[PRP] December 3rd (Harrison x Jordan)

[Toshihiko Two]

They'd finally got a mission in civilization. And if New York had been under attack by Godzilla or creepy gator monsters, Harrison could have stopped by a gas station and picked up snack cakes and a few boxes of fancy condoms before heading home.

Unfortunately, it was the Horsemen, who liked to leave everything full of bugs and diseases. And a bunch of plague-infested bakery products was the last thing anyone wanted.

It had been the same way in India. And China. And all the other available missions were in long-abandoned haunted places in the middle of nowhere.

So here it was, December 3rd, and Harrison had nothing for Rep's birthday.

"Should have called the earring an early birthday present and made it a day," he half grumbled. He had recruited Jordan to make a cake, which he knew nothing about, beyond vague guesses at dumping water together with a box of cake mix. Which they didn't have. So he'd gotten a bunch of chocolate bars from the vending machines and anything that was sweet- powder to make chocolate milk, sugar, even applesauce- with the hope that they could at least make something that looked like a cake.

There were a few bakers he knew- Before and Ofie, for starters, but none of them liked Rep and he was determined to put together something anyhow.

"I got what I could find. Hard to believe it's already December."

He unloaded the haul onto the counter of the communal kitchen. They had a private kitchen back in their room, but there was more a chance of keeping it a surprise, this way. And less of a chance of Rep eating the ingredients. After sorting the sugary s**t into like-piles, he went over to play with the communal boombox sitting on the counter.

"...You in the mood for Christmas music?" he asked Jordan.  

[prolixity]

Jordan surveyed the motley selection of sweet things on the counter with some trepidation. He didn't know how to make a cake either, though he had a vague idea that it involved flour and sugar and eggs and other stuff. Milk? Maybe? Did they even have milk? Or eggs? "It doesn't feel like it's been that long," he replied absently. "The time's gone pretty fast."

He measured his life in "before" and "after" now, he mused, no longer in days, weeks, months. Before and after the island, before and after the end of the world (and consequently, the start of everything), before and after the Sahara. Maybe that reflected an essential truth: the important part was that you kept going after big things happened, bad or good.

This was a relatively minor big thing, as big things went, but important nonetheless, and neither he nor Harrison had been able to get out to get a present. They could do this, at least. Hopefully the cake would come out edible. He opened the dry goods cabinet and got out the flour. Baking powder? What was that? Did they need it? Sniffing the can produced no helpful information, only a need to sneeze. He put the can back hastily and shut the cabinet.

"Achoo - sure, why not? I don't associate horrible trauma with Christmas music yet," he answered lightly. "I got the flour."