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 Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 1:36 am
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Webday, 7 PM. That was the date that Gene and Mort were to have their second meeting, another "not-date." Or maybe it was a date - she had gone out of her way and learned how to cook a three course dinner for him. It was partially for her as well, actually, seeing as she needed to know how to cook if she wanted to run a cafe. A roast was currently in the oven, a nice slab of pork with white wine and honey drizzled all over it, the squash soup was still simmering, and the spookie dough was in the fridge.Thank Jack for GrueTube, or she'd never know what terms like 'glaze', 'baste', or 'parboil
meant without the helpful chef tutorials. She wanted more hand on experience, however. She'd try to hook up with this Xiu that Mort said he's tell her about.
It was 4 PM. There were three hours left until the boil was supposed to arrive.She still had time to put the minis in the closet, do her hair, and put on an outfit. She took her time with all of it, wanting to look perfect. Her hair was put up in its usual bun, but she added a few loose strands to frame her face. Her outfit of the night was a pale blue tunic with black leggings and a white belt.
Candles were lit on the table, the roast was put in a serving dish, and the spookies were now in the oven. Now she played the waiting game, fantasizing the Zomboil coming in sharply dressed with a bouquet of roses.
She was such a cheeseball.
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Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 9:16 am
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And she was going to be sorely, sorely disappointed.
He had a feeling this was going to turn out bad. Very bad. Like horrendously bad. His last meeting with Belladonna had been all over the place emotionally, and Mort wasn't sure he could handle another day like that. With the witch it had been confusing and unclear, though. With Gene, it was obvious: a second not-date that he was grimly certain would be a second real one. And where that would take him, Jack only knew.
He just wanted an escape from the whispers. Several days of maddening voices and nightmares were enough to drive him up the wall. Maybe that meal would be like a deterrent - maybe it would be like with Bells, where a ghoul's presence was all that was needed to keep the whispers away. Consequences be damned.
Oh, how consequences would damn him later for it.
Lanna perked when she heard her master move for the first time in an hour, bones creaking and joints popping as he fought off the rigor mortis. There was little thought put into what to wear: jeans, coat, shirt, shoes. The foxfire still avoided him ever since that first incident in which he fried half her body, and she shied away as Mort passed. And at the moment the zomboil didn't care; at the moment it was all about him. Eventually he took a comb to his hair and managed to get it back into a small ponytail, fingers grazing over the stubble developing on his chin. He'd keep it - Bells had liked it, maybe Gene would too.
The walk to the ghoul's place was uneventful and barely registered on his mind. Mort really was a zombie in every sense of the word as he entered the weeping willow-filled graveyard. He checked his phone as he walked down the steps into the crypt: 7:10 PM. Close enough. Gene was correct, though, in that he could smell the delicious food from afar, and it led him eventually to her dorm, whereupon he knocked several times and tried not to look as hungry as he felt.
He could not, however, hide the exhaustion.
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Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 4:52 pm
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Her heart went all sorts of aflutter once the knocking was heard, and she scrambled to make sure everything was just perfect. Candles were still burning, spookies still baking, and the roast was still piping hot. Good. She played with a few strands of hair, bit her lip, did a little antsy dance, and then, finally, opened the door.
What met her on the other side was not at all what she had hoped for, and slightly less that what she had actually expected. She felt overdressed... or maybe the boil was just under dressed. Yes, Mort was under dressed. She pouted more blatantly than she should have, but still pulled the boil into a tight hug. His scruff itched her chin, and not in a nice way. She quirked an eyebrow during the hug, inwardly sighing. She needed to teach this boil about hygiene, apparently. "Good to see you, Scruffy. Glad you found you're way." She could see the exhaustion, and led him to her couch. "Sit for a while. I'll get us drinks."
She came back from the kitchen with two glasses of nothing, and a variety of juices. "I've got pumpkin, blood, moss puree, and a nightshade lavender blend." As she poured the drink he asked for, she continued to scrutinize his image mentally. His hair was getting long, but he wasn't keeping it well. That was a problem, too.
Unaware of exactly what was going on in his head, the ghoul decided she'd bring up the subject of personal grooming later. Because oblivious Doppelganger is oblivious.
"Tell me a bit about your trip. How were the classes?"
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Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 5:08 pm
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Mort followed her directional tugs and all but flopped onto the couch, too tired to say hi, too tired to return her hugs, too tired to mention he was sorry about the attire, and too tired to be sick of himself for being too tired. Hell, he had begun to melt into the couch when Gene returned with drink options. "E-Er. Pumpkin's fine," he told her, taking his glasses off so that he could rub at his eyes and ward off sleep. He could not have a breakdown, he just couldn't. Yet even still Mort kept imagining her pale hands morphing into bestial claws, her voice warping into a damning shriek.
What if this is another dream? the zomboil thought with some paranoia. Would this lull him into a false sense of security, only to have his nightmare return to schedule? As he forced himself into a sitting position, Mort couldn't help but shake a little, his hands knotting themselves in his lap. "Was . . . Was okay t-t-til Hunters came." Had she not heard the murmurs throughout school or about the new Lost Clans on their doorstep? He couldn't even recall the fun he had had the two weeks prior, only the bloody mess of war and Insanity that still had its hooks in him.
"Y-You?" Mort vaguely recalled having sent her a text sometime during War without a response.
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 2:49 am
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The Doppelganger pursed her lips in worry over Mort's behavior as she poured his pumpkin juice, giving him another once over. His body language was very sad, exhausted, restrained. Something was wrong. Was he still having nightmares? Hers had ended days ago, much to the relief of her coworker and customers. There had been a stint where her manager had told her not to work the register, due to complaints about her not being very friendly. It was better for her now, but Mort seemed to still be plagued. Other students, she'd heard, were having similar nightmares. What had exactly happened?
"Hold the phone. Hunters?" She gave him the glass of juice and sat next to him, nightshade and lavender juice in her own hands. She turned her hips to face towards him, still examining his manner. No wonder everyone was like this. Hunter encounters never led to people being chipper."Why in the name of all that's unholy were Hunters at the Horsemen islands?"
Secretly, she was glad she'd not been on the trip. She wouldn't have been prepared for a Hunter attack then. She didn't even know if she was prepared now, but she did have two fights under her belt. Two probably wasn't enough, though.
Right, Mort. "Otherwise, I've been fine. I figured out how to phase while everyone was away, worked, same sold same old." She stopped to take a sip of her juice, still a bit freaked about the Hunters. "I suppose that's why the texts stopped, then? The Hunter attack?"
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 11:23 am
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Before he knew it, he was thinking in an unusually tart manner, No, the texts stopped because you didn't answer. Surprised at himself, Mort took a draught of pumpkin juice and enjoyed the sweet taste for a moment. No breakdown. No breakdown, damn it.
"They w-wanted get back at Horsemen for something from past, methinks," he answered after swallowing, eyes down into the contents of his cup. "N-Not sure. All know is one moment fighting, next minute big e-explosion. Isles destroyed. What's left here as Lost Clans. N' . . . Insanity." The zomboil ran a hand through his hair almost nervously, as if invoking the name would cause something to happen. Bestial claws. Screeches. Red staining white.
Gene's normal life rang almost hollow in his ears. She was not the only one who was glad she didn't go. "S'good to hear," Mort commented in a low tone, managing to pry his gaze off the drink to look at her. "D-Did not mention had before. Second year now?"
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 3:53 pm
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"That's....awful." A sudden crashing, grey guilt plummeted its way into Gene, festering there and worming its oozing tentacles into the recesses of her heart. The Horsemen were...dead. Gone. Obliterated by the Hunters. There were survivors, but... the clans. All gone. Her stomach clenched, as though one of her own shape-shifted claws had gripped it in a vice grip, and began to twist. She had put so much blame on them for... well, everything. Multiple deaths, a lot of trauma, and some hurt feelings were at the forefront of the list, and they were partially justified. All other inconveniences in her life though? No, not okay. She had even told herself she would personally apologize to the Conquest head for blaming him for her...Fear Puberty, as the doctor had put it.
She set her juice down, excused herself, and made off to the restroom. For about fifteen minutes, she bawled. For another five, she sobbed. Then she spent another two minutes reapplying make-up and redoing her hair. Finally, she came out with eyes still slightly red and puffy, arms still shaking. She sat next to Mort, picked up her drink, and took a shaky sip.
"Sorry...really sorry about that. So, the Horsemen are dead for the most part. Wow." Cupping her head in her heads and massaging her temples, she swiveled to face Mort once again. "Insanity. What's Insanity?" Another sip, and a long sigh.
"Yeah, I'm a second year now. I ended up phasing through Rage-san when I fought him, so I went to see a doctor about it. He told me I was going though, uh, Fear puberty and needed to learn how to adapt to my Fear changing."
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 4:32 pm
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Fifteen minutes of solitude with his thoughts. None were pleasant. What was he doing here? How could he sit here knowing Gene was going to give him a full meal when he had . . . with Bells . . .
Take and take. That was the little zombie culture Mort had: cravings, and slow motion, and taking. Adapting to change was not one of them. Zombies didn't need to adapt; they had the endurance of the undead and the stamina to boot. The only thing that could stop them for the most part was a shot to the head.
Yet when he sat there in silence, ears straining to hear anything but the whispers, he heard it. Soft sobs. It wasn't a shot to the head, but the sound sent something sharp through his core anyway and made him freeze. The minutes stretched on, and though he was certain this was reality and not a dream anymore, Mort couldn't help but get antsy. Ghouls crying were never things he knew how to deal with. When Gene returned at last (mostly put together, thank Jack), he caught the red tinge of her eyes and felt a stab of intense guilt. It wasn't his fault this time, but one day . . . maybe . . .
Insanity at its core was simple, but Mort found himself putting an arm about her shoulders for support anyway. "S'fine. You're fine. Insanity's like . . . I-Is like disease," he began. "Makes you gray n' blue, f-forget what you are. All wanting is Home. But scratches at insides, m-makes doubt, paranoid, whispers when awake n' asleep . . ." Should he tell her about the nightmares?
No. Mort didn't want to be a downer the entire time. Maybe he could pass off his exhaustion as just having trouble sleeping and let the umbrella term fill in the blanks for him.
"It . . makes glad you didn't go," the zomboil said in conclusion. "Interesting cultures, yes, but terrible turnout in end." He could have gone on about it like he had with Bells, but . . . Mort didn't want to toss those concerns on Gene as well. He already had enough guilt concerning the ghouls.
At the least he managed to manifest a small smile at the term "FEAR puberty". "Yeah, is . . . well, hope gets better soon. Little work is needed. W-Well, 'cept me, still have work at moving limbs, but, er, g-getting better. So, ah, s-see really did learn how to cook?"
Normalcy. He wanted that feeling back.
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Carhop Cavalier rolled 1 6-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-6)
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 5:21 pm
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There it was - a comforting arm of protection. The guilt beast whined sullenly as it was being temporarily ignored in favor of the feeling of brief comfort derived from the boil's gesture. She relaxed into the arm, closing her eyes for the time being. Breathe, ghouly, just breathe. It's not your fault, the Hunters are to blame. Yes, the Hunters are to blame; always the Hunters. She breathed out, and looked the boil in they eyes - a leveled glance. "Okay. So, objective number one is to help these Horsemen re-establish? Or is it wait until everyone is done mourning for the clans?" Her lips twisted for a second, before she moved on to the topic of Insanity.
"I take it that this Insanity is the cause of everyone's nightmares, then? They're all over Groanspring - the talks of nightmares. I've had a few myself..." She wouldn't elaborate, no way. Telling Mort that he was subjected to terrible deaths in her dreams was not going to help the situation at all. Instead, she picked fluff off his jacket as he continued talking. Just keep focused...
"Oh, so no more groping, then?" She meant it as a sweet little tease, but it came out harsher than expected. Whoops. "And yes, I did learn a few recipes! Come, sit."
She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to the table, pulled out a seat for him and then for herself, and made her way into the kitchen. There, she ladled a good helping of soup into two bowls, garnished them with some moldy crackers and a spoon, and brought them to the table. "Appetizer; Squash Soup. Apparently it's a traditional dish...who knew? Dig in!" She took a spoonful, blew on it very daintily and lady-like, and poured it into her mouth.
Eh...maybe she should have splurged on some more shredded mandrake and fire flakes.
((ROLL: 4
Taste: Above average; could use more spices))
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Posted: Tue May 08, 2012 6:12 pm
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In spite of the nice feeling he got as Gene relaxed, he winced visibly when she mentioned that incident. Even though time had passed, the rogue hand had . . . not been one of his better moments. Worse, when she mentioned having nightmares so casually, his face paled. Was Gene just putting on a face, or had he underestimated how strong she was? Maybe she had the luck to actually stop the nightmare in its tracks.
There wasn't any resistance as he was pulled to the table; he was busy trying to figure out what to say to that. "M'sorry you got dragged in, then," Mort settled on, his brows knitting together as she brought him soup. "Th-They're not too bad, are they?"
He had the weirdest mental image in his mind: a man comes home from a long day to be greeted with dinner, and the day would be talked about as they ate what the woman had cooked. It was almost like playing house as a married couple.
Following suit, the zomboil spooned some soup to his mouth after making sure it wouldn't burn on the way down. "Mrrr . . . not bad." Could it do with more flavor? Sure. Was he going to say that? Hell no. Mort continued to feed off the soup in small spoonfuls, letting the taste grow on him with each swallow. "D-Didn't have to make food," he said once the bowl was about halfway empty, licking his lips. "Know you said you would, but . . ." A hug would have the same effect, he finished mentally.
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Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 2:13 am
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"Well, they've become less bad. I don't wake up screaming anymore." She sipped at her soup, inwardly scrunching up her nose. It wasn't a failure, sure, but it wasn't the best either. She knew what it needed, and would add notes to the recipe she'd jotted down later. Maybe she'd make this soup for the cafe, or maybe for Mort, or even for new friends. She'd already made a better bond with King, maybe he'd like to come over...
The guilt beast drove a tentacle into her heart, finding new prey. How dare she think of another boil while with Mort. Terrible. What an awful ghoul.
Shut up and listen to your date. He had complimented the food, hallelujah, and was now...flattering her? Saying she didn't need to go to the trouble? Something like that. "Morty, when I say I'm going to do something, I do it. A person's word is quite valuable, after all." Which was why she would never, ever, do anything for a Demon.
"Would you have preferred me not to make food?"She didn't mean to sound hurt, but it definitely came out that way, because she was slightly slighted by the comment.
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Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 10:13 am
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Carhop Cavalier rolled 1 6-sided dice:
1
Total: 1 (1-6)
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Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 3:57 pm
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"Oh." Well, who felt like the biggest jerk in the room at the moment? Gene did. Ugh, she'd made such a messy jerk of herself. Of course nothing was coming out right - he'd just gone through a terrible experience; watched a terrible genocide take place and couldn't do anything to stop it. How on earth could he not be going through some form of trauma? Insensitive, stupid ghoul! She inwardly head desked, and physically frowned, looking contemplatively at her silhouette in the soup bowl. Dumb, dumb ghoul.
"Th-thank you for those words, Mort. I'm sorry for snapping, I...there's not really any reasonable explanation." She sighed, pushed herself out from the table, and went around to grab Mort's bowl. "Hopefully the roast is better." She put the bowls in the sink, then cut off some meaty slabs of the pork, and put them on plates. There were some potatoes and carrots as well, and a few mushrooms even sprinkled in.
She set Mort's plate in front of him, then sat herself down across from him. "Company is the best medicine, I say. I'm just happy to hear you made it out..." She unfurled a cloth napkin that had been sitting on the table, and tucked it into the front of her tunic. "Best emulate me, this could get messy."
She forked a piece of meat, and put it into her mouth tentatively. Her eyes bugged out at the initial taste, and her face proceeded to scrunch up. Raw. Disgustingly raw. What had she done? The wine was still alcoholic, and the honey hadn't even glazed. The potatoes were still hard as rocks, and the carrots not sweet. The Mushrooms? Terrible.
Oh sweet jack, why.
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Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 4:36 pm
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"Mrrr." Relieved, Mort managed a smile in reply. "S'fine. Besides, how could miss out on food n' good company? N-Not even Hunters could stop." Ah, and here was the roast to tip things off to the better end! He tried his best not to lick his lips as he followed Gene's example and tucked the napkin into the collar of his shirt. Oh, it was so hard not to just grab the meat and tear it apart in his bare hands, ripping off strips as he pleased . . . But Mama's teachings held firm and he reached for utensils instead.
Carrots were left untouched, potatoes were forgotten, and mushrooms were nudged away to make more room for the meat. Unable to help himself, Mort cut a large piece and chomped off part of it from there, letting the juices seep in and around his mouth. Bitter with some tang, and very, very soft to chew. He seemed to hum with pleasure as he swallowed and tore into the rest of the meat hanging on his fork, oblivious to the ghoul's faces.
"Mrrrrrrr~ What is roast of?" Mort asked, contentedly cutting himself a new slice. "Tastes great!" Again it could do with some flavor (maybe some blood), but if there was anything he was grateful for it was that the meat wasn't tough to chew; Mort's teeth were liable to break if he overworked them.
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Posted: Thu May 10, 2012 3:58 am
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What?
Just...what? He...he enjoyed this piece of terrible crap she'd somehow managed to concoct? It was disgusting, raw, lukewarm, and...oh. It was raw. Gene pieced it together, and inwardly sighed. Of course; Mort was a zombie, of course he'd love raw meet. Duuuh, Gene, duh. Well, she somehow managed to dodge that massive bullet. More like a cannon, if she were being honest.
"You know...I'm actually kinda satisfied from my soup. Would you like my piece?" And the rest of this giant roast? Please take it, oh Jack please take it. She wanted that atrocity out of her room, please. Gene's whole body fell into a relaxed position for a while, watching the boil eat. "It's pork, with white wine and honey." He didn't have a blood stream for the alcohol to seep into, did he? Could zombies even get drunk? Please let the answer to the be no. The world really didn't need a Mort that was drunk and beaten down with island trauma.
"So...Morty, you wouldn't mind if I...helped you make some changes to your room? I mean..." It was messy. Incredibly messy. How did he even live in there? Utterly nasty. She was straight as a board once again, really hoping that the question wouldn't set him off.
It just...had been bugging her ever since they had pizza.
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