(Untitled)

[quite_a_delight]

In times of crisis, Marshall Gregson baked.

Make no mistake, Marshall knew a crisis when he saw one. He was intimately familiar with the subtle differences between a slight snag in your day and a full-on nuclear meltdown. Finding yourself on a magic island full of blissfully brainwashed strangers living in a happily socialistic utopia when you

Comments

[dinnerfor1_girl]

Sally was making it a habit of actually staying put for meals. This one was rather peculiar and it had nothing to do with the above-average food and more to do with the unusual cook. She didn't really see much of that at the boy's age and she had to wonder. Were men starting to learn? Or had she just stumbled upon someone batting for the other team and her hopes for a more rounded male species were dashed.

[quite_a_delight]

"Um, hi," he said with a slightly awkward wave from behind the counter, "You can just take whatever you want, I guess. I'm still not really clear on how it usually works here."

[dinnerfor1_girl]

Oh, and now she had gone and garnered his attention. She eyed him warily and wasn't sure how exactly you approached a mythical creature of this nature -- a man who cooked. "I haven't ever seen you before here," she said, mildly accusingly. "When did you start existing?"

[quite_a_delight]

"Sixteen years ago," Marshall offered, arching a brow at her and adding, "Or eight days ago. I guess it depends on where you start counting from."

[just_lorne]

So this was what teenage boys were capable of when they weren't brought up in hell dimensions by a complete psychopath, Lorne thought.

Who knew?

At least he had decided to go ahead and assume he hadn't been raised that way. And he knew it wasn't something he could blame Connor for -- the little nipper was just a victim of some pretty catastrophic circumstances -- but like hell if he would have trusted him to roam free in the room where all the cutlery lived.

With all the not worrying about being stabbed in the jugular going on, Lorne made better use of his time by helping himself to a sampling of just about everything offered.

[quite_a_delight]

So, seeing a green guy standing there in the middle of the kitchen shouldn't have been that big of a shock. Not after everything that had happened, not just on the island, but including all the bizarre stuff he'd been seeing for as long as he could remember. But apparently green guy was enough for Marshall to forget his manners, if only for a second or two. He caught himself staring, ladle paused halfway between the pot and the bowl in his hand and dripping onto the counter, before he could shake himself out of it, shifting awkwardly and trying to decide if it was more rude to keep looking or to make a big deal of looking away.

"Um, hey. Hi."

[just_lorne]

"Hiya."

An actual greeting. Those were generally a good sign, no matter how unsure. They were a hell of a lot better than blood curdling screaming upon first sight, anyway. Very rarely did anything good ever involve blood curdling screaming.

"I know, I know. I'm green, a-and the horns... but I come in peace. Promise."

[quite_a_delight]

"Well, you-- The green, it's... It's a nice shade. As far as greens go," Marshall offered, and he was still kind of staring, but now it was kind of the eyes that had his attention.

"Sorry, um. Marshall. My name, I mean. It's Marshall. Hi."

[ilovemykilt]

"Whoa," says Priestly, taking a look at the food as he sidles up to the kitchen counter. It's a lot less like a communal kitchen right now and a lot more like a nice restaurant. Nicer than the sandwich shop Priestly used to work in, that's for sure. He thinks he puts out a nice breakfast every week, but it's never been anything like this. "Dude, that is some spread."

[quite_a_delight]

"I think I might've outdone myself," Marshall said, shifting awkwardly with a strange mix of embarrassment and pride.

"I kind of didn't realize how much there was until, like... just now."

[ilovemykilt]

"Yeah, I don't think you're going to be getting any complaints about that," says Priestly, doing what comes naturally in the kitchen at mealtime and helping himself. "How long did this take you anyway? You been slaving away in here all afternoon?"

[quite_a_delight]

"Honestly, I think I started losing time after the third hour," Marshall said flatly, and for anyone who didn't know him well, it might've been difficult to tell he was joking.

[not_the_fish]

Hal doesn't think he's ever been as hungry as he is lately. Maybe it's the simpler island fare, maybe it's living with a giant blond taskmaster who makes him go running and ambushes him when he gets in the door, or maybe he's finally going through one of those growth spurts that will finally let him catch up to all the girls his age. Hair still dripping uncomfortably down his back, he picks up a bowl of chowder without even asking what it is, barely tasting it as he shovels a spoonful into his mouth--coming into the air conditioning out of that rain means he's starving and freezing.

But not that freezing; "Ugh, ow, ow," he mutters, scraping his tongue on his teeth, before he notices the familiar face ladling more of the chowder out of the pot. Like he didn't embarrass himself enough last time they met. "Uh, hi. Again," he greets haltingly, pausing over the bowl.

[quite_a_delight]

So, the hallucination wasn't so much of a hallucination. That was pretty much okay, because, no offense to this guy, if his imaginary friends couldn't even talk to him, he was seriously screwed. Luckily, he'd found someone who could make it through the explanation without swallowing their own tongue, but he'd found out pretty quickly that the ability to speak didn't really help with making any sense of this place.

"The soup's kind of hot," he told him, a faint smile turning up one side of his lips, "You should, you know... probably blow on it."

[not_the_fish]

Scraping his tongue over his teeth again, Hal moves to get a cup, knowing water is the only real solution. "I uh, yeah, I noticed." Washing out his mouth only takes so much time, though, and he's left standing there, feeling like he's supposed to say something. Which, when you're Hal, is kind of the worst feeling ever. "So ah, did you. Did you get everything figured out?"

[quite_a_delight]

"Not really?" he admitted with a wince, because he kind of hated not being able to figure things out on his own. There was all this stuff he was supposed to just accept or overlook, and usually he'd be okay with that, if it helped keep the peace, but it was harder than he would've thought and there was a little part of himself that felt like he was letting them all down by not just assimilating.

"I mean, come on, does anyone here have everything figured out?"