to a lack of red meat in her diet, and the lovely girl was the star of the dream because of Fallon's passion. That was it, just a mere nocturnal confusion of voracity for hunger with voracity for lust.

And so the only solution was to correct the problem immediately with a big a** rare steak.

Pushing her lips together, she strolled over to the stove -- still clean from her efforts the night before -- and began to unpack her cart full of ingredients and cookware. At first, she said nothing, letting the click and clack of all her things resonate in the small kitchen, and then, at last, she offered a quiet, "Hello, I am making steak. And eggs. Please sign the notecard and indicate how you would like it cooked." Slipping a hand into her bag, she produced a notecard identical to those she normally carried around.



Once she had set it down on the counter, Fallon pulled out her teal masking tape and quickly squared off a section of the kitchen (approximately all of the stove and the sink area) where no one was to go but her. Even those that did not live on her floor would know the peril of entering Fallon's tiny cooking square. Just ask the freshman who got a fork jammed through his hand in the first week. She hadn't gotten in trouble for it, which was good, and it had shown the new kids how serious she was, which was double good.

Dropping her eyes to half-lids, Fallon began to go through the beginning stages of her preparation. Her usual practiced politeness was replaced by a cold shoulder, a standoffishness. She wasn't in the mood to socialize, but it would seem that she did not have a choice. Operating from muscle memory almost, Fallon continued on her normal pattern, crossing to the coffee maker by the fridge and popping in some of her own grounds. She dumped the old water and filled it with some purified water, and then started the pot, saying nothing to Kirin as she crossed back to the stove. Her OCD would force her to stick to script, but the rest of her mind did not want to be here, did not want to see these people, did not want to have this hunger.

“Greetings, Kirin”, mumbled Ara, massaging his temples to get his spirits together. “Greetings… err… miss.”
And then, she had to mention steak.
It was one thing to think about it and refuse the idea because who eats steak at this hour? But it was hard to ignore the proposition. His stomach grumbled some more. Alright, he did need steak. He stared down at the limits set by Fallon, slightly puzzled, but anyway, he made sure not to get there. Who knew what else would happen to him.
Ara took the time to write downhis desired meal on the notecard.


He’d hesitated a few seconds before writing “blue rare”, but he didn’t see the point in denying his odd craving, as long as it satisfied his hunger.

Nihls had stumbled his own way to the kitchen area, blinking like a owl that might have run into a pane of sheet glass, wearing his uniform sweater over a pair of blue full PJ's that clashed with the red star buttons, all of which in turn looked just as noisy with his bright green slippers, which looked like the sort of thing unpleasant aunts gave you for Christmas, right before pinching your cheeks. Basically, it was classic Nihls fashion 'sense', crowned by his finger combed hair... although this morning his outfit had gained the slightly more unusual trait of a subtle dusting of cat hair.
He was unaccountably starving, and still trying to shake off the unpleasant dream, and the note-card with it's requests for steak didn't do much to help that front, bringing the image of sinking teeth into a screaming classmate back into sharp focus. Coffee sounded pretty good, so did eggs... but steak....
Bacon maybe... hmm. Did they have bacon? He pulled his glassess off his nose and rubbed his eyes sleepily, trying to cover the shudder and gulp at the mental crossover between steak and his dream.
"...Do you need any help?" he asked Fallon, figuring the cooking of vast quantities of scrambled eggs might just get old fast. Anyway, surely he could manage to cook that.... "...And do we have any bacon... in the fridge."
Possibly due to being in an 'not a morning person' fog, he'd also completely missed Snuzzles... which was probably for the better.

Before he'd come to this school, it probably would have just been another nightmare. Just another creepy as hell dream that came from playing a few too many games in the horror genre, and he'd put those aside for a while to play something that kindergarteners were allowed to touch.

After watching his DS warp his face in the worst posessed-DS way possible, he wasn't so sure about this dream. Especially since he'd felt the zombie-hunger after he jolted up in bed.

Whatever the weird dream was about, he didn't really care for the moment. He was more hungry than he'd ever been in his life, and something was going to have to be done about that. Still in Atari pajamas, he wandered into the kitchen, lazily tying his hair up with a rubber band.

He had to blink several times when he realized how many people were there. What the hell? Curious, he poured himself some coffee, stole a whole box of cereal from the cabinet, and sat down to begin shoving it in his mouth sans milk.

"What's everyone's deal today?" he asked nobody in particular through a mouthful of Reese's Puffs.

“That was nothing,” Andeon waved his hand as Snuzzles scuttled out across the hallway. “That was j-”

Well hello there!

Andeon's attention was immediately snagged by the pretty, red-headed girl. He'd seen Kirin in the halls a few times, but her striking resemblance to his beloved Miss Johnson had always kept him at bay. He had sauntered over and was just about to make his move when in walked Fallon.

Big Gay Fallon.

Big Gay Alive Fallon.

Andeon normally would have scowled at his OCD best friend for coming in at entirely the wrong moment (he couldn't score with the hot red-head when Fallon was there, she might try to steal his girl!). Normally, except that Fallon had been one of the several people who he had seemed to devour in his late-night dream. Which meant that instead of a glare and a few angrily muttered words, she got a nice, big dose of Space Invasion.

“You're ALIVE!” Andeon practically screamed, taking two strides to wrap his arms around Fallon, pick her up, and spin her in circles. It didn't matter what she was doing at the time, Andeon had no problems interrupting her. Just like he had no problems going into her room when she was away and misplacing all of her pencils. Even once he set her down, the invasion would not end. He grabbed Fallon by the shoulders and, while shaking her lightly, profusely apologized.

“Oh god Fallon, I'm sorry I ate you. I mean, don't get me wrong, you were delicious, but I'm still sorry I ate you.”

At the sight of the thing with far too many legs, Trace promptly got up and dumped the remainder of his cereal into the sink. He hadn't been paying attention to it before, but now that Arastoo had pointed it out, he could not ignore it.

"I have lost my appetite," he announced, as if delivering a line of Shakespeare. "And I am going back to bed."

He did not want to hang around until Mason showed up. He didn't think he could face him.

Trace left his bowl in the sink and stalked out. He could not deal with this right now.