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(PRP) Kitchen Bit--what? (Jordan x Taym) Goto Page: 1 2 [>] [»|]

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 2:34 am


Kitchens were like quiet streets and parks after dark; they were like run-down apartments that smelled like pot smoke and the moldy decay of the power having been turned off long ago. All places of intense familiarity, of a small level of nerve-soothing comfort. On the occasions Taym cleaned himself up and attempted to chip through the weeks, holding down work, it was nearly always by drifting from restaurant to restaurant. The restaurant industry was full of people like him, and he spoke the language. Spoke it too well, usually--ended up in places swankier than he was worth working at, or else in dives where his sneering disregard for the menu wore nerves thin almost as fast as his bad habits and unreliability.

The Deus kitchens weren't swanky at the best of times, and with the power out this was doubly true. No one was going to witness Taym's impressive knife skills or somewhat stomach-turning ability to break down a chicken into component parts in a couple of tense and busy minutes. Everyone was eating out of packets and, if they were lucky, the occasional can--but dishes piled up.

This was the sort of duty roster that came down to groups, and, dreading the inevitable expectation of polite socialization, he'd showed up early. He'd rather do it by himself and alone and give some lucky stranger an extra hour off than subject himself to another stupid round of "hey, you're new" small talk. In consequence, by the time he was supposed to be joined in the drudgery, he'd mowed through most of the prior shift's dishes. There was plenty left to do: surfaces to wipe down, plates to stack, garbage (an endless succession of brown MRE wrappers) to be gathered up and disposed of. But as he paused, breathing in the small comfort of familiar surroundings and stepping aside to lean against the wall and check his message-less phone, he hoped that whatever a*****e was supposed to show up to help would be at least somewhat grateful for the minimized to-do list.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 2:52 am


Kitchen duty was inescapable. Few people liked it, but it was going to turn up on your rotation sooner or later, and you went and did your job without complaint or you landed more of it, or even shittier jobs. At least, with the power down, kitchen duty consisted mostly of washing things and putting things away, and those were jobs Jordan didn't mind too much; the parts he actively disliked generally had to do with being involved in the actual cooking process.

When he walked into the kitchen, his eyes went first to the sinks for a general assessment of how much he and whoever was on duty with him were going to have to do. Much to his surprise, the sink was almost empty and the drying racks full. Either the previous shift had been spectacularly efficient, which he doubted, or the person on duty with him had showed up early and gotten to work. Neither of these seemed terribly likely, but the latter slightly more so. Jordan looked around to check who it was.

His eyebrows jumped when he saw Taym leaning against the wall, and several remarks flashed through his mind. He squashed them and settled for, "You've done a lot of this already."

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:04 am


Prolixity


He jumped, phone returned almost instantly to his pocket with the guilty instinct of old habit, before he remembered where he was and that he wasn't sneaking texts to girls between rounds at the sink, and that the person interrupting him wasn't the shift leader.

No. Worse. He realized who'd just addressed him and instantly cooled, fixing him with a detached, faintly-disgusted stare before moving to resume his work, coughing into his shoulder.

"I can finish it too," he said. "Enjoy your day off. You can spend--" he didn't finish, biting down on the comment. Every subsequent encounter with Rep had the effect of causing him further associative disgust with Jordan.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:09 am


It was something of a tempting offer, but both Jordan's sense of responsibility and the contrary quirk that popped up in his habits from time to time protested. "Thanks," he said, "but I'll stick around. Shouldn't you be the one taking off, now that you've done more than your share?"

He moved to pick up a towel and start drying and stacking plates. Over his shoulder he added, "You've made Ferros happy, anyway. He complains all day when he's been submerged in cold water for any length of time."

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:27 am


Prolixity


He wondered if he would ever stop finding it deeply unsettling when Hunters casually discussed their weapons as anything other than running commentary--as voices contributing to the conversation. He'd known an old woman who carried a doll, and had occasionally and alarmingly and casually referred to what "she" thought about something. The memory made him sick in the way that only intensely sad thoughts do, and it cropped up every time this situation arose, even though he knew the comparison was irrational. It also had the effect of making him uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was sharing headspace with someone who was on some level perceptive of her surroundings.

Does it bother you? he demanded.

Characteristically, he received only silence, and the silence had the last-straw effect of destroying his calm. He leaned one hand on the edge of the sink, brought the other up to cradle his forehead, a sudden movement of exhaustion.

"I'm glad someone ******** appreciates it," he said without moving. And then: "Belated thanks for stepping in on your girlfriend's murderous rampage, by the way."
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:33 am


Jordan's hands paused on the dishes for only a fraction of a second. Then he continued his task. "It's pretty much impossible to reason with him when he's gotten himself worked into a mood," he said tiredly. "He's a stubborn a** like that." He cast an oblique look at Taym as he put the dish on the stack. "You probably hit a sore point, I'm guessing."

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:42 am


Prolixity


With a sudden, meaningless movement of his hands, Taym went back to work. "If he doesn't want people hitting sore spots, maybe he shouldn't get invade their space and offer up a string of crass insults," he suggested, his voice as tense as the rigid line of his shoulders under his threadbare shirt. "Leash your ******** dogs or they're liable to bark at the wrong person." It wasn't a threat--what threat could Taym possibly be to Rep or to Jordan?--and didn't try to be. It was a snipey, bitchy lashing out, a vent for his irritation.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 4:05 am


"I've tried telling him that," Jordan said dryly. "It works for a while. The problem's that we're all on too ******** short a leash." He continued drying and stacking the plates, meticulously careful. "He's bored and stressed and his coping mechanisms are shitty." He eyed Taym. "This isn't an excuse or an apology. Just an explanation. Not my place to excuse or apologize for him; that ought to be him, or it means ********."

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 4:17 am


Prolixity


"He's just bored and stressed," he repeated mockingly, with a humorless little bark of a laugh, "so he picks fights and threatens murder and destroys private property. What a charmer. I can definitely see why he swept you off your ********' feet. Between that and the smell." He hesitated, obviously on the brink of something else, but it never arrived. He was attacking the dishes like they owed him money. Instead, he said: "I'm damn sure not expecting an apology from him. Or you."

There it was again: the wave of tiredness rising up under his voice. It made him sound less like the Taym Jordan had met in the labs, more like the exhausted Amity. Rep might have thrived on conflict and found it invigorating, but the constant tension and aggression and posturing were wearing Taym thin. Or, well. Thinner. It was not a state he was used to sustaining outside of short bursts.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 4:29 am


Jordan shrugged between dishes. "I don't feel like defending my personal life choices from someone who finds them contemptible no matter what I say," he said neutrally. He studied Taym sideways, taking in the droop of his eyes and the thin mosquito whine of tension buzzing through him, and something in Jordan hurt exhaustedly for this person who was not actually his friend. "You got here at a bad time for everyone," he said finally.

Jordan, Ferros murmured.

Yeah, I know. Probably not worth the energy. He'd try anyway, and they both knew it.

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 11:28 am


Prolixity


"Is there ever a good time?" A pause: "Honest question. Is there ever a good time?" Thick with sarcasm, the question landed, nonetheless, with sincerity. That much was obvious because it was clear that it was a struggle to ask it. His voice strained around it because it was an indicator of vulnerability, but Jordan was refusing to rise to the bait of stray-dog circling that Rep was so eager to jump on, so he asked it anyway.

It was a stupid question, in a way. Taym surely had known what he was signing up for when he did it.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 11:50 am


Jordan picked up a stack of dishes and carried them over to one of the cupboards to put them away in their place. He considered the question. "There are better times," he said. "There are stretches where life is fairly comfortable, in between disasters." He made a sound that was half a chuckle and half a sigh, a sharp little exhale that was neither quite amused nor resigned. "Last time it was seriously crappy like this, the island was overrun with fog monsters and everyone had to share an underground bunker. That lasted a couple of months before we got the buildings cleared and could start rebuilding."

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 12:24 pm


Prolixity


The thought of sharing a bunker with these people made Taym's skin crawl. Given the impressions he'd already informed of the Island inhabitants, he imagined it would be equal parts people attempting to sneak into one another's beds, aggressive stand-offs over floor space, and Jerry's manic serenading to undercut everything with an appropriately insane soundtrack.

"Must have been hell on everyone's domestic bliss," he said, but the snap had no enthusiasm in it. He was snarling out of habit. Sink emptied, he yanked the plug with the violence of garotting someone and raked his wet hands through his hair, shoving it back. One day someone--a girl, preferably--really needed to tell him not to do that. It only made the skeletal outlines of his forehead the more prominent.

He moved on to drying and his hands were deft and quick and experienced and, today, not shaking. He still refused to even look in Jordan's direction. After the constant staring contests he felt obligated to have with Rep, this was a relief.

Jordan wasn't privy to the train of thought that led from bunkers to the next statement, and so it seemed a bit sudden: "Everyone here's got too much free time. You and me and everyone else." Not that they had much free time, especially now, but clearly Taym had stricter standards than most people. Any free time was too much time for him. He'd forgotten how to fill it up, without his usual vices to fall back on. Forgotten how to form actual relationships with people, forgotten how to be idle, forgotten how to navigate a social hierarchy. All he remembered was how to work.
PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 12:50 pm


Another stack of dishes into the cupboard, and Jordan returned to drying and stacking. Cups would be their own irritating job, but one thing at a time. "I was pretty relieved to have my own space back, I can say that much," he said.

He glanced over to study Taym briefly, taking in the lines of his face and the angular motion of his hands and the way he pointedly didn't make eye contact. Discomfort, perhaps, or avoiding a challenge, consciously or otherwise. Jordan didn't have enough information to make a solid guess as to why Taym wasn't looking at him.

"True enough," he agreed. "With some of the usual options closed off, we don't quite know what to do with ourselves. I'd feel better myself if I knew I could get a couple of days off the island. Wouldn't even have to be immediate, but there's a difference between staying in a room with the door closed and being locked in." This was a more comfortable topic, and some of the unconscious tension that had been accumulating in his shoulders and wrists had begun to drain away again.

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PostPosted: Fri Oct 04, 2013 3:42 pm


Prolixity


It was--compelling, was the word he wanted to use; it was appealing, having a conversation. Even with someone like Jordan. Rep knew his secrets and maybe he'd told Jordan and maybe he hadn't, and maybe Jordan just assumed like Rep had, but coming here free of the labels he'd been carrying for years had made him taste what it was to be treated as something approaching human again. Someone worth having small talk with. But Jordan was Jordan: Taym had plenty of reasons to hate him. Just as many to hate him as he did to appreciate the fact that he was friendly, and calm, and neutral. So Taym ended up chasing every sentence with low-level aggression, tempering every foray into social interaction with sarcasm. No wonder he was tired.

And Jordan was right. So he dressed up the conversation, if you could call it that, as more ranting.

"Seventy ******** days, give or take, and not even a whisper of when I can stretch my ********' legs. Everything's in finite ********' supply here, patience included. Shrewd ********' business plan your girlfriend's got. Surprised it hasn't occurred to more people. I'm afraid to ask what else is being used as currency." He punctuated that with a twist of his lip.
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THIS IS HALLOWEEN: Deus Ex Machina Training Facilities

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