(Untitled)

[roulettespin]

Characters: Nero (roulettespin and anybody who wants to help put out a small grease fire?
Setting/Location: Kitchens
Date & Time: Day 2, late afternoon.
Warnings: Nero makes food.
Summary: It doesn't go so good.

Comments

[roulettespin]

He shoulda known. He shoulda known. This was exactly the kind of reaction Dante had to people--and exactly the kind of reaction other people had to Dante, more or less--that Nero basically dreaded. And it wasn't 'cause he was embarrassed or anything weird like that. Why should he be? They only looked related; there was only the chance that people would assume, 'cause of the hair, they were working together, they were part of the same team. (Which, even though sometimes they were working for the same thing, they weren't. Not a chance.) It was just so unnecessary, such a waste of time, such a...lie, or something, that Nero couldn't stand it. Did the guy seriously have to go through this whole routine with everybody he met? The bow, the flirting, the innuendo? Who even put up with that? What the hell was his deal?

And the stench of burnt stuff was starting to give him a headache. All this shit and more didn't lead to making Nero feel very polite. Manners told him he should've said his own name and some 'nice to meet you' spiel, but even if he knew something was right he still sometimes had trouble doing it.

"Morrigan, huh? Well I'm Nero, and I'm pretty sure whatever that cloak thing is, it's ruined."

[cowboyphase]

"Dante," Dante said, introducing himself to the woman. She seemed cold, to say the least, but unlike most normal people, Dante wasn't at all put off by that kind of attitude. In fact, he kind of embraced it. "Looks like you got here just in time."

Not that he didn't think the kid could handle himself or anything. Just that sometimes he got himself into these situations, burning eggs, getting sucked into the demon-pope's giant amorphous body--and he needed a little help to get himself out of them again. Not that Dante ever saw any gratitude for it. That was fine, though. It was what family was for, right?

Right.

"Tough break on lunch, kid," Dante commented, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. Any way you looked at it, there was no saving those eggs. For whatever reason though, the smell wasn't particularly bothering Dante. When you spent enough time wandering around covered in demon entrails, somehow, the little things didn't get to you as much. "Guess not everything comes naturally."

[dissentive]

Morrigan's eyes slid from Dante to Nero to focus on him, narrowing slightly. "Indeed, 'twould seem you are thusly indebted to me so that I may replace my cloak thing," she drawled out, tossing the now useless heap of rags onto a nearby table with a scowl. "Several coin ought to do well enough."

She looked down upon herself, plucking her top away from her body briefly before allowing the cloth to settle again. Indeed, 'twould seem she needed a whole new wardrobe at the rate she was going. Her clothes, as it were, were littered with small patches of fabric from previous repairs throughout their journey across Ferelden - and the subsequent battles with the occasional dragonkin or fifteen. Perchance the next village would have an expansive market, as the first did. At least to purchase some drapery, so she could sew herself anew. She took her time to note their state of dress - not from Ferelden, then. 'Twas no where close to the fashion of thus. They were, practically enough, one zipper away from Michael Jackson.

"Perchance you may stick with meat," she mused mockingly at last, head canting to the side. "At least, when that is set aflame, 'tis still digestible to a point. Or perhaps you should simply refine your palate."

L M F A O ONE ZIPPER AWAY FROM MICHAEL JACKSON

[roulettespin]

"Several coin? For a blanket? You gotta be kidding me." Was this lady for real? At least she wasn't all over Dante all at once, but she was still talking crazy. She could demand whatever she wanted, but the point remained that there wasn't much more than lint in Nero's pockets. He didn't do what he did for money, and he was past the point of getting an allowance--not that he'd ever been given one in the first place.

"Rather be good at kicking ass than making lunch any day." That was for Dante--sure enough, he'd turned this into some kinda competition, so Nero had to lay down the stakes right away, before he got any ideas about winning. Nero didn't care what the hell Dante could make, whether or not he could win in a cooking contest.

Nero's stomach a little, sure. Maybe.

cries

[cowboyphase]

It wasn't that Dante was an expert chef by any means, but he'd been living on his own since he was way younger than Nero, and a guy couldn't exist on pizza alone. A guy might've wanted to, but he couldn't. And he'd totally had his fair share of kitchen mishaps. Just most of them had happened while he'd been alone--or they'd happened in front of Lady, which was about a thousand times worse than anything Nero could imagine. Poor kid hadn't even met her yet. He didn't know what he was in for.

"Gotta have lunch to keep kicking ass properly, though," Dante pointed out. He nodded his head in Morrigan's direction. "I might take the lady's suggestion, actually. Can't do much wrong with meat."

Well, you could, but Dante wasn't going to get into that just yet.

[dissentive]

"Would you prefer I set aflame to your hair, rather than your food of choice?" Morrigan queried slowly, looking at Nero incredulously. "'Twas not a blanket, 'twas an article of clothing. Unless, perchance, you loom your own fabric, than yes - I require coin to purchase another."

Morrigan may not have had the most menacing of features, but her bitchface was indeed strong within her. While the spell remained in the back of her mind for future use, she did not cast it just yet, instead moving to partially lean, partially sit upon the same nearby table she had flung her cloak upon. Crossing her legs at the ankles and fingers curling around the edge of the wood, she studied the two of them once more. If she was looking for a particular something, she did not express it.

"Perhaps I should remain in case you, too, contain a strange amount of incompetence within your person," she commented. "And if you must refer to me, do so by my given name."

[roulettespin]

Loom his own fabric? She was crazier than the chick who wore that costume with the bat ears on it--or whatever that was. Looked like bat ears. Point was, Nobody Nero knew talked like this. Not even Credo'd been this crazy formal. Crazy sometimes; formal sometimes. (Formal a lotta the time.) But the combination of both hadn't been so...intense. And this lady? She was intense. Maybe even Trish levels of intense, when you got right down to it. And speaking of Trish...why the hell was Dante flirting with everybody? Nero hadn't seen her, but he knew she was here, and if anyone could wipe that smug grin off the guy's face...

At least it was something happy to think about.

"I can take care of myself," Nero pointed out, maybe a little ironically, given the stench in the room. "I don't need your advice, or you babysitting me."

[cowboyphase]

Dante was unable to keep from rolling his eyes. That's a look that definitely runs in the family, even if one of them would rather die than admit it. He was never like this at this age--though of course, that was a lie--his brother had been even worse. Not at cooking though, which was why this whole thing came as something of a surprise. In their family it was Dante who set the kitchen on fire, not the other way around.

"Sure, of course you can," Dante said to Nero, not bothering to gesture to the relative chaos around them. He didn't have to, did he? "I myself love the taste of burnt eggs. Mm mm. The only thing better than the taste is the smell."

He could say that about a lot of things actually, but not in front of the kid. And by the looks of her, probably not in front of the lady either. Morrigan.

"I'm sure we can work something out. Kid--Nero--looms about as well as he cooks, I'm guessing."