what is this I don't even--
Title: IRON CHEF LOWELL
Characters: Yuri, Flynn, Estelle, maybe a Raven cameo idefk.
Setting/'verse: Modern 'verse, vaguely related to/inspired by GW modern setting. Probably in NYC.
Rating: PG+ for Yuri's mouth and a little bit of gay, otherwise this is alarmingly tame.
Summary: Yuri teaches pastry classes. Yes.
Length: 1165.
GUYS WHY DOES THIS EXIST. I JUST. WHAT.
When Flynn had suggested a few months ago that Yuri get a job ("Because low-level cops just don't make enough money to support the both of us."), ending up in a kitchen at a night school six blocks over hadn't quite been what either of them had expected.
And it wasn't that Yuri was just mooching off of Flynn; he had some income, just not a comparably steady one. Odd jobs around the apartment complex and a few gigs a month with the band just didn't bring home the bacon all that consistently (and Repede did go through a lot of bacon).
So two weeks and one completely nonsensical suggestion that turned out to be a good idea later, Yuri stood in a warm steel-colored kitchen and surveyed his domain. Getting hired as a cooking teacher - for pastries, no less - was as far from making sense as possible, but it paid well and Yuri did sort of like cooking. Whatever the reason for his learning in the first place (Flynn's penchant for toxicity being the prime motivator), he'd always found there to be something pretty cool about being able to whip up good food whenever he wanted to.
---
"You guys all washed your hands and shit, yeah?" Yuri winced, belatedly remembering the crap in his contract about 'maintaining a professional attitude'. The students stared back at him with glassy eyes and half-open mouths and irritatingly clean hands. Great. A room full of mouth-breathing lemmings.
Yuri decided he'd be getting a motorcycle with his first few paychecks, and screw Flynn if he nagged. He could bring home the bacon better if he had a sweet hog to bring it home on.
"....I guess that's a yes. So uh, go ahead and get your ingredient sets and stirry things off the side-table." Fuck, he couldn't even remember the names of the kitchen tools. Whisk, that's what it was. Whisk. "Open up to the chapter on bases and crusts - we'll start with pie crust, I guess."
Yuri rubbed irritatedly at the hole where his lip piercing used to be. Having to take it and the rest of his piercings out while teaching was almost as bad as having to put his hair up. It was a good thing Flynn wasn't allowed near kitchens - in his chef whites and sans piercings, Yuri looked almost respectable. Flynn would never let him live it down if he saw. At least they couldn't make him get rid of the tattoos, though with the exception of the fang on his wrist, those were all hidden by his outfit anyway.
A small squeak and loud whump off to the side alerted him to the first of undoubtedly many mishaps. Slightly off to the side of the rest of the students vying for the best sets of....whatever those things were called again was a disturbingly large mushroom cloud of flour. Yuri rolled his eyes and groaned. The janitorial staff better not pin this on him, dammit. Shooing away the curious onlookers - "Shove off and get started working the butter or something." - Yuri peered down at ground flour-zero.
"I put the flour you needed on the counter, you know. The top shelf is extra shit."
The girl on the floor coughed weakly and stared back at him with a surprisingly earnest expression. "But--!" She coughed again, shaking a bit of lose flour from her strawberry-blonde hair. "I-I couldn't get through to the materials! So I thought I'd just get some from the shelf." Christ, was her bottom lip actually shaking?
Yuri sighed and reached down to help the hapless girl up. Why did he always get stuck with the troublesome ones? "What's your name?" he asked.
"E-Estellise, sir." Her hands were small and oddly soft as they grabbed his. No nail polish.
"....don't call me sir." He pulled her up easily, ignoring the wafting of flour around their feet.
"Ok, Mr. Lowell!" And again with the damn earnestness - Yuri almost took a step back as she suddenly stood ramrod straight, fist clenched in determination.
"I'm not your friggin' science teacher. Just call me Yuri." He placed a hand on his head, unable to irritatedly run his fingers through his hair like usual. Fucking hair net. "And go wash up or get some water - raw flour's pretty rough on your eyes and lungs if you inhale to much." Which, as she'd just dropped two pounds of the stuff on herself, she probably had.
"Ok, si- I mean, Mr. Low- Yuri! I promise this won't happen again!" Estellise made a strangely polite little half bow, nearly head-butting him in the chest, and scurried off, presumably to find the washroom.
Yuri looked back at the rest of his class, who were trying (and failing) to covertly see what was going on with him and the klutzy girl. One middle-aged man apparently had forgotten what he was doing, and held a quickly melting stick of opened butter in his hand. It oozed out of his grip and fell to the floor with a disturbingly goopy plop.
Fuuuuuucking fantastic.
---
One fractured coccyx (not his fault the guy couldn't remember where he'd dropped that butter) and two agonizing hours later, Yuri dragged himself into the staff room. He threw his whites (and the damn hair net) into the duffel bag the school had given him and was just starting to let down his hair when--
"Oh good, I got here at the right time."
"....You know, I'm pretty sure I took out a restraining order on you earlier. You're not supposed to be within two blocks of a kitchen ever again."
Flynn grinned sheepishly, a small thing, and held up a bag and giant steaming Styrofoam cup. "I brought donuts and coffee. Thought you might want some food and company on the way home."
Yuri snorted. "You didn't have to come and fuckin' pick me up. It's not like we live in the same apartment or anything." Habitual though their banter was, Yuri couldn't stay annoyed at Flynn long when he was carrying food. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs at least twice a week, but that just kept things interesting.
Ignoring Flynn's rolled eyes - he could feel that exasperated look even turned away - Yuri pulled out a strip of pre-packaged alcohol swipes and the bag with all his piercing jewelry and started cleaning them off. "Go ahead and sit down somewhere," Yuri suggested, reinserting the studs to his upper ear.
"Do you really need all that metal stuck in your head?" It was a rhetorical question, one Flynn had asked a million times, though he'd long since made peace with Yuri's need to stand out.
"Aw come on," Yuri teased, slurring slightly as he popped the lip ring back into place, "You know you like the tongue ring~" He waggled his eyebrows - one with a hole for a barbell - suggestively.
Flynn flushed slightly and, wisely, stayed silent.
///
This is totally lame because it's just me setting up the 'verse, because WHO KNOWS I might write in it again.
Characters: Yuri, Flynn, Estelle, maybe a Raven cameo idefk.
Setting/'verse: Modern 'verse, vaguely related to/inspired by GW modern setting. Probably in NYC.
Rating: PG+ for Yuri's mouth and a little bit of gay, otherwise this is alarmingly tame.
Summary: Yuri teaches pastry classes. Yes.
Length: 1165.
GUYS WHY DOES THIS EXIST. I JUST. WHAT.
When Flynn had suggested a few months ago that Yuri get a job ("Because low-level cops just don't make enough money to support the both of us."), ending up in a kitchen at a night school six blocks over hadn't quite been what either of them had expected.
And it wasn't that Yuri was just mooching off of Flynn; he had some income, just not a comparably steady one. Odd jobs around the apartment complex and a few gigs a month with the band just didn't bring home the bacon all that consistently (and Repede did go through a lot of bacon).
So two weeks and one completely nonsensical suggestion that turned out to be a good idea later, Yuri stood in a warm steel-colored kitchen and surveyed his domain. Getting hired as a cooking teacher - for pastries, no less - was as far from making sense as possible, but it paid well and Yuri did sort of like cooking. Whatever the reason for his learning in the first place (Flynn's penchant for toxicity being the prime motivator), he'd always found there to be something pretty cool about being able to whip up good food whenever he wanted to.
---
"You guys all washed your hands and shit, yeah?" Yuri winced, belatedly remembering the crap in his contract about 'maintaining a professional attitude'. The students stared back at him with glassy eyes and half-open mouths and irritatingly clean hands. Great. A room full of mouth-breathing lemmings.
Yuri decided he'd be getting a motorcycle with his first few paychecks, and screw Flynn if he nagged. He could bring home the bacon better if he had a sweet hog to bring it home on.
"....I guess that's a yes. So uh, go ahead and get your ingredient sets and stirry things off the side-table." Fuck, he couldn't even remember the names of the kitchen tools. Whisk, that's what it was. Whisk. "Open up to the chapter on bases and crusts - we'll start with pie crust, I guess."
Yuri rubbed irritatedly at the hole where his lip piercing used to be. Having to take it and the rest of his piercings out while teaching was almost as bad as having to put his hair up. It was a good thing Flynn wasn't allowed near kitchens - in his chef whites and sans piercings, Yuri looked almost respectable. Flynn would never let him live it down if he saw. At least they couldn't make him get rid of the tattoos, though with the exception of the fang on his wrist, those were all hidden by his outfit anyway.
A small squeak and loud whump off to the side alerted him to the first of undoubtedly many mishaps. Slightly off to the side of the rest of the students vying for the best sets of....whatever those things were called again was a disturbingly large mushroom cloud of flour. Yuri rolled his eyes and groaned. The janitorial staff better not pin this on him, dammit. Shooing away the curious onlookers - "Shove off and get started working the butter or something." - Yuri peered down at ground flour-zero.
"I put the flour you needed on the counter, you know. The top shelf is extra shit."
The girl on the floor coughed weakly and stared back at him with a surprisingly earnest expression. "But--!" She coughed again, shaking a bit of lose flour from her strawberry-blonde hair. "I-I couldn't get through to the materials! So I thought I'd just get some from the shelf." Christ, was her bottom lip actually shaking?
Yuri sighed and reached down to help the hapless girl up. Why did he always get stuck with the troublesome ones? "What's your name?" he asked.
"E-Estellise, sir." Her hands were small and oddly soft as they grabbed his. No nail polish.
"....don't call me sir." He pulled her up easily, ignoring the wafting of flour around their feet.
"Ok, Mr. Lowell!" And again with the damn earnestness - Yuri almost took a step back as she suddenly stood ramrod straight, fist clenched in determination.
"I'm not your friggin' science teacher. Just call me Yuri." He placed a hand on his head, unable to irritatedly run his fingers through his hair like usual. Fucking hair net. "And go wash up or get some water - raw flour's pretty rough on your eyes and lungs if you inhale to much." Which, as she'd just dropped two pounds of the stuff on herself, she probably had.
"Ok, si- I mean, Mr. Low- Yuri! I promise this won't happen again!" Estellise made a strangely polite little half bow, nearly head-butting him in the chest, and scurried off, presumably to find the washroom.
Yuri looked back at the rest of his class, who were trying (and failing) to covertly see what was going on with him and the klutzy girl. One middle-aged man apparently had forgotten what he was doing, and held a quickly melting stick of opened butter in his hand. It oozed out of his grip and fell to the floor with a disturbingly goopy plop.
Fuuuuuucking fantastic.
---
One fractured coccyx (not his fault the guy couldn't remember where he'd dropped that butter) and two agonizing hours later, Yuri dragged himself into the staff room. He threw his whites (and the damn hair net) into the duffel bag the school had given him and was just starting to let down his hair when--
"Oh good, I got here at the right time."
"....You know, I'm pretty sure I took out a restraining order on you earlier. You're not supposed to be within two blocks of a kitchen ever again."
Flynn grinned sheepishly, a small thing, and held up a bag and giant steaming Styrofoam cup. "I brought donuts and coffee. Thought you might want some food and company on the way home."
Yuri snorted. "You didn't have to come and fuckin' pick me up. It's not like we live in the same apartment or anything." Habitual though their banter was, Yuri couldn't stay annoyed at Flynn long when he was carrying food. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs at least twice a week, but that just kept things interesting.
Ignoring Flynn's rolled eyes - he could feel that exasperated look even turned away - Yuri pulled out a strip of pre-packaged alcohol swipes and the bag with all his piercing jewelry and started cleaning them off. "Go ahead and sit down somewhere," Yuri suggested, reinserting the studs to his upper ear.
"Do you really need all that metal stuck in your head?" It was a rhetorical question, one Flynn had asked a million times, though he'd long since made peace with Yuri's need to stand out.
"Aw come on," Yuri teased, slurring slightly as he popped the lip ring back into place, "You know you like the tongue ring~" He waggled his eyebrows - one with a hole for a barbell - suggestively.
Flynn flushed slightly and, wisely, stayed silent.
///
This is totally lame because it's just me setting up the 'verse, because WHO KNOWS I might write in it again.