Fifth Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

[ashockingbitch]

Jenny's homework was to cook a meal, right? That people could eat? Well, Sunday night seemed as good a time as any to make breakfast for her fellow students. After all, she'd only woken up a few hours ago, so it totally counted as breakfast time. She'd decided to take this to the fifth floor in case she set something on fire. More plausible deniability that way.

There was cereal from a box, bacon that was not quite burnt around the edges, some slightly questionable scrambled eggs, tea, and toast. There was nothing wrong with the tea or the toast.

((Open like a common room!))

Comments

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

After a day out in town and a strange conversation with an equally strange man at the church, Peter was ready for an evening in.

"Good evening, miss," he said, stepping into the common room.

[ashockingbitch]

"'lo," said Jenny. "You want some breakfast? For dinner? So's I don't fail?" Peter might notice her Englishosity.

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"It seems a little backwards to me, but anything I can do go help the first Englishwoman I've met all weekend," Peter said. "My name is Peter Parquagh."

[ashockingbitch]

"Par-what?" Jenny asked, dishing up some slightly questionable food without allowing Peter to voice his preferences. She'd fixed it, he was going to eat it. And like it. "Is that French? What part of jolly old England are you from, then?"

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"The part that existed four hundred years ago, apparently," Peter said, taking the plate and some silverware. "Thank you for the food, miss. I've travelled through time for a brief period, so I'm not terribly sure what there still is of the England I knew."

[ashockingbitch]

Jenny did some mental math. "Sixteen hundreds, really? Who's the Spirit, then, do you know?" she had to ask. She knew the Nineteenth had been Steam and the Eighteenth Revolution, but she didn't know any further back than that, and they'd hardly gone by that, anyway. Her name was a happy coincidence, whatever Jenny Quantum thought. "Reformation, maybe? And England's about the same, you know. It's an island, they don't exactly go places. Usually."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"I'm sorry, miss, I didn't know anyone called the Spirit," Peter said. "Were they a noble family?"

[ashockingbitch]

"Something like that," Jenny muttered. "She must not be English, then."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Oh, one of those where they married into the other European families then?" Peter asked. He decided to finally try the food. "This is very good." Of course, he was a polite boy when he wasn't flipping around like a monkey and kicking people, so even if it was terrible nobody would ever know.

[ashockingbitch]

"You're hurting my brain," said Jenny. "What?--wait, you like the food?" She did a little dance. "Someone likes the food!"

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"I'm sorry about your head, miss, I'm just trying to learn," Peter said. "And the food is excellent. I think you should pass without a problem."

[ashockingbitch]

"I pass just for doing it," Jenny said, "I was just worried I might've given you food poisoning in the process."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Food poisoning isn't fatal in the future, is it?" Peter asked.

[ashockingbitch]

"No, but it's about as much fun as the hangover after a two-week bender," Jenny informed him.

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"I've never had that either," Peter said. "I imagine it's not fun at all?"

[ashockingbitch]

"I'm sure it's somebody's idea of a good time, but that person is a sick, sick, twisted individual. So no, not at all."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"And you don't have any cures for really bad hangovers in the future either?" Peter said. "That may be something for me to try to create when I return to my time. The name Parquagh would be synonymous with not having a terrible headache."

[ashockingbitch]

"You would be beloved of billions," Jenny assured him. "Just, you might think about changing the name to something a little more...pronounceable."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Parquagh's tough to pronounce?" Peter asked. "Huh. I thought it was simple. It's only two syllables."

[ashockingbitch]

"How the sod do you spell it, though?" Jenny wanted to know.

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"It's simple. P-A-R-Q-U-A-G-H," Peter said. "That's not tough, is it?"

[ashockingbitch]

Jenny lit a cigarette off a spark from her fingertip, took a long drag, and said, "Y-E-S. Bloody hell."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"I understand that the g might throw some people, but it's not that bad," Peter said. "I mean, I know a Jameson, and a Banner, and a Rojhaz. Those names are just as difficult, if not worse." No they weren't.

[ashockingbitch]

"Oh, you poor deluded thing," said Jenny. "Although Rojhaz is pretty bad..."

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Parquagh is nothing compared to that one," Peter said. "There's an h in there. Who knows where?"

[ashockingbitch]

"Your name has a q," Jenny pointed out.

[peter--parker.livejournal.com]

"Which makes a good, distinctive sound," Peter said. "You know exactly where it goes when you hear it."

[ashockingbitch]

"No, I don't," Jenny argued, "but it's cute that you think so."