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Destroying a kitchen was akin to punching baby Jesus in the face.
Okay, maybe not Jesus. Fallon is Jewish. Let's say Baby Moses.

Leaving a kitchen in a state of disarray, marring that most sacred of places, was punishable by death -- or at least a pointy fork to the hand. Unfortunately, Fallon had not managed to catch the evildoers in the act. Normally, she only used the second floor kitchen, her own personal Mecca, but today, three girls huddled around the stove trying to roast marshmallows or some other such nonsense. After waiting for a few minutes, Fallon grew impatient and decided to search out the first floor kitchen. The boys didn't cook as much (GENDER STEREOTYPES AHOY) and so it was usually empty. When she stepped into the room, however, she had to suppress a gasp and the inexplicable need to count the number of eyelashes on each eye.

In a flash, she dashed back to her room, grabbing the plastic basket of cleaning supplies she kept handy. Bright yellow gloves covered her hands from fingertip to elbow, and a pale blue surgical mask covered her mouth and nose. It was going to be an intense thirty minute deep clean -- but then Cameron had shown up. Great. "Cameron," she said, less of a hello and more of a what are you doing here please go away. Fallon was obviously in cleaning mode, and Cameron was smearing some kind of terrible spread of probably more terrible bread. Double great.

Pulling the mask off of her face to dangle around her neck, Fallon crossed to the table, setting down her cleaning kit. "Are you the one who did this to the kitchen?" she asked, accusation piercing each word. "I would like to clean it. I need to clean it." It didn't matter that this wasn't her kitchen. It was a kitchen and therefore deserved a hell of a lot more respect than this.

Fallon tightened her grip on the handle of the plastic cleaning bucket. "You did all of this making one putrid sandwich?" she asked, disbelief seeping into the words. A few crumbs on the counter, sure, but this kitchen was devastated. No, no, it was impossible. She knew Cameron decently well. Well enough. He wasn't a total disaster, was he? Shifting uncomfortably, Fallon pulled a bottle of all-purpose cleaner from the basket and spritzed the table. "This kitchen needs to be cleaned. And that sandwich is inedible." She found a sponge and began to scrub, flaking off the caked on food and sticky mystery juice. Gross.

"Please throw that sandwich out, and help me clean. I will make you lunch. A sandwich, if you like, but one that is much better than," she searched for the word, "...that." Pulling out a bottle of metal polish and a rag, she slid it in Cameron's direction. "You can use that on all the metal to bring back the shine. There is an extra pair of gloves in my basket." If Cameron had a hand in the devastation of the kitchen, then good manners said that he must help clean it. If he refused, Fallon would probably spray him with bleach. She didn't say this, but there was a hint of threat in her magenta eyes.

Taking another step away from Cameron, Fallon continued to work off the layers of grime on the table. She glanced up to him. "Cameron," she said, a note of mocking ringing in the name, "you are not my type." He wasn't even the right gender. Circling the table, Fallon continued to clean, scouring the table better than the cleaning staff probably did.

One eye flickered over to Cameron to check his work. "Make sure you lay the polish evenly. And get all the joints." There was nothing scathing in her voice, just a tip for him. A tip that wasn't really a tip. More of an edict. A silence fell over the room, and Fallon felt the pressure of her manners flare up. "How are you today, Cameron?" she asked, flashing him a tight smile as she worked at a particularly rough spot.

Crouching below the table, Fallon scrubbed the underside where fingers often touched, elbow popping in and out of sight. She sighed and brought her face above the table to look at Cameron. "I like girls, Cameron," she said, raising one eyebrow and retreating beneath the table. It started to rock as she continued to scrub. "I thought it was obvious." Her voice carried up from beneath the table, the top of her head swaying back and forth. When she stood, her rag was considerably dirtier. She dropped it into an empty cup in the cleaning caddy and pulled out another fresh one, crossing to the stove.

With a few pulls, she managed to get the burners out, removing the silver food catches underneath. "Can you do these too?" Fallon turned back to the stove, spritzing with the bottle and then scrubbing with the rag. After she had cleaned about half of the stove, she finally got around to his question. "I've been well, just trying to grow as a chef. I don't break hearts, Cameron. I just borrow them for a time. Girl hearts." Yep, she wanted to be crystal clear about her level of interest; Fallon felt no shame in her sexuality. It was not a guarded secret. She would say it such as easily to her best friend as to a stranger on the bus. Even her grandmother knew, even though that hadn't been the easiest conversation in the world. Fallon simply didn't believe in pretending. Arm working fast, she made quick progress over the counter, polishing in fast circles.

Fallon finished off the counter, wiping it down three times. When Cameron finished the catchalls, she grabbed them from him and reattached them. Thank God she'd already cleaned the oven before she went up to her room to get the cleaning caddy. That would have taken ages. "Cameron, please," she said, shooting him a scathing glance, "I don't want to have to clean up my own vomit too." It wasn't the first time Fallon had been propositioned for a threesome. Something about the word "lesbian" made most boys think "awesome, she likes both." No, that was certainly not the case.

Penises were gross. Deformed. Hideous.
And most boys were exactly the same.

She'd take a nice, pretty girl over that any day. And she'd take her alone. Fallon offered Cameron a laugh anyway. She realized that he was half-joking. A sick part of her wanted to pretend that she was all for it, cozy up to him, make him say how much he wanted it, and then laugh in his face. The control freak in her was... freaky? Maybe. She just liked to put people in their place, even though she tended to do it with a sweet smile. "It's not clean enough. Don't be sloppy. I can see spots on the legs of the table from here." Extending a manicured hand, she pointed to the closest leg. A smear of polish stood out plain as day. "You seem a little more charged than usual. Been a dry spell?" Even for Cameron, Fallon was a little surprised at his persistence on the topic. She glanced over to him in between wipes of the cabinet fronts.

Yes. Things had happened. Things had happened to Fallon. With a cringe, she remembered the blood in the sink in the kitchen with Kimmie, her heart beating steadily. She changed the subject. "Is there a particular girl who is the object of your affection?" she asked, moving her rag to the crevices of the counter. "I might be able to put in a good word." Fallon had no intention of following through on the answer, but it would keep the conversation away from the weird happenings in Barren Pines.

Weird happenings caused disruptions, which caused panic, which caused pain, which caused disaster. Fallon had no intention of recognizing that any of the dark and creepy things had happened at all. Nope, she would simply block it out, erase the memory until it no longer haunted her at night. Fallon would do almost anything to maintain the delicate balance between her compulsions and her normalcy. She had no intention of letting Cameron's curiosity destroy what little balance she had regained. Something was certainly afoot in Barren Pines, and Fallon Novette-Naim did not like it -- not one bit.

Fallon could relate to Cameron's sentiment, but she wouldn't say so. She was in love with women. Not all women, but a good handful of them. Her affections were fleeting and followed a strict three-week schedule of pursuance. Serenade was currently heading toward the end of her second week, but Fallon already had a dinner date lined up with her, even if Serenade didn't realize it.

Ignoring Cameron's flirtation, Fallon crossed back to the basket, dropping her cleaning stuff inside. If this was the kitchen on her floor, she would have been even more thorough, but it wasn't. And she didn't intend on staying long. "You want a sandwich, yes? Where are your ingredients?" If it had been Fallon's menu, all of this would already be taken care of, but she hadn't expected to run into someone. Most people were in class at the time.