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 Posted: Mon Jun 03, 2013 8:28 pm
It was just habit, by now. Konstantin was accustomed to household duties: he washed his own dishes as well as Mimsy's, why not all of the ones that were in the sink? It would be inefficient to leave them for the next person, and he had no qualms about helping others for the sake of getting tasks done.
(If he tidied up, corrected paperwork, and otherwise acted as a brownie, he would never tell.)
He held a number of cups in his arms this time, as well as several plates. He had crafted a simple dinner for he and Mimsy-- spartan, nearly, but sufficiently hitting appropriate nutrient ratios to power the body. She had lost far too much weight for his liking, and he took it upon himself to put half-decent food in front of her to consume, crafted from ingredients he kept in a plastic storage bin beneath his bed. That meant carbohydrates (rice, brown), protein (of the textured vegetable variety, picked up in bulk), and fats (rehydrated peanut butter, served on freeze dried vegetables-- yes, the kind from emergency food packages meant for disaster relief. Kostya assumed life on Deus Ex counted as a disaster.)
These were his thoughts as he forged his way through the dorm halls down to the kitchens, prepared to do all of the dishes and set up the stove for breakfast-- but stopped short. It was the Moon who had listened to him ramble about the coming apocalypse in nonsensical terms.
"Privet," he offers with a wave and a nod of the head, looking more than a little lost. "Will...be doing dishes for long?" Kostya asked, blinking owlishly.
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Posted: Mon Jun 03, 2013 8:40 pm
Tuck had been slacking on dish duty. He'd conned a few breakfasts out of Evan, some lunches, and probably a few dinners, too. This meant that there were at least five meals worth of dishes piled up in the kitchen, and maybe even some extra depending on if other people had merely added things to the pile.
After a slight kink in plans (adding too much soap to the water) (which had spilled over because he'd filled the sink first before adding the dishes) (which he'd had to clean before he could start on the dishes) (which also meant cleaning up the mop and bucket he'd wrangled) (and then refilling the sink because the water that had been left behind wasn't near enough to do the dishes with) (plus it'd gone cold), Tuck had finally rolled up his sleeves so to speak, and by the time Kostya spoke he was almost halfway to being halfway done.
There was a streak of something green on his cheek, and his shirt was thoroughly drenched. Lifting his brows with a very harried expression, Tuck gave Kostya one of those oh ********, is he going to start babbling looks before nodding his head.
"Probably ********, man. You see all this s**t?"
Turning back to the dishes, Tuck shook his head.
"Ridiculous. I think that ******** uses extra dishes just so I gotta wash 'em."
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Posted: Mon Jun 03, 2013 10:40 pm
Little gears whirred behind Konstantin's eyes as he parsed Tuck's meaning. Colloquialisms always took an extra moment of processing power, and this man was full of them. He cocked his head like a confused mutt, and then steeled himself.
Setting dishes aside on a counter, he went about digging in a cabinet he knew held rubber gloves, snapping them on with the efficiency of a doctor and his latexes. He looked at the dishes with scrutiny in his eye, and promptly reached into his pocket and produced a clean piece of steel wool and a new sponge. From his own collection of supplies.
One did not go into battle unprepared. That would be foolish.
"Vill assist," is all he says, shooing Tuck to the side with his hands, and Kostya hoped that the motion would be clear enough that he wouldn't need to try and push him out of the way. Tuck was significantly taller than him, after all, and significantly more...sturdy.
"You dry. Much practise doing this. Efficiency."
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Posted: Mon Jun 03, 2013 11:16 pm
Kostya wouldn't have to tell Tuck twice. He slid out of the smaller man's way, a delighted expression brightening his face.
He'd just gotten out of doing the dishes, and he hadn't had to use his manful manliness and brilliant charm.
Best ******** day ever?
"Yessir," Tuck picked up a clean-looking towel. He eyed the new sponge and piece of steel wool with a cocked brow, but refrained from commenting just in case Kostya decided that he had other, more important things to do.
"Glad to see you're feelin' better, or whatever. You cookin' breakfast?"
Oh, how hopeful Tuck sounded.
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Posted: Tue Jun 04, 2013 12:03 am
"Am not sir," Kostya replied sheepishly, scrunching up his noes just the slightest bit at the idea. "Am Konstantin," he says, bowing his head politely. "You can call, Kostya. For short."
He ran the water slowly, setting a few particularly nasty dishes aside to soak, using a liberal amount of dish soap. And then an extra squirt or two more, because the dishes deserved to die.
"Da, da," he said, nodding his head appreciatively. "Not saying crazy anymore, much better." He handed Tuck a plate scrubbed clean. "Ah, da, but need to get ingredients, from room. Must ...make space first." He gestured at the fact that there wasn't a single clean skillet to be found. "Not fancy. Egg from powder and--"
He looked around suspiciously, to make sure there were no eavesdroppers.
"Some salo, uhm. Hm." Kostya tapped his chin with a yellow clad finger. "How you say? Much like bacon. Have some, very good. Very fatty. ...Mimsy, she not enough fat. Have milk from powder, too, so can make pancake."
He handed tuck two more plates. "Apologies. Talk too much, sometimes."
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Posted: Tue Jun 04, 2013 12:32 am
Kostya was really doing the dishes.
He was really ******** doing the dishes.
Tuck tried not to swoon. It wasn't manly, swooning, but he couldn't help the urge. If he was the type of man to have a mancrush, it would be a mancrush on Kostya. Kostya of the kitchen, bearer of flame, steel wool, sponges and bacon and --
"Eggs from powder?"
He fought the urge to grimace.
However, Tuck brightened at the topic of Mimsy.
"Did you know, man, that Mimsy is a genius. She's like a ********'... space mathematician. She knows all these big words, too. I ain't got a clue what she's sayin' most of the time but man. Mimsy's the smartest person I know, I think. A space mathematician."
He dried the plate studiously before carefully setting it aside.
"Also if you ever cook too much food, man, just call me because I can't cook for s**t but I sure do love to eat."
A million-watt smile filled with hope.
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Posted: Tue Jun 04, 2013 12:54 am
"Is not so bad," he promises. "Need vhat can stay vith no fridge. Not yet have one. Am saving, to buy from Life." Clearly, the paranoia was strong with this one. He nervously flicked eyes around, to make sure no one was listening in about his stash.
Especially if they ever found out about his astronaut ice cream.
Kostya beamed-- well, as bright as someone can beam without in actual smile, just the corners of his eyes lifting and his lips quirking, almost wanting to widen-- "Da, da! Do not know anyvone smarter. No one can compare, is truth."
Tuck had unwittingly earned himself more brownie points than he possibly could have imagined. If friendship was a slot machine, Tuck had just pulled the magical, mystical 777 of a jackpot. He had unlocked the heart of the cards. He had successfully calculated the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, without first asking if it was African or European.
Short of being Mimsy herself, thinking highly of her was the best way to instantly assume the rank of respect within Kostya's ranks.
"I vill be thinking of you, if I do. Can do some today. You try eggs first, decide if don't like." Kostya handed him a series of plates, cups, and forks that had seen better days.
He made a mental note to purchase new utensils.
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Posted: Tue Jun 04, 2013 1:09 am
Tuck had to force himself not to swoon. Evan could cook, yeah, but he made Tuck do the dishes. Here was little Kostya, doing the ******** dishes and offering him a meal - even if it was powdered eggs and some other weird sounding s**t, Tuck didn't care.
It was food.
"Man, you're the best, Kostya," he took the plates, cups and forks without complaint, drying them half-assedly before setting them aside. "I can help, probably, if it's easy enough. Like, maybe stirring something? Or uh. Measuring, maybe."
He cleared his throat.
"So, uh. Where are you from? How do you know Mimsy? When are you gonna start cooking?"
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Posted: Thu Jul 11, 2013 3:43 pm
They had made significant progress on these dishes. Just a few small pots and pans remained in the sink and around it, and Kostya attacked the nearest one with a dogged determination.
"Am not best," he replied, cheeks colouring a little, brows furrowing. "No way to be best, can always be room for improvement." He tapped his chin with gloves. "Da, can help." He dug around in his cargo pants pockets for a whisk, laying it on the counter next to Tuck.
"I get rest. You look around for two bowls, bigger frying pan, and also salt. Always being misplaced, the salt." With the dishes done, Kostya removed his gloves. "Room is close, vill come back shortly. Also find butter. Some in fridge, right side, behind green mayonnaise."
He took off at a decent jog, excited to prepare food and be useful. When he returned a few short minutes later, his arms were full of various bags and cannisters.
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