fandomhighdorms | Second Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

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Second Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

Yup, it's Sunday morning, and once again Anders has a fresh pot of coffee brewing and is busy making pancakes for himself, Cally, and anyone else who wants to wander in. It's getting to be a little bit of an obsession with him lately, now that he's figured out he's pretty decent at it. The TV is on in the background and running ESPNews, and he's humming the USC fight song to himself. Not that he consciously recognizes it for what it is. He just thinks it's oddly catchy.

There is definitely, he thinks as he lavishly butters up a stack of pancakes, going to have to be a trip to the gym in order today.

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"Why thank you, my dear Anders," she beamed, piling pancakes on a plate and laving them with butter and syrup. "I really shouldn't be eating these," she murmured. "They're going to go straight to my . . . borders."

"Tell me about it." He shook his head. "Weird pancake craving lately has had me eating the damn things three days in a row now. If I'm not careful I'm gonna get chunky no matter what Cally says." He shot a suspicious glance down at his stomach, then shook his head again.

Ivanova snickered, snagging herself a cup of coffee. "It's different for guys. You skip a meal and lose ten pounds. It's really not fair." Despite her misgivings about Russian imperialism, she took a large bite. "Hey, these are pretty good," she murmured around a full mouth.

"Thanks," replied Anders with a grin. "Not too bad for my third try, I guess. I might even attempt eggs or something to go with 'em, next weekend."

"I know where I'll be spending my mornings, then," Ivanova murmured, swallowing and taking a sip of her coffee, finding a perch and balancing her plate on her knee. "How was your break? Spend it perfecting your pancake-flipping technique?"

"Pretty much." Anders shrugged. "Finally got around to getting my own computer, learned I don't suck at breakfast, helped Angela clean up her room, and that's really about it. What've you been up to?"

"I went home," she replied. "Well, closest thing to home I have at the moment. I actually had a bit of an extended break. I was ordered home because they were all worried about me," she rolled her eyes to indicate the worry was unfounded, "Meaning I was almost going stircrazy by the time they finally let me go. Lots of sleeping. Lots of medlab. Lots of pining."

Anders winced in sympathy and whistled through his teeth. "I would go crazy too, yeah, if I had to -- frak, I am gonna have to go home for a physical screening eventually. Pining, huh?" He drizzled syrup over a fresh stack of pancakes for himself and smiled. "I can definitely understand that."

Ivanova sighed. "Silly, I know. Dozens of alien cultures clashing, bars and nightclubs galore, always some new crisis and the best thing I can think of to do is drink alone and think about my girlfriend."

"Hey," he interjected, "That's probably what I'd be doin' myself. My dad'd probably take me out to a Pyramid game or two and I'd be thinking about her the whole time."

Anders grimaced. "And then he'd want to know what in the hell could actually distract me from Pyramid, and I'd have to explain, and . . . yeah. That'd be bad."

Ivanova laughed. "Ah yes, you're half of the infamous Callynanders. I can see why that would be distracting. But I'm sure your dad would understand the moping. I even got a consolatory pat from a female of the species that eat their mate during sex." She frowned. "Or maybe she was just trying to pick me up."

"Eh." He shrugged. "My dad's obsessed with wanting me to be a big sports star back home. Anything he thinks might get in the way of that doesn't go over too well with him."

Then, having just processed the rest of her statement, he blinked. Hard. "Eat their mate during sex?" Well, that'd sure make an interesting presentation for sociology.

Ivanova nodded. "Ah, one of those. My dad was very similar, only his overriding goal in life was to keep me out of the military. And yeah," she smirked, "They're on the no-sex list. You'd be surprised how many tourists ignore the warnings."

Anders chuckled at that. "Does that hurt the tourism industry at all?"

"Not too much," Ivanova replied lightly. "After all, it's their own fault for ignoring our very clear warnings. In fact, tourism back home was so good we set up a gift shop once. You could buy action figures of all the ambassadors and command staff. Human masks for aliens, alien masks for humans . . . tourists loved it."

"Wow." He grinned. "Sounds a lot more interesting than the kind of tourism we get back home in Caprica. No aliens or anything, so you just get people from the other eleven colonies. 'course, some people say if you're from Tauron you might as well be an alien, but that's just people being mean. Someone tried to start up a souvenir line of Cylon action figures to sell at places that were big key locations from the war, but that didn't go over well at all."

Ivanova worked her way through that, substituting 'Mars' for 'Tauron' and 'Minbari' for 'Cylon' and thought she got the drift. "Sometimes I wonder if the people who come up with these things realise how ridiculous they are."

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Second Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

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