kismet_loop_logs | because this guy has a GREAT track record with fire...

because this guy has a GREAT track record with fire...

Who: Sam and Hiro
Where: Their hip happening bachelor(ette) pad
When: post-April-Fool's-effects (April 20th-ish)
What: COOKIES also Hiro clarifying a few things
Warnings: Excessive amounts of cookies and sad attempts at baking

Years of watching sitcoms about people in wacky roommate situations had not adequately prepared Hiro for the reality of living with someone. All right, yes, granted, he'd never so much "watched" them as "begged Aunt Cass to stop watching them and let him change to channel to something with monsters or robots", but still -- this never happened to people on TV.

"This" being a sad, well-meant but poorly executed attempt at baking. The butter was a solid lump in the middle of the mixing bowl, the vanilla smelled amazing but tasted nasty, and most of the flour was spread over the counters and in Hiro's hair, and he was way too young to rock the grey-haired look. He may have been a certified genius, but when it came to baking, he was absolutely hopeless.

"Stupid space cookies," he muttered, glaring at the congealed mess in the mixing bowl. That was a good plan, blame Haven for his mishaps, rather than taking responsibility. That miiiight not work too well once Sam returned home, however, especially not when Hiro took into account what Dirge had said.

A witch. Sam was a witch. A witch who could apparently curse people (though Hiro wasn't too sure how much faith he should put into a conversation had between talking about robotic tongues) if she was mad enough. Would the total destruction of her (their?) kitchen be enough to make her that mad?

Hiro exhaled slowly, wiping baking soda off his face. Well, that was that. He was going to spend the rest of his life as a newt. At least until Sam needed his eyes for some secret deadly potion. A dismal end to a dismal day.

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"--nuh-uh. Were you seriously?" Hiro's going to lean in and squint a little, trying to imagine Sam offering a cheese plate and trivia about landscapes to snobby art patrons. Full disclosure: he knows nothing about art galleries.

It's easier to talk about other people's hypothetical "before", especially since Hiro already tended to think of his life in terms of "before" and "after, with one particular cataclysmic event dividing them. But Sam is overflowing with snark and teasing and even in the serious moment, that feels right.

The question is shrugged off, answered oh-so-casually, "That you were a witch who cursed people."

"Yeah, seriously. It was a smaller place, one of the ones that only showcases stuff for sale, but while also offering custom treatments for pieces purchased elsewhere. Matting, framing, mounting, that sort of stuff. It was actually pretty good; I liked having the hands-on stuff to do." Hiro's incredulity had sent her eyebrows up, but they sank as Sam bobbed a shoulder. "Dressing up I didn't mind, but I could do without 'as often'."

Small surprise; the tee she wore (that day, and more often that any other) advised its audience ♔ FREAK OUT AND THROW THINGS rather than keep calm or carry on.

"I haven't cursed anybody yet, but if that changes, it will probably be Dirge. I did threaten him the once, and it's a threat that I mean to make good on, since I'd said if he ate or otherwise killed a person I would take his ability to taste away. It's not something I've ever tried to do before, but.... I think it might be manageable."

Edited 2015-04-30 06:20 (UTC)

"...was it like...weird sculptures or splattery stuff or real art?" Again, most of what Hiro knows about art is gleaned from when art studios get smashed in the course of a monster movie. Also, he naturally thinks Sam has impeccable fashion sense (which doesn't mean much coming from a kid who owns maybe two pairs of pants).

The explanation is surprisingly benign, and well within what Hiro would consider a logical and rational response. So much so that he blinks a couple times and asks, without thinking -- "Sooooo not a newt, then."

"Real art, the on-canvas kind." The witch considered, frowned, and corrected herself; "Mostly. Every so often we had something mixed-media, but all of it was stuff you could fit into a frame."

Any additional elaboration---on her history, on art, or on the practical invoking of plausible magic---was lost at 'not a newt,' which derailed Sam's train of thought as effectively as torn tracks. The corner of her mouth tilting towards a smile, she spent several seconds just looking at Hiro before turning her eyes to the floor, to the ceiling, and only eventually back to the boy.

"Not a newt." The straight face she'd approximated fell away the instant her admission was out, and the 'why' was two words: "Not yet."

"Was it of, like...disaffected youth? Or close-ups of fruit?" Hiro still isn't totally confident that Sam worked with real art and not weird alternative stuff, the kind his Aunt Cass was always trying to hang in the cafe.

The reaction to Hiro's clarification gets an attentive, completely unperturbed look, waiting to see if maybe there had been some newt threats in the past that Sam had forgotten. Apparently not (disappointing), but Hiro takes comfort in the fact that it's still a possibility. "Maaaaybe...someday a newt?"

"Some and some, though there were also a lot of landscapes and abstracts, too." Although of the opinion most art was real art, Sam could understand why someone would ask after specifics---there were some notable exceptions... especially among 'performance' pieces. "A lot of it was actually really nice, but a lot of it was also overpriced like whoa. Though, I guess that's how it usually is."

Leaning back to prop herself up, with both arms behind her, she considered Hiro and his question---but briefly. Her conclusion? "You sound strangely hopeful. ...but that's not why I'll say 'maybe someday' a newt. No, I'll say 'maybe someday a newt' because there's a chance---slim, sure, but still significant!---that someday that'll be something I'm able to do."

"How'd you even get into that? ...are you a starving artist?" This is asked with some interest -- Hiro's heard of these things, but he tends to move in circles where starving biologists and physicists are the norm. Besides, an artistic witch just makes sense.

If Hiro sounded hopeful seconds before, now he looks and sounds disappointed, head lowering, feet kicking at the cabinets, very morosely. "It just seems like a handy trick to know," he mumbles. Yeah, he's very devoted to the idea of Sam turning people into small semi-aquatic lizards left and right.

"Ah, honestly? With a slightly more sophisticated version of 'I can be charming, and mount any item for framing so that it looks good. Please hire me?' buttressed by my waving electives and explaining I'd like to save to go back to school, study art restoration. Wasn't going to happen, because I wouldn't've been able to afford it, but it was still what I would've liked to do, which I suppose sort of answers your question. To answer it properly? Still 'sort of.'" She chuffed, unembarrassed. "I like fussing with acrylics, and had to have some severe budgeting standards even picking up casual hours working at my most recent main tattoo place, but managed. Sometimes by being the girl with a purse of Tupperware take-away, but, y'know."

Moving on, Sam moved over, shifting her weight enough to pat at Hiro's shoulder. "It would be a handy trick, no lie. If I have half a chance to get my mitts on the right ritual, I'll jump at it---even trade two rituals in turn, if that's what it takes, and tell you before anybody else."

Hiro nods slowly, shifting back on his palms. "I can respect that. You've gotta make the money somehow, right? My brother used to pick up shifts in our aunt's cafe, and that involved an apron." What's this? Casual references to his life "before"? Don't point it out, or he'll spook and clam up.

Then, scrunching his nose up -- "Rituals? You mean it's not like...wave your hands and poof?"

"Exactly. Ink's expensive, whether you're dealing with a place charging by time or surface area." She couldn't keep from smiling at the admission, or the emphasis. Of course the apron would be a point to press. "An apron was one thing luck kept me out of, which was probably for the best. Not like I'm a terrible cook---you know this!---but the temptation to pilfer would've been brutal. As it was? 'Business dressy' or 'short sleeves strongly encouraged.' People come into a tattoo parlor and the staff they see are all inked up, it's good for business."

She laughed a little at Hiro's question, adjusting her position enough to set a companionable arm about the boy's shoulders. "For a few things, it's like look and poof, there. For other things, though, it's go-go-go all afternoon, break a sweat just setting up."

Edited 2015-05-03 14:58 (UTC)

"How many places have you worked?" Hiro's now imagining Sam as some sort of tattoo parlor bouncer, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Of course, there's also a generational and cultural divide here. Sam's world probably still uses fossil fuels.

Also he's so busy trying to think this out that he doesn't even act awkward at the arm around the shoulders. If anything, he leans against her unconsciously, brow furrowed. "So...it's like...work."

Sam paused, thinking her answer over. "Are we counting festivals? And if so, are we counting individual years? Self-employment? If we aren't, then five. If we are? Frick, I dunno, double that and then some. I've done something for Folk on the Rocks almost every year since I was sixteen. Big outdoor music festival, always a blast, and easily one of the best things the Northwest Territories has happening." If not the best, it came close.

"Yes and oh no, no, no, dude." Sitting straighter and releasing Hiro to gesture with both her hands, Sam grinned. "It's something to work at, but for all the effort that goes into it, not like work. Unless maybe work the way fine-tuning Megabot was work."

Hiro's looking at Sam with wide, reverent eyes now. He knows Festivals. There's always some sort of Festival happening in San Fransokyo, and they've always been presented to him as something big and somewhat dangerous and forbidden and therefore awesome. "You...seriously? For real? What...what do you even do there?"

Sam already speaks Hiro's language, prompting a thoughtful nod. "So, it's like...time-consuming and takes energy and stuff, but it isn't a pain. You like doing it, cause it's what you do. Yeah?"

It was more of a reaction than Sam had expected, but she shrugged and answered as if it were all only a matter of fact---which it was, the way she saw it. "Yeah, for reals for-real, and for the most part help lost people find their people, or a way to get to wherever they were trying to go. But I started with working desk at Warm the Rocks, which is this fancier-but-still-fun party or I guess 'gala' the festival always opens with. I didn't mind desk. That was the summer after the spring I busted my leg, so it was probably the best place for me to be." She shrugged again, nodding as Hiro spoke.

"Yeah. It's..." She stopped herself from shrugging a third time, frowning in thought. "Like 'me, at potential'. It's what I have a hold on."

Ugh, desk jobs. Hiro frowns over this, kicking his heels again and wrinkling his nose in thought. Then, with an arched eyebrow -- "Were you also a bouncer? Did you ever throw anyone out for disorderly conduct?" Can you blame him for assuming the most dramatic thing, Sam? You did open with the riot/ski mask story.

That, on the other hand, gets a knowing nod. "I get it. You do stuff cause it's just what you do. Cause you can't not do it."

"No, why? Why bouncer? And no, but---" She broke off, laughing and turning her hands up as if to ask why me? or what's with this kid? "But I was a safety escort seeing people back to their cars or wherever so that they didn't get jumped or anything. And I have never yelled 'come at me bro' without the person I yelled at thinking better of it. Can that count for something?"

The oven chimed and Sam slid off the counter, turning to Hiro to answer since the topic seemed serious enough to call for face-to-face. "Pretty much. Can I give you the shape of it? No, but I have a hand on it to push or to pull, and it's in arm's reach, and there's no not knowing that." She turned away and opened the oven, setting the bowl with the butter inside.

"I can only hope that made sense. If this doesn't, be cool; I'm just melting the butter without resorting to the microwave, since you got some other stuff in it."

"Cause I could totally see you bouncing! Bouncering. Whatever." Hiro's eyes light up at that, and he manages to somehow bounce in place, while sitting on the counter. "Do you yell "come at me bro" at lots of people? Like, random hooligans and stuff?"

Oooo, wow, something neat is happening with that there butter, have Hiro hopping off the counter, still covered in flour, and hunch down to examine the bowl in the oven, expression dubious. "Are you talking metaphorically now? Or about the butter? Cause you could totally give me the shape of the butter: screwed up."

He straightens, sighing softly. "The butter is screwed up and whatever's in the microwave is probably alive. It was making noise, at least."

"Why's that? And the word you want is bouncing." Although the correction would probably help cement Hiro's idea that Sam was bouncer material, she didn't mind---much, or at all. It struck her as funny, for one; for another, fairly flattering. "A respectable number? If 'respectable' is the right term? Sort of a seasonal practice, though. Summertime stuff."

One spoon on the counter was still clean, save for a few flecks of flour; Sam picked it up, deemed it serviceable, and crouched in front of the oven to monitor the butter's melting. The action of crouching was slightly awkward, showing the stiffness in her off leg ('busted' wasn't an exaggeration; 'busted' it had been,) but after some six years, it didn't really register, with or without the issue of "Alive? What did you put in there?"

"Cause you look tough." It's said very matter-of-factly as Hiro meanders over to the dirty spoons (and forks and bowls and cups...) and starts clearing them away. Years of living in a cafe and busing tables has apparently stuck with him. But he offers a cheeky grin and amends, "Not mean-tough, just..."don't mess with me" tough. There was this girl I went to school with who was the same." Congrats, Sam, now you remind Hiro of Tadashi and Gogo.

Dirty dishes in the sink now (out of sight, out of mind), Hiro will do his part as a good roomie and slowly approach the vaguely-smoke-scented microwave. "Uhhh......powdery things and...I dunno, salt and gummy worms and lemons and stuff. Y'know, cooking things." Better arm himself with one of the less-sticky wooden spoons and jab at the microwave a couple times, to perhaps provoke it into attacking.

"Oh." She could've kept from chuckling, but it wasn't worth an effort---not with Hiro's it-just-is tone, not with his elaboration. "Thank you, and thank you for getting those. Maybe I'll look at that line of work if I end up on Earth again, and am not too too old."

Big 'if', she thought, and then set the thought aside. "It's still so weird to think that if there's a version of me on your Earth, I'm forty-two instead of twenty-two to your fourteen. Two decades... which would probably not be time enough to figure out where you were going with nuking powdery things, salt, gummy worms, lemons, and stuff and things, things and stuff." She shook her head, on the brink of laughing again, and stood to remove the butter bowl from the oven with a tea-towel to protect her hands from the heat.

"I wasn't wanting to nuke this on account of whatever you added, but... buddy, I'm afraid to ask. And aware I'm lucky I don't stock stuff like hen's teeth."

Hiro frowns a little, turning to watch Sam take the butter out of the oven -- which is very old-school and makes him feel like they're living in the ancient times. Hiro has no notion of what that entails, but he feels there should be more candles and "thy/thou/thee"s involved. "Can we end up back on Earth again? Is that even possible?" The question is posed softly, like he's trying not to sound too hopeful.

And then, making a face, Hiro turns back to jabbing the spoon handle at the microwave, this time popping it open and releasing a puff of acrid black smoke. He waves it away like it's no big deal, and grabs some tea towels of his own to pull the charred mess out. "I wouldn't have added anything that looked like teeth," he protests, dumping the bowl in the sink and turning the water on, to drown any potential life forms. A quick dust with his tea-towel, and he gestures proudly at the microwave, which is none the worse for wear.

...and while he's thinking of it: "Y'know, I could totally mess with the settings on this thing. Make it go faster..."

Stop him, Sam.

"I don't know for sure. I think so, but I don't know." The adept frowned over the butter, having answered without looking up from the bowl. "Sometimes, people just are absent, like they've dropped off the face of the planet. There was one lady who was here, and then gone, and then here again, and her whole 'gone' time was a blank to her... though, she did say the last thing she could remember was going off and exploring, so what exactly happened we've got to guess. And a while ago, a guy I know announced this other girl got sent home. I've been meaning to ask, but..."

Sam looked up and over, shrugging helplessly. "They were close, and it hit him hard, so I don't want to salt the wound any time soon, y'know? It's important information, but I can bide a bit." She quieted, thoughtful, and busied herself measuring out ingredients until Hiro spoke in his own defense.

"Hen's teeth don't look like teeth, just little flecks of white." Having provided her roomie with that profoundly impractical information, Sam resumed measuring and mixing until the words 'mess with the settings' hit her ears.

"No." She struck the countertop with both hands in emphasis, the measuring cup she still held clacking. "I've had to fight a blender, and watch my first toaster burn itself out as it bumped into the side of the sink again and again, just pitiful. If you want to modify the microwave just so that it's mobile and can maybe keep Blenderbot company when we're both out, we'll talk, but I don't care how hungry or impatient you are. The highest setting on the microwave is a hundred percent, and you better not take it apart to add power. This is not the Enterprise. And even if it were, I'd still pull seniority to stop you."

Have a dark frown, Sam. The temporal nature of life is something that Hiro's learned way too much about over the last several months, and the idea that it's the same here as on earth -- people can just leave and that's that -- isn't something he particularly enjoys. Then again, denial hasn't done too much for him in the past, either...

So, moving over to open random canisters and jars and examine the ingredients (because he can't go five seconds without touching everything), Hiro ventures, "Is there someone else you could ask? Like, someone who knows a lot about how things work here....?"

That explanation about the hens teeth is enough to have Hiro formulating a series of clarifying questions, but then Sam has that reaction to his innocent idea of modifying the microwave. He listens to the rant with a weary expression, rolling his eyes at the end of it and muttering, "That's the sorta close-mindedness that killed the dinosaurs, y'know."

Her admission was immediate: "Probably Wing. I kind of ask a lot of the guy, but he's gotta be one of the best to go to. As you probably noticed when you first met him, he's incredibly nice. Patience of a saint. Or, I guess, one of the Guardians. Irja's pretty approachable." Approachable, and adorable---the little flower-fairy was as chipper as a chickadee, at maybe half as heavy.

"It's not closed-mindededness, it's practicality. Given the precedents you've set? Perfectly practical. It's not like I told you the microwave is entirely off-limits. Pass me a pan?"

Edited 2015-05-06 05:34 (UTC)

"The Guardians?" Hiro is learning so much, and while he's normally totally into that, right now there are cookies potentially happening and his stomach is growling audibly, so while waiting for an answer he'll offer Sam the chocolate chips.

Then (before she can notice he's been sneaking handfuls of the aforementioned chocolate), he'll turn and start rummaging through the cupboards. Loudly, of course. "I'm not going to blow up the house! Radiation is a serious thing. No rockets or lasers or anything, I promise."

Here, have a pan and a disheveled small roommate reaching for the chocolate chips again.

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told you I'd use it word for word

bless u

<3

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