Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was a Saturday morning in Destiny City, which meant one thing for chef-savant Fallon: the fresh market. It had begun as a hobby for an outcropping of hippies decades ago, but the fresh market had swelled in population since then. A wide range of produce and fruit could be found in the makeshift tents and tables that littered the park at the center of the city. In all her time at Barren Pines, Fallon had never missed a single one.

Today was no different.

Picking through the sparsely crowded grassy walkways, Fallon smiled politely at all the vendors, blatantly ignoring their shouts for her to approach. No -- she could spot a rotten fruit or an old cucumber from a mile away. She had no interest in giving her patronage to someone who would disrespect a product in such a way. Dragging a wheeled bag cart behind her, Fallon appraised each stand with an educated eye. Her favorite vendor was always saved for last, but Fallon made sure to check out each and every stand for a diamond in the rough. Just last week she had found a wonderful Creole woman who sold some of the best okra she had ever tasted. Fallon was remiss to find that the woman was not here this Saturday, but she had dealt with it accordingly, trying out the okra of another vendor instead. It didn't smell as earthy, but she would have to make do.

Tucking one hand in the pocket of her pale purple cardigan, Fallon appeared more like a school teacher than a student. Her fitted gray dress and black leggings paired nicely with a set of silvery-gray editor-style pumps. Not the most practical wear for walking through grass, but Fallon would not let her immaculate style falter over a little inclement walking. No, she would wear her pumps through inches of snow if need be. Raking a hand through her neatly combed hair, she wore a look of bemusement, eyes evaluating each produce stand as if it were on trial.

Moving through the aisles, Fallon noticed a cute blond girl in a gray sweat jacket. There was something a little clueless about her; perhaps it was just that she was looking at a stand full of sub-par fruit. That simply was not acceptable. No cute girl would be duped into buying bad product on Fallon's watch. Dragging her cart behind her, Fallon slid up next to Melinda, slipping her hand over the other girl's and taking the apple from her.

"You don't want these," she said quietly, hoping not to alert the vendor who was chatting with another customer just to the right of them. "She claims they're organic, but they aren't. Here, let me show you." Fallon reached for Melinda's other hand and grabbed the other apple. She held both up, turning them and searching for something unseen. After a moment, she said, "There." A manicured nail pointed at a spot on the apple. "Do you see that, the little oval-identation? That is from where the manufacturer's sticker was. She buys these at a grocery store, peels off the stickers, and then sells them marked-up here as 'organic' produce." If Melinda looked closely enough, she would be able to see the remnants of the sticker glue even.

Placing both apples down, Fallon smiled over at the vendor. "If you'd like, I can take you to the best stand for apples. I can vouch for the vendor. I never buy apples from anyone else." Glancing in the direction of his stand, she noted a short line of people huddled around it, other converts of Fallon's. The man had begun to give her half-price on all of her produce for the sheer amount of business she ended up bringing him every Saturday. Fallon had already been to his stand that morning, but she would gladly return if it meant talking with the blond girl for a bit longer. Not to mention she really loathed the vendor who Melinda was contemplating buying from that morning.

Keeping a pleasant smile, Fallon shifted her weight, waiting for Melinda to either come with her or politely refuse. She tried to look as charming as possible, a few white teeth poking out from beneath a lightly-glossed lip.

Fallon glanced down to Melinda's hand and smiled again. Manners, oh how she loved them. Extending her own hand, she offered a gentle squeeze. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Melinda," she said, tilting her head to one side slightly. "I'm Fallon. Fallon Novette-Naim. The stand we are looking for is just this way." Sweeping one hand outward, she gestured toward the end of the aisle and started off at a leisurely pace. No need to rush a pleasant interaction.

A few of the regulars passed by and nodded to Fallon. She was pretty well known around the market. It wasn't often that a 15-year-old girl hung around a fresh market and spouted obscure gourmet knowledge to all passer by. She was an oddity, but a welcome one. Sidestepping a woman and her toddler, Fallon flashed magenta eyes over to Melinda. "Are you looking to prepare a dish with these apples? Or eat them raw?" she asked, shifting the cart behind her to avoid a hole.

Fallon let her free hand dangle beside her, the other steering the cart that followed behind them. It was a nice, cool day -- perfect for a bike ride. Too bad the dark-haired girl was not really the biking type. She wasn't adverse to exercise, but she hated feeling unkempt, which always resulted after any sort of exertion of energy. On occasion, she might go for an early morning run, but those instances were few and far between.

"Yes, I see the bikers a lot," she said, her own noncommittal way of avoiding her feelings toward the activity. "I'm here every Saturday morning, but for this," she added, gesturing to the market all around them. Hm, it might be nice to know someone who frequented the park around the time that she did, especially someone as polite as Melinda. Steering the question back toward food, Fallon asked, "Have you ever tried a vanilla-infused apple? I like to do it with the granny-smiths. It tones down the sour bite and finishes nicely with a vanilla after taste. A lovely blending of flavors." She'd be happy to show Melinda how to make one. It was rather easy. She could either cut the apple to slices and marinate it in the vanilla-infused sauce, or she could use a cooking needle to inject the flavor into the apple. Fallon liked to add a little citrus to the injection to soften up the pith of the apple and allow the vanilla to really permeate it. The stand loomed up ahead, but Fallon did not rush, placing one heeled foot in front of the other and glancing over to Melinda.

While Fallon could appreciate the company of a fellow chef, she preferred to be around those who knew quite a bit less than she did. With another chef, there was always competition in the kitchen, and Fallon quite simply could not share her space. And she wouldn't. When she was a child, her father tried to encourage her to befriend another little girl who was in her cooking class. They got along just fine in class, but the first time the girl came over, she tried to rearrange Fallon's spices. Fallon responded by shoving her into the wall so hard that the girl got a broken nose. They never spoke again, and Fallon's father moved her to another cooking class.

So Melinda's cluelessness in the kitchen only made her more adorable. "The kitchen space isn't for everyone," she said, smiling. Very few people who believed that they were good cooks actually were. It appeased Fallon that Melinda did not claim to be. Still, Fallon wasn't really a great teacher; she was better at just feeding others. When she tried to teach, she would always just take over completely, doing the task right so that the person could watch. "You should try the infused apple. I could make one for you." Her offer was paired with a light laugh, more of a genial noise than a response to anything funny. She pressed two fingers to her lips and listended to Melinda. Apple pie? Hah. Child's play. Fallon herself preferred to make tarts, but she was happy to oblige any wish. "It isn't rude at all. Cooking is what I do best. An apple pie, yes." She laughed, amused that Melinda might even question how good she was. "I am excellent at cooking just about everything." The statement was a little haughty, but Fallon believed it to be true. And most people who tasted her food had to agree.

Sensing an opportunity for further time with Melinda, she ventured, "Would you like me to make one for you? I would be perfectly happy to do it." She hadn't volunteered to help Melinda, just to do it for her, but she would be perfectly fine if the girl sat and watched, maybe made some idle chatter.

(( Does Melinda have a British accent? ))

Melinda was quickly skyrocketing up Fallon's internal list of people she liked.

The precious uncertainty, the note of homesickness, the gentle dismissing of a polite offer -- it made the blond girl more and more endearing. Not to mention that Fallon's smile brightened considerably when she heard that Melinda was from England herself. "My family lives in France so, trust me, I understand." Thin fingers touched at her throat. "I don't have the accent; I wasn't born there. I lived there for four years when I was younger." Fallon missed France, the whole atmosphere. The choice to come to Barren Pines hadn't been a terribly hard one though. Her parents fought a lot, and she was tired of living with them. If returning to the country of her birth was the solution, then Fallon was happy to take it. Still, she could understand the longing in Melinda's eyes.

"I will make you an apple pie. And an infused apple," she said, her words filled with certainty. If food would make Melinda smile, then Fallon was happy to deliver it. A more selfish part of her was certain that whatever pie she created would in fact be better than the one that Melinda remembered. "Really, I would be happy to do it. You can just sit and relax, and I will create a buffet of apple dishes," she continued, spreading her hands wide to emphasize the volume of food.

The two girls were within a few feet of the produce stand, but Fallon stopped walking, turning to face Melinda. There was a line anyway; they'd have to wait. "I'm serious. I know we just met so I apologize if this seems rather sudden, but if a homecooked apple pie will brighten your day, I would be happy to make it for you. Cooking is what I do." It would be reasonable for Melinda to be a little hesitant about the insistence of a stranger, but Fallon was giving off all the signs of a perfectly normal girl. She smiled again, hoping that her crisp manner of dress and generally helpful attitude might sway Melinda's usual cautiousness.

The accent that had eluded Fallon before now rang clearly with each spoken word from Melinda. How had she not noticed it before? It was a charming accent. Perhaps the pretty face had been distracting. Hm, it was possible. "I would show you around," she said, nodding. Of course, this would never happen. It was like talking about a fantasy vacation with your childhood friend. Fallon hated airplanes and tended to have psuedo-panic attacks every time she rode on one. It was not something she wanted to subject herself to for a long time. She didn't even go home for holidays, just sent cards to her parents. They sent them back, but both her mother and father were too busy bickering with each other to worry too much about their daughter across the pond. It wasn't for a lack of love; they were just very absent-minded people.

If Melinda was going to clean, then Fallon would have to do this at Melinda's house. She couldn't handle some one else in her space, even if it was just the kitchen at Barren Pines. "Perhaps at your place? I go to Barren Pines, and we have a community kitchen. It's not always well kept, and people are frequently in and out of there." Besides, Fallon was interested in getting to know Melinda, not in feeding her entire floor which would invariably happen. Besides, it might make Melinda more comfortable if they were going to her place, as opposed to heading off to a stranger's home.

The line had started to clear, and Fallon gently nudged Melinda forward. The vendor smiled widely at her and held up a finger, signaling that he would be over to talk to her just as soon as he finished with the old woman standing in front of him. "He has the best apples. Really. Have your pick," she said, stepping aside to give Melinda a better look. It was a smattering of reds, yellows, and greens -- apples of every shape and color. Each basket had a tiny sign affixed to it to explain the flavors of each apple. Fallon didn't need to read them, but she respected Mr. Harris (the charming middle-aged vendor) for having them.

Eying the apples Melinda selected, Fallon picked up a couple more, including a few Granny Smiths. "It's a nice school. I get a room to myself, which I prefer. I'm very particular about my spaces," she said, a bit of a warning to Melinda. When they got to the kitchen, she'd have to be a little more clear about just how particular she was. It could wait.

Mr. Harris saw Fallon selecting apples and dashed over, his heavy cheeks flushed. "My girl, you are an angel. I don't know your little friend, but I hope she knows what a good girl you are. Take the apples -- on the house. I insist." A group of two women and their children approached, and Mr. Harris darted away just as quickly, offering a harried, "Nice to meet you!" in Melinda's direction. Fallon laughed and started to put all the apples in her little bag cart.

"He's a very nice man," she said, though it was obvious. Before Melinda had much of a chance to object to the blatant showing of kindness, Fallon was headed away from the stall. "I need to pick up a few more things for the pie, but the Crystal Academy sounds nice. I've never been inside, but I hear you've got some nice furnishings." Fallon hoped that covered kitchen appliances too. She had contemplated going to the all-girls school before applying to Barren Pines, but her family had been hit a bit hard in the last major dip of the stock market. Barren Pines was free and prestigious too. It was a no-brainer.

In a flash, Fallon was darting from stand to stand, making sure Melinda was keeping up. Before long, the little bag cart was full of ingredients. Fallon planned to make everything from scratch; this was going to be an amazing apple pie. "I took a cab here," she said. If Melinda had taken another form of transportation, they might have to use it. Fallon preferred cabs to the subway, but she would walk if it was close enough.