fandomhighdorms | Third Floor Common Room; Monday Morning [05/06].

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Third Floor Common Room; Monday Morning [05/06].

Well. Wayne figured he was getting settled into this new place well enough, though the whole island was pretty strange and a little fruity-loops. Worst of it all, though, was the complete lack of things to do. Wasn't used to not having things to do, not even on Sunday, as his family was never particularleh religious (who's got that kind of money?). But he did get a chance to check out the town; even without the castle, it was pretty surreal, and odd that it was somehow smaller than Letterkenny.

No chores. No planting. No nothing. And then he didn't even have any workshops until Tuesday. Fuck. What was he going to do with all this free time? Didn't much care for that. Free time.

Know what he could do, though? He could make breakfast. And not just some toss some flakes in bowl and hit it with some milk breakfast, but a real hearty farmhouse kinda breakfast. Had a decent kitchen in the common rooms, by the look of it, might as well make good use of it. Good selection of food and produce at the general store, got himself everything he needed for a good helping of eggs and bacon, pork sausage and hash browns, fresh fruit, mix up some batter for pancakes with some real maple syrup...

No French toast, though. French toast was just a waste of time.

Good way to start the week, really, and not a bad way to make an impression by feeding people, either.

Breakfast was on. Come an' get it.

[[ open open open, of course there's plenteh! ]]

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Sure, Nina had class, but that was like second period and she was up before that and okay, so she lived on the floor below but who could resist the smell of breakfast?

Not Nina, that was for sure.

"Good moooooorning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she chirped, wandering into the room, bright-eyed and all smiles.

Wayne himself was hardly the bright and chirpy type in the morning, true, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate that some people might be. Better bright and chirpy in the morning than lazy and draggin' your feet. In his book, that showed some decent character, and he nodded to the girl as she breezed in, giving the pancake he was working on a careful, studied flip.

"'Morning," he said. "How are ya now?"

"Not too bad," she said easily. "I've got, like, class in a bit, but I'm kind of looking forward to it?????????? So that should be nice!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Because she really was interested in what a grumpy bus driver was doing teaching about a tao of a bear.

"I'm Nina," she offered, "are you, like, one of the new guys????????????"

She knew he was, since she didn't recognize him, but it seemed rude to just say so.

There was a little bit of a twitch (a twitch that would likely be pretty recurring) as the girl seemed to skip right over a crucial part, but he knew he should get used to that, people just spoke differently around here. But, again, he nodded, a bit stiffly but friendly enough.

"Can confirm," he said. "Wayne. Good to meet ya. How 'bout a little breakfast before your class, there, Nina? Most important meal of the daaay. Got plenty. Start ya out right."

"Well, like, if you're sure????????? I wouldn't want to impose!!!!!!!!!!"

Nina had come up with the sole intent of imposing but still.

"It's nice to meet you too!!!!!! How are you doing???????????"

"Oh," said Wayne, blinking up momentarily at some random spot on the cupboards, "not so bad. And it's not like I'm gonna eat this all myself."

He nodded to a stack of plates on the counter that he'd set out precisely because he wasn't planning on eating it all himself. Of course he could, he was a big guy with a healthy appetite, but that wasn't the reason why he'd made so much.

Then, after a moment, after nodding, he seemed to think about it a little bit and wondered if it would be more polite in this situation to serve the food rather than have people help themselves. Bit different rules, probably, in a dormitory than a farmhouse, but he wasn't sure what those rules quite were yet. Still, didn't hurt to be extra polite in times of uncertainty, and he'd just finsihed up with that pancake, so he got a plate and regarded Nina curiously.

"Anything in particular you like? Don't like?

"When it comes to breakfast, there's really no way to go wrong," Nina said, smiling.

Well, there were ways to go wrong, but from the smell of things nothing seemed wrong here.

"But, like, you don't have to serve me?????????????? I wouldn't want your food to get cold either!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Wayne didn't so much shrug as he did just sort of...twitch his shoulders slightly, move his head a moment to the side, and pursed his lips just a bit. "Can always make more," he said, since he was halfway to serving her anyway and you never just left a job half-done, and he took to putting a little bit of everything on Nina's plate for her. "And there's a microwave. I don't mind."

And then there was a plate of a little bit of everything being offered out to Nina, with quite possibly the world's smallest smile, especially on a face so broad.

"On your own for beverages, though."

Though he supposed he could make up some Caesers. Especially since it was hard to see a Caeser and not want a Caeser.

But they probably frowned on drinking in the dorms. Especially at this earleh in the ah-em.

Vette's breakfast senses were tingling. And, not one to be cowed by the possibility that the person making said breakfast was going to be completely new to the sight of a Twi'lek (it wasn't like people didn't stare back home, either, though generally for completely different reasons), she was making her way into the common room, breathing in a deep inhale, and grinning.

"Something in here smells amazing," she mused, and then gave the guy a nod in greeting. "Hey."

Work-mode Wayne tended to sort of be auto-pilot Wayne, so there he was, just cooking away at some eggs and making sure they didn't just go and get themselves burned, when another one of his fellow students came in through the door, and he noted that it was a good thing, good healthy appetites for the most important meal of the day 'round here, not a whole bunch of lazy do-nothings that'll spend all day sleeping in just because they could.

And auto-pilot Wayne, of course, nodded a little and went into his usual greeting of "How are ya now?" but only got as far as the 'ya' by the time he turned his head, actually saw the person who'd come in and...yup. That there was one of the blue ones.

"....nowwwww," he finished up, a good long second later.

Welp. Blue people needed breakfast, too, he assumed, soooooo....

Yup.

Vette, of course, was just giving him a devil-may-care sort of grin. She knew exactly what that was about.

"I'm blue, thanks, and you?"

She was also a huge brat.

At least she knew she was blue, then. That seemed a good thing.

"Not so bad," Wayne drawled, after another moment and a whole lot of squinting, eyes all but disappearing under the ridge of a furrowed brow. "...little more pinkish-yellow. Prolly more red, as the summer goes on."

Or prolly not. Not a lot of chorin' to do around here. Either way, he wasn't exactly here to contemplate deeply on the particular variances in colors of his skin, or anyone else's for that matter, and he turned stiffly toward the girl, holding out the pan of eggs that had just finished in one hand, still gripping the spatula in his other hand pretty tight.

"Breakfast?"

Vette gave an easy laugh in reply, and then gave him a bit of a grin.

"Please," she replied. "I'd be lying if I said the smell of food wasn't what drew me in here in the first place." She leaned forward for a look at those eggs - yep, that definitely looked like food - and nodded her approval. "I'm Vette, by the way. No, I'm not from anywhere around here, yes, I am for real, and you'll probably get used to it before too long, or I'm gonna have to kick your butt."

This was generally how she introduced herself to most people who were totally gobsmacked to meet a real live alien, Wayne. Don't worry too much about it. If you were at all, since your impressively thick neck was probably about as wide as she was, overall.

Well, Wayne really wasn't going to ask, Vette. Didn't seem polite, really. But he...mostly appreciated you answering, all the same. And if the tiny blue alien girl wanted to kick his butt, well, then, she was going to be more than welcome to, because he wasn't likely about to do anything about it.

He was still going to need a lot of time to wrap his head around 'tiny blue alien girl' in the first place, but that was something he was going to put off and avoid for a while now. He wasn't one for procrastination, usually, but some things just sort of...required you to just let it marinate for a bit.

Because he didn't understand any of that stuff. But he did understand breakfast, and so those eggs were going onto a plate for Vette.

"Wayne," he offered back. "Anything else you might like? Got some coffee going, too. Orange juice in the fridge."

"Oooh, the last thing the island needs is me drinking coffee," Vette laughed, which wasn't stopping her from making a beeline to grab herself a mug and set it next to the coffee machine, as if claiming dibs on a spot in a queue. "But there's a whole day I need to get through from here, and if people are going to be off at classes, I'm going to need that caf in order to fuel myself through whatever trouble I get in to get through it."

What this island really needed were some good crypts or something.

"Eggs and bacon and hash browns'll be pretty good fuel for that, too," Wayne noted, because that's what else had gone onto that plate, and a little fruit, too, he'd somehow managed to fit on a couple of pancakes, too, and now that plate was being handed off to Vette. "What kinda trouble we talkin' about?"

There might have been a faint tone of disapproval to the question, if only because there were certainly good types of trouble, but there were bad ones, too, and he was trying not to judge, but that sort of went against his nature.

"Oh, you know," Vette mused, taking the plate, making note of the contents, and then turning a big grin up (so far up! but not as far up as the up-person she usually grinned up at) at Wayne in thanks. "Maybe set out some targets somewhere and go shooting, or see if I can find something interesting and new in the preserve. The weather's finally nice enough I can go out there and really explore without freezing my lekku off."

And another pause before she nodded at the plate.

"Hey, thanks for this."

And when Vette looked up, Wayne sort of did, too, marginally, behind squinting, blinking eyes, as if particularly interested in the cabinets, because those were pretty nice cabinets, solid workmanship, and they weren't little blue alien girls, because if he didn't look at little blue alien girls, it made it easier to deal with the fact that little blue alien girls were there.

It was definitely going to be a process. But he listened well enough, giving a short nod in response to the thanks, like he felt there was really nothing to it, really no need for thanks.

"What kind of shootin' do you do?" he asked, figuring that was a good common ground topic and just hoping it didn't end up veering off toward magic when he'd asked Keyleth about it. "They got good hunting here on this island? I asked my sibling about it, but it seemed to get her a little...." He contemplated his word choiced. "Flustered."

To be faaaiiirrrrr, a lot of things seemed to get Keyleth....flustered.

"The island's mostly got these little deer, but I think they're protected by law," Vette replied, a little apologetically. "There are rabbits, though? The guns I use might be a bit overkill for those little guys, unless you like your bunny already cooked when you go to collect it." She considered Wayne thoughtfully, picking up a fork and skewering a piece of sausage on it. "The fishing's pretty good, though."

He seemed the outdoorsy type.

Now what could have possibly have given her that impression?

Maybe the fact that the little blinks and twitches of his eyebrows seemed a bit approving as Vette went along, with perhaps a few miniscule bobs of his head, too?

A little rabbit sniping never hurt anyone, though (well, except for the rabbits, obviousleh), and fishing...

"Best fishin's probably up in Ky-bec," he noted, mostly thinking a little outloud to himself, "but fishin's good. Nice and relaxin'. Might not be a bad way to spend a morning..."

Fuck. What was he going to do with himself out here? Fishing and sniping rabbits might take up some of the time, but not all of it.

"What else people do around here?" he wondered, actually looked at Vette for a moment, narrowed his eyes a little, and kept his gaze that way. "For...fun?"

He said it a little like it was a dirty word, with a particular emphasis on the -un.

"Depends on the person," Vette replied, shrugging. "Some people shop, some people go swimming. I know some people like to spar. I go digging through odds and ends at the scrapyard, to see if there are any neat mechanical bits I can repurpose into something else."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"What sort of things do you normally do for fun?"

His roommate had mentioned fighting a bit, too, hadn't he? Wayne considered that sparring bit a little, figuring it wouldn't do to get a rusty while he was down here, anyway, he had a title to defend, and made it a point to try and figure out just who the fighters in this school might be.

"Mostly used to just chorin'," he said after a moment to think about it. "Chorin', fightin', smokin', drinkin'. Pettin' dogs is up there; my sibling said there's a pet shelter here with puppies, that's something I always like helpin' with when I head into the city, so's I guess I'll be spending a lot of time with that. But just used to chorin', mostly. Not a whole lot of chorin' to do around summer camp."

Emphasis on the pah.

Vette's head tilted a little bit more every time the word 'chorin' happened.

"Well, there are two bars," she offered. "One doesn't serve to 'minors,'" and yes, there were airquotes at work there, "and one doesn't care and will serve to anyone. I don't suggest fighting in that one, they've got a bouncer you can't argue with."

In that you'd go swimming.

"... What kinds of 'chorin' do you do? We could probably find some kind of busy work if you need it. I know Hera's probably hiring at the scrapyard, anyway."

And she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to see Wayne's reaction to Chopper.

"A bar, y'say?" Look at that, Vette! There were eyes on that face, though they seemed to only appear for a brief moment of interest before settling back into their natural squint. "That doesn't care and will serve to anyone? Now, that's something."

And just like that, Caritas likely got themselves another new regular seatwarmer. One who was sixteen. It wasn't a problem, it was a culture.

"And, ohhhh, mostly work around the farm. Pullin' teats and pickin' stones. Baling hay and planting corn. Got some real nice dogs back home, some real good bos, so it's always good to get them runnin' around. S'not easy work, working on a farm, but it keeps ya busy and it fills your days. Can't think of any better way how, really. But a scrapyard might not be too bad, seeing as I don't see a whole lot of farming going on around here."

"Place is way too small for proper farming," Vette agreed, "though there's a little garden on the roof? And some weird trees that grow pillows somewhere on the campus, I haven't gone looking for those yet."

Priorities.

"Besides that, I'm reasonably certain the island is fresh out of teats for pulling." A beat. "There are stables, though. Somewhere. So maybe... the four-leggy tall whinnying things? Like kybucks but more eopie."

Yeah, those words would make sense.

No. No. Wayne didn't seem to care much for those words, realleh, but he dealt with hawkey players, he was sort of use to just taking and ignoring nonsense words he didn't much care for.

It did help, though, that there was at least one discernable detail there in the <>whinnying.

"So," here he squirted particularly hard, "horses?"

...please mean horses.

Vette brightened up at that, pointing at Wayne with her fork (a piece of egg at the end) and nodding.

"Those thingies! The big ones!"

And that just left Wayne faintly wondering if there was a blue alien equivelent of a Horse Girl, and, if there was, he was pretty sure he'd rather not find out about it.

"Never worked much with horses myself," he admitted. "But if that's all they got, well, maybe it's about time I started."

"Horses at the stables, puppies at the shelter, rabbits in the woods, and fish... basically anywhere there's water. There's not really a shortage of stuff to do, once you know where to look."

Once you knew where all the good trouble was to be found.

Seems pretty obvious, too," Wanye noted, with a grateful nod, "once you really think about it. But I appreciate the help, Vette. Good lookin' out. You been here at this school for long?"

"Since September," Vette replied, shrugging. "So... I got here in time for all the cold wintry stuff. I'm looking forward to being able to go outside without having to wrap myself up in fifteen billion layers first."

She grinned a little.

"I hope the summers get good and hot. But not desert hot. Comfortable hot. Actually-do-things-outdoors hot."

"Oh, for this climate, desert hot's not very likeleh," said Wayne, squinting thoughtfully. "Too much water around for that, so it'll be humid, zone like this, humid subtropical, if I'm not mistaken, right underneath the40th parallel, probably about an average high of...oh, I'd say right round thirty, thirty five degrees."

Alright there, Farmer's Almanac.

"I guess that's...'bout 90, in Fahrenheit, but fuck Fahrenheit. How's anyone gonna expect me to trust anything that starts its scale at thirty-two? What starts at thirty-two? I'll tell you what starts at thirty-two, a whole lot of nothing, that's what. Decent scale makes sense starting at zero. What happens at zero degrees Fahrenheit that don't happen at twelve or negative five? Fuck."

Edited 2019-05-06 16:59 (UTC)

"I think some kind of salt water freezes," Vette mused, a little vaguely, "but I was with you at thirty anyway." She tilted her head a little, and then squinted. "What are your feelings on metric?"

Very important question from a girl who measured distance in meters.

"On this entire planet," Wayne forged forward with a tone that suggested he might not have a lot of feelings about metric itself, but he had plenty of them for things that weren't, "there are only three countries that don't officially use the metric system. Number A," he held up a hand, pinky finger shooting out, "Myanmarrr. Number B," out went his ring finger, "Liberia. And number C," both fingers folded back down, leaving now just the middle one, "the United States of Go Fuck Yourself and Your Sensible, Logical Method of Measurement. Human beings have been using a base-10 system of measurement since the fifth century, until some kings decided, 'nope, not for me,' and had to go mix things up. Now, I'll give you a mile; a mile's not half bad. You've got a country mile, the Mile-High Club, and you've got one-hit wonder Scottish twin alt-rock duo the Proclaimers' 'I'm Gonna Be'-Parentheses-'500 Miles', which is a solid jam. But a yard's just a nice patch of grass outside your house, and a foot? Well, I know just where you can put your fucking foot, and that'll be right up your ass, that's what you can do with a foot."

Welcome to Wayne, Vette. He had Opinions.

Vette blinked.

Vette blinked again, her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide.

She was possibly in a faint bit of awe, here.

"I like you," she decided. "You can stay."

Delirium followed behind Barnabas, who was heading right for the smell of bacon. She looked around a little absently. She saw the food on the counter and put her back to the wall, sneaking stealthily like a sneaky stealthy thing, inching along the wall toward the plates.

Come on, Delirium. Delirium, come on. You didn't think you and your English talking service dog could waltz right in here and not have Wayne notice, didya? He could practically sense of a good bo from a hundred meters away.

"Barnabas!" he greeted the dog with his particular brand of brusque hello. "How are ya now?"

And as for you, Delirium...if his eyes drifted your way for a second and then blinked back toward the dog as if he'd seen nothing at all, well, then...

...he had a little sister. And that struck him as a very little sister thing to do, and there weren't nothing wrong with letting little sisters do little sister things if it made them happy.

And maybe he was just much more inclined to talk to Barnabas, anyway. He didn't know what to make of Delirium. But Barnabas....Barnabas made sense. Dogs made sense.

Even when they talked English.

She wasn't trying to sneak past you, Wayne. Delirium was very carefully sneaking up on the bacon as if it might try to escape if it saw her. She ducked behind the recycling bin and peeked around it, surveying her prey before quickly zipping around the bin and continuing her creep along the wall. Possibly humming the Mission: Improbable theme under her breath.

Barnabas nodded politely when he was greeted. "I'm well, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

Delirium, you seemed exceptionally bad at sneaking up on much of anything right now, if you asked Wayne, but you do you.

"Oh, not so bad," Wayne answered easily. "Made some breakfast; you're," he gave a side-long glance toward Delirium to denote that she was included in that you're, "welcome to have some, if you like."

She would, as always.

"Thank you," Barnabas replied with dignity, "Would you be so kind as to pass me down some bacon? It smells delicious."

Delirium reached the food. And she pounced!

Not literally. She darted in with a fork and very swiftly put a pancake on the plate, added some of everything else on top of it including the fruit, and then dashed away to a table.

Before sneaking back along the wall a second time.

Wayne turned his head to watch that pancake attack and the subsequent food acquistion, then turned his head as Delirium went to the table, and then continued to follow ass she went back to the wall, in three distinct sharp moves.

And then right back to Barnabas. He had, fleetingly, thought to ask, but then firmly decided against it. Gave Barnabas a nod, put a good amount of bacon (but let's not go overboard, as much as he would have liked to have given Barnabas pretty much all the bacon) on a plate and set it down in front of him.

"Thank you," Barnabas said politely when he was handed a plate of the only food he cared about.

He was disgruntled a moment later when Del's next attack added a pancake and some fruit to his plate. He gave her the most betrayed of all possible betrayed looks.

"It's good for you," she said airily, sauntering back to her seat.

Where she rolled the pancake around the other things like a slightly thicker burrito and took a bite.

That was, honestly, a little fascinating to watch, from Wayne's perspective.

"I'd say that's pert'near the only dog I've ever seen that'd say no to the idea of more food," he declared. "Unless it was sick. You're not sick, there, are ya, Barnabas?"

Wayne would be very worried and disraught if you were sick, bud.

Barnabas gave him some serious stinkeye. "No. Unlike some canines, I prefer not to eat things likely to give me wind. Most dogs don't care if they gas people out of a room. I'm expected to excuse myself."

Delirium continued to eat her pancakerito and said, around a mouthful, "It's healthy, Barnabas. You don't let me eat plates of only bacon."

Barnabas huffed. "I would if you cooked it first."

Del looked baffled, "But why?"

"Uncooked bacon's just a recipe for salmonella," said Wayne, passing a warning sort of look toward Delirium. "And salmonella'll make you spit from both ends.

"And that's awfully consider of you, Barnabas," he added, attention back to the dog. "Most dogs...fuck, they don't care. They'll crop-dust all damn day, doesn't matter how close the quarters or who's around or if you're at the dinner table. Though you're in kind of a unique position, you know, to just turn around and blame it on people. Plenty of degens'll go blame their own crop-dusting on the dog."

Not him, of course. In the rare occasion where he actually did let go of an inappropriate fart, he owned up to it, like any decent fellow should.

"It only be fair, realleh," he concluded, giving him a nod, "but I appreciate your excellent sense of propriety."

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Third Floor Common Room; Monday Morning [05/06].

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