Third Floor Common Room; Monday Morning [07/01].

[howareyanow]

Wayne was very pleased to find that everything seemed to be as he left it in the fridge for breakfast this morning; in general, he'd been using that consistency as a guage for what kind of week they'd be having, though he knew it wasn't exactly a perfect method. It seemed good enough, anyway, to indicate that he'd at the very least have a good Monday, and he figured, around here, that was pert'near all you could ask for.

He wound up with another Monday without classes for this session, too, so he was ready to get up, check his fights on hockeyfights.com, and then get at 'er, sticking with the usual breakfast fare of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee and juice because, 'round here, it felt good to just sort of stick with something consistent when you could, since who knew what he'd have to go and improvise with the next week?

So far? So good.

[[ wayne is very upset with me right now because I seriously almost forgot about this this morning, lol. Open breakfast is open, as always! Come and get it! ]]

Comments

[howareyanow]

"Now, why do I get the feelin'," Wayne asked, tilting his head a little to match the tilt of an eyebrow, "that this bacon, eggs, and milk ain't exactly gonna be what I'm naturally inclined to think they're like?"

Was it the smirk on her face? The fact that Lana wasn't exactly 'from here'? Or was it just the fact that he cooked with those things so often that it seemed a bit silly to mention any of it unless it was a bit...different.

The answer was clearly D: all of the above.

[unusual_sith]

Lana laughed. "Because I brought it from home? I imagine it cooks similarly, though I've honestly no idea; I'm not much of a cook myself."

She handed him a box she'd arranged. Inside were, in space-age (ha) containers, a gallon of (blue) milk, a pound of cured not-pork-or-beef, and an assortment of green, purple, and red eggs.