[Sam Tyler] What's cookin'?
Who: Sam Tyler, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Locke
When: Day 36, evening
Where: The cook/signal fire (eventually)
Invited: Everyone
Status: Complete
Sam's quarry stank. He strode out of the jungle praying that the pair of dead, overgrown lemmings he carried -- he hadn't a clue what the Corgi-sized rodents were -- hadn't permanently stunk ( Read more... )
When: Day 36, evening
Where: The cook/signal fire (eventually)
Invited: Everyone
Status: Complete
Sam's quarry stank. He strode out of the jungle praying that the pair of dead, overgrown lemmings he carried -- he hadn't a clue what the Corgi-sized rodents were -- hadn't permanently stunk ( Read more... )
Twisting around, a single brow rose in askance in response to the whistle. She, too, knew better than to encourage with any more than a silent 'acknowledgement'.
"Thank you, by the way, for cooking." Susan chuckled. "Not something I can do-- Oh! John. Yes... after this..." She pointed at the meat on the 'plate'. "Running tomorrow. If I'm going to wear you out, I might at least have fun doing it." She grinned at the other commander as she took her seat once more.
With the plate in her lap, the fronds to the side of her, she started eating-- carefully. It was good, and she honestly hadn't realized how hungry she was. "Mmm... That.. okay. I'm not going to ask what it is. I've learned that long ago... but that's good." Fingers wiped the edges of her mouth once the meat was put down, and the vegetables, of which she took a -larger- portion, was started on. Swallowing quickly, she looked at Sam, and nodded. "Down the beach, about... oh... what do you think? Couple miles? Mile out, and back?" It was a good run-- something to get the heart pumping, the blood flowing, and to break a good sweat. "Do you run, Sam?"
When the offer of soccer comes up, however, Susan pretty much figured she'd gotten her answer. Instead, then, she looked across the fire from her, the smile turned smirk. "I hear the sound of a gauntlet dropping, John." Her tones were softly goading... all specifically meant to egg the other officer on.
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she [Susan] looked across the fire from her, the smile turned smirk. "I hear the sound of a gauntlet dropping, John." Her tones were softly goading... all specifically meant to egg the other officer on.
John looked up from biting into the meat he was holding in his fingers, blue eyes flicking from Susan to Sam and back. He chewed and swallowed and nodded. "I was wondering what that sound was. A gauntlet, eh? Well, I've never been the one to stand idly by while gauntlets were being dropped near or around my general vicinity." He looked over at Sam and grinned at him, "I think that a soccer match is a fantastic idea. We played volleyball, might as well give some of the other sports a try. Just need to come up with a do-able soccer ball, using that basketball will break a toe."
He took another bite of meat and cast an innocent, mischevious look over at Ivanova. "Does this mean you'll be a cheerleader, then?"
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Slipping silently through shadows, as was his wont, he slipped up behind Sam, John and Susan, without making so much as a sound.
He (John) took another bite of meat and cast an innocent, mischevious look over at Ivanova. "Does this mean you'll be a cheerleader, then?"
"Given how well she kicks, she'd be better off as your centre forward!" he said, moving firmly into the light of the fire.
He cast a look to John, trying to convey some gratitude there for the conversation earlier, then a look at Sam and nodded a greeting, then finally a look at Susan... words failed him, so he bowed slightly, then moved to sit nearby but not too close. "You look lovely tonight."
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John jumped almost spilling his dinner onto the dirt around him, "Holy schnikes, man! Don't do that! That's the easiest way to give a man a heart attack around here" especially after what they'd been through the past couple of weeks. He wiped a hand across his brow and blew a breath out, shaking his head.
He [Marcus]cast a look to John, trying to convey some gratitude there for the conversation earlier
John gave him a nod in return, he could honestly say that he liked the man, despite the fact that he had probably been trying to give him a heart attack for some of the things he said earlier. "Grab a plate and grab some grub before it goes. It's not half bad, as far as island food goes"
He flicked a look at Susan, grinning at her, "If you want to be forward, and you think you can play with the big dogs, you're more than welcome to it"
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Before she could get out a word in response, however, Marcus appeared. Susan didn't jump quite so drastically as John did, though. There was a sense that she was almost inured to it-- used to his comings and goings, his disappearances, only for him to reappear when she'd least expect it. When you least expect it, expect it. She looked up and backwards at the Ranger and smiled at his presence. She watched as he made his way around, and shifted to make room, though it turned out that it hadn't been necessary.
"Thank you." Compliments galore tonight. Was it remarkable that she could clean up reasonably well? She hadn't thought so. Still, for some reason, the compliment now meant more-- C'mon, Susan... you're a grown woman...
More vegetables were speared, and as she chewed, and her attention shifted as the smirk returned. After she swallowed, she leaned forward slightly, "Big dogs? You? You were the one who asked if we were done before we turned around..." If she were more confident, or rather, if she was facing down the Security Chief, or the Captain, she'd have put a wager on the table. Here, though, she was reticent for more than a few reasons, the top being that she, as of yet, had nothing to offer and she wasn't dumb enough to open the floor for suggestions. "Sure. I'll play. Little rusty, though. Only had a baseball field on the station." It's been years.
Oona's earlier arrival got a belated response from the Commander, a wave and an agreement-- "It is good."
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Sam didn't miss the subtext under Marcus's compliment to Susan or her reaction. The pair was subtle, but Sam was trained to see such things. He turned his eyes to his plate. (I don't know why I bother. Bollocksed things up with Maya, probably would have with Annie, and DHARMA's popping me about in time for no discernable reason--)
"Big dogs? You?" Susan's leaning forward and cheerful words brought Sam out of his thoughts. "Sure. I'll play. Little rusty, though. Only had a baseball field on the station."
Sam blinked at her, surprised. He waved a hello at Oona, then turned back to Susan. "You played baseball in space? In the future?" The notion struck him an anachronistic.
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"Only things that were different was some of the food... and, well, the aliens. We discovered that there was one food that was part of every race in every part of the galaxy." Susan paused, looked to Marcus, then back to Sam and John, "Swedish Meatballs." No matter how it was 'packaged'... "Haven't met an alien race yet that didn't have it."
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He shifted and glanced around, looking for Aeryn.
"I don't see why a Ruskie can't play a good ol' American game, seeing as how soccer isn't even American." He turned to grin at her and Sam again.
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Sam grinned back. "Point." Then he gave John a mock-sour look. "Now I'm wishing Swedish meatballs were on the menu. Thanks." (That, and a pint of ale...)
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Sam stared for a moment longer before bursting into laughter. "You're..." he gasped, "you're serious!" He looked to Marcus for confirmation. The soft-spoken man nodded. "Blimey! And Daffy Duck."
"What about Daffy Duck?" Dean called from the other side of the fire.
Sam shouted back, "'e's a followin' in the future!"
The really tall Sam stood up. "What?!"
"Now you've done it, Susan," Sam chuckled. "You must tell us more about where, er, when you're from. Sounds far more interestin' than Manchester in 1973 or 2006."
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She nodded, her tones deadpanned. "Yes. Daffy Duck. Ambassadors of worlds not discovered for another couple hundred years have heard of him." She couldn't resist... but it was true! G'kar knew him... Londo... Delenn, even.
She was done, and she placed her plate to the side and took up the fronds, placing them on her lap. The chances were good that she wouldn't learn the skill tonight, so she just toyed with them for a moment.
John got a grin in return, 'Russkie'. She'd gave, gotten, and she had no intention of not being generous in return. "Like I said, it was one of the few recreations we had. Not the best, or... not as good as the others, but I've held my own... watched a few games on the vid when they got beamed through on ISN. The station was in an uproar for the World Series... The Captain was a fan."
The newly arrived to the fire took her attention for a moment, and she nodded and offered a half wave. "The rat is good." She didn't care what it was, honestly. She'd had... stranger stuff. "Don't mind the crunchy bits."
The fact that Sam'd caught it brought her regard around back to the detective, and, it seemed that she's been saying it a lot today, "Thank you. It's kind of nice to eat -real- meat for a change... Well... something immediately recognizable." Spoo. Flarn. That... live, gross, wriggly thing that tries to escape that the Drazi enjoy so much? Nothankyou.
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He does give a nod to those he knows, stepping in to take a plate and some offered food before finding a clear spot to sit down, "By the way, Stephen Franklin for those who don't know. I'm new around these parts." He looks down at his food and then back at Susan, "Anything the Drazi eat is usually questionable, though not near as questionable as what the Pak eat."
Stephen then turned his attention to Marcus, largely because earlier in the day the man was actually dead, "So Marcus, how are you feeling? And if you simply say fine I may have to beat you into unconsciousness just for the sheer pleasure of it. Do you have any idea how much I hate that word?"
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Sam grinned. "My pleasure. And it's not rat." The statement, although not defensive, raised a few eyebrows. "It's nutria."
"Nutria?"
"Yeah. They're, ah..." Sam chuckled from the only description he could come up with. "Pretty much big rats. But tasty!" He took a big bite of roast nutria, earning more laughter.
The attention made him a bit self-conscious. Sam was used to CID's scowls and sour looks when he pointed out how many laws and procedures they were ignoring. This was different and fun.
"Honestly," Sam added, "the game I can hunt is limited to small animals. My slingshot could probably take down a juvenile boar, but not without provoking the sow." The thought made him shudder.
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She'd take him aside later, just; not yet.
Marcus took the plate from Aeryn with a small smile of thanks, then looked at Stephen, "so you're saying that even if I am feeling fine, (which I am, by the way), then I'm not allowed to use that word?" He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he looked between those gathered close by. "So what am I to say? I'm tickety boo?" he cast a quick wink to Sam, aware that it was an anachronistic phrase, that was wholly English.
"Or am I to say that I'm feeling weak as a kitten and that I can't do any work on a shelter? Or even to lie to you all and say that I'm on death's door." he whispered the last, feigning a weakness to his voice that spoke of ailment and frailty.
"Or should I just say that I'm fine and make you suffer for it?" Really, he FELT fine, there wasn't any other description for it, considering he'd been dead this morning.
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Stephen's appearance at fireside garnered a smile from the commander, though it shifted slightly towards the ... amused. She briefly considered tossing something at him, but other than small sand pebbles and the few broken shells, she was at a loss. "I thought you'd have noticed that I actually own a set last physical you made me go through."
She made a face at the mention of the ... less than culinarily disposed Pak'ma'ra, and shook her head. "You know... I don't know if they had meatballs... and truthfully, I'm pretty sure I'll live a happy life not knowing the answer." For the benefit of others, she added, "The Pak'ma'ra. Carrion eaters... anything dead was fair game. Dead for longer periods of time, even better. Those aliens that required encounter suits to breathe our air even complained about their... unique..." Odor? Stench? "Well, you didn't want to get into the lift with one."
Boar? Susan's brows rose, her curiousity piqued. "Sounds like a hunting team, then?" While she probably wouldn't go, the idea was interesting. "You're that good with a slingshot?"
Aeryn got a curious look, a questionning glance, though she'd let it be for now. The fact that she got Marcus a plate gave the commander a pang of guilt, and she, too, looked over at the Ranger in brief apology. She'd never considered doing that before; he was a big boy... and, honestly, she didn't even know what he preferred-- meat? Vegetables? She didn't cook Minbari food, and even if she knew, she was no cook...
However, as Marcus began his treatise on how 'well' he felt, she had to grin. Stephen asked for it; opened the door, put out the welcome mat-- "Oh, I don't think he's suffered anywhere near enough." Particularly for the 'leg' comment. She looked at the Ranger, her hand waving the frond, "I got lessons-- From Sam and Molly. After I revisit mine, I can actually help with that..." Kitten! If she was sitting near him, she could elbow him, but he's out of range. Little disappointed, honestly.
Settling in a little, there came a question that she'd actually considered, speaking of shelters. "What's the watch rotation overnight? It's actually something I can help with." Which then allowed Susan and Marcus to hotbunk, assuming, of course, the Ranger chose to take a shift as well. "I assume four hours on, four off?" She paused... "Or...?"
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