Brunch With Parents [Thursday Morning, Newtech City, 15 Years in the Future]
It's not until the next morning that Bridge and Xander realise that not only did the portal spit them out at oh-dark-thirty the previous night, it spat them out at oh-dark-thirty *Wednesday* night. When they'd left on Tuesday. And it's now Thursday morning, the table is set for brunch, and everyone is sitting down around the table full of non-Synthetron-made food.
The atmosphere around the table is . . . well, it could be more uncomfortable. At the moment it's maybe a bit comfortable around the edges of a lot of awkward, but hey, give the Carsons some credit, they're trying.
Although Sarah does seem to be eyeing both Xander and Bridge somewhat askance. Could be a trick of the light, but . . . no, askance.
"So. Uh. The house looks nice. Hasn't changed much. Which is probably because you guys were, uh, not here much. But hey! Now you are. And we are. And the place looks good. Oh, hey, toast. Is it," yes there's a fingerwiggle, "buttery?"
Yeah. Bridge sucks at small talk. Even with his own parents.
Ah, the fingerwiggle. Stephen the second violinist likes to think it's the unique way (thanks, SPD lab) his son inherited at least part of his musical ability.
"Of course it's" -- he imitates the gesture -- "buttery," he says, not doing much better in the small talk department himself, or he would have addressed the rest of Bridge's comments.
Which makes Xander let out a nervous giggle despite, or more likely because of, the awkward. "So which came first, the finger-wiggle or the egg?"
There's a slight coughing sound that can almost be described as a snorfle as Sarah chokes on her, well, eggs. It's debatable whether she's more embarrassed by the (please god let it be) unintentional if straw-grasping double entendre, or by the fact that it's her son's boyfriend asking.
This does not bode well for the imminent end to the askance looks.
"I think," she says once breathing has become a possibility again, "I'm not sure who started it, really."
The fact that it was unintentional can be confirmed by Xander's lack of turning red, then, blue, then crawling under the table from whence the muffled sounds of 'OH EM GEE NOT DIRTY NOT DIRTY NOT DIRTY!' would have arisen.
Instead he just looks at Bridge and wiggles his fingers. "I'm pretty sure it's contagious, anyway."
Bridge can't help but grin brilliantly at that. "It's spread beyond my control. Not that it ever was in my control, apparently."
"I think you've got Z doing it now too." Small talk, right? He can - sort of - do small talk. Especially if it's not about him.
At the mention of Z, Bridge's smile disappears for a moment. When it's back, it's... a little less genuine. "Right. Z does do that," he says, somewhat awkwardly.
And the Carsons had occasional worries that they'd given their son a strange name.
"Z?" asks Stephen, a piece of fingerwiggly-buttery toast halfway to his mouth and one eyebrow raised.
"Short for Elizabeth." Bridge pauses for a moment before he adds: "Delgado. My teammate, actually, since last summer."
"Delgado?"
There was no Significant Look that passed between Bridge's parents just now.
But ooooo, awkward silence.
Oh. Yeah. That. Mmm, toes.
Xander is now actively thinking about that hiding under the table option.
And Bridge now feels guilty for making a big deal about it. Which is why one of his hands is now seeking out Xander's, under the table. "But that really doesn't have to do with why we're here so maybe we could talk about that later or something? Because this is actually kind of awkward now." Not that it wasn't before.
Leave it to Bridge to actually say the awkward silence is ...awkward. Xander squeezes his hand. "So how 'bout them....sports teams that still exist fifteen years into my future and boy this sentence could've ended better."
Awkward silence just got a little more awkward.
Sarah suddenly finds her food incredibly fascinating, and Stephen clears his throat. "We don't actually have much time to follow sports," he says, and boy does he regret that right about now. Never again at any time in his life, possibly, but right now is it ever a world of regret.
"Well, you wouldn't," Bridge says. "Not with being on tour all the time."
"Well, no," agrees Sarah. "But if you wanted to know all about the scandalous backstage goings-on in any major city orchestra . . ."
This isn't going to get normal any time soon, is it?
"Moooom," Bridge groans. "Please don't. I'm still traumatised after the time you told me about first chair auditions for the trumpets four years ago..."
"Calling them strumpets was an accident!" she protests.
And this is the first time this morning that Xander's laughed in a way that didn't remind him of looking in a mirror and seeing a hyena look back. It bursts out of his lips, a bubble of genuine amusement.
Of course, that's immediately followed by a hand to his mouth and a cough and a glance at where his shoes would be if there wasn't a table between him and the floor, because what if he wasn't supposed to be amused?
Bridge, for what it's worth, is actually grinning widely now. "Oh, sure, *you* laugh. I had to hear about that particular incident in excruciating, embarrassing detail."
Sarah might actually be flailing now. In a perfectly adult, subdued manner. Really.
"It wasn't that bad!"
"Better or worse than the conversation my best friend and I had about pumping our hostage for information?" Xander asks, taking a warped kind of pity on her. Then he re-winds and actually hears what he said. "...And when I say hostage I mean. Uh. Future co-worker. Who just needed a little moral guidance and a boot to the head."
Stephen coughs. "That might be kind of a tossup, actually."
He's really hoping Xander doesn't mean the boot literally.
It's Andrew. Xander totally means the boot literally. "It wasn't my boot," he offers. "Buffy's are smaller." And pack more force.
"And she kicks harder," Bridge adds helpfully.
Stephen really has no idea what to say to that. No idea at all.
"Her foot was in the boot when you threw it?" asks Sarah, which doesn't help much at all, if any.
Xander shakes his head. "No detachable feet involved in this story. That would just be weird."
Cue WTF-face from Sarah. Or rather, WTF-face quickly followed by inappropriately-intrigued face.
"Do you have other stories involving detachable feet, though?"
Arm in a box is his first thought, but it's followed so quickly by heart in a box that he can't bring himself to tell it just now. "My school-assigned-type little sister used to play artificial limb ball," he offers instead. "I have no idea where she got the artificial limb."
. . . ooooooooooooookay. Sarah just might be picturing a thriving prosthetics black market operating out of a convenient clump of rocks on the island, or something, now.
It's an amusing mental image, apparently, because it distracts her well into the main course and almost up through dessert.
And with dessert over with (and you can totally have dessert with brunch, okay?), Bridge jumps up and starts clearing dishes from the table.
Well, of course you can have dessert with brunch, especially in this household.
"Bridge, you don't have to do that," protests Sarah -- which of course means that she has to jump up and start clearing dishes right along with him. "At least let me help you with that!"
[OOC: preplayed with needsaparrot and futurebucs_star. TBC in comments. Otherwise NFI and also NFB and NFM (Not For Monkeys). OMG TLAs.]
The atmosphere around the table is . . . well, it could be more uncomfortable. At the moment it's maybe a bit comfortable around the edges of a lot of awkward, but hey, give the Carsons some credit, they're trying.
Although Sarah does seem to be eyeing both Xander and Bridge somewhat askance. Could be a trick of the light, but . . . no, askance.
"So. Uh. The house looks nice. Hasn't changed much. Which is probably because you guys were, uh, not here much. But hey! Now you are. And we are. And the place looks good. Oh, hey, toast. Is it," yes there's a fingerwiggle, "buttery?"
Yeah. Bridge sucks at small talk. Even with his own parents.
Ah, the fingerwiggle. Stephen the second violinist likes to think it's the unique way (thanks, SPD lab) his son inherited at least part of his musical ability.
"Of course it's" -- he imitates the gesture -- "buttery," he says, not doing much better in the small talk department himself, or he would have addressed the rest of Bridge's comments.
Which makes Xander let out a nervous giggle despite, or more likely because of, the awkward. "So which came first, the finger-wiggle or the egg?"
There's a slight coughing sound that can almost be described as a snorfle as Sarah chokes on her, well, eggs. It's debatable whether she's more embarrassed by the (please god let it be) unintentional if straw-grasping double entendre, or by the fact that it's her son's boyfriend asking.
This does not bode well for the imminent end to the askance looks.
"I think," she says once breathing has become a possibility again, "I'm not sure who started it, really."
The fact that it was unintentional can be confirmed by Xander's lack of turning red, then, blue, then crawling under the table from whence the muffled sounds of 'OH EM GEE NOT DIRTY NOT DIRTY NOT DIRTY!' would have arisen.
Instead he just looks at Bridge and wiggles his fingers. "I'm pretty sure it's contagious, anyway."
Bridge can't help but grin brilliantly at that. "It's spread beyond my control. Not that it ever was in my control, apparently."
"I think you've got Z doing it now too." Small talk, right? He can - sort of - do small talk. Especially if it's not about him.
At the mention of Z, Bridge's smile disappears for a moment. When it's back, it's... a little less genuine. "Right. Z does do that," he says, somewhat awkwardly.
And the Carsons had occasional worries that they'd given their son a strange name.
"Z?" asks Stephen, a piece of fingerwiggly-buttery toast halfway to his mouth and one eyebrow raised.
"Short for Elizabeth." Bridge pauses for a moment before he adds: "Delgado. My teammate, actually, since last summer."
"Delgado?"
There was no Significant Look that passed between Bridge's parents just now.
But ooooo, awkward silence.
Oh. Yeah. That. Mmm, toes.
Xander is now actively thinking about that hiding under the table option.
And Bridge now feels guilty for making a big deal about it. Which is why one of his hands is now seeking out Xander's, under the table. "But that really doesn't have to do with why we're here so maybe we could talk about that later or something? Because this is actually kind of awkward now." Not that it wasn't before.
Leave it to Bridge to actually say the awkward silence is ...awkward. Xander squeezes his hand. "So how 'bout them....sports teams that still exist fifteen years into my future and boy this sentence could've ended better."
Awkward silence just got a little more awkward.
Sarah suddenly finds her food incredibly fascinating, and Stephen clears his throat. "We don't actually have much time to follow sports," he says, and boy does he regret that right about now. Never again at any time in his life, possibly, but right now is it ever a world of regret.
"Well, you wouldn't," Bridge says. "Not with being on tour all the time."
"Well, no," agrees Sarah. "But if you wanted to know all about the scandalous backstage goings-on in any major city orchestra . . ."
This isn't going to get normal any time soon, is it?
"Moooom," Bridge groans. "Please don't. I'm still traumatised after the time you told me about first chair auditions for the trumpets four years ago..."
"Calling them strumpets was an accident!" she protests.
And this is the first time this morning that Xander's laughed in a way that didn't remind him of looking in a mirror and seeing a hyena look back. It bursts out of his lips, a bubble of genuine amusement.
Of course, that's immediately followed by a hand to his mouth and a cough and a glance at where his shoes would be if there wasn't a table between him and the floor, because what if he wasn't supposed to be amused?
Bridge, for what it's worth, is actually grinning widely now. "Oh, sure, *you* laugh. I had to hear about that particular incident in excruciating, embarrassing detail."
Sarah might actually be flailing now. In a perfectly adult, subdued manner. Really.
"It wasn't that bad!"
"Better or worse than the conversation my best friend and I had about pumping our hostage for information?" Xander asks, taking a warped kind of pity on her. Then he re-winds and actually hears what he said. "...And when I say hostage I mean. Uh. Future co-worker. Who just needed a little moral guidance and a boot to the head."
Stephen coughs. "That might be kind of a tossup, actually."
He's really hoping Xander doesn't mean the boot literally.
It's Andrew. Xander totally means the boot literally. "It wasn't my boot," he offers. "Buffy's are smaller." And pack more force.
"And she kicks harder," Bridge adds helpfully.
Stephen really has no idea what to say to that. No idea at all.
"Her foot was in the boot when you threw it?" asks Sarah, which doesn't help much at all, if any.
Xander shakes his head. "No detachable feet involved in this story. That would just be weird."
Cue WTF-face from Sarah. Or rather, WTF-face quickly followed by inappropriately-intrigued face.
"Do you have other stories involving detachable feet, though?"
Arm in a box is his first thought, but it's followed so quickly by heart in a box that he can't bring himself to tell it just now. "My school-assigned-type little sister used to play artificial limb ball," he offers instead. "I have no idea where she got the artificial limb."
. . . ooooooooooooookay. Sarah just might be picturing a thriving prosthetics black market operating out of a convenient clump of rocks on the island, or something, now.
It's an amusing mental image, apparently, because it distracts her well into the main course and almost up through dessert.
And with dessert over with (and you can totally have dessert with brunch, okay?), Bridge jumps up and starts clearing dishes from the table.
Well, of course you can have dessert with brunch, especially in this household.
"Bridge, you don't have to do that," protests Sarah -- which of course means that she has to jump up and start clearing dishes right along with him. "At least let me help you with that!"
[OOC: preplayed with needsaparrot and futurebucs_star. TBC in comments. Otherwise NFI and also NFB and NFM (Not For Monkeys). OMG TLAs.]