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Post by Warren Worthington III on Feb 14, 2007 17:04:23 GMT
Warren smiles with anticipation as he tests the blade’s edge, savors the feel of it in his palm. This is going to be fun, he thinks… he hasn’t really had a chance to indulge this hobby of his in a long time, but today seems like the right day for it, and he’s finally sharpened his knife to the point where he can work with it.
His first cut slices cleanly through flesh, all the way to the bone; his second severs the joint neatly. He repeats the process on the other side of the body, then yanks open the body cavity and begins carefully working his way around the bone. It takes a little while, but eventually it’s boneless and relatively intact.
Excellent! Now for the stuffing…
The oven ding!s to indicate it’s preheated, and Warren stops mincing oysters for a moment to carefully slide the cake batter onto the oven rack.
He wonders if he’s successfully concealed his plans from Josh this time. Probably not (he almost never does) but it is Valentine’s Day, after all, and Josh might be cooperating with being surprised. He’d told Josh he’d made arrangements for dinner at an exclusive establishment, with a world-famous chef, that caters to mutant clients… but after the disaster at Tailevent, and the awkwardness of Christmas and New Years, Warren has resolved that they simply aren’t going to leave the Institute for Valentine’s Day. And he didn’t lie… he’s not world-famous as a chef, but he’s the chef tonight, and he certainly is famous, and it hardly gets more exclusive than their room, does it?
Warren uses a quarter-cup of wine to deglaze the pan after removing the sausage, which he minces and adds to the oyster/shitake mix while stirring the soup and the sauce… this telekinesis thing has advantages for a cook, he notes, even if he still can’t manipulate anything much heavier than a spoon. Who needs a sous-chef?
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Post by tarot on Mar 6, 2007 21:54:20 GMT
Tarot wanders absent mindedly, music blasting into her ears so loudly that she is totally oblivious to the world outside, so wrapped up in er own little circle of happiness created in a whirlwind of extraordinary experiences. Aerosmith's "I don't want to miss a thing"- seems a perfect fit to the progression of her life, meeting Damien, falling in love, being embraced in the moment.....
Ironic that these things happen so perefctly before Valentine's Day. Things couldn't be more perfect if she had forced them to be. For the first time in her life she has someone special to share the day with, someone who can do the "cute fluffy pink things" expected in a realtionship that she has loathed as a stranger but can now enjoy to her heart's content.
Her first fluffy pink action for the day was to leave him in bed. He had looked so perfect there, her personal adonis breathing softly, his chest rising and falling mirroring the pathways of his dreams. It had been easy to slip out, he hadn't even stirred as she kissed him on the cheek, only grumbling and turning onto his side.
Her second was to listen to love songs. They usually made her cry, reminding her of how alone she had felt in the institute. Now she empaphised with the characters and their stories, feeling so involved with them that she is compelled to voice their emotons.
So wrapped up in the music, she didn't bother to get changed to go to the kitchen to perform her third act. She walks down the corridoor, painted only with the happiness of contented sleep and wearing a long black shirt that she had grabbed from his pile of dicarded clothes. It smells like him, his soft musky smell and is soothing. No one would be around at this time, she thought,everyone would be out enjoying themselves or at least they should be.
Breakfast in bed, well you can hardly call it breakfast at 5 in the afternoon but that was her intention. She was going to make him french toast and salami- the total extent of her talent for cooking. If there was a thing such as cordon bleurgh then she was it, it would be a miracle if Damien would eat it but she had to try didn't she. It seemed like the ultimate fluffy thing to do, and anyway, he would be obligated to eat it as she had gone to all the effort.
She walks into the kitchen, recoiling slightly at the cold tiles as they touch her bare feet. She moves quickly, grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter, ignoring it's brick like consistancy, and what she thinks is a bread knife from the block.
She is so wrapped up in her own little eutopia that she doesn't even notice that Angel is there.
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Post by Warren Worthington III on Mar 7, 2007 16:12:43 GMT
Warren’s attention is caught by the too-loud music streaming from the girl’s earphones before he notices her. “Don’t want to close my eyes… I don’t want to fall asleep, ‘cause I’d miss you, baby, and I don’t want to miss a thing…”
His mouth quirks at her oversized T-shirt and her vaguely goofy expression and, most of all, at the choice of soundtrack – that song seems decades older than she is! Ah, Valentine’s Day strikes down another couple! None can resist!
He wonders if he looks that goofy in the mornings… or if Josh would, if he were able to be objective about Josh’s appearance. Probably not; his students would never let him hear the end of it if he did… he overhears enough whispers as it is. On the other hand, if he were that distracted he might not even notice.
She looks vaguely familiar, but it takes him a while to remember her as the redhead who was at the coffeeshop the day he met Josh, with one of the newer students… German kid, Danny or Dennis or Darrin or something like that. He hasn’t seen either of them around much since, although apparently her boyfriend had been pretty helpful evacuating the younger kids during that paramilitary invasion.
Well, perhaps he’ll introduce himself later, when she’s not quite so wrapped up in her own world. He does wonder what she’s planning to do with the cleaver and a loaf of bread, but then again he’s seen enough strange things done in this kitchen that it hardly raises an eyebrow.
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Post by tarot on Mar 11, 2007 18:48:52 GMT
The song changes and Steve Tyler's voice fades effortlessly into Cerys Matthew's Road Rage. Tarot wonders if all people from Wales really sound like that, so angry and so passionate, almost shouting their emotions at whoever passes by. She loves this song and closes her eyes, swinging her hand absent mindedly in time to the music....
Having totally forgot that she had a cleaver in her hand until it hits her foot. "Bloody hell" she screams, "Shit". A ruby tear trickles from the cut on the top of her foot and runs down into her toes. Her eyes mirror the blood, salty tears dribbling into the corner of her mouth. She hops on one leg, still screaming obscenities, free from her little world and firmly in reality thanks to the shock.
She feels a bit queazy, faint at the sight of her own blood. Her premonition must be playing up, she could have stopped this but being wrapped up in her own little world, she wouldn't have been able to predict this if it had bit her on the bum. She grabs onto the counter to steady herself, shaking as some blood drips onto the floor.
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Post by Warren Worthington III on Mar 16, 2007 16:28:00 GMT
Warren’s attention is mostly absorbed by sauce-consistency, but not so much that his windsense fails to pick up the trajectory of what has got to be the cleaver Tarot was carrying a moment ago, or the fact that it intersects the path of her foot. He’s gotten pretty good at tracking projectiles lately.
Intercepting them, though, turns out to be trickier. The "Watch out!" is instinctive, though pointless given the way she’s closed her eyes and blocked off her ears, and the mostly-full bottle of wine goes flying across the kitchen as he flings out a wing in her direction, trying to stop the knife before it strikes. Too far, too slow… he can feel it brush across the edge of his telekinetic aura, but it’s too heavy and moving too fast for him to do more than minimally deflect its trajectory.
She finally notices when the blade cuts a slice across the top of her foot, and as she swears and hops around, spattering blood around, Warren tries unsuccessfully to remember if her mutation involves anything relevant to cuts and bleeding. Actually, he can’t quite remember what her mutation is.
Stilll, her blood doesn’t seem to be burning holes in the tile, and the cut doesn’t seem to be healing particularly quickly, so he supposes his best bet is just to treat the wound normally. Fortunately the Institute doesn’t stint on first-aid supplies (and probably goes through them at a prodigious rate, from what he’s seen), so obtaining bandages and antibiotics is a moment’s task, as is sliding a chair over for her to sit on.
"That’s some cut you have there, um… I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name. I’m Warren, by the way. New teacher, taking over some of Dr. McCoy’s poli-sci courseload." He continues to make inane small-talk while he starts washing out the cut.
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