fandomhighdorms | Room #142, PW Refuge, Sunday morning

Tara is making a big batch of pancake batter (with blueberries), which she gradually turns into alphabet pancakes.

A bouquet of origami flowers from her ~~entirely non-played~~ efforts the previous day sit in the middle of the table ~~eventually to become her bridal bouquet when The Tick finally sets the date~~.

As a result of Maia's question of whether she could keep her playdough creations, the playdough has been replaced by Femo, set out along with glue, and brooch and earring backings.

[ooc: I never know what it commonly recognised in the US and what is not. Femo is like playdough, if a little stiffer to work with, but can be baked solid afterwards. Brilliant for constructing beads, making jewelry, or - if you actually have artistic talent - sculpting cunning little animals. *nodnod*

Note: Tara is making beads representing each person that comes in, which will eventually become a necklace for herself. She's drawing inspiration from their auras. This is not particularly analytical, and relates more to extremely obvious personality traits, but please let me know if you'd rather she didn't, okay?]

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"Tara then," Krycek says with a nod, finally eating the piece of pancake he'd been playing with. "Ah, I'm not sure I'd say he's my favorite teacher. Just that he's the only one worth talking to." He smirks. "Professor Jerusalem."

"Really?" Tara asks, cocking her head. "And what makes him the only one worth talking to? Present company excepted, I'm sure." She smothers a grin.

"He's a viciously intelligent man," Krycek says, giving her a quick, amused smile in return. "He's fair, but not above taking any advantage he can get. He hates this job, but wants to do his best by it. And he pays me." He sips more orange juice, slowing in his consumption as his stomachache is assuaged.

"Viciously intelligent, hm?" Tara winces. "He sounds utterly terrifying. And he pays you? You're his assistant, like Phoebe?"

"He's not as bad as he'd have you think. In most ways, anyway." Krycek's expression becomes carefully neutral as Phoebe is mentioned. "Yes, I'm one of the professor's assistants." He looks at Tara, cutting up the last piece of pancake into bite-sized bits. "I assume you know Phoebe from your own class?"

Tara nods. "Yeah, she's in Ethics and Philosophy. But I take it things haven't been all that good between the two of you, professionally." She shakes her head, dismissing Phoebe from the conversation.

"So you're like a TA? What does he get you to do? I'm terrified I'm overworking my poor TAs..."

He tactfully bypasses the mention of Phoebe with a shrug, answering the second question with a smirk. "Mostly grade papers, take attendance, organize paperwork, and help plan lessons. Sometimes we help with cleaning his apartment when he's busy and we're supposed to be on call for whatever he needs - he called Jake and I to help find Professor Williams for example, when it turned out his evil twin had stashed him away." Krycek shrugs again, though more cheerfully. "It pays and it's fairly interesting, especially for a high school job."

Tara lets out a low whistle of surprise. "I guess I'm not overworking mine, then. Not to be rude, but what is there left for him to do?"

Krycek snickers, then finishes off the last of his pancake. "The teaching part, and I gather he's helping out with some of the administration work. And, I believe, he has another job wherever he's from, which he does work for." He drinks the last of his orange juice as well, putting down the glass with a faintly sardonic smile. "Thanks again, Tara. This was much nicer than going to my room to sulk."

Tara nods, a little ashamed over the implied questioning of Jerusalem's work ethic. "You're welcome, Krycek. In fact, consider yourself welcome any time. Invitation void if you become a vampire, of course."

Pushing his chair back, he stands and nods politely. "Thank you. Really, that's nice to hear." Krycek smirks at the last part, but it's plain he's distracted somewhat. "I don't intend to. Undeath may not be true death, but I'd still rather not go there again."

"Wait - again? You've died before?"

Since it was on his record, Krycek figures that it isn't much of a problem for her to know. He still makes a mental note to watch himself though, as spreading that around is not something he wants to be doing. "Yes. Just once." He shrugs, managing nonchalance. "Still seems on the boring end of the scale in comparison to most things at this school."

Tara shakes her head, amazed. "We need a secret handshake or something. Or a club."

Krycek blinks, then snorts softly. "A club? What would we do, sit around and bitch about how much better things used to be? Or trade death stories?"

Tara's face falls, and she lowers her eyes. "N-no. Y-y-you're right, it's a s-stupid idea."

He makes a face and sighs at Tara, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I don't know how many other people are around who might have died already, but they're probably not eager to advertise it. Especially students who might have been older. Before they died, I mean. It might be a bit awkward."

"Yeah, no, I get it. That makes sense. I mean, most people probably just don't want to think about their deaths at all." She takes his glass and goes to the sink, turning her back as she rinses it out. "I just didn't realise there were, you know, others. Until a few days ago."

"I figured that I probably wasn't the only one, but hadn't met anyone else until now," he says, watching her. "Look, I'm sorry to run, but I have to go open the Journalism class for the parents." Pausing, he finally offers, "I'm in room 230, if you need me for anything."

Room #142, PW Refuge, Sunday morning

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