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Fallon didn't say much about the roommate. They would be working in one of the kitchens, Melinda had said, and so she did not expect to encounter a roommate. Melinda's surprise over the amount of ingredients brought another smile to the girl's face. "A true chef can make the most complicated dish seem relatively simple," she said, crossing to the curb. Her bag was too heavy for the bus; she didn't want to have to lug it around. Raising two fingers into the air, it took a matter of moments for a bright yellow cab to pull up.

Stepping into the street, Fallon pulled the door open for Melinda. "A tour of the school sounds nice," she said, waving the blond girl into the cab. "Thank you for splitting the fare. I know the bus would be cheaper." After Melinda was inside, Fallon slipped in after her. "This is a pleasant surprise for my average Saturday," she said, touching at her hair and arranging the pleats of her dress.

Leaning over the seat, Fallon told the man to take them to the Crystal Academy. He nodded gruffly and took off down the street, driving as well as could be expected from a cabbie. The trip didn't take long, and before she knew it, Fallon was handing money to the cabbie and slipping out of the cab. "You can pay me back later," she said. Once outside, she straightened out the cart of food and waited for Melinda to lead the way.

A smile piqued on Fallon's face as Melinda extended a hand. It was a pleasant gesture, and Melinda was a pleasant girl. Sometimes, new situations gave Fallon the bad tinglies that usually accompanied a sudden break down from her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but she felt quite at ease, especially with a cart full of food to cook for a new acquaintance. Fallon preferred making meals to a new person over handshakes. This was one of the best situations for her to be in, quite honestly.

Moving through the hallways, Fallon took in each room with the same evaluative eye that she gave most new things. They were nice, sure, but she was really more concerned about the kitchen -- and enjoying the simple physical contact. Once they reached the classroom that held the kitchen, Fallon gently slipped her hand away from Melinda's, walking ahead into the room. It was half-kitchen, half-classroom, and though it wasn't a Home & Gardens cover, it was a fairly nice facility, certainly nicer than the community kitchen on the second floor of Barren Pines.

"It's very nice," she said, flashing a smile back to Melinda. The cart of groceries moved smoothly over the tiles. Whatever the girls of Crystal Academy paid, it looked like it was worth it. Not one to waste time, Fallon detached the bag from the cart and placed it on the counter, efficiently unpacking each item and separating everything into piles according to some system in her head. Fallon really hated for people to help her in the kitchen, but she didn't want to scare Melinda away by commanding her to sit and not touch.

So she made a little compromise. Scooping out the apples, she found a bowl and placed them inside. "The crust is more complicated so I'd like to handle that, but I will write it all down for you. And if I do something that you don't understand, just ask me and I can explain it. Would you like to wash, peel, and core the apples?" Fallon planned to recut the apples anyway. Even if Melinda did a terrible job, she would be following behind her to fix it. It was the only concession she was willing to make, and her chest tightened to think of Melinda demanding more of a part in the pie.

Hopefully she wouldn't.

Did Melinda like to just sit and watch? Because that would be exceptional. Top notch. "If you would like, you could just sit and talk to me while I work. Honestly, I am not very good at sharing... in the kitchen, or really... much at all." She laughed, a touch of awkwardness filtering into the sound. OCD was something that Fallon lived with everyday, but it was the skeleton, well, out of her closet. It was there for everyone to see like an unsightly boil sitting squarely on her nose. Fallon fought for balance in her life, and she craved that balance more than anything else. It was an inconvenience that she often had to share her OCD with everyone, if only to have them understand how seriously she needed them to listen. Now did not seem like the time for it, but it hung at the back of Fallon's mind. On impulse, her fingers traced across the edge of her cardigan, counting the buttons. With her other hand, she began to pull cutting boards, knives, and other tools out of the cupboards, flitting around from one spot to the other. She arranged them all on the counter in a precise order, fingers flitting over each utensil.

As she worked, Fallon glanced up to Melinda every so often. "I would be happy to do all of it," she said, keeping her polite smile. Fallon had more or less assumed that Melinda wanted to assist, but if she just wanted to eat, then that was even better. She could just be a pretty little centerpiece entertaining Fallon as she created a delicious apple pie. If Fallon was working on something more experimental, she might not welcome the company so much, but since this pie was something she had cooked every single Thanksgiving since she was old enough to use the oven, it was like riding a bike.

Prickles of relief ran over Fallon's skin when Melinda stepped aside. Good. This was how she preferred it. With Melinda safely away on a stool, Fallon was free to command the kitchen like her very own battleship. She whirred into motion, peeling, coring, and slicing the apples as quickly as someone else might tie their shoes. "It's all right. I prefer it this way. Cooking isn't work to me anyway," she said, hands busy with the apples. She set two granny smiths aside, but did not say why. Cracking a couple eggs into the mixing bowl, she added a smattering powders and spices. She brandished her whisk and got to work.

It was easy for Fallon to cook and talk, especially when it was something as simple as an apple pie. "I like puzzles, picture puzzles. Complicated ones." She added a sprinkling of brown granules to the bowl and resumed her whisking, hand forming neat arcs. Whisking was practically a zen state. "I do needlework. Crossword puzzles. I love to shop too, for more than just food." Cracking a smile, she laughed, setting the bowl down and crossing to the apples. Fishing a black pot from beneath the sink, Fallon filled it with water and placed it on the stove. It would take a moment to boil, and so she returned to the bowl and resumed her whisking.

"I cook more than anything else though," she added, picking up a container of sugar and moving back to the stove. "What do you like to do, Melinda?" Her shoulders moved beneath her cardigan as her hands moved across all the ingredients, lifting some, smelling others. Fallon disappeared beneath the counter again and reappeared holding a pie pan.

Fallon cranked the oven on, popping a few things in and out of the fridge. "It's good to have a schedule," she mused, pouring sugar into the boiling water. She'd need to create a simple syrup to add some sweetness to the pie. Fallon put another pan down, coating it quickly and cranking on the heat. It would need some time to warm up. "I like watching tennis, but I'm not big on sports. I do like the female Olympic gymnastic competition though. Gymnasts have to be quite precise, especially on balance beam. I love to watch it." As a girl who appreciate quality self-control and discipline, Fallon found the power and finesse of gymnasts to be quite beautiful.

Setting a cored apple on the cutting board, Fallon began to cut it in even slices, moving so fast that the knife made a quick fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap sound against the board. "I never played an instrument, though I find many of them quite lovely. I must admit I'm partial to piano, and the metronome." Fallon smiled, as if she had told a joke. Of course, she hadn't, but she knew it was the metronome that kept her heart involved in listening to others play piano. "Do you want to be a flutist when you grow up?" she asked, moving on to the rest of the apples.

More flashes of pots and pans, more whisking, more adding this and that, and before Melinda knew it, Fallon was pressing a granulated mixture into the shape of a pie crust in the pan. Just as she finished flattening the final side, the oven buzzed, signaling that it had finished preheating. In a tight spin, she slid the pie pan into the oven to let it cook. "I love listening to orchestras. Conductors who keep great time, especially, though most do." She smiled, grabbing one of the granny smiths and washing it in the sink. "I'd love to come see you play some day." Fallon winked -- smooth like honey -- and then placed the washed apple on a freshly-cleaned cutting board.

Fishing into her bag, she pulled out a case that appeared to contain either make-up brushes or surgical supplies. It turned out to be a synthesis of both. Flipping open one pale brown flap, Fallon slid out a thick needle and a bottle of cloudy white liquid. She poke the syringe into the bottle and pulled up the plunger as she spoke, "All of the above. I want to own many restaurants. I want to open my own cooking school. I want to train my own legion of chefs who cook in the same meticulous way that I do. I could see myself settling in France, where my mother is from. I loved it there." No trace of an accent filled her voice, but it was evident from the sparkling in her eyes that France was home to Fallon. So why had she chosen to return to Destiny City? Hm, it was a curious question.

Removing the syringe from the bottle, she lifted the granny smith, and with the precision of a surgeon, squirted varying amounts of the liquid into the apple. She seeemd to be following some kind of regimented pattern, but there was no rhyme or reason to her movements to the untrained eye. "I promised you a vanilla-infused apple," she began, flashing Melinda a smile before returning her eyes to the apple, "and so here it is." A few more squirts, and Fallon fished out a plate and placed the apple in the center, moving to set in down in front of Melinda. "Give the injection about five minutes and twenty-eight seconds to permeate the apple and start breaking down the pith," she explained, hovering beside Melinda for a moment. "Actually -- I'll keep track of time. And I'll core it for you when time is up." She trailed one painted nail along the green skin of the apple. "In the meantime, if you lean in, you can smell the vanilla leaking out of the injection sites." As if to prove it, Fallon leaned in close and gave it a good whiff. Mmm... vanilla-y.

Being so close to Melinda's face at that moment made Fallon want to lean in and kiss her. She restrained herself however. Not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't want the pie crust to burn. Smiling, she crossed back to the oven, sliding the door open. She grabbed a bowl of sauce from the counter and drizzled it over the crust, heading back to the stove to start carmelizing the apples. "You would be welcome anytime, Melinda -- an honored guest," she said, flashing a smile over her shoulder. "I cook every meal for myself over at Barren Pines. Really, anytime, you could come over. I could give you my number." She turned back to the stove and stirred the pan, waiting for Melinda to respond. Her cell phone was in her purse, and if Melinda wished, she would happily trade numbers.

Fallon was a smooth operator.

It stung a bit to hear cooking called "mundane" but Fallon chalked it up to Melinda's ignorance on the subject and choose not to take offense. Busy at the stove, Fallon felt her internal clock go off. "It's been five minutes and twenty-eight seconds," she said, grabbing a small knife and returning to Melinda's side. In one fluid motion, she cut a circle in the apple and used her finger to poke the core out. Just as quickly, she tossed it in the trash and slicked the apple into even pieces.

Lifting one of the slices, she held it close to Melinda's mouth. "Are you ready to try your first vanilla-infused apple?" she said, a smile creeping up one side of her mouth. On the stove, the apples sizzled, but Fallon knew she had enough time to linger beside Melinda a few moments longer.