[Location - Sanctuary - Ninth Floor]

[smecker]

Paul's been cooking for about an hour and a half, and the results smell good to say the least. Any vegetarians may be put off, but to the meat-inclined there's the scent of delicious cow wafting from the ninth-floor kitchen. Meat and garlic are the predominant scents

Comments

[timedaughter]

When Jenny woke up in the Sanctuary, she'd been understandably confused. Last she remembered, she'd been in her little apartment, messing about with the toys she'd bought from Paul's shop. And now here she is, rather inexplicably.

Her first thought is, of course, to figure out what the hell just happened. But as it works out, she's completely starving. So when she goes wandering the halls under the pretense of discovering what's going on, what she's actually doing is trying to figure out where the kitchen is. And that's when she smells something wonderful.

Following her nose, she finds the kitchen in question, and finds a familiar face to go with it.

"Paul?" Her eyes travel like radar from him to the food. Her stomach growls, loudly.

[smecker]

"Jenny," Paul says easily, hearing her voice-- and then freezes.

"Jenny--" It occurs to him he hasn't seen her in-- Jesus, a month-- since he got bit-- and that it hadn't bothered him that he hadn't seen her-- that he hadn't even thought about her--

Paul spins around, a fork in one hand, a mango wedge on the end of it as he had been sampling.

"...the fuck?" he says a little weakly, because this is his first experience with pause glitches.

[timedaughter]

"What?" She blinks, owl-like, at Paul's unexpected reaction. Her hands go up to her face automatically.

"Is there something on my face?" Because that tends to be the first thing one thinks when one's friend is staring at one.

[smecker]

"What? No-- are you alright?" he asks, not even sure what dire fate he's worried about but aware something isn't right. You don't just forget about some of the people you know best (for a certain value of best) in the entire damned city for weeks and weeks.

"I... where've you been?"

[location]

[justaddmarbles]

Glitch had spent a decade living off the land (while the land in question had been blighted) and otherwise scavenging for his meals, so even if he's been well-fed for a very long time now...well.

He wanders nose-first into the kitchen and his eyes go just about the size of dinner plates.

"Great Gale, Paul, what is this? I I mean besides amazing-smelling."

[location]

[smecker]

"Glitch," says Paul at the voice, and looks up with something like a genuine if tired smile.

"Steak; do they not have that in the Outer Zone? You want me to fix you a plate? Slaughtered cow, mmmm good."

[location]

[justaddmarbles]

That got a Look and a snort as Glitch closed in. "Yes we have steak, thank you, just...haven't seen this quality in a while."

State dinners so fraught with diplomatic finagling that the meal wasn't that important. All ancient history, as lost and forgotten as the origin of the burn scar on his right forearm and elbow (a wicked witch set him on fire - occupational hazard for scarecrow analogues).

"Could you? I I mean thank you, that would be lovely."

[location]

[smecker]

Paul merely smiled at the snorting, and set to plating up the steak and the potatoes, with a side of salad. It occurred to him he was going to need more salad if more people showed up-- he got another head of lettuce from the fridge, started rinsing it under the sink.

"I'm not sure what there is to drink, but here's a plate-- silverware seems to be in that drawer over there," Paul says with a jerk of his chin in the requisite direction.

"If you don't like your steak rare, let me know and I can pop it back on the grill some more."

[location]

[stepintoshadows]

...Food. Real food, True food, not something duplicated and constructed from abstract ideas and thin air. Rorschach doesn't eat anywhere near as much as he probably should even on a good day, but since his arrival in Taxon he's gotten even worse about it; New York is filled with discarded scraps still palatable but cast off as refuse by fatted pigs living in excess, but Taxon relies mainly on food of questionable content and origin. Likely filled with chemicals to drug to complacency or worse. But when he nears the ninth floor the promise of real food, smells that pull a plaintive growl from long-neglected stomach, is enough to put his misgivings aside. At least for now.

Moral of the story: here, Paul. Have a red-headed hobo skulking into the room and covertly looking for a hand-out (even though he'll never admit to as much or even ask).

Re: [location]

[smecker]

The hair's kind of eye-drawing, so Paul glances up. He does his by-now-ingrained glance to look at the wrist, verify it's another prisoner, although he doesn't know this one (or doesn't know he knows this one).

"Hi," Paul says, with what passes for amiability with him, waving a fork in half-a-greeting.

"We've got steak, potatoes, and salad. What's your poison?"

[location]

[stepintoshadows]

There's a grunt of acknowledgment as Rorschach looks over to glance at the other man, but he stalks towards the food anyway, taking the words for invitation. Meat and starch are located and moved to a plate readily, while the greens get a skeptical look bordering on outright wary before a significantly smaller amount is added, like a child's reluctant compliance.

It seems almost as if he doesn't recognize the man or show any intention of addressing him until finally, after a few more moments of evaluating the food, he allows a quiet "Thanks" - he's capable of being polite (or at least civil) when it's required, after all. It's not his usual grit and grime, of course, but the voice is still recognizable to those who listen, if not quite identifiable when taken apart from the usual source.

[location]

[smecker]

Paul nods at the 'thanks', busy tossing more salad for more people likely to wander on by.

"Sure, not like I can eat it all anyway."

The voice... alright, not a hell of a lot to judge on, that one word, but-- sounds vaguely familiar. Paul flicks up a glance at the other man as he starts slicing another mango.

"Silverware's in the drawers over there, there's juice and things in the fridge," he offers casually, studying the man's height and build with a practiced eye.

[anoblesavage]

Leela entered the kitchen cautiously. K-9, who had served as her eyes since had arrived in the city, had not been brought into the prison with her. Although she could cope with her blindness - and had coped, in places more dangerous and difficult than this - she was cautious. She had not been in the city long enough to learn the way that things worked here.

In the end, it was her stomach as much as her curiosity that guided her to Paul.

"Mmmmmm. That smells good."

[smecker]

Another person he doesn't know. Paul considers that he might need to open and prepare another package of steaks.

He gives the woman a nod though, a half-a-smile for the compliment she pays his cooking.

"It is good," he answers, ever so humble. "Steak, salad, and potatoes. You cruising for a plate?"

The way to everyone's heart is through their stomach, apparently.

[anoblesavage]

"I would like that. It has been a long time since I had a good meal."

The meals produced by the hatch, though warm and filling, were not real. They certainly did not smell like this. The scent of the meat reminded her of the meals of her childhood and the evenings spent around the fire, listening to the stories of the old ones while the hunters killed and cooked their kill.

"I am Leela," she added, stepping fully into the kitchen. She did not expect him to be humble. She had lived for too many years among Time Lords, who were never modest, to expect that from anyone.

[smecker]

Paul nods at Leela-- Taxon's started to inure him to 'strange-ass shit'; by the median standard, she's pretty close to normal.

"Leela. I am Paul, and this is my kitchen." This is a lie, as the ninth floor kitchen is no more Paul's than anyone else's in the Sanctuary. But he has claimed it by right of possession and steak sauce, so for now...

"Have a seat. Steak rare?"