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Summary: Late night munchies are procured, Dallas shows off his culinary skills and trash talk is discussed.
Date: January 4, 2010
Snack Talk and Smack Talk
Rating: PG
Mansion - Kitchen
This kitchen was designed to feed large numbers of people, and looks it with its bright white walls and stainless steel appliances. The stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher are all larger than normal. There is an island with stools around it for people to sit and eat around along with a table for twelve by the windows in back. Along the wall is a hole in the wall looking into the dining room so food can be passed back and fourth. Anything you want to cook or eat in the kitchen you will find the food and supplies to do so.
The middle of the night, and by and large the mansion has fallen under the particular fragile quiet that comes from several dozen people trying to peacefully sleep the night away. Unfortunately, a place like the Institute, packed to bursting with too many restless teenagers, all laboring under the disquiet of abilities as controlled as their emotions, ensures that on any given night, there will always be those for whom sleep won't come easily. In the mansion's kitchen, a puddle of light spreads across the tiled floors, as Rashmi stands in front of the refrigerator, the annoyed frown of someone who can't figure out what they want to snack on her face.
Outside, a storm has just kicked into high gear and it is anything but natural. The building is assaulted by hail pellets. One of the other restless teenagers just happens to be a weather manipulator. His nightmares not only keep him from sleeping but sometimes call up these nasty storms when they are really bad. Trey woke up covered in sweat, another nasty nightmare that he can't remember when he wakes up. He's wearing just a pair of Xavier issued sweatpants and a tank top. He leaves his room and heads down to the kitchen. His blonde hair damp with sweat, the sweat also causing his exposed skin on his chest to glisten a bit. He's got Mr. Fuzzles, must have been really bad nightmare. His purple eyes go wide when he see's someone else in the kitchen.
Dallas wanders in to the kitchen, still damp from a shower downstairs, wearing jeans, sneakers and an Xavier's t-shirt, after what is becoming his daily late-night workout session. He should be headed back to his room, but while he's tired, he's not sleepy just yet. And in order to actually get his detention /and/ homework done /and/ get in a workout, he had to skip dinner. He notices Rashmi and Trey, nodding. "Hey." With that, he's headed for the cabinets where he knows he'll find peanut butter and rice cakes. A combination of champions. He obviously doesn't notice anything amiss right off the bat.
Rashmi leans back from her post in front of the fridge, eyebrows rising as the boys wander into the kitchen. Nodding her response to Dallas, she glances at Trey and tilts her head slightly. "Is there anything you'd like from the fridge?" Glancing back, her mouth twists into a sour grimace, annoyed at her own indecision. "I can't think of anything I want, and I'd like to have *something* to show for all this time."
Trey scrunches his nose up. He's a little out of it still. When Dallas comes in, all clean from his shower, Trey stares at him with a blank expression on his face. He then bites his lower lip and sniffs the air. "I was looking for chocolate. It calms my nerves." He looks around and gets this odd distant look on his face as he checks out the not so nice weather he called up. "Hrm…Don't even remember calling up that storm." Putting some energy into it, he dismisses the hail storm. He sniffs around and then moves to one of the cabinets. He takes a deep inhale and sniffs at the cabinet, the purple eyed blonde shifts around some boxes and cans and then pulls out something from the back of the cabinet. It's an imported chocolate bar, the delicious yet expensive type. May not be his though.
Dallas glances at Rashmi. "You have have some of mine, if you want." He looks at Trey, "Looks like you found something." He is unaware of Trey changing the weather, just hearing it get quieter outside. Grabbing peanut butter and rice cakes, as well as a plate and knife, he slathers the former rather heavily on the latter, making four of them and then putting up the jar and bag. He licks the butter knife 'clean' and sticks it into the washer before heading to another cabinet. "My parents didn't like candy in the house. So we learned to improvise." After rummaging around for another few moments, he returns with a can of trail mix and a bottle of honey. He starts squeezing honey out onto the peanut butter in a spiral pattern, center to edge, one after the other.
Rashmi's eyebrow rises at the bar of expensive-looking chocolate, but seems to decide to keep silent, instead closing the refrigerator door with a quiet huff, moving to one of the cabinets nearby. "Honey isn't much different from candy anyhow, not really. And the way my mama cooks, there is little enough need for sweets unless she cannot make naan on the spot—ah, there you are." With a grin, she pulls down a can of tea and strainer, crossing to fetch a mug from one of the other cupboards. "Leave the honey out, if you would?"
Trey looks at Dallas and he says, "Yes, someone keeps on putting the candy in random locations behind things. I just have to sniff it out. It's like a fun game. Sometimes it's chocolate, sometimes it's other sweets. It's usually pretty easy to find. Just gotta focus on it. I have not found a favorite candy just yet, there are so many different kinds to try before I can make a decision." Odds are it's not his candy he keeps on snacking on. But no one has called him out on being a candy thief and he doesn't exactly know any better. "I shall try this Honey sometime if it is as good as candy!" He does seem to brighten up at the idea of something like candy. And then he peels open the bar and starts nibbling on it. With his Bunny in his other hand.
Dallas looks over at Rashmi and nods. "Makes it harder for the mix to stick, though." He leaves the honey off one and then shakes the trail mix out of the can, spinning the plate so the stream of nuts and dried fruit spreads over all four equally. "You can have one of these. One each will do us and the last is for anybody else who shows up." He gets a spoon and presses the mixture down into the peanut butter and honey (on three of them) and then heads for the fridge. "Hm. People usually have …. AH!" He digs out a small jar of maraschino cherries and comes back over, getting ready to place a single one in the center of each laden rice cake. It's a concoction that would probably give anybody /other/ than a teenager diabetes with a single bite. "Trail pizza!" He sounds fairly proud of the invention.
Rashmi's lips twitch up at the corners, eyesbrows rising as she turns from the sink and its hot-water tap. "It looks… healthy," is her first comment, but she sets her mug aside, taking it upon herself to be the first to try Dallas' creation. "Your patience, please, while I make my tea, so I can enjoy this as its creator deserve?" Taking one of the trail pizzas and the honey, she retreats back to her tea, pinching out the loose leaf into the opened mesh ball, which is then closed and dropped into he mug to steep.
Dallas points on it a cheerful, reasonable tone, "It's all natural!" Which /has/ to mean it's healthy. He waits patiently for Rashmi to drink his tea before digging into his own 'trail pizza', watching all the fuss with the tea strainer and finally saying, "You know we have bags, right?"
"Bags," Rashmi says, with an exaggerated sniff. "I may have grown up too poor to be a snob about much, but tea? Pff." Waving her free hand in a shooing gesture, she drizzles a generous amount of honey into the tea, turning to lean against the counter. "Bags… *Good* tea won't ever be in bags, no matter *how* much it costs. Now then." Giving the 'pizza' a critical look, she takes a large crunch from one side. For a few moments, she chews, conflicting emotions on her face. Finally, she swallows, nodding, and takes a deep drink from her mug. "It's good," she says as she finally comes up for air. "…Dry though…"
Dallas digs into his own and then nods, "Well, you made me leave out the honey." His tone is rather like an artist who has been asked to draw a cute kitten into a great landscape. "So you know, it's not /quite/ as good as it could be. I guess you could pour the juice from the cherries on it. Might get a little sweet." He continues to chew and swallow as he gets up, rummaging in the fridge one handed until he finds a bottle of water and brings it back, cracking the seal deftly with one hand and sipping. "Probably not good for every night." The observation is judicious.
Rashmi blinks, looking down at her pizza, then snatching up the honey and drizzling it over the top. "Um… I meant just to leave it on the table. That would be my fault…" A second bite is taken, and the difference is clear. "Much better," she agrees, sticking the remaining pizza in her mouth, to be held between her teeth as she empties her tea ball into the trash. "Ftill dry, vough… 'S th' rife kake, I fink."
Dallas shrugs and chews a while longer before swallowing and and sipping. Finally, he points out, "Yea, but without the rice cake, it's not /healthy/." That makes perfect sense. In some universe. He takes another sip and says, "How are you settling in?"
Rashmi removes the pizza from her mouth, rebutting Dallas' logic with a quiet look and a raised eyebrow. Nothing more needs to be said. With a shrug, she returns to her tea, settling back against the counter. "Better," she says after another bite and drink to wash it down. "Probably it's that I'm not the newest one, any longer. I met Lucas." Pausing over her tea, she chuckles to herself, shaking her head. "…Which reminds me, I heard something…. troubling… from him. Something someone else said to him."
Dallas nods and rolls his eyes. "He's pretty … unusual. Picked a fight. With Mikhail, too." He arches both eyebrows and looks politely curious, "Yea? What?"
Rashmi shrugs. "He's unhappy, and probably has good reason to be. Besides not being able to turn the page of a book without something to help. But," she says, looking at Dallas over the rim of her mug, "he says that he was told something of the team he's on. That his team *sucks,* I believe it was."
Dallas nods and salutes with his water bottle. "Yea. I said that. I think it was something like 'You got hosed, your team sucks and everybody on it has useless powers'." He sounds pretty chipper as he says it and not at all guilty or ashamed. "It's called 'trash talking'. You do it to psych out the other guy and his team." He grins. "Sounds like it worked too."
Rashmi snorts. "The fact that he referred to me by your name already sort of proved that. Pre-law," she says, saluting the boy with her mug. "A good lawyer doesn't miss such details. Besides, thanks to you, he swallowed his foot very well. Almost up to the knee, I'd say." Sighing, she finishes off her pizza. "Just, maybe turn it down a bit, until he gets used to the place? So far, he thinks he's in prison, and saddled with a horrible team to boot."
Dallas snickers at the thought of Lucas's discomfort and then sighs and nods. "I keep forgetting how many people here are snowflakes, you know? Delicate and they melt if you turn up the heat just a little." He finishes off his dinner/snack and takes another drink before he can add, "And my sympathy for him is pretty limited. He's a jerk on first impression. Ok on second, though. But he was asking for a little payback."
Rashmi nods. "He is. But I've dealt with his sort before. They want to be tough, big strong people who don't need help, even when it's *painfully* obvious." Rolling her eyes, she takes another drink from her tea. "There was a boy like him on the debate team, once. Maybe he was making up for 'being such a wuss,' I don't know. A huge headache until you dealt with him on his own terms. After awhile, he came around. Be honest, Dallas, he's not a snowflake. He's a stubborn jackass."
Dallas laughs and says, "Actually, that's one of the things I like about him. At least he has some fire, you know?" He starts to clear away his mess but continues to talk. "Look, he'll adjust. It's not like they are going to throw him out. And where else does he have to go. Do you know of /another/ mutant Hogwarts out there?"
"That's probably part of it," Rashmi agrees, scooting away from the sink to give Dallas room. "I know *I* sort of looked forward to this place, a little, after the shock was over. I mean, how many people from where I come from, even get to *see* the inside of a house like this? And my parents? Overjoyed. But… Most people from where I grow up don't want to be lawyers, politicians. Most of the *really* ambitious ones just wanted to be sports stars, if they thought they could get out of the neighborhood at all."
Dallas gives Rashmi a sideways look as he rinses and wipes things down. "Nothing wrong with wanting to be professional athlete. Not as cool as superhero, sure. But it pays better." He puts the leftovers in a ziplock bag and seals it, turning back to Rashmi. "I wasn't thrilled to find out I'm a mutant. I'm dealing. I didn't want to leave home, but I'm here. And while I'm here, I'm going to be /here/. You know? If his head isn't the game, then there are probably a hundred mutant kids waiting to fill his spot on the roster. I don't mean to be cruel or anything, but if you cater to losing, then all you get are losers."
Rashmi's eyebrow rises slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. "I never said there *was* anything wrong with being an athlete. But it's also not the same. It's more like hearing a quarter of the kids here, saying they want to be Spider-Man specifically. Maybe some of them could, but most will be reaching for something that simply isn't possible, no matter where their talents are, right?"
Dallas shrugs, "Then they get cut. Or put in their right positions by the teachers. I had a coach back home who would let anybody try out for any position. And even when most of them failed at being a quarterback or a halfback or kicker, he could see where they might make the cut, if they could and he put them there. That's why we /have/ teachers. But acting like the people who aren't even good enough for marching band are the highest standard we can hope for, as a school, is stupid. And I hope they don't do that here."
Rashmi bobs her head. "And I'd agree with you, if it was simply the teams we were arguing about. But, the entire school? No. He's here, and he will come around, as you say. But until he does, he'll just be a jackass at everyone and everything, instead of putting it to use where it needs to be. In case you're wondering, no, I'm not saying that everyone treat him like a glass ornament. Just that the more quickly he relaxes, the easier life will be for us all."
Dallas folds his arms over his chest and leans on the counter, looking at Rashmi. "I know that kind of guy. He's not going to 'relax' just because people are nice to him. He's like a sponge. He's going to suck up all the space he can until he meets walls to stop him or there's nothing left. I'm totally ok with being a wall. And at some point, when enough people are, he'll get the idea and settle down. But being nicer to him is the /last/ thing you want to do. He knows he's being a jerk. He knows /we/ know he's a jerk. Letting him get away with it just makes him stay a jerk longer."
Rashmi nods. "Which means that 'cutting him from the roster' is probably exactly what he's looking for, no?"
Dallas shrugs, "And if it is? Why should we try to force somebody who doesn't want to be here stay?"
"Where else would he go?" Unfair, perhaps, to use Dallas' own words for her argument, but there it is. "When would he be able to remove those gloves if he were to leave?"
Dallas shrugs again, "That's on him. Look, I have friends here, already. People I like and I think like me. And I'm more than willing to add Lucas to that list. But not if it's all one-sided. Right now, honestly, I don't much care. He hasn't shown me enough to make me think of him as part of the team. But if he screws up his life, that's totally on /him/."
Rashmi smirks. "Then more the lucky for you. He's not *on* your team. I suppose then, it will be *my* responsibility to get him moving in the same direction as us, hm?"
Dallas nods, "And I wish you good luck with that. Really. God knows I have enough work to do with /my/ team. But if you are deciding you're his mentor or sponsor or whatever, then you might want to get him in line before he gets hurt."
"Mentor? Pff," Rashmi says, finishing her tea and waving the cup dismissively. "Lord knows I can barely keep my *own* head sometimes, I'd be a terrible nanny for another. But, I'll do what I can. As you said, whether he comes around will be on him. I'll just be trying to tug the scales off his eyes."
Dallas grins, "Fair enough. Like I said, good luck with it. I hope you put together a good squad. It will make it that much better when we crush you." He stretches and yawns. "I like winning a fight, not rolling over people."
Rashmi's mouth parts in a wide, challenging grin. "It'll be difficult," she admits, "sports have never been my best activity. But I intend, one day, to win arguments for a living. Maybe even win arguments that decide policy. This? Good practice, maybe."
Dallas grins wider in reply, amused and predatory at the same time. "I'm planning on beating the snot out of Doctor Doom and Magneto one of these days. So I guess a junior lawyer is supervillain enough for now." He looks at his watch and says, "and the breakfast clean up is in five hours. I need some sleep. See you in the danger room, I guess."
Rashmi laughs brightly. "A supervillain now, am I?" Shaking her head, she rinses out her teacup. "Well. I suppose then for evil to sieze the day, it'll need a good night's sleep too. The better to get up early enough to roll over the junior superheroes."
