Summary:Allison is cleaning the canteen when Chava grabs a quite late dinner. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It's towards the end of dinner.
Allison is one of the newer students at the Institute. Actually, she's really new, having only been around for a week or so. She's kind of weird: she is taking high school courses, yet she is clearly old enough to be a college graduate. Is she dumb? Maybe. No one makes fun of her for it to her face, at least, but she keeps to herself and remains largely an enigma among the underclassmen. Maybe it will all work better that way for everyone.
She has found a place for herself, though.
No one likes doing kitchen duty, but she does. Between classes, she's helping out in the back. After meals? The same. It's like the Institute's kitchen is sort of her home-away-from-home? Something like that, hair net and all. At this very moment, she is busy cleaning up the cafeteria proper, wiping down each of the tables with a cloth whilst wielding a spray bottle in her other hand.
Cats, beware!
In the crowd of the not so new students that would get their high school diploma wednesday next week was Chava. Short, in a sweater with some huge-eyed anime girl on it, she hauls her backpack to the cafeteria to get a rather late dinner, holding a letter sized book in hand, reading as she goes. And for some reaon or another, it's highly illustrated… well, it's a monster manual after all. And she steers directly to the last bits of food being given out. "Still something there? Lucky me!"
Goddamned Monster Manuals: so beautiful, so addictive.
The kitchen is about to shut down, though. Will Chava get something? Allison minds her Ps and Qs, and sticks to what she's doing: cleaning up the tables, dammit. She does look up to spy the stocky young woman run up to the front counter, but the pickings there are slim indeed. That's what happens when Colossus runs through half-an-hour before: damned beefcakes and their immense appetites.
There oughta be a rule about big people eating all the damn food.
While it is not a big choice, and somewhat goopy from sitting on the trays till the last minute, it is still something to eat. And Chava isn't really picky as she scops together pretty much the last noodles and garnishs them with what is left of the sauce, adding salt to it to get some taste to the rest that didn't got some stuff before she starts to haul her 'prey' to one of the tables, still reading the book… and not noticing that it is one of those that Allison has already cleaned.
*sigh*
Eventually, the older blonde woman comes by. It takes about five minutes, but that's about as patient as she can be. Like, seriously? Going to the clean table. "Excuse me." Her tone is crisp, clean, and British. "Are you a few sandwiches short of a picnic? Can't you see I've been cleaning?" Allison lifts an eyebrow, and points at a place where some sauce has spilled off the side of Chava's plate. "Can you bloody tell that you're making a mess of things between your gnoshing and not paying attention?"
Someone's stirred up a pesky Englishwoman.
"Eh.. no? I mean, I am no sandwiches short, I am running on the last drop of sauce. I'm gonna clean that up when I'm done. Not like you gotta have to chew me out for that…" Chava remarks, eying the spot on the table before looking back to her noodles that were distinctively suffering a lack of sauce in some parts. "Pitty… the sauce's good, just not 'nuff of it to even be on all the noodles."
Upon closer inspection, Allison looks a little tired.
"Well, you could have picked any other bleeding table that I hadn't gotten to, couldn't — " She catches herself, and sighs. Disconsolately, she tosses her cloth onto the table, and shakes her head. " — ah, never mind, never mind. I just — " She closes her eyes. Is her hair rising up off her head? Just a little. " — I just need to get some rest, is all. Sorry." And then the hair comes back down.
Weird.
Chava shrugs as she shovels in her mushy noodles, the book open on the table but not actively read at the moment. "T'is my usual spot. Always sit here kinda," she notes between to forks full of salted pasta, her eyes following those hairs raising and flattening. "If you need a rest, stit. Helps to get the pressure of the feet."
Allison draws two fingers across her eyelids.
She sits herself down nice and slow. Sighs. "Maybe I've just been doing too much." Maybe. That's the thing about adults: they tend to think they are more indestructible than they are. Not like teens: they think that and they recover from injuries quicker. After sitting, though, the Brit doesn't elaborate further on what's bothering her, or why she's been burning midnight oil. Instead, she's just motionless for a while.
Then she mumbles, "I'm Allison."
"Chava," comes the reply from the Asian girl, munching away most of the noodles from the bowl before using the last ones to wipe it out. She doesn't ask about her exerting herelf though, she knows better than to pry. Then she stands up, grabbing the bowl and the book, turning to bring the dishes away…
When the rag moves on itself to wipe the place she sat at. Well, not entirely of itself, but it's without a physical hand touching it.
The blonde opens her eyes again, and can't help but smile at the rag.
"Nifty trick." Allison watches the cloth move. "I'm always fascinated by seeing the other, ah — powers, talents, whatever you call them — that others have." Her smile increases a little. "There's this young woman in my mathematics class that is absolutely brilliant. And there's a clever young man who can leap great distances." And then, her smile fades a little. "I suppose our talents are all different. Some subtle, others not so much."
She looks at Chava. "You more things with your mind?"
The girl had kept at least a peripheral look on the rag on her way over to the counter. "Na, it's not total telekinesics. It's part of being able to control clothing." Chava chuckles a little. "Like fix a ripped seam or alter a shoe's fit or profile."
"Oh."
For Allison, that seems a little odd. "I, ah — " She makes a fiddly gesture with her fingers. " — I sort of explode." Beat. "Well, no, not exactly? It's just that it's not just fire, yeah? More than that. Kind of odd, I suppose, but it's not something you play with in public or whip out, know what I mean?" Shrug. "Sort of dangerous, the fire I play with." Whatever that means.
"You local?"
"As in live here? Yea, since some years." Chava remarks, returning to the table and settling back. "You blast away with fire? That is at least something solid. Makes you easily comba worthy and stuff. Me? I gotta be creative to pass that hurdle…"
"Eh."
Allison seems hardly impressed by the idea of getting into combat, it seems. "There's more to life than just fighting, Chava." She makes a gesture. "I mean, would it be fair to say that you could probably tailor things in a way few designers could?" Scoff. "You've got remarkable talent, one that will probably help you create magnificent things." She smiles ruefully for a moment. "What I can do is cause a great deal of property damage. It's hardly a way to make a living, yeah?"
"That's why I taught myself how to cook."
"Well, sure, I could go and become a seamstress, but you got to be able to kick ass to get a spot on the X-men. I mean, comeon, how many people can say they had a chance to do that? And fire can be super handy. I mean, usually comes with being immune to fire yourself. Firemen. Or park rangers. You know, they set counterfires in Cali. And then there is deconstruction buisiness, smithies and document destruction services, all of them rely on heat and fire, if you can control it. Maybe even blast charging or welding…" Chava rambles a little as she flips in the monster manual.
"Even X-Men have to eat."
Allison lifts herself back to her feet. "Well, when you're done, you know where to put things, Chava. Sorry for flopping on you and being knackered." She waves her hand through the air. "Don't think the X-Men'll be calling on me any time soon, judging from my test scores so far, but — " Shrug. " — I've my mind on other things at the moment, so — " Another shrug. " — I'm not too upset about it. But, if they need anyone to make something melt — they know how to call."
She picks up her cloth, and waves before wandering back into the kitchen.