(Untitled)

[single_digit]

It'd been a few days since the island kinda sorta got back to its usual self, but some people were still wandering around like they were a little lost and Eddie couldn't blame them. It was just weird, waking up at home for a couple of days - home just the way he remembered it - and then coming back to the island again like it never happened. Maybe

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[awesome_captain]

"Oh, this is so bad," Devon said, though that didn't stop him from happily heaping a healthy spoonful of mac and cheese onto his plate. He'd have to work extra hard in the next few days to keep the calories off, but sometimes a man just needed to indulge.

[single_digit]

"Sometimes what's bad for the body's good for the rest of you," said Eddie cheerfully, "and that's important too, right?" It was always important to him anyway, which was why he was happily working his way through a bowl of his own. "And it can't be as bad as the boxed stuff."

[awesome_captain]

"That is a definite plus," Devon said, pointing at Eddie. "Whatever's made here, at least it's all healthy on some level."

[single_digit]

"And unless you never leave the compound, everyone gets fresh air and exercise," said Eddie. "It's at least a mile just for me to get up here every day. At least, I think it is. It feels like it. I don't know if anyone's actually ever measured."

[willbewonderful]

Duck takes a seat at the table, taking up what's probably more than his fair share of room with papers while he spoons pasta into his mouth. He hasn't kept up with island inventory the way he should have, the whole which hut already has what furniture thing largely kept track of inside his head, but the fact is, the island's getting too damn populated to keep that up for much longer.

He sighs and rubs at his forehead, trying to recall whether the hut that Johnny boy just moved into already had a table or not.

[dale_cooper_fbi]

Dale, even after all this time on the island, didn't feel he was a particular asset to the building crew beyond having learned to wield a hammer. What he was good at, however, was organization.

"Duck," he said, greeting his fellow Councilman with a smile, coffee in hand. "You look like a man with something on his mind."

[willbewonderful]

"Got too much on it, that's for sure," Duck allows, smiling as he lowers his hand. He pokes at the stack of paper with a pencil, his dislike for this paart of the entire enterprise clear. "Let myself get behind on paperwork."

[dale_cooper_fbi]

"Always a danger," said Dale solemnly, "and it somehow always seems to multiply when you leave it alone for too long. I've got to say, it's unusual to see you in here with the paperwork and not out there with the power tools."

[drownondryland]

So Meredith's not the most social of people. Presumably, it'd be a lot simpler, then, for her to wait until everyone's done and cleared out, given how busy the meals can get in this place. The thing is, though, not only would she then have to exude some small measure of effort to manage her food, like heating it up or something, but the kitchen's never really cleared out. It gets less crowded. It almost never gets outright empty. And patience has never been her strong point anyway.

That doesn't mean she's about to mingle, not willingly, but there's only so much available space in the place. Sitting by herself isn't something bound to last long here. And maybe company wouldn't be too bad a thing now anyway.

[whats_insideyou]

Sarah wasn't a social person, either. She kept to herself, speaking only to the few people who seemed to have insinuated themselves within her life, whether she'd asked them to or not. And Meredith was not a friend. She remembered her, vaguely, from the long nights she spent in the clinic, bruised and battered and half dead.

Still, on her way to grab some food, Matthieu dozing in one arm, she murmured, "Hello, Dr. Grey," and spared the woman a ghost of a smile.

[drownondryland]

Looking up, resting against an elbow, Meredith smiles. Whatever's been wrong with her lately, that much is still genuine. "Sarah, hello," she says. "How are you two?"

There are too few serious patients to forget any of them, and she's always been good at that part. The sleeping child looks so peaceful, it's hard to believe the memory of the state his mother had been in less than a year ago.

[whats_insideyou]

"I am fine, I suppose. He is growing like a weed." Even a mother like Sarah couldn't help talking a bit about the wonder in watching her child grow.

Sometimes, she was certain that her son was strong, healthy, just to spite the world and the way he'd been brought into it. A tiny little fuck you to that woman and the things she'd done.

[strandedseaman]

By mid-meal, Horatio was wearing more macaroni than shirt. It was uncomfortable, the drying bits in particular, but Horatio was resolute. He readjusted Edward in his lap and set his jaw, determined not to let his irritation show as he raised yet another spoonful to Edward's mouth, only to watch it again repelled.

"Well," Horatio muttered to himself. "At least I thought to borrow one of Ray's shirts for the meal."

[blessed_by_god]

Sharon was just settling Hera into a seat, Cori half asleep against her shoulder, when she noticed the mess on the other side of the table.

"I'm sorry to tell you, they only get more stubborn the older they get," she said, partly sympathetic and partly amused.

[strandedseaman]

Edward grasped the end of the spoon and yanked, letting go again just as Horatio realised he ought just give it to him. He watched, nonplussed, as the spoon and all its contents flew forward to strike the refridgerator in an impressive orange display.

"I'm not certain that's possible," said Horatio.

[blessed_by_god]

Hera burst out laughing. "Silly cookie head!" she declared. Sharon grimaced in sympathy. "Just wait 'til he learns the word no. It will be his answer to everything."

Sharon plunked Cori down in the open high chair, fastening her in. She blinked and looked around before stuffing a fist in her mouth.

"I don't suppose there's any more of that macaroni left?"

[thegreat_ashby]

The food on Ashby's plate goes ignored for the most part as he favors jotting into a notebook the bookshelf had supplied him with earlier. He'd been out of his element and out of practice for months now, so he was more than a little rusty.

Bits of lyrics, works in progress, separated on the page by rough, hand drawn staves dotted with notes. Beats were tapped out as they came to him, the fingers of his free hand moving every once in a while as if over the keys of a piano or the strings of a guitar.

Times like these, when he was engrosses in the process of creating music, whether the end result was complete shit or fucking brilliant, it was easy not to think about when his last drink was. Or when his next one would be.