Fudge (open!)

[Bobby Drake]

(( picks up from Exit, pursued by bear; open ))

Bobby knows he really ought to go back to sleep.

Granted, his schedule isn’t so insane anymore now that he’s officially given up on the idea of graduating in June… which was hardly a decision at all, once he realized how much of what he’s “learned” in the last six months exists only as encoded data arbitrarily distributed across the Institute’s computer systems in a format he can no longer access. Add that to how thoroughly he’d messed up his academic standing before that, and there’s just no way he’s going to catch up in time… which is more liberating than anything else, he’s finding.

Still, that’s no excuse for him to start slacking off again, and this business of hanging around in the kitchen at stupid-AM instead of going back to his room is just another way of slacking. He ought to go back to sleep.

He’s just not going to, is all. One nightmare-induced cold snap is quite enough, he figures, at least for one night. So his ice-cream break with Josh and Danny had segued into a perusal of cookbooks for inspiring desserts, resulting in his first-ever attempt to make chocolate fudge from scratch, leaving him staring at the bubbling brown mess on the stove trying to decide if it’s done.

"Says once it’s finished you’re supposed to let it cool for six hours," he murmurs. "I guess I could speed that up…?" His powers are back, no question, but his control is… intermittent. Once he could have evenly leeched just the right amount of heat out of the pan with a casual thought, but now… well, it would probably work, but he hates being uncertain about it.

[Rogue]

It wasn’t the smell of chocolate that had drawn her from her downstairs initially – that was the nightmares, the reluctance to run off in search of John tonight, after another of their arguments, and in effort to prove that she was entirely-perfectly-positively okay on her own (an effort which almost failed miserably upon passing the hall his room is down, but she’d kept going - so that’s a point for her in this weird, twisted game whatever-they-are seems to have morphed into lately) - but it’s definitely what’s lead her into the kitchen, instead of outside like she’d planned.

She’s not really sure who she expects to find down there, because while several others around here seem to never sleep, she doesn’t really know them, or know who’s the sort to cook at odd hours – but she doesn’t really mind ‘cause whoever it is will surely be distraction enough, right? And if not, she can still go fly for awhile after.

Rogue pushes the kitchen door open, moves inside, and pauses at the sight of Bobby at the stove – it’s not quite an intentional pause, just sort of automatic – then flashes a smile (albeit a slightly timid one) and moves inside.

“Hey, Sugah – smells good in here.”

And, okay, she sounds slightly timid too, which …she doesn’t like, but she can’t help. She hasn’t been avoiding him since she found out that he knew about her and John, no, but she hadn’t sought him out to talk to him, either, which she supposes she should have, really… But the whole thing is messy and confusing and she doesn’t want anyone upset, but obviously that’s asking a lot and so …yeah, timid.

”How y’been, hon?”

[Bobby Drake]

> " Hey, Sugah – smells good in here."

The voice startles him. Not the fact that there’s someone there – he knows Josh and Danny were up and around until recently, at least, and he’d heard the kitchen door open and felt a warm body enter the room – but the voice, the fact that it’s her. And it’s not that he’s been avoiding her, exactly, but he hasn’t gone out of his way to talk to her, either, since his “return.” It’s just… complicated.

A suddenly detached part of Bobby’s mind starts keeping score, as if this were some strange sort of video game. Standing there with your mouth open like a beached fish: lose 10 points. Not dropping your spoon in the fudge: +1 point. Not running from the room: +1 point…

He nods and returns her tentative smile. "Fudge." …Sounding like a moron: -10 points…

> "How y’been, hon?"

"Oh, you know, I’ve been…" he looks aimlessly around the room waiting for the sentence to finish, idly curious as to the answer himself; when he finally realizes it doesn’t really work that way the silence has already stretched out somewhat uncomfortably.

It’s not that he doesn’t have an answer, so much as that he’s not sure which answer to give. “…OK”? “…lonely”? “…pissed off”? “…struggling with feelings of inadequacy and abandonment”? “…trying to focus on getting work done”? “…thinking about taking off and driving an ice-cream in San Francisco all summer”? They’re all true – well, all but the “OK” one – but it seems unfair to throw most of them at her in response to a simple question.

"…I’ve been OK, I guess." That’s the easiest answer, certainly. …Lying to your friends: -10 points… "How’s by you? Are things going OK with, um, everything?" …Wussing out on what you actually wanted to ask: -10 points…

[Tempero]

Alright, so going back to reading was not the best of ideas now he needs more talking to be done. He has stopped scolding and hating himself about the whole Josh-freaking-out-in-fear-of-becoming- Phoenixmode-possessed-because-he-supercharged-the- mutation-deal (after which he needs take a mental breath, and then a real one, just in case), and so he decides to find someone to talk to, hoping that it would not be another case of Troubled-Teen-Unburdening-His-Soul-To-First-Victim. He first runs up to the library, checking the read book back in after facing the consequences of the Sleepy Librarian's Fury of Doom.

So he walks down the halls, semi-avoiding the sounds of people walking, not aware of the fact that the same person he has successfully avoided in the hall, is the person he will soon encounte in the kitchen.

As he comes down to the ground floor, the smell of fudge reaches his nose. Huh, I guess Bobby really did stay and make that fudge...smells really good... he thinks, quickly moving towards the kitchen.

He bursts in, smiling, booming personality right back in place. "Hey, Bob, you really did st-" he cuts himself off. What he doesn't have in information-gathering, and all-out school relation awareness, Daniel makes up perfectly for in his social instincts, and right now, they are screaming "awkward" and waving billboards that have the same word written out in glowing, flashing, humongous red lights.

"Sorry...did I interrupt something?" he asks, not quite sure what it was he barged in on, but sure that there is something.

Alright, this should prove interesting. he decides to stay, and see just how this plays out. After all, there's nothing better for him to do, and here is an opportunity to not only enjoy good fudge and company, but also to meet a new person. "Oh, pardon my manners, my name is Daniel." he says, addressing the girl standing in Bob's vicinity.

[Rogue]

He seems almost the same sort of tentative-timid as she is, and she hates that they’re back to this again, even though it’s for obviously different reasons. It’s just …not right. But at the same time it makes sense and is really the only logical way things would be, but… that doesn’t mean she has to like it. At all. But there’s no reason not to at least try to keep things closer to normal, right?

"Fudge." [/color]

She crosses the distance to stand nearby and peek into the pot, and flashes a grin his way, “Why y’makin’ fudge a’this hour? Not tha’ there’s ever a bad time f’fudge o’anythin’...” She shrugs and turns off to grab a glass from a cabinet nearby.

"Oh, you know, I’ve been…" [/color] …Long pause, there, and Rogue wonders if maybe it was a bad question to ask. She sets her glass on the counter, and crosses to the fridge to try to keep from fidgeting, scanning the inside almost absently until she settles on the milk, takes it out and moves back to where she left her glass.

"…I’ve been OK, I guess. How’s by you? Are things going OK with, um, everything?"[/color]

….She should have known the question would come back her way – it’s only fair, and part of normal conversation and stuff. And, sure, things are ‘okay’, but they’re not good, not everything is, anyway… But when are they ever, really? No, things are fine. (Except for the whole big mess sitting in plain sight of just about everyone, which everyone’s ignoring or pointedly not mentioning, but that’s not really everything, right? And everything else isn’t bad, so that’s okay.)

“Everythin’s …okay?” she responds as she unscrews the lid of the milk jug. She doesn’t pour anything into the glass, fiddling with the cap instead, turning it around and around between gloved fingers, head tilted and eyes flicking between it and him for a second, settling on the bit of plastic as if it’s far more interesting than it is. ”Bobby, ‘M sor—“

She stops abruptly as someone comes in, "Hey, Bob, you really did st-"[/color], and glances up sharply, startled, and then busies herself with setting down the cap and pouring her milk like she’s started to do, not sure if she’s grateful for the interruption or not just yet, because… she just doesn’t know.

"[…] Oh, pardon my manners, my name is Daniel." [/color]

”No worries, hon... ‘M Rogue.” She does her best not to seem at all flustered-uncertain and flashes a smile instead. She doesn’t address the interruption mostly because she’s not sure, really, and even if he did she’s not sure if she should say so or not, and… yeah. She closes the jug, turns and returns the milk to the fridge almost as a cover for the discomfort.

[Bobby Drake]

> " Why y’makin’ fudge a’this hour? Not tha’ there’s ever a bad time f’fudge o’anythin’..."

"We didn’t have the ingredients for tiramisu." Bobby’s lips quirk a little, ruining an otherwise straight face, before he decides that he’s tired of hiding things from her… and if anyone would understand about nightmares and limited power control, she would. On the other hand, whining to Rogue about them when she’s been through so much worse seems petty. So he settles on an ironic shrug and "Couldn’t sleep. So, you know… lots of sugar and chocolate seemed like the perfect solution."

> "Are things going OK with, um, everything?"
> "Everythin’s …okay?"

Watching Rogue fuss nervously with the milk-bottle and hearing the tenativeness in her voice, Bobby really wishes his primary reaction were sympathy for her, for them, that it isn’t working out. That would be the decent thing to feel, not this petty sense of triumph he tries hard not to let show. Yeah, that’s good, Drake. Because of course we can all ignore how abysmally you blew it with both of them as long as they aren’t ever happy together, right? Jeez. Come on, you can do better than that; you don’t have being half-braindead as an excuse anymore.

And it’s not like he has to fake sympathy; they are friends, and he does feel badly for her, despite everything. Hell, he even feels bad for John, though that’s a lot more complicated. "Hey, I’m sorr– "
> " Bobby, ‘m sor— "
> " Hey, Bob, you really did st — Sorry...did I interrupt something? "

Bobby laughs out loud at the three-way collision of apologies and waves to Danny. "You’re still up too, huh? Yeah, I really did stay up to make fudge. Or, well…" he looks suspiciously at the too-slowly-cooling pot, "I made something, anyway. I hope it’s fudge. Just waiting for it to cool, I guess."

> " Oh, pardon my manners, my name is Daniel."
> " No worries, hon... ‘M Rogue."

Bobby stares incredulously for a moment at the other two. "You’re kidding, right? You guys have been here for how long and this is the first time you’ve run into each other? " He shakes his head slowly. "Wow. And here I thought intentionally avoiding people around the Institute was hard, but… man!"

[Tempero]

>"You’re still up too, huh? Yeah, I really did stay up to make fudge. Or, well…I made something, anyway. I hope it’s fudge. Just waiting for it to cool, I guess."

He is about to ask why doesn't he just use his mutation to cool it off faster, but stops himself, realizing (once more), that Bob is having some problems with rediscovery, and is perhaps still recovering from almost dying being incapacitated.

"It sure smells great." he says cheerfully, shrugging at Bob's initial question. "I never get much sleep, really..." he replies to it, deciding against saying that he is afraid uncomfortable with falling asleep with no one in the room.

>" No worries, hon... ‘M Rogue."

He nods politely, and extends a hand for either a shake or the planting of a soft kiss, like he usually tends to do when meeting members of the opposite sex.

> "You’re kidding, right? You guys have been here for how long and this is the first time you’ve run into each other? Wow. And here I thought intentionally avoiding people around the Institute was hard, but… man!"

His hand lowers as he laughs a bit at the comment. "When you think about it, there are so many people at the Institute that, unless you know exactly whom for and where you are looking, the chances are huge that you are going to miss allot of people. Meeting people is easy to accomplish, meeting Rogue, or you, or Garry is the hard trick." he replies with the standard friendly smile plastered on his face like a warm complimentary basket is set on someone's porch.