(Untitled)
There's a pile of mail waiting by the entryway as Miki steps into the apartment. Keeping said pile of mail company is a very small potted palm tree. A star and rope of garland made of tinfoil and spray painted shaped pasta adorns the little tree. Smiling, Miki picks it up and takes it over to an orange crate by the window, flipping the light-switch
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Comments 66
"That it does... hard to believe." He rubs between his eyes, with a little bit of a sigh, then sits. The relative cold doesn't seem to bother him much.
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From the bedroom, there are sounds of girl getting out of some fairly complex gear. The search for the bathrobe being an apparent success.
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He listens with some breed of mild amusement, having found some little doo-dad or another to entertain himself in his rapidly dwindling caffeine rush. He leans with a small grunt to pick up the yellow duck laying on the carpet before him, squeezing it experimentally -- squeek, squeek. Heh!
"...I thought it had, as we received word there was immediate pressure roiling within the hunters' ranks on the Phon, soon after your departure. Isolated."
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It may be noted that at this time, Miki is totally losing points in the froodiness sector.
The duck itself is rather amusing, squeaking aside. It has a brightly colored mohawk and several tiny plastic piercings on its wee little beak. This duck is hardcore, sir.
"Hunters?" It seems it is time for a vocabulary check as Miki exits the bedroom, to plop down on the couch.
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"Things like that never get easier, do they?" The beat grows a little softer as she parses out the rest of what she wants to say, "As it seems it would be right horrid otherwise."
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He may slow a tiny bit while he thinks about this, but it's nothing remarkable.
"It doesn't," he says, quiet. "once the adrenaline leaves, all one tends to be left with is the gravity." Beat. "Perhaps for the best."
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It's strange business watching someone relatively new to one's life move about one's own space, taken up in their own personal set of rituals. Makes for some interesting observation, that it does. Were she more lucid, it would strike her as right entertaining that men she wasn't living with got more use out of her kitchen than her own self.
The heat kicks in again, the space is becoming right snug fairly quickly.
Feeling the need to do something, she hops off the counter. It's time to put some music on, so her way wends to the case littered with CD cases and vinyl kept carefully in sleeves. "Anything in particular you're in the mood to hear?" As to her, it seems rather like it's time for Tom Waits, but she's not about to argue with someone who is making food.
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Tea leaves and butter are a go, sir. He stops, then opens the oven again and puts his hand under the top -- no element connecting the two. Still.
He quietly wonders how to wrestle this film off of the noodles, then gets them open, and throws them in the pan.
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"They.. he?" She shakes her head, damn multiples of people and no real good way to refer to them. "Regardless, yes. It would rather be, but it's definitely better to not. Else you wind up with things like we get back home with divergent time-lines, alternate worlds and all the mess that comes with them."
She gets up, it's time to take the plate to the kitchen and acquire some more tea. "Care for some more tea?"
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Basch nods in somber agreement. "We've enough problems without ones of that sort," he says. He hadn't thought of that.
He hands his cup over with a "please", and settles back into thought for a moment.
"Though..." should he? "...your question's made me think of the different ideological viewpoints."
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Taking the cup with a small smile, she nods. "No one needs that sort of trouble." She makes her way back to the kitchen, liberally doctoring her tea before returning.
"And how's that?" Carefully, she hands his mug back and proceeds so settle back into the couch. This should at least be interesting.
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The damage, in Miki's case, being substantially larger and more profound than Basch's, but still.
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There is also a deep and abiding appreciation of central heating going on, but that's not really here nor there.
There's a grateful weariness about her as she answers,"If you're not adverse to staying, I'd quite appreciate it." The implied continuation of the statement being that she really doesn't feel like knocking about in an empty space at the moment.
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"After I've had a go at the shower, rest sounds passing splendid." Pausing, she stifles a yawn, "You'll be able to keep yourself entertained?"
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He gives her a bit of a crooked smile and nods. "I think I'll manage."
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