11 / 09 / 10 - Alden, Illyana, Isabel, Jean-Paul, Kate, Terry, Tom
=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.
Being as she is a more reactive audience to anything disasterous, Illyana is down eating breakfast this morning, at the gravity well table. She has a big pile of scrambled eggs, and is eating her way through them without quite seeming to notice that's what she's doing. Om nom, nom. Instead, she's reading a paperback, maybe not work related, but she'd have to spend the time away from work to eat /anyway/, right? Her hair's up in its French braid, ready to get off to work once she's done.
Terry is not at the gravity well table. GASP. She is next to it though, taking up two places by planting her feet in an extra chair and slumping down in her seat. Her eggs are supplanted by a pile of bacon, one strip of which she is gnawing on while she scrolls through an iPad looking thing.
Jean-Paul takes a seat on the Terry-aligned edge of the gravity well table. He sets down his tray with a glance at Illyana that skims past to settle on the redhead, instead. He says, "Hey." He has neither laptop nor notebook nor iPad nor paperback. He has only his tray, piled high with food of a breakfast nature.
Exhaustion drags at Alden's lean limbs, grey eyes especially green with the brush of a bruise forming under them, circle coloring with a lack of sleep against lightly flushed skin. Blonde hair is still damp and mussed from the shower that lingers on his skin in the smell of ivory and cinnamon, unmarred for once by any smoke or nicotine. Steam curls out of the cup of coffee he fetches from the line, his attention sweeping the cafeteria as he decides where to sit. What is this, high school?
"Good morning," Illyana says when Jean-Paul arrives, politeness lacking some of the resentment it's shown sometimes recently. She goes back to her book, at least until Alden arrives. She offers him a smile.
Terry glances up, her smile flickering swiftly across her lips. "Howya," she says as well, Alden getting caught out over Jean-Paul's shoulder. She lifts her hand in a bit of a wave.
"Morning," Jean-Paul greets, even-voiced. He glances to Illyana with a certain degree of consideration for her lack of resentment, and then looks back at his tray. He picks up his fork, and starts arranging eggs on toast.
Following the words of advice, Kate takes a break from studying a mountain of paperwork to find the cafeteria. Bright green t-shirt that features a picture of Kermit the Frog is worn with gray cargos and sneakers. A tray is taken as she eyes the choices, filling her tray carefully, and choosing water and milk to go with them. Then she gets to feel like the new kid at school, heading towards the knot of people, recognizing at least some of them easily enough.
Gaze sliding from Terry to Illyana, Alden offers his own small smile that pulls at just one corner of his mouth for a moment before he looks thoughtfully for a second to Jean-Paul. He moves slowly to a seat at the other man's side, turning in the chair to request of Illyana, "You should move here, because I'm too tired to get back up."
Jean-Paul tips his head to Alden in a brief, wordless greeting. His mouth is full of that bite of bread and egg; that is why he doesn't say hello. He glances to Kate as she wanders in, but the only acknowledgment she gets is in the tip of his head.
Terry shoves the last of her bacon strip into her mouth and shoots a brightly amused look between Alden and Illyana for that exchange before setting the technogadget thingy down on the table with a small thump. Terry pats the seat next to her in silent invitation. It's just a matter of who gets there first.
Illyana's eyes go back to her book when it seems Alden has made his choice, but his comment catches her off-guard, and she looks up in surprise. "Oh, I--" She cuts off the hesitation before it can linger in awkward territory too long, and moves. Her book ends up falling early on the table in front of Alden, showing a passionately embracing couple in the art, and the title in Cyrillic. She lets the Terry seat go to Kate, if she wants it.
Eyes find Illyana, a hint of a smile of recognition, before she squares her shoulders a bit and slides into that patted seat. "Hi." Kate offers in general, as she settles in and adjusts her tray. Eggs, toast, some bacon. Yum.
Brow curving upwards at Terry's look, Alden seems to silently challenge it before his attention drops down to the artwork on the table, a chuckle breaking the silence of the table. "Does this type of book make you hungry?" he asks in a dry tease before sliding it closer to Illyana.
Whyfore the challenge? Terry is just amused! She returns Alden's challenging look blankly, the psuedo dimples in the corner of her mouth deepening slightly when she drops her look to the cover. She tears her attention away to nod to Kate and return her greeting with a "Hello there" there is softly accented.
"Hey," Jean-Paul greets Kate before he takes another bite of his toast. His gaze slides toward Illyana's book, and he tips his head just slightly to get a look at the cover and spine.
Illyana juggles her tray to set it down and then reclaim her book. "Not for eggs," she says, with a flicker of amusement, though she's slightly flushed at everyone noticing her choice of reading. She offers it over to Terry, giving JP a better view without realizing it, though the title in Russian is not very illuminating. "Stuff all unpacked now?" she asks Kate.
Kate glances around the table to try and match faces to pictures from dossiers. Eyes land on Illyana, a hint of a smile as she picks up her fork. "Most of it. Need some shelves for the books and things. It's looking a little less unlived in."
Maybe Alden just doesn't like you being amused at him, Terry. With everyone else greeting Kate, his eyes simply flick over her in a study, sharp and skilled as one educated in body language. He doesn't say anything, stealing Jean-Paul's chin tip instead. "No, I guess eggs wouldn't be the same thing," he replies in a murmur, lifting his cup to his lips.
"You're up for a couple tests in my area, aren't you?" Jean-Paul asks with a look across at her, attention shifting when Illyana's book is boring and foreign.
Not a fan of bodice rippers, JP? Instead of taking the book, Terry shifts in her seat to pull her foot up under her, leveraging herself up high enough to lean across and look. "You read it for the history, do y' now?" she teases, one romance reader to another.
"I read it to make sure my language skills for slang are up to date when we visit again," Illyana says, straight-faced, but eyes laughing at Terry. She tucks the book away beside her thigh. "It sometimes makes me crave a trip to a Russian bakery. The characters always seem to eat pastries I miss."
A forkful of eggs is being appreciated as Kate look to JP. A nod has to suffice until she swallows. "Yes. Stealth and Surveillance." Well, she knows who JP is, it seems. A glance at the book, without change of expression or a comment. She looks at Alden, giving him a sharp once over.
Alden doesn't reveal much to a sharp once over, much like Kate herself. The soft circles under his eyes still linger, though tiredness is hard to see as he sits easily in his chair, his own attention remaining on the women with mild amusement, distant as he sips his coffee slowly though he falls silent.
Speaking of... Terry returns Illyana's amusement with a grin, then looks back at the conversation on her other side. She snags a salt shaker on the way down as she settles back in her seat. She opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it and closes it again. The salt gets tipped over the eggs.
Jean-Paul casts a second look at Illyana's book only to find it has disappeared. As she and Terry discuss its literary merits, he moves from eggs to fruit. "Useful background, useful mutation," he says to Kate.
"I'll be doing your firearms tests," Illyana offers to Kate, too. Now she's all resettled, she starts eating again, cutting up some ham that had been waiting beside the eggs. "Long hours?" she asks Alden.
A brow edges up to a peak at Jean-Paul's comment, as she picks up a strip of cripsy bacon to bite into. She chews carefully, eyes sliding to Illyana. "Well, whenever is good for either of you. Right now I'm just doing paperwork and lots of reading. A break would be welcomed." Eyes shift back to Alden. "You're doing my Spanish, correct?" Kate
With her eggs properly seasoned (aka salted to hell and back), Terry shovels some in her mouth and listens in all around her shamelessly.
Eyebrow-arching provokes a mild, sardonic response in Jean-Paul. Glancing to the side, he watches as Terry loads up on salt. The look he gives her is just mildly chiding. Still -- not his business any more. Jean-Paul eats.
"No," Alden says simply, his gaze settling on Kate as she speaks. "I will arrange for Ms. Caldwell to do your certification. She will be the one to continue to make sure you still qualify, if you last." Swallowing coffee like a lifesource, he rolls a shoulder, his answer not forthcoming to Illyana as he watches Jean-Paul eat instead.
Tom does not all that commonly come to breakfast in the cafeteria, and this morning, he shows up late for it and looks a bit like something the cat dragged in. Or the dog dragged in. There are smears of dirt and grass stains at the knees of his jeans such as there probably never were even when he was wee. There is a decided thumpiness to his progress as he thumps over to the breakfast line to collect food and a tray. THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMP.
Between blueberry and strawberry, Jean-Paul glances over at Alden, with his fork partway to his mouth. What?? Stop watching him eat, man. He looks across the cafeteria as Tom thumps through, with humor a slow light in his eyes as he takes in the mess.
Alden's gaze slides away at Jean-Paul's reaction, lingering regret and hunger in his attention. Instead of getting up to go get food, he drinks from his cup slowly. That'll fill his stomach.
"Come by the range, I'm around there much of the day," Illyana tells Kate. "That looks like any interesting story," she tells Tom as he approaches, with a smile of greeting.
There's a curl of Kate's mouth that ends up in a smirk as she looks at Alden. Eyes linger on him, amusement lighting behind brown eyes. She lets it rest there even after Illyana speaks, before eyes move to the blonde with another mouth clearing swallow of breakfast. "Will do."
"You know, there's a whole lot of food up in line," Jean-Paul points out to Alden when he looks up. Grudging, he nudges a strip of bacon to the Alden-side of his plate.
"Bite my ass," Tom enunciates clearly. Milk, eggs, bacon, fruit, toast. Is there anything else he needs. More bacon. Just about when his tray begins to look like he might be trying to pack enough protein to take a run at a marathon, he turns and thumps his way to the group table. THUMP THUMP. Thump. thumpthump. Those last few probably aren't thumps. He hits the table with the tray and then flops down into a seat.
He's going to let Alden eat off /his/ plate? Oh, my. Terry just keeps eating, a sunshiney smile tossed to Jean-Paul's disapproval.
No. Jean-Paul is just flaunting the food that he has, and Alden doesn't. He greets, "Tom," in mild, dry fashion. His gaze lingers on mess in silent commentary.
Alden picks up the piece of bacon delicately between his fingers, a crooked flash of a grateful smile as he says dismissively, "Too far. I'd never make it." Hovering with the bacon, he glances towards Tom, habitual in his study as he takes in the thomping and throwing himself, looking for some subtle clue in that loud body language. He chews on the bacon slowly.
Apparently, flaunting has turned to stealing, then.
Damnit. Jean-Paul suffers this loss with a martyr's stoicism.
Kate blinks at Tom's statement, a mild clearing of her throat before she goes to for her water for a drink. There's a waggle of fingers from around the bottle of water for Tom, perhaps deciding a verbal greeting may be considered baiting.
Since she's generally one to push food on people, Illyana tries to actually give Alden one of her pieces of toast, but she pauses and then puts it back down on her tray when she sees he already has a source of food.
Subtle clues? Tom is exasperated and annoyed. You don't need to be a student of body language to be able to tell; it shows in his expression, in the flare of nostril, the glower of vivid green eye, the drawing together of thick, dark, expressive eyebrows in a scowl. "I'm just lucky the stupid bastard didn't break my fucking leg," Tom says.
"Maybe you should get a pet rock," suggests Jean-Paul with easy tranquility.
"Stones break bones," Terry contributes, slightly sing-song.
"Don't get a pet rock," Jean-Paul adds, thoughtful at Terry's words.
Alden drawls slowly, "And words will never hurt. Get a pet book, then."
"A plush dog, maybe," Illyana suggests. "They're still fluffy."
Not knowing about the bastard, Kate keeps quiet and sticks to devouring her breakfast. Most important meal of the day and all, especially with all the testing she's got ahead of her.
"Hah," Tom says without laughing, although the edge of an oncoming tirade seems to crack as he glances up the table; it's not clear, quite, to whom this directs. Not quite smiling, he blows a snort past his nose, and stabs into his breakfast with his fork.
Jean-Paul snorts, voiceless, at Alden's addition. He glances over at Tom, with his lips twitching in a smile carefully suppressed.
The last of the bacon disappears before Alden washes it down with his coffee, glancing thoughtfully to the offered toast but not making a move to take it.
Terry looks thoughtfully at it too, but it is a further reach for her.
Okay, then. Illyana puts her toast down in front of Alden. She meets Terry's eyes by the chance, looking up from it, and raises eyebrows in a question. Terry wanted it?
Jean-Paul eats his own food, with no need to reach out in a greedy grab. He tracks the transfer of toast, but says nothing to address it.
After a bite or two of eggs, Tom looks up and down the table with an air of growing, if mild, consternation as his glance skips from place to place. "What the fuck is this, charades?"
The toast makes the rounds, much like everyone else in X-Factor, as Alden gallantly picks it up and leans forward to put it on Terry's plate. "Yes, exactly that. Two words, common phrases," he replies dryly to Tom.
Tom guesses, "Dumbass?"
"Welcome to comedy hour," Jean-Paul asides, probably to Kate.
Kate is selfishly not offering anyone bits of her breakfast. She looks up from her plate at Tom's question, before she's glancing at Alden. There's a hint of teeth biting at her bottom lip as JP asides.
"That's only one word," Alden counters easily, his brow rising at Tom. "Would you like me to make gestures to help you?"
Terry just laughs, picking up the toast and lifting it in salute to Alden, then Illyana before taking a large bite out of it. A small bowl of fruit on her plate is offered in exchange.
Jean-Paul lifts his arm to protectively encircle his tray as he forks through the fruit.
Tom picks up a piece of bacon in his fingers and props his elbows against the table. He lifts his own eyebrows, and waggles the bacon at Alden with a twitch of his fingers. "Sure, hit me."
With a warm, rumbly chuckle, Alden lifts his shoulder simply instead of gesturing, his gaze sliding to Jean-Paul in amusement. "I think we're done with the charades, as it is," he says mildly before snaking a hand to attempt to snag a piece of fruit from Jean-Paul.
What? Is Terry's not sufficient? Is the forbidden fruit really that much more alluring? Terry leaves the bowl in the middle of the table and scoops eggs on to the remainder of the toast.
"Oh my God." Jean-Paul's arm shifts in a stilled deflection, but he doen't go through with it. Instead, he not only lets Alden snag, but he takes the bowl and slides it over while reaching out to take Terry's, instead.
Illyana wants your fruit, Terry! She slips the bowl onto her own tray and noms on it silently. She grins, watching Alden and Tom talk, and doesn't jump in.
Jean-Paul got it first.
Did not.
Speedster.
Did too, look at the pose order.
Forbidden fruit is always more alluring, especially if the fruit is guarded, too. "Thank you," he murmurs towards Jean-Paul as Alden pops a piece of fruit into his mouth.
Tom eats a bite of his own fruit with a somewhat quizzical expression. "You know there's like all this food /right/ over there?"
People just better leave her breakfast alone, or Kate will stab at hands with a fork. It will not be pretty.
"Too far," Alden repeats, picking through the fruit in front of him until he has a strawberry.
Well, fine. Illyana will eat from JP's-now-Alden's fruit bowl instead.
"Someone steal his food," Terry orders to the air-in-general.
"You're welcome." Exasperated, Jean-Paul glances over at Alden and misses Illyana's first sneak. When she eats, he flings his hand up in the air and pushes the bowl of fruit to a more central location.
Mock-exasperated. Not really exasperated. Real exasperation would violate the spirit of the thefts.
"Too far," is repeated again, wryly, before Alden glances over at Illyana's sneaking.
Tom looks skeptical. "Weirdos."
Jean-Paul eyes Tom's tray.
Too far.
Kate sips at her milk, a glance at Terry. She shakes her head, working on her own bowl of fruit.
Tom's tray does have a ridiculous amount of food on it.
Jean-Paul reaches, and takes a piece of bacon to replace the one stolen by Alden.
"There's no challenge in that," Illyana says, once there's central fruit. "We need some kind of training exercise, obviously. Stealing off people's plates."
As Jean-Paul picks from Tom's tray, Alden requests, "You should take a piece of sausage for me."
Terry leans sideways and almost shoulder bumps Kate while she considers her tray in turn.
Jean-Paul's hand hovers, light-fingered, as he looks for sausage on Tom's tray.
Tom plucks up a sausage link from the tray from beneath a piece of toast and blandly presents it to Jean-Paul's questing fingers.
Jean-Paul grins with sudden brightness, takes the link, and passes it on to Alden before bringing his bacon back to take a bite. He chews, swallows, and says, "Thanks."
Kate slides Terry a glance, shoulder not quite bumped. "If you value your fingers..." She bites into a piece of Bacon with a grin lurking behind her eyes.
There is a crooked, boyish grin on Alden's lips as he accepts the sausage hungrily, saying softly, "Thank you, love. You're such a good provider."
This is giving a whole new meaning to the term "communal kitchen." Terry just lifts her brows and smiles sweetly.
"You're welcome," Tom says. He breaks a piece of his remaining bacon in half so that he has two pieces again, this being obvious replacement for the one he lost, and eats one half, eyeing Alden. "I can't even make the joke," he says. "Too obvious."
Jean-Paul gives Alden a sidelong, suspicious glance at that soft tease. He eats another bite of bacon, and glances away to watch Terry and Kate.
There's a wink from Kate, nudging her plate towards the redhead. There's enough for several people, after all. Well, at least one with what's already gone. Toast, bacon, some fruit...
Illyana settles back to eating her own eggs, looking a little awkward with the direction the jokes are turning, and no longer able to add to them.
"You can't make the joke because it was already one," Alden answers with a curve of his brow, something reassuring as his gaze slides to meet Jean-Paul's with a slight shrug. He bites into the sausage.
"The sausage?" Tom says.
Jean-Paul almost winces and clears his throat. "Really, instead of giving Alden food, we should all just teach him to hunt, kill, and cook his own."
"Oh, I suppose I might not have made the same joke. Me wanting sausage could be a grand joke." Alden stops, however, no matter how dryly amused his tone is to return his attention to Jean-Paul again. His look is very challenging.
Jean-Paul's gaze sliiides away from challenge. Let's go back to teaching Alden to cook, right, guys??
"I have a bow you could borrow," Illyana contributes, to the hypothetical hunt/cook expedition for Alden.
"I have no idea what you all are on about," Terry informs the joking boys as she snags a slice of bacon from Kate.
"I don't think I want to hear about you wanting my sausage," Tom says firmly. "You know, if you make a man a fire, he's warm for a day, but if you /set/ him on fire, he's warm for the rest of his life." He bites into his toast.
"Which is painfully short, at that point." Kate adds on to Tom's little adage. There's a flash of a smile at Terry as bacon is subtly snagged, the brunette finishing off a piece of toast.
At the unexpected ending of that sentence, Alden actually laughs, a rich sound that escapes from his lips in ringing tones. He shakes his head slowly as the laughter dies off.
Jean-Paul glances across at Tom, and says, "You know, coming from you, jokes about setting someone on fire--."
Tom gives Jean-Paul a smile, and takes another bite of toast.
Seated around a table (except for Terry, who is a loser, and seated nearby), the group appears to be eating a lot off of each other's trays, one bowl of fruit communally located, and telling some great jokes to judge by Alden's laugh.
I thought everyone came to sit at Terry's table.
Who cares?
Our table is made of handwavium.
It is a study material. Don't be afraid to sit down.
Terry cares because then she is not a loser. :p
Whatever. They are seated together-ish.
Alden doesn't have a tray, by the way. He has a cup of coffee and a piece of sausage. His breakfast is all about scrounging.
Illyana is eating her eggs. "Like that," she tells Alden, out of the blue with a small smile, and with no apparent connection to anything in the conversation.
Terry is so at the table, because she's all shoulder bumping Kate and subtly stealing bacon. Kate looks at Illy with her short, seeming unrelated statement.
Jean-Paul glances over from Illyana to Alden between bites of bacon.
Terry's plate is empty, and she actually rises, so have a seat IN THE MIDDLE. She smiles down at the group and just shakes her head. "I am needing to head in," she offers by way of explination before heading out.
The lingering smile flattens slightly before it slides into another tight smile at Illyana, Alden saying simply, "Ah, thank you." He shoves the rest of the sausage in his mouth, not answering Jean-Paul's glance.
Isabel appears in the doorway to the cafeteria with a yawn large enough to only be half-smothered by the press of her hand against her mouth. She pauses several steps in at the large group, brows inching up as she takes note of each person present before slipping toward the food.
Tom says, "What?"
Kate waves farewell to Terry, digging into her bacon. Sipping at milk, she looks a bit at sea among the interplay.
"Morning," Illyana tells Isabel, after spearing a cantalope piece from the central fruit bowl. "Have you met Kate yet?" She gives the new agent a polite smile, recognizing how quiet she's gotten.
When he notices Isabel, Jean-Paul watches to catch her eye and tips his head in a greeting.
Tom throws a half strawberry at Illyana's head and swings back in a lean, turning his glance over his shoulder to mark Isabel's approach as he bites into the other half of his broken piece of bacon.
Following Jean-Paul's gaze, Alden mimics him further with a tilt of his chin in another greeting before he glances towards Tom at his fruit throwing. "A starving kid would have loved that in a third world country," he tells him with mock-seriousness.
Kate looks up at Isabel, a hint of a nod substituting a normal greeting since her mouth is full.
"What are you, my mother?" Tom says, looking back at Alden.
"Maybe I'm feeling my age, but I'm not feeling like a woman, however," Alden replies with a shake of his head, fingers filching his own piece of fruit from the communal bowl.
Isabel's lips curve slightly as she meets Jean-Paul's gaze and returns the tip of his nod before her eyes slip along the table to catch Alden's. She lingers there for a moment, her smile present but different-natured, before she slips off to pile a tray with yogurt and cottage cheese.
Jean-Paul watches Isabel, and a certain sympathetic sardonicism colors his gaze as he looks away. He glances sidelong at Alden, and says, "Not looking much like one, either."
Illyana doesn't have time to catch the strawberry in time, so rather than eat it, she pickes it up and throws it right back.
"It's true, you're about the /age/ of my mother," Tom says critically. He pays little heed to the bounce of strawberry off his forehead; it hits the table on its ricochet. He finishes off his piece of bacon. With his mouth full he adds, "Give or take."
Alden's mouth opens then closes. Finally, he simply asks with a teasing edge to his words, "Is she pretty?"
Still in a moment's horror, Jean-Paul says, "No, Alden." Firmly.
"Prettier than you will be after I break your /face/," Tom says, narrowing his gaze at him across the table. He starts shredding a piece of toast, possibly out of some violent significance.
Yogurt and cottage cheese does not take /that/ long. Isabel reappears at the table just behind Tom as he makes his threat, and her brows shoot up toward her hairline as she watches him shred. Automatically, her gaze turns to Alden in accusation, and then to Jean-Paul in query. What?
Grey-green eyes dancing with lingering amusement, Alden scolds dryly, "Don't play with your food, mister." He glances towards Jean-Paul with a smile before his gaze slides to find Isabel again in the cafeteria.
Jean-Paul shakes his head at Isabel, and pops a bit of melon in his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then greets, "Morning. Alden thinks he is Tom's mother. Or -- something."
"My mother," Tom says, holding up a finger and then pointing it directly at Alden's nose. Like he is calling a shot. For where his fist will go. "Off limits."
Kate looks amused as Tom threatens Alden's pretty face. Lips twitch, but she says nothing, choosing to keep eating instead and clean off her plate, finishing off with fruit for desert.
"Gmorning, Isabel," Alden murmurs, his gaze catching on her as she approaches and holding there. The moment passes, and his attention returns to Tom, his own fingers raising for an acknowledging salute.
"Oh," says Isabel faintly. She looks more than a little baffled as she slides into a seat and settles her tray carefully atop the table. Her gaze flicks between Tom and Alden again, inevitably wary. "Morning," she finally replies.
Satisfied, Tom retrieves his fork and gathers his cooling eggs onto it. "Good morning, Pez," he says. He doesn't actually seem especially crabby anymore, even though his pants are stained with grass and dirt and ten minutes ago he was stomping around like an elephant with something up its butt. He eats eggs.
Jean-Paul watches Alden as he watched Isabel, eating fruit as he studies.
"Hey, Tom," Isabel answers. "Illyana-- uh. New girl." The curve of her smile is slow and relieved as she sits and no one appears to actually be punching anyway. Another yawn tugs at her lips and she raises a hand to cover it before peeling at the foil top of her yogurt.
Since Isabel is at the table, Illyana greets her! "Morning," she says. Her eggs are almost gone, but she's lingering anyway, maybe for the company, or maybe for the morbid fascination.
Kate finishes her fruit, water, and milk. She rises with a murmur of "Excuse me." Taking her tray to where it needs to go. "I'll catch you at the range later?" She asks of Illyana, before intending to make her escape.
Mostly, Alden looks very bland, but there's a faint edge of frustration and affection underneath the schooled features. Without being able to talk about Tom's mom, he falls silent as he picks through more fruit to find what he wants.
Tom glances a little baffledly at Kate, like he can't figure out why anyone would excuse themselves on leaving the table -- Samantha, did you not teach this boy ANY manners. He eats another bite of eggs and then moves to open his milk carton. "So," he says, "does anybody want to adopt a dog. I promise he smells nothing at all like skunk."
Isabel's eyes widen on Tom as she looks up, foil crinkled between her fingers. "He didn't," she says.
Illyana nods in acknowledgment of Kate. "Sure," she agees. Then she looks back to Tom. "Mika would kill me in my sleep."
Brow curving upwards at Tom, Alden looks thoughtful for a moment at the offer. Maybe he could be a dog person. "How firm is the skunk promise?" he questions.
Jean-Paul says, "Uhm. I'll stick with my rock."
"No," Tom says, lifting his milk to take along swallow before he expands, "because I landed on him." He glances at Alden and says, "Hand to God, but if the new girl hadn't fixed his harness for me--" Look, I am talking to you about your alt, but apparently she doesn't get a name yet.
"You have a rock?" Isabel queries of Jean-Paul, her smile rich with amusement as she lifts yogurty foil to lick it clean. Manners, what?
"Metaphorical rock," Jean-Paul admits with a gesture of his fork.
"I have a cactus," Isabel shares..
"Plush," Illyana corrects Jean-Paul. "For huggableness."
Alden's gaze flicks to Isabel at her bad manners, the line of his lips tightening for a moment before he returns to watching Tom. "We have too many new girls for that to be helpful," he replies dismissively. "Was he chasing a skunk, then?"
"The Gypsy in the tent in the forest," Tom says helpfully, finishing off his piece of toast next before settling over the remains of his non-communal fruit. "He found a skunk. Fucking dog. I hope you aren't hugging the cactus," he says to Isabel with an arch of his eyebrows.
"Sometimes I get very lonely," Isabel tells Tom, her eyes all wide and puppy-dog. She digs her spoon into the yogurt and breaks into a grin before she adds, "What the hell is she doing out there, anyway? It's /cold/ in a tent by yourself." What, is that a pointed flick of her eyes toward Jean-Paul and Tom? Nooo.
Jean-Paul is neutral on plushness, and bland -- suspiciously so -- on the coldness of tents. He smothers a smile, again, as he reaches out to pick up his glass of orange juice and finish it. "Skunk, huh?" he asks, glass lowering.
Alden's brow lifts at Isabel, a snort soft at her response towards Tom. "Skunk," he echoes neutrally as he tucks his chin at Tom's description of which new girl. That's more helpful.
"That would be /awfully/ pokey," Tom tells Isabel, teeth catching his lower lip in the curve of a smile. "Some like it hot, some like it cold." He turns a look at Jean-Paul. He gives him a look, gaze skipping up to mark the bright flash of silver in his dark hair, and fights to kill the smile as he says, "Yeah. He got pretty excited."
Jean-Paul gives Tom a /look/. He saw that.
Isabel did, too. She starts laughing, head bent to the press of her hand.
Following all of these looks and laughter, Alden looks curious and questioning as his brows draw up in a silent question. "What?"
The grin breaks across Tom's features. "Everybody is laughing at really stupid jokes this morning," he says. He glances at Alden, brows arching.
Isabel gives a helpful ruffle of Jean-Paul's hair, still lost to laughter as she begins to braid that silver streak.
"Ah," is made in the back of Alden's throat before his fingers fold around his coffee cup, watching Isabel and Jean-Paul for a moment before he looks away. To nothing.
"Not again," Jean-Paul says with a mock-pained martyrdom. He sets his glass down to reach up and find the twining bits of hair, fighting against nothing.
Illyana stares at the braiding in something very like shock.
Alden says, "Ah," is made in the back of Alden's throat before his fingers fold around his coffee cup, his gaze going momentarily to Jean-Paul's movements before flicking to Isabel. Then he looks away. To nothing.""
"Ah," is made in the back of Alden's throat before his fingers fold around his coffee cup, his gaze going momentarily to Jean-Paul's movements before flicking to Isabel. Then he looks away. To nothing. Third time is a charm.
Tom flicks a glance at Illyana with the language of his eyebrows reflecting the sardonic.
Isabel finally wheezes to a halt and tangles telekinesis with Jean-Paul's fingers before releasing both him and his hair. "Oh, fuck," she breathes, and shakes her head as she digs for a bite of yogurt.
Fingers splaying wide, Jean-Paul fights for dignity, and probably loses. He detangles and flattens his hair, giving Isabel a look of long-suffering. Alden's nothing is not ignored, but rather answered with a look of mild sardonicism. Everyone is sardonic.
Jean-Paul's sardonicism is ignored, because Alden's looking at nothing. He takes a sip of his coffee, looking to that instead.
Isabel gives Jean-Paul a returning gaze of innocence, her eyes wide. The expression is perhaps ruined by the light of her smile around the spoon she leaves to hang between her lips for a moment. What?
This is getting too weird, even for Illyana! She scrapes her plate and then stands, having to juggle both tray and her bodice-ripper again. "See you later," she says, without directing it at anyone in particular.
Since Illyana is leaving, Tom does not bother eyeing her anymore; rather, he says wryly, "Comedy hour," with a tip of his milk in Jean-Paul's direction before he drains the rest of it in one long swallow, head tipped back and lashes fanning thick and dark against his cheeks.
"G'bye," Alden offers lowly to Illyana, who'd sat next to him. His gaze flicks to her, a slight study made as he eyes her instead of Tom.
"You're bad for my reputation," Jean-Paul says to Isabel, his words low, but spoken in a way that carries.
"What reputation?" Isabel retorts as she turns to watch Illyana's exit with a lift of her hand and a "Later," in response.
Setting down his empty milk, Tom stretches out his legs beneath the table, propping his feet against the seat that Illyana has vacated. He snorts.
"I'll leave you musketeers to yourselves," Alden offers after a minute, standing up slowly with his own coffee in tow. "Have a good day." His fingers raise in the familiar salute that serves for farewell before he moves towards the exit himself.
"Dibs on Athos," Jean-Paul says as Alden rises. He nods a farewell.
"Not Aramis?" Tom looks at Jean-Paul with lifted eyebrows, even as he flicks a wave after the departing.
Isabel's eyes snap to Alden on his stand, and for a moment she just watches him and his salute before she voices quietly, "Bye."
"He's a little--." Jean-Paul gestures with his fork. He is clearly too straight-forward (and not nearly enough of a lady-killer) to be Aramis.
"I don't think I am very Aramis either," Tom says, frowning dubiously. "Does that mean I have to be d'Artagnan?"
"Porthos," Jean-Paul says, straight-faced.
"What?" says Isabel, distracted.
"Isabel is clearly Porthos," Tom says. "She is the one with all the liquor." He props his fist against his cheek, letting his feet fall again. He glances after Alden's departure, and then looks back at Isabel.
Looking over at Isabel, Jean-Paul's humor fades in a slow twist of his lips. As Tom furthers the comparison, it brightens again in his eyes. "We don't really make very good musketeers."
"What the hell are we talking about?" Isabel baffles, glancing between Jean-Paul and Tom as she eats.
"The Three Musketeers," Tom says. "It's a book. That I read." Doesn't he sound proud?
Oh, wow, it is just the three of us now. Jean-Paul finishes his food and looks across his empty tray. "Need another book?"
"I know what The Three Musketeers is," Isabel retorts to Tom.
"Well, why did you ask, then?" Tom asks ingenuously, and then picks up another half strawberry as he twitches his eyebrows together at Jean-Paul. "Do you have another book?"
"I have lots of books," Jean-Paul says with a solemn sort of manner. "I'll give you one, sometime." Rising with a nod to Isabel and Tom, he says, "Later."
Champions of breakfast.