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Fallon liked meek girls. She liked them a lot.

When Yvette spoke with that clueless, nervous wiggle, Fallon felt herself forget everyone else in the room. (Except maybe Pierrette. Maybe.) She zoomed in on the adorable tentative girl who seemed absolutely terrified of her. Now, why exactly was terror precious to Fallon? Perhaps this was a question she should ask her therapist some day. As if were, she was only 15, there was no therapist in sight, and Yvette was growing more and more adorable with each chin wibble.

Relaxing the annoyed scowl that had been hanging on her features, Fallon smiled warmly at the girl. She couldn't walk away from the stove because the eggs would burn. Instead, she leaned her head toward Yvette and said, "I would be happy to make you something sweet, Yvette. You only have to ask. Do you like fruit tarts? Or are you a chocolate kind of girl?" A softness slipped into Fallon's voice -- the voice she used when she was trying to cozy up to another female. Oddly enough, Fallon had all the necessary ingredients on her to whip up a sweet dish (because she was cool like that), and she had already decided that she would make anything that Yvette asked.

Lifting one hand, she brushed a piece of hair away from Yvette's face. "I'm sorry if you are nervous. You can just talk to me, if you'd like." In her own opinion, Fallon was the most entertaining person in the room anyway. And she wasn't talking about monsters or cannibalism. AND she was offering to cook something special for Yvette. All of these things, Fallon believed, made her the best possible person for Yvette to socialize with of those gathered. It didn't occur to her that her violence toward Andeon might put off the purple-haired teen.

Oh well.

Andeon currently has his face buried in steak. Literally. If he doesn't stop chowing down soon, he will probably suffocate.

He is shipping Fallon x Yvette in his dreams tonight.

That's really all there is to say.

"I didn't..." Nihls started to protest, frantic with the need to escape this deranged plant aficionado. "I le..." He started to explain he'd left it in one of the kitchens, for the warmth and potential for food and adoption. ((Something of, in his mind, the plant equivalent of a humane society...)) But as far as he could predict, logic and politeness were having no effect on this terrifying woman.
"HELP!!" He finally shouted, hoping someone would actually notice, though the general consensus seemed to be to leave them to their own devices. Curses!

Kirin had to turn away with a grimace from the people eating nearly raw steak, like Ara. It turned his stomach. He continued to listen to Ara's information on the mutant bugs, though.

Kirin frowned thoughtfully at the description. "Either evolution jumped ahead a few thousand years for these bugs, or someone's playing mad doctor. Even lions and tigers will think twice about attacking something bigger than they are, unless it's already injured." Thank you middle school, for boring nature documentaries in biology classes!

"I don't know about the teachers," Kirin considered between mouthfuls. "If they haven't noticed there's some weird s**t going on by now, then they're too clueless to be much help. And there's also the chance they're either behind the weird s**t, or in on it... though you'd know the exact chances of that better than I would."

Andeon returned, having finally scored food off Fallon. Kirin tensed, then slowly relaxed as Andeon turned to his food instead of bugging Kirin some more. Thank god for bottomless stomachs and minds that could only focus on one thing at a time.

A light dusting of flour coated Fallon's fingertips, but not even a single powdery flurry landed on the counter, or on her shirt. Wasting product was the sign of a disorganized chef. Pulling out her whisk to whip the mixture, Fallon stared straight at Yvette, letting her muscle memory take over for the stirring work. "Fruit tarts are one of my favorite dessert items. I believe I will make one for myself too." And then they could eat together? That certainly seemed to be Fallon's plan, as resistant as Yvette might seem.

Pulling out two mini-pie pans with ruffled edges, Fallon quickly dumped the crust dough onto a flour-covered wooden board and rolled the mixture flat with her rolling pin. When that was done, she used a knife to eyeball the size of the pans, cutting out two identical circles and draping them over each metal frame. As she spoke, her fingers worked the edges, pushing the dough into the pie pan, "Fashion? Very nice. What is your aesthetic?" If Yvette loved clothing and fashion, then Fallon liked her even more. Granted, Fallon wasn't so much fashion forward as much as she was just someone who had a rigidly defined sense of style. For Fallon, that meant a kind of Stepford Wife meets Mod meets Librarian aesthetic with editor-style heels and subtle makeup -- always done up in muted shades of purple, blue, green, gray, and cream. Still, it would be nice to see Yvette's work. Perhaps their style choices intersected at some points?

The conversation about teachers being evil lingering behind her caught Fallon's attention for a moment. She did not say anything, just pursed her lips and then went back to the crust, sprinkling a handful of seasoning onto the flattened crust and popping them both in the oven for a few minutes. Kirin was rattling off conspiracy theories, and despite all the strange things that had happened to her, Fallon could not will herself to believe it. She was much more satisfied believing that it had all been hallucinations on her part. It was certainly a better outcome than having to recognize that her organized world was being manipulated by someone other than her.

Abstract? That could certainly mean a number of things. "That's a bit nebulous," Fallon said, crossing to the oven to pull out the half-crisped mini-pie crusts. In another bowl, she had mixed up a sweet cheese cake and yogurt concoction, along with a few more secret ingredients, and grabbing a flat rubber utensil, she began to scrape a portion of it into each crust in long, practiced strokes. "So are you avant-garde? A visionary? Are you designing elegant dresses out of toothpicks and wadded up newspaper?" The comment was made with a smile, draining out any edge of sarcasm. Fallon was intrigued by more progressive designs, but she had little desire to wear them. She stuck to her own code.

Emptying most of the contents of the bowl into the molds, Fallon crossed closer to Yvette, setting it down between them. She grabbed a spoon and held one out to the purple-haired girl. "Would you like to try the filling? I usually prefer people wait for the finished product, but this filling is a particular favorite of mine." As if to prove it, Fallon grabbed another spoon and scooped up a small chunk of the creamy mixture, popping it into her mouth. "It's quite good, I think." The mixture would need a moment to set in the crust before Fallon placed it back in the oven. Feeding Yvette seemed like a good way to pass the time, even if she wasn't literally putting the food in her mouth. The clean spoon dangled in the air between them, and Fallon waited patiently for Yvette to accept it.

Fallon did not want to accept 'no' for an answer. She tilted her head to one side, dipped the clean spoon into the filling, and held it up to Yvette. "Please," she said, her smile frozen, "I insist." She said nothing else, oblivious to all conversation around her. Fallon simply held the spoon gently in one hand and waited for Yvette to do as she was told.

The two tarts needed a few more minutes to set before she baked them. It should be enough time to get Yvette to try the filling. It really was delicious, and Fallon had no desire to be snubbed. The rest of the room continued to tick by, some worrying about nonsense dreams and others worrying about hallucinated monsters.

Terrible, really, that they felt the need to continue this conversation. Fallon certainly refused to add anything to it except the occasional annoyed glance between shared moments with Yvette.

Feeling utterly defeated, she didn't say a word. All she did was mutely open her mouth a tiny bit. Her eyes once again were avoiding direct eye contact, now glancing to the side rather than to the floor. She felt like such a pushover.