06 / 18 / 10 - Dillan, Jean-Paul, Kelsey
=XF= Cafeteria - First Floor - Titan Enterprises
This isn't a large cafeteria by any means, but it's fully functional, with a variety of food options and seating for fifty or so souls. Along the walls and in the center of the black-and-white tiled room, chairs surround tables, making them easily configurable for just about any size group. The back wall is taken up by the traditional cafeteria line, where a small selection of food is prepared varyingly every day. A chalkboard near the front of the line lists the day's entree, pasta, vegetables, and soups, while an open refrigerator display at the end offers pre-made sandwiches, salads, and drinks to compliment the soda fountain. Although the pickings are a bit slim - especially when it comes to desserts - the two women who cook for the employees of Titan Enterprises know their stuff, and it is without fail delicious.
Guess what? It's not Mexican or Italian today because I am setting. So it is /Indian/. Kelsey has a plate piled high with various options where a chief component looks to be lamb -- or not quite piled /high/, as she's already sat down and eaten part of her meal. But it's a full lunch. She reads as she eats, some paperback or other whose spine has been worn and broken enough to press flat on the table under one hand while the other navigates fork and food. Khakis and a springtime blouse make up her wardrobe today, and her curls have been tamed back into two separate buns. She eats. And reads. There are empty seats at her table.
It wasn't Mexican or Italian the last time that I RPed in here, either, so your rebellion is futile. Vegetables feature prominently on Jean-Paul's tray, and it is just even possible that his meal is unintentionally vegetarian. He slides into a seat opposite Kelsey and reaches to lift the cover of the book so that he can see what it is that she is reading.
How rude. The novel is 'The Sand Child,' although that's not what the cover says, as it's printed in the original French. Lucky for Jean-Paul. Kelsey quirks an eyebrow at his curiosity, but shifts her fingers to let him be nosy. "And a good afternoon to you, too," she says. Signs of distraction have eased to a more normal X-Factor baseline, and there is a sense of refound ease about her as she smiles across the table at him.
"What's that?" Jean-Paul asks with a flick of his fingers toward the page as he lets it ease back to the table's surface. He picks up his fork, starting on a fragrantly spicy vegetable selection. Omnomnom.
"Father in Morocco has his eighth daughter and decides he's sick of daughters, so he raises her as a boy," Kelsey summarizes neatly. And then, as if this isn't already obvious, she comments, "It's a little messed up." However, with company at the table, she tabs down her page to mark it and closes the book.
"Naturally." The food today is vaguely Indian (with lamb!), and Jean-Paul sits opposite Kelsey at the cool kids' table. "Because what else would you do with an eighth daughter? It's weird to think that I've been to Morocco," he adds in a more reflective tone. "We go a lot of places. We never stay."
"It is easy to forget," Kelsey says, her head canting as she grows somewhat thoughtful. "It's like -- we're not /really/ there. In and out. Visiting without thought to where we're going." She straightens her head back up and slices at a tender chunk of lamb with the side of her fork. "It /is/ weird," she agrees.
"Exactly." Jean-Paul tips the end of his fork in Kelsey's direction with a sharp lift of his chin. "Heads down, focused on business -- I've been all /over/ the fucking place, but it's not like I'm sightseeing or anything. I used to -- I don't know. Buy stuff. When I went somewhere." He takes a bite, then another, and moves right on. "Haven't been to Australia. Haven't been to Antarctica. Hit every other continent."
Dillan meanders more than anything into the cafeteria, obviously in no particular hurry, as he makes his way through the line, grabbing a bit of this and that. His hair is still wet, but the smell of chlorine is mostly gone, by help of a quick shower before heading in for some lunch. He glances over his plate, as an after thought, tosses an apple on the corner of the tray, then satisfied, starts making his way toward the cool kids. Then, on second thought, he stops, joining Jean-Paul and Kelsey instead. "Can I join ya?" He asks, starting to slide into one of the seats.
"We should visit someplace sometime," Kelsey suggests. "I mean. Actually go someplace interesting and beautiful and /be/ there. Sightsee. Buy stuff." She counts off continents with a free hand. "I think I'm in the same boat. Everything but Australia and Antarctica." And then the SUPER JERKY DILLAN shows up, and she flashes a quick smile because she is ignorant of his super jerkiness. "Of course," she says. "We're just discussing how we go all these places and never quite /see/ them."
"Visiting. Voluntary. Like /vacation/?" Eyebrows arching, Jean-Paul looks mildly scandalized. The look fades as he looks up at totally-not-cool-enough-to-sit-here Dillan, drawn toward a neutral, not /unfriendly/ reserve. "Sure," he says. Glancing over at Kelsey, he takes a bit, chews, and swallows. "Let's go to Australia."
"Why don't people go places for fun? We do get vacation, right?" Dillan asks, totally raising the kewlness factor of the table by 11 whole points as he settles into place. "Or do helicopters drop off self-destruct video sunglasses while you're climbing remote mountain ranges?"
"Perish the thought," Kelsey replies, sharing a moment of scandalized...ness. "Ooh, Australia. Can I pet a baby kangaroo?" She looks back to Dillan, graciously allowing him to sink their table by a billion coolness points. "They're actually pretty damn nice about vacations," she tells him. "I've never seen anybody not allowed to take time whenever they need."
"Baby-- what? I wonder if you can ski in Antarctica," Jean-Paul adds, diverted from baby animals to freezing to death. It is strange which seems to hold the greater interest for him. STRANGE. He nods absently at Kelsey, backing up her words on vacation-allowance, then adds, dry, "But a lot of people are bad about taking the time."
"Good to know. Welcome back, by the way," Dillan says, a nod toward Jean-Paul. He starts an attack plan on the plate in front of him. "Not sure about skiing, but I'd go to Antarctica in a heart-beat. That and Africa would make the collection for me."
"Baby kangaroo," Kelsey reiterates firmly, because this is an important point. They must be found and pet. She boggles a little at Jean-Paul's second idea. "You want to go skiing in /Antarctica/? Won't you just -- you know. Freeze?" She glances back to Dillan. "You'll probably end up in Africa sooner or later -- we've had agents there a bunch of times. Antarctica hasn't come up yet, though."
Jean-Paul nods with a brief tension, gliding right past the recent mission. "Why not? What else is there to do in Antarctica? Pet baby penguins?" Dismissive of freezing, he waves a hand. w/e just slap a coat on.
"I'll keep you all warm," Dillan volunteers, waving away her concern. "Of course, I'd probably have the EPA after me for speeding up global warming, but, y'know. You ever cross-country? Or just downhill? And we could go...Ice fishing?"
"I'll bet there's a lot of natural wildlife to admire," Kelsey says, lifting her chin in stubborn defense of her inclination towards petting baby animals. She glances over at Dillan, smile a small, half-suppressed thing at his offer. "Calling attention to yourself from another government agency? That won't do." Clearly the question is directed at Jean-Paul, so she doesn't answer.
"I've tried cross-country," Jean-Paul says without any particular enthusiasm for it. "It's a slog, especially compared to downhill." He splays his fingers in a short gesture, and takes another bite. He only hitches an eyebrow at Dillan's helpful volunteering, and says nothing at all.
"We won't be spies, we'll be tourists!" Dillan protests. "Rich tourists. Who happened to get separated from our cruise ship. And wound up in Antarctica. With skis."
Kelsey catches on a laugh that threatens to send food down the wrong pipe; she has to take a moment to chew, swallow, and settle herself. "It's surprising how often it happens," she says. "Winding up in Antarctica with skis. On accident."
"We could just not get caught," Jean-Paul suggests.
"I'm pretty sure it's one of the cards in that worst case scenario survival game," Dillan states, letting that defend his point. "So no fluorescent orange parkas. Got it."
"Be sneaky?" Kelsey says, somewhat aghast. "Us? We're pretty terrible at that."
Jean-Paul slants a look at Kelsey sidelong, and takes a quiet bite or two of food.
"Who needs sneaky when you've got style?" Dillan states, dramatically spearing a chunk of lamb, then flourishing it at them.
"Jean-Paul is sneaky," Kelsey says helpfully. "He'll fare well." She gathers up some rice and lamb and slides it past her teeth to chew.
"Some of us," says Jean-Paul to Dillan, "have both." He says it with great dignity, too.
"Yes, but what's the point of being stylish while you're being sneak. I mean, no one can see it anyways." Dillan is quick to come back with.
Kelsey's smile widens, but instead of responding she eats another bite and looks between them.
"Anything worth doing is worth doing well," Jean-Paul counters. Well = stylish.
Dillan shakes his head. "If you waste effort overdoing one thing, you have less energy to accomplish everything else."
"I hope this doesn't mean you're going to skimp out on your efforts in the field when you're assigned to one thing," Kelsey says, still with humor twining lips and words.
"If your definition of style includes a waste of effort, I think, perhaps, you have a poor sense of style." Jean-Paul glances from Kelsey to Dillan as he folds over the flat bread to scoop up a bit of whateveritis.
"Uh..." Dillan starts, trying to defend against the two angles. "How about...style when people are looking, efficiency when they're not."
"I think efficiency can be stylish," Kelsey offers. Helpfully. (Poor Dillan.)
Smile curled slight at the corner of his lips, Jean-Paul tips his head toward Kelsey in a silent second.
Dillan lifts up both hands in concession, then retrieves his fork. And very efficiently scoops up a forkful of rice without dropping a grain. And starts to chew. Slowly. Efficiently.
If it was efficient, it wouldn't be slow. DUH. "Well, now that that's settled," Kelsey announces cheerfully, then eats another bite.
"Australia, then, or Antarctica?" asks Jean-Paul as he circles back to the prior topic.
"Australia's cold this time of year," Dillan is helpful! "Though I guess Antarctica is colder."
"Antarctica is cold all the time," Kelsey says. But she does take in Dillan's point. "I want to go to Australia when it's warm. Antarctica."
"Great, let's go." Jean-Paul is clearly not going anywhere. He is eating.
"I'll get the skis, the fishing poles and...ice for the coolers, you get the rest of the gear," Dillan says, calling dibs on the easy stuff.
"I haven't been skiing in -- a bit," Kelsey says, a little bit of a warning for Jean-Paul.
"Good. You can brush-up," says Jean-Paul, heartlessly ruthless.
"Well, if you fall and break anything, we'll just put you on the dogsled and rush you to the nearest hospital." Dillan adds cheerfully.
"I want to be flown," Kelsey insists. "By the Beaubier Express."
"I will be skiing. And not falling and breaking things," Jean-Paul says, "so no." He sweeps the last of his plate clean and then leans back with a roll of his shoulders in a subtle stretch. It is the universal 'Oh, God, I'm full,' stretch.
"Never get between a skier and his moguls," Dillan tsks. "Besides. Dogsleds are totally stylish."
"So if I break something, you are just going to abandon me?" Kelsey frowns and pierces another piece of lamb with her fork. "To /Dillan/? And his /dogsled/?" NO OFFENSE.
"They are stylish." Jean-Paul reaches out to pick up his bottle of water and take a sip before pushing back to stand. "You could just try not falling."
NONE TAKEN. WELL, NOT MUCH. "No falling and no getting caught. And hopefully no frostbite," Dillan starts to rattle off the list. "Geez, if this is how planning vacations goes around here, no wonder no one ever wants to go away."
"My other vacations have been far more mundane," Kelsey tells Dillan. "New York. Hawaii." She lifts her chin. "I'm sure I will /not/ fall."
"Well, with as exciting as things get around here," Dillan nods at the locations she's mentioned, "Guess mundane could be a nice change of pace."
"New York was to visit a particular friend," Kelsey explains after she flashes a quick smile and wiggles her fingers in farewell to Jean-Paul when he heads out. "I guess Hawaii is less mundane, even if it's not out of the country. But I guess I'm going to Antarctica now."
Dillan waves a quick goodbye as well, then grabs a piece of flatbread to wipe up some of the remaining sauce on his plate. "Wait, you're serious?"
"Jean-Paul doesn't joke about skiing," Kelsey says with a musing, almost resigned smile. Yes, she will freeze her butt off to go skiing with her friend. Her own food mopped up, she tucks her book under her arm and stands to gather her tray.
"Wow," Dillan tries not to laugh, gathering his own tray as well. "Weeelll, hope you've got some good long johns."
"I'll be sure to pack a lot of sweaters," Kelsey says with dry, willing humor. "I'll seeya anon, aye?" Her smile is warm with friendliness as she tips her chin to him and then heads out to dispose of her trash and make her way back to work.
"Cya," Dillan nods, dumping off his own stuff before heading off his own way.
SPACE TOURISTS.