(no subject)
Who: Gaheris Rhade and Wanda Maximoff
What: Having a talk about the Barge and how graduation isn't what it's cracked up to be.
When: After their dinner shift, cleaning up when most everyone else has left.
Where: The Kitchen.
Warnings & Notes: Plate violence.
Again Rhade was quiet, scrubbing at one of the plates with frustration as if it were a battle between him and some imperceptibly small dried on piece of nothing that marred the surface of the dinnerware out of pointed and particular spite towards him.
He was on the other side of the kitchen from Wanda. She was the only other one there that he heard, that he smelled. She wasn't the only one in there with him. It was out of the corner of his eye, and her back was turned to it the last he'd noticed so she might have not seen it. The shape of a person, it's face obscure, it's clothes nothing exceptional. But it just stood there and watched. It stood and waited.
Without a word he examined the perfectly clean plate, checked it for imperfections, the slightest hint of dirt, glad that it met his satisfaction.
A sharp jerk later and the plate was smashing against the wall, behind where that creature had darted away from. Not even a word, though he was tempted to tell it to do the dishes itself if it was so keen on supervising.
Instead, he put his elbows on the sink and pressed his face into his damp, dishwater warm hands and regathered all that calm that seeped out of him. He had so many doubts. So many concerns. He really didn't know if he could do this. He did know that he had now where else to go, that all the people he cared about were here.
Sliding his hands down over his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder at Wanda. "Do you know where the dustpan and the hand broom are?" Asked all too casually. At least broken plates happened in the kitchen occasionally.
What: Having a talk about the Barge and how graduation isn't what it's cracked up to be.
When: After their dinner shift, cleaning up when most everyone else has left.
Where: The Kitchen.
Warnings & Notes: Plate violence.
Again Rhade was quiet, scrubbing at one of the plates with frustration as if it were a battle between him and some imperceptibly small dried on piece of nothing that marred the surface of the dinnerware out of pointed and particular spite towards him.
He was on the other side of the kitchen from Wanda. She was the only other one there that he heard, that he smelled. She wasn't the only one in there with him. It was out of the corner of his eye, and her back was turned to it the last he'd noticed so she might have not seen it. The shape of a person, it's face obscure, it's clothes nothing exceptional. But it just stood there and watched. It stood and waited.
Without a word he examined the perfectly clean plate, checked it for imperfections, the slightest hint of dirt, glad that it met his satisfaction.
A sharp jerk later and the plate was smashing against the wall, behind where that creature had darted away from. Not even a word, though he was tempted to tell it to do the dishes itself if it was so keen on supervising.
Instead, he put his elbows on the sink and pressed his face into his damp, dishwater warm hands and regathered all that calm that seeped out of him. He had so many doubts. So many concerns. He really didn't know if he could do this. He did know that he had now where else to go, that all the people he cared about were here.
Sliding his hands down over his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder at Wanda. "Do you know where the dustpan and the hand broom are?" Asked all too casually. At least broken plates happened in the kitchen occasionally.