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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Hiro nods slowly at this idea (already making plans to get to this farm, because: cows!), reaching out slowly to try and swipe some cookie dough. "It'd be cool to find out. I mean, do they actually eat the stuff? How come only Dirge eats anything else?"

Have a dramatic eyeroll, and Hiro obligingly hopping down to dig out another pan. "We're not putting any frog toes into the cookies, so you're not at wicked witch status. Yet. Also: how many of those are you gonna make, anyways?"

Was that a compliment for one of Hiro's ideas? Because it's getting a happy grin as if it were, so hopefully it was. "Yeah? Thanks. It'd help keep me from burning down the place, so I figured you'd dig it."

He didn't have to try too terribly hard, since Sam saw the reaching hand and slid the bowl over in invitation. "I've only ever seen them drink it, which has had me really wondering 'why do they have teeth?' Even the sort-of teeth. For Dirge it makes sense, but why he should be an exception like that is an excellent question."

As Hiro dug, his housemate slid the first sheet into the oven. She accepted the new pan upon pivoting to cross the two steps back to her workspace, and pretended not to notice how much dough had mysteriously vanished while her back was turned.

"Frog toes would be a terrible thing to do to cookies. Those tiny little toe-bones? Nah. Not a crunch I care for." The idea alone was distasteful; how distasteful, Sam suggested by blowing a brief (if not single-second) raspberry. "We should have something like four dozen? It's looking like a double batch to balance out all the butter you had."

The boy's grin got a grin in turn, as the compliment had been exactly that. "Oh, yeah! That aside, even, it's cool for its own sake---a smart microwave, I can definitely dig!---and it's neat that that's something you can just go 'that, I think I'm going to do.'"

Sam gets coolness points for not even mentioning salmonella. But she's also going to lose a good portion of the dough, because human garbage disposal, right there.

Still, with four dozen to pick at, there'll still be plenty of cookies. "Maybe they've got teeth for...crunching other stuff." Listen, if there are giant robots around and they don't bite off the heads of their enemies, then what is the point?

Have a side-eye, Sam, (how do you know frog toes are crunchy??) but then he'll start helping scoop up the dough with a mostly-clean spoon and plunk it onto the cookie sheet. Whether they all make it to the pan or not is another story, because Hiro has to chase away the mental image of eating frog toes somehow.

Then, slightly encouraged: "Generally I try to use my powers for good. Occasionally for morally sound, but practically ambiguous."

Fourteen is old enough for Hiro to decide when he wants to risk raw egg, and what for. It wasn't as if his housemate could claim high ground in an admonishment, after all; Sam's spoon rose and fell regularly, but twice it went without the plap of another cookie-to-be appearing.

"If I dare you to ask, will you do it?" She asked as if it were a wholly hypothetical answer, running her tongue over her own teeth and pointedly ignoring the side-eye. It was only logical that tiny little toe-bones would crunch, but Hiro could draw his own conclusions. As the boy began to help her scoop, she moved aside to make a little more room, and her grin grew. "I generally try to use my powers for good, too, and occasionally for things morally ambiguous but practically sound. The more I hear, the more I think: we are pretty well-matched, I've got a good roommate here."

"Of course I will." Hiro's a fourteen-year-old boy, Sam. If he's dared to do something risky and therefore exciting, he'll 100% do it. "I mean, with backup and stuff." But not right that second, because there's still plenty of dough to scoop and line up on the pan with methodical neatness. There will be no melting and morphing into one giant monster cookie, thank you very much. Those are way harder to sneak into pockets.

"I can deal with moral ambiguity," Hiro allows, reaching up to rub at an itch on his nose and unknowingly smearing cookie dough across his cheek. "I was a pretty infamous botfighter for a little bit after high school and all. That's not toooootally legal."

But then Sam calls him a good roommate and he goes from "hardened semi-criminal" to "goofily grinning kid" in ten seconds. "Yeah? I, uh...I think so too."

The adept's answer was immediate, and the dare itself delivered deadpan: "Then I triple-dog-dare you. Though it's at your leisure, of course." Grinning again at the amendment, Sam waffled briefly before taking the low road and swallowing whatever she might've said about the streak of dough her housemate wore. She'd just admitted to indulging in some moral ambiguity; it was only appropriate.

"Not totally legal, but endlessly entertaining. You know I'm gonna have to sit you down for more stories of Megabot and your magnificent misdirection, right? Way to work your master status." If the rundown he'd given her on his first night in Haven indicated anything, Hiro's exploitation of his age in the botfighting area rivaled anything she'd accomplished wearing a Label, which was impressive.

"Good! I'm glad." Saying so, Sam sounded it. "It's nice having you here."

Hiro blinks a few times, then sets his jaw, giving Sam his most serious, grim expression -- which is, of course, thoroughly ruined by the cookie dough smeared on his face. "Challenge accepted," he says solemnly, before turning his attention back to filling up the pan.

All right, now he's getting into smug, pleased-with-himself mode, tipping a few more chocolate chips into his hand to munch on. "The best time was when I took down a yakuza boss," he remarks, ever-so-casually, like that's something fourteen-year-olds do every day.

Not being one for emotional proclamations, Hiro doesn't have anything else to say in return for a moment, just ducking his head, cheeks pink with happiness. Finally he mumbles, "s'nice to be here," before hopping off the counter and hiding his bashfulness by checking on the cookies in the oven. "Are these done yet?"

Unable to help herself, Sam laughed---not at Hiro, but in delight. "Alright, alright! And if you don't ask Dirge, you shouldn't need back-up, but, y'know, whatever." If Hiro wanted back-up, he'd have it, and considering the conversations likely to come of the dare question? Sam couldn't complain.

"If we didn't have cookies and cleaning to finish, I'd sit you down now for the scoop on that story. Still, you should tell me everything, omit nothing." Dropping the final spoonful of dough onto the cookie sheet with an air of accomplishment, Sam settled back against the counter and answered. "They'll probably take another two or three minutes."

"Uhhhh, I thought the dare was to ask Dirge specifically. I already agreed to it, sooo..." It's too late, Sam, he ain't going back on a dare. So be prepared to provide back-up so he doesn't end up a Dirge-snack.

"I thought we finished cleaning already..." The kitchen gets a confused look, since it looks pretty neat and tidy to Hiro. And then, with a groan: "Seriously? We can't eat them NOW?"

Sam exhaled slowly through a smile, and ran a hand over her hair. "No, no, no. I wouldn't dare you into anything that had anything to do with Dirge, whoever you have as anti-murder insurance. Dirge is to be dealt with only for practical reasons, and with all due precautions. Seeing the dude off a screen still gives me a moment of sacrer son camp, man, and I don't want you to get stepped on or anything." 'Or anything' covered a lot of awful ends.

"The counters...? Although..." Sam gestured to the spot where they'd both been sitting, as two roughly butt-shaped spots had been wiped clear by sliding pantseats. "No-one can say we only half-assed it."

"Awwww man," Hiro huffs out, plopping down into a cross-legged sit in front of the oven and propping his chin in one hand. He watches the cookies bake in silence for a moment, drumming the fingers of his free hand on his knee, then mumbles, mostly to himself: "I bet I could take him."

He's not expecting the pun, so it comes as even more of a shock, startling a laugh out of Hiro as he glances over at the counter. The initial laugh soon fades into a groaning series of giggles, because oh my god, Sam, and the boy finally gives up, flopping onto his back and sprawling on the still-sticky floor. "That was terrible..."

"You sound disappointed. Why do you sound disappointed?" Sam tossed the spoon she still held into the sink to run both hands over her hair, well aware that this was a mite melodramatic. "And honestly, all ears. I don't think I could trash him out on my own... but I could do a nasty number, in a worst-case-scenario sort of situation."

She shrugged and strode over, pausing to look down at Hiro and obviously pleased by his reaction. "I'm terrible, and you're going to have to get used to it, because, y'know? I think you're sort of stuck with me." That said, she bent to seize the teen's ankles and pull him away from the front of the oven. Despite a little extra friction from the sticky spots on the floor, he slid easily---one upside to the coppery sheets covering almost every surface in the apartment. Again taking up a teatowel to insulate her hands, Sam stepped over Hiro to open the oven, showing the sole of one foot and the ink even there.

"Oh, these are lookin' good." The freshly-baked cookies were slid out for the other sheet, and set, with care, to cool on top of the stove. "Your execution was... well, well-intentioned, but the idea was a good one."

"Cause I could totally beat him," Hiro grouses from the floor, kicking his bare feet absently against an overlooked pile of flour, sending tiny puffs of the stuff into the air. "I mean, not all alone, but I could build something to punch him in the face."

Momentary pause while Sam relocates him, and Hiro noticeably doesn't resist, just lets himself be dragged across the floor -- one of the side effects of being a small noodle is that you're very portable. Then he continues without missing a beat: "Is there a hardware store around here? I need a blowtorch."

Oooo, cookies have been achieved! Hiro rolls onto his stomach, then up onto his hands and knees. "Story of my life, dude," he mutters, crawling over and reaching up to first, predictably, burn his fingers on the cookie sheet, then grab a still-gooey cookie. Totally worth the fact that his tongue is gonna end up numb from molten chocolate.

"I should take the high road and discourage this... but instead I'm going to ask that if you do, or when you do, you let me know, because that's something I'd want to see." Sam said so unabashedly, shrugging; sometimes, the low road was a scenic route. "Blowtorch, best bet would be the Warehouse or the Fix-It shop. I'm sure we can snag one somewhere."

She watched Hiro claim the first finished cookie, snorting to herself at the coat of flour (and sugar and salt and soda and...) his clothing had collected. Had the kid been trying to cook, or to feed the floor?

"You're going to hate to this, but we have a lot more cleaning to do. Also, hold still, you're a mess. And..." Sam stepped forward, brushing at the back of his head and shoulders. "How's that hand?"

"Hey, maybe I'll sell tickets or something. Trade whatever people give me for a blowtorch." Sam's complete lack of questioning re: his desire for a blowtorch just got her major brownie points. Speaking of, next time Hiro's most likely gonna attempt brownies. Beware.

"Ughhhh, I just swept," Hiro grouches, completely ignoring the fact that he'd also just laid in the pile of swept baking items. He goes a little still at the touch, not out of nervousness or even tension, but because it's...unfamiliar. Nice, reminiscent of how Aunt Cass always fusses over him, but definitely not something he'd felt in a while.

Then he wiggles his chocolatey hand at her. "Excruciating, I'm in agony, but worth it."

"Yeah, and I think you got more with your body than you did with the broom."

Questions could and would come later, when they were actually tracking a torch down. Sam was curious, of course---the way anyone would be---but she knew it was nice when the people privy to one's wishlist didn't just jump at the opportunity to ask about its odder items, and she knew it very well.

She had had to ask around for a dead and unplucked rooster not long ago, so she knew.

Snorting at Hiro's claim, the adept poked a gob of still-solidifying chocolate with one finger. The gob clung and Sam moved to tap it onto the tip of her housemate's nose, actual adulthood be damned. "I think you'll make a full recovery. Rehabilitative activities are important, though, so you are gonna help me get this kitchen back in order." She took a step back and turned to the counter, taking up a cloth to wipe with.

"I'll finish the counters if you finish putting stuff back, and for the floor? I'll wash, you can dry. After that's done...? Cookies. Cookies and milk for the both of us, and if you want, I will work just a little witchery." Sam grinned over her shoulder, seeming, for a sentence, self-conscious. "What I'm like is more important that what I can do, but what I can do is pretty cool. Iiiit's... easier, though, to demonstrate than it is to describe what it's like to have. That's me throwing words out, hoping I'll find a few which work."

"Uhhhh, you're welcome," Hiro huffs, scrambling to his feet and absently wiping his scalded hand on his pants. His need for a blowtorch is actually surprisingly non-sinister -- it's just easier for putting metal things together. Hopefully he can find a smallish one and make his own modifications. He's not gonna bring a flamethrower into the house.

The chocolate gets a moment of startled confusion, and Hiro going cross-eyed to try and see it. There's a frankly adorable attempt at trying to lick it off, before he reaches up to wipe it away, licking the chocolate off his hand, seemingly unconcerned about the smear left on his face. "Okay, okay, as long as you're gonna pull your wei--"

Aaaaand then he cuts off abruptly, eyes going wide with excitement. "Wait, wait, wait -- you're gonna show me? Right here? As soon as we're done? For real?!"

The sight of Hiro trying to lick his nose set Sam off, but (to her credit?) the sound wasn't a witch's cackle---only a laugh which could not be contained. She managed to quiet quickly after the initial outburst, shaking her head and shrugging against the barrage of questions. Once Hiro stopped to take a breath, she answered. "Sure. Why not?"

Hiro stays very still for a moment (too still for someone who's supposed to be cleaning, jeez, kid), frowning and trying to parse this out. "I don't...have to give you my firstborn or anyone's heart, do I?" he ventures finally. It's a very innocent and logical request, with no malice behind it whatsoever, but...still. Stereotypes.

For a long moment, Sam just looked at the teen, trying not to smile and doing a pretty poor job of it.

"Nah." She (pointedly) turned back to her task. "My magic doesn't carry that kind of cost. I'd like you to keep the finer details---like limitations---to yourself, too, but I'm not going to swear you to total secrecy or anything. If someone asks 'is it true,' you can go ahead and answer 'totes mcgoats, shit's legit.' Phrasing's non-negotiable."

Hiro lets out a heavy sigh of relief, going back to cleaning (finally), and rising up on his tiptoes to put various baking items away. Damn his nonexistent growth spurt, when will it return from war?

"Well, you could totally start charging. At least like, for stuff that's more complicated." He offers this suggestion mostly because it's what he'd do, being a business-minded youth. Also lol Sam said "shit", Hiro's gonna giggle quietly to himself for a couple minutes over that.

"You say that like you don't think I do," Sam observed, on her way out of the kitchenette. "It's just never been in hearts or babies. Favours, resources, information; much more that sort of stuff. And the expense of ink. But, I've got a policy."

She returned, triumphantly bearing a bucket and small sponge-mop, and set the bucket in the sink to start filling. "Any friend I'm in with well enough to actually explain to is good for one demo, if they want; I offered cause I wasn't sure if you'd think it would be okay to ask. After a demo, though, it's back to bartering."

Hiro's momentarily distracted by the bucket and mop, because that's some legit cleaning supplies there, Sam. This is going to be intense. He might not make it through this bout of housekeeping, fair warning. Better grab another cookie (ow) to keep his spirits up.

But then he glances up, hopeful and pleasantly surprised. "I'm in? I mean, we're in? For real?"

"Yeah, for real." Watching her housemate as she waited for the bucket to fill, Sam wore a crooked little smile. "You're someone I can comfortably explain myself to---at least, in terms of conversational content. It's trying to word things not even right but right enough what drives me up the wall, so I am sorry for the stumbling, but; the struggle is real. It's just me being a lot less eloquent than I'd like."

She crossed her arms, both shoulders bobbing.

"You're a good sort, and I think we get on awesome. I also think I know you well enough by now I know you're not gonna freak on me, so there's that... and this," Sam flicked her hand back and forth, indicating Hiro and herself, "is more and more our household every day. So, I'd say we're in."

Edited (phone tags) 2015-05-17 20:16 (UTC)

Hiro is quiet for a moment, absently scuffing at the floor with his toes, thinking this over. Then he offers a hesitant, but genuine smile. "All right. We're in. Cool."

And that's that. And now he's going to finish sweeping because if they're going to mop, then any flour on the floor is going to turn into paste which, gross.

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YES GOOD IT HAPPENED

IT HAD TO

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