[Open] In the kitchens with Eliot

[distinctive_guy]

CHARACTERS: distinctive_guy and YOU
DATE: Dec 05 (Day 22; Afternoon)
RATING: Possible swearing?
SUMMARY: Eliot's back in the kitchen cooking. Or making food anyway. For once it's not big portions.

Comments

[mostawkward]

Wesley stares at that array of food, which is totally not what he's expecting to find in here in Shitrock Central. The fact that this place has mroe decent food than his apartment will ever see kind of makes him feel insecure, in that 'my previous self is such a fucking failure in so many proportions' mixed with 'I would so not complain to having somebody cook shit for me all the time'.

So he'll be standing there and admiring the food and probably leaning on getting one of those sandwiches, probably the chicken one, and says, "goddamn, I didn't know we get to have fancy food while being stuck here. Shit's even classier than Subway."

That's kind of really sad, he thinks. When a post-apocalyptic world has better food than your real world, you know that somehow, someone screwed up big time.

[distinctive_guy]

"Subway? You don't compare-" Eliot was in mid snort when he looked up and saw who it was that walked in. His eyes widened for an unguarded second before they narrowed quickly, instantly mistrusting the man who stepped in. From behind the counter, he shifted slightly into a more defensive position.

The man carried himself like a trained fighter, it was all in the balance of the walk and tactical positioning of the body, and had a certain presence about him that Eliot recognized from one killer to the next. But it wasn't even all that.

It was the familiar face attached to the unfamiliar body.

"Who are you?"

[mostawkward]

"Use your words and finish that, or save me the air and use none at all."

But the sudden caution, the defensive stance, the guardedness, that didn't escape Wesley's eye. All his life he's been trained to look carefully at things that move too fast, of things that make the heart quicken and rise and things that can catch the heart in the quick. Death is easy. Carrying its presence and being rid of it is something else entirely, and it'd be too fucking generous to say that Wesley actually relishes the attention paid to him. It's that kind of gratification one gets from recognizing the self reflected onto someone else, no matter how imperfect it was.

And fuck it, it's been too long since he's had to be on guard, so he welcomes the prodding and the surprise, the slightest apprehension. He grins widely, boyish charm conflated with a manic bent, and looks at him squarely, because he owes him that much.

"Just another customer. You gonna give me a sandwich, or are we gonna keep looking at each other's eyes?"

[distinctive_guy]

A confident smirk raised to the retrivalist's face as he took in the subtle recognition and change when the other sized him up. "Ain't a customer if you ain't payin', pal, and don't think you got the right currency."

He placed down the plate he held and crossed his arms although he kept his stance prepared, in case he had to move fast on his feet. "Though if you answer the question properly, it might be 'nough to barter one."

Obviously this man wasn't the telepath he knew, but Eliot didn't believe in coincidences like this. What he really wanted to know was if this dangerous guy could be related to Kernos in any way.

[mostawkward]

"Goddamn, it's so hard to be popular." Wesley has a flair for dramatics, and he likes to think he uses them well in different situations. Such as this one. "Next thing you know, I'll be sleeping with groupies left and right, and all I really wanted to make this vacay fabulous is my goddamned cat. I'm Wesley. I wanna say something nice, like, 'oh, I'm sorry I'm not your Professorly telepathic bitch', but you know, I'm not really nice."

He shrugs, arms spread, hands open. Look, ma, no knives or guns. Anything for free food, yeah? And he's cautious enough to see whether or not it's poisoned or anything, his eyesight is the bane of Optics and Physics. (Except for the fact that he can probably make out a gun holstered within his clothes.)

"Do I win the chicken sandwich now, or do you want my fucking credentials too?"

[distinctive_guy]

Whatever it was, but something in Wesley's answer surprised Eliot enough that he released a huge bark of laughter. His defensive stance relaxed after that, because frankly, he doubted those Kernos guys had the style to send a badmouthing, sarcastic, sonuvabitch like this guy.

The complete uselessness of the open display wasn't lost on Eliot either. The guy was holstered, and if Wesley was any good, he'd be able to draw fast enough that it didn't matter he wasn't holding it.

But Eliot kinda liked the brazen personality anyay.

"Guess you're gettin' lots of reaction to your appearance, huh." He was grinning now, and his arms uncrossed to reach for one of his excellent chicken sandwiches. "Now, you want your sandwich toasted or are ya too hungry to wait? I'm Eliot, by the way."

[mostawkward]

"I can wait." And he settles for a seat somewhere near Eliot. "Free food's always worth a hell lot of things, coming from a guy who used to subsist on fucking peanut butter."

Which is not a lie, but then again, is also a lie. One of these days he'll have to keep track of all the lies he says, starting with the fact that he knows how to knit. This Shitrock is making him go mad, and it's entirely too morbid and too funny to Wesley either way. He knows he should probably be upset that he's not at home, but damn, there's too many interesting things in here too.

Besides, home is a broken train stretched across two mountains in Prague with a dead body, and really, Wesley'd rather not go back to that. He can be forgiven for not wanting to, he supposed, but that's not really what he's looking for

[distinctive_guy]

Eliot placed the sandwich over the stove as soon as he got the go ahead. "You can do a lot with peanut butter," he commented offhand as he waited for the sandwich to toast. It was at least more flavorful than the gruel he had to survive on for weeks on end in the Myanmar prison although he doubted Wesley would appreciate the comparison.

He turned from the sandwich to arch an eyebrow at the other man. It was uncanny to see that familiar face on someone so completely different. "Take it you haven't met your doppelganger yet, huh. It's weird, man, seein' your face but knowin' you're not him."

Shaking his head, he chuckled and took the nicely grilled sandwich off. He served it to Wesley on a plate. "For an eight by eight island, a person can hide pretty damn well if they want."

[mostawkward]

"I've met him, he hasn't met me." There's a difference, and Wesley prefers that he's the one who's watching, instead of the other way around, although things always shift in the goddamn network and it's always difficult to discern who knows about people more. It's not about the place, Wesley thinks, it's about the goddamned people in it who have their own ideas about how to survive, if that list of murderers is to go by. "And if you think that's weird, try being the one people are expecting to be super fucking nice and then breaking their little hearts the moment I so much as open my mouth."

He's being unfair to his double, he knows, but Wesley doesn't really care at the moment. "Depends, yeah? The Island only has resources on certain places, unless there's a colony somewhere that I haven't been told."

[distinctive_guy]

Oh, Eliot understood the difference alright and his grin said as much. After all, he was in a similar situation himself, lurking in the background while people remained oblivious to his presence unless they met him in person. Although in the case of the network, it wasn't as much a conscience decision as a force of habit.

"Nah, anyone who's seen one of ya won't be mistaken you for the other." Even the most blind person will be able to tell the difference and Eliot had no doubt even if the two were seated in the same room together, he'd be able to tell them apart instantly. "It'd throw them off, but you're you. Trust me, man, you're very distinctive."

He added with a snort, "You don't care if you're breakin' hearts."

[mostawkward]

Okay, so Wesley had to laugh at that, and it comes out a lot harsher than he intended. Probably because it's a little too honest. "No, I really fucking don't, but you're not here to disseminate my goddamned affairs over a chicken sandwich. That'd better be fucking good, for all the entertainment I'm providing over here."

Well, they're bros now, so Wesley figured he can ask for shit now. "How long've you been here?"

[distinctive_guy]

Eliot arched an eyebrow boldly as if to ask, 'then when is a better time'? Or it could mean 'are you really seriously doubting my skills?' It was hard to tell.

The sandwich, ready now, was pushed across the table for Wesley to pick up. He wasn't delivering it as well. As they moved to more serious topics, Eliot rested his hip against the back kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest in his default relaxed position.

"'Bout three months now, Earth days." Which would place him in the first group since only those guys were here that long.

[mostawkward]

Wesley's gonna eat that sandwich while he's near him. It's a pretty good sandwich. Then again, his gauge for food is bachelor's fare, and his ex-girlfriend's passable cooking, so this may as well be five star to him, he doesn't really care. He gives a nod of approval as he takes a few bites.

"Pretty damned long time to be here," he replies to him afterwards. "What the hell do you do here for fun? Can't see any movie houses, no TVs. Porn? Karaoke? Arcades? Shit's kind of limited." It's a miracle you haven't gone mad.

[distinctive_guy]

It wasn't like Eliot wanted to be here, and his annoyed scowl at Wesley's reaction said as much. "Seriously? You're stuck in monster central and you wanna look for a movie house? Seriously?" He growled under his breath. "Go fight some monsters if you're bored."

He definitely knew how limited this place was. Found out within the first week of being stuck here, first few days even, and he practically knew the place like the back of his hand by now.

[mostawkward]

"Calm down, Eliot." Wesley waves a hand at him. "I get your frustrations, I really do. Been at a place where you're stuck fucking having to wait patiently for shit and all. But you can't always be fighting, and you can't always be angry, you know? Otherwise it's too fucking easy to lose patience where you are, and that's exactly the greater threat here. Not the fucking monsters or the fact that you're trapped, that's not as important as the fact that you can go mad without even them trying."

He takes a break to bite on his sandwich. While Wesley is entirely composed, his eyes have an intense sheen on them, as he always is like when he's remembering, when his focused is sharpened at something. "You gotta be able to keep yourself all distracted and shit so when the time comes you're fucking sharp enough, yeah? Or are you too fucking old for this shit, Eliot?"

And then he spreads his hands in comic surrender. He hates serious talk of shit.

"So. Guess there ain't any fucking moviehouses here in Shitrock."

[distinctive_guy]

Eliot glowered back menacingly throughout Wesley's patronizing spiel. Did he really think Eliot was an amateur at this? That he was losing patience just because he was stuck on this island with some crappy monsters and no way off? Luckily, Eliot wasn't holding a kitchen knife for he surely would've buried it into the cutting board and effectively ruin the damn board. As it was, he was tempted to bust Wesley's head in the same manner. Oh, he can always be angry if he damn well wants.

"Why the fuck do you think I'm makin' sandwiches and playin' gardenin' in this shithole?" He growled, more put off at the mere suggestion he was short in patience than anything. He spent much longer time spans in worse places with a whole lot less freedom than Horror Island.