Summary:Ms. America Chavez is very bad at video games. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
America has crashed Eve's apartment again. She is furiously pounding commands into a keypad, her expression one of deep concentration as she puts the hurt on her foes. This is the seventh time she's tried to beat Mortal Kombat. The growl of indignation and frustation that follows when she gets comboed right through a wall and her character is brutally murdered is thus easy to predict.
When precisely Eve gave permission for America to enter the apartment is unclear. What is certain right now is that here she is. Sometimes things around America just sort of happen in a kind of blur.
"…oh hey," says Eve when she returns to the apartment, groceries in arm, "I wasn't sure you'd stil lbe here." When did America get here, anyway? Who knows? Who can say? Somethings are just like that. Especially with Ms. America Chavez.
"Popcorn?" she queries. Eve has… not as much food in the apartment as anyone should, and what she does have are frequently tasty snacks and that's it.
She doesn't eat and doesn't entertain often, okay?
"Yeah, I'm almost done. Let's see… kick, kick… No, the other kick…" Americ a is muttering to herself as she slapss buttons, trying to find any cobination that might allow her to take down her newet nemesis.
"Oh. I'd love some popcorn, thanks. You still don't have any food in the house. Are you sure you actually eat anything?" America looks up, those dark eyes settling on Eve briefly. ANdthen-
"Oh, damn it!" The brutality plays out on screen yet again, leaving the young superheroine to swear raher vibrantly in Spanish as she's queuing up forehr next match.
"… I bought fresh tomatos and sandwich fixings? And bread. I definitely bought bread," Eve says, as she sets things dow nand proceeds to put them away in mostly bare cupboards. "I eat out a lot." When she eats at all.
And then there's bruality on the screen and she smiles warmly.
"Still suffering, I see."
"I'll get him," America replies tersely. She's hunched over the control, legs crossed as if to draw her whole body closer. It's like reduce her range of motion might somehow improveh er reflexes. The rattle of the controler being assaulted by the furty of America's button presses starts to fill the apartment as the next fight unfolds at almsot superhuman speed.
And America still looses.
"Sandwiches sound great. Thanks." This time, Chavez doesn't look up.
"…seriously, you're letting this guy get to you?" says Eve. She moves over towards America after placing the microwavable popcorn into the microwave and letting it start doing its thing. She drops onto the sofa beside her and leans over. "Let me watch."
"Come to gloat over my defeat?" America asks. She arches a brow at Eve but doesn't actually object to the audience. Instead, she returns to her attempt to defeat the brutal foe before her. This time, America is taking the fight more tacticcally, focusing on blocks and coutner attacks. Incredibly, she almost defeats her terrifying bot adverary before being summarily murdered by the a combo that shatters the arena.
"…how are you bad at this when you're good at everything else?" teases Eve to America. "Yes, I am totally gonna gloat at this point," she adds. "Gloat gloat gloat," she monotones.
"I'm not good at /everything/ Americam umblesa by way of complaint. Then she gives a boneless shrug of her shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Well, whatever. THIS I am going to do." The following fight isn't even close. America gets obliterated and doesn't even land a punch.
"…what difficulty level do you have it on?" asks Eve after a halting moment of observation. What else can she do? It's got to be one of the higher ones, right? Right?
SHe goes to fetch the popcorn.
"Hard," America replies somewhat absently. She's still hunched over the controller as the game is proceeding. Predictably, America seems to be getting precisely nowhere despithe er dedcation to the her attempts at victory.
"Mmmmmaybe you should take a break?" suggests Eve, casually. "You know, before you get cramps and what not?" She offers a bowl of popcorn to her. Temptation!
"I don't get cramps," America replies stubbornly. Then, however, she glances over at the bowl. Her concentration seems to waver, darting between the television and the bowl of f popcorn a couple times more before she finally sets the controller aside in faovur of taking the bowl form Eve. A handful of popcorn disappears into that maw a moment later.
"WEll, yeah, I suppose you wouldn't." Eve does win out and picks up the controller in the meantime time to check the difficulty level.
Just in case, you know, it's on the nighmare level.
Just in case.
Or, you know, on Easy. Not Very Easy, at least! Which is something. America doewn'st appear to have noticed, given that she is up to her eyes in popcorn at this moment, a ravenous snack beast.
Eve stares at this for a moment, then covers up her mirthful smile.
She gets back to her feet and asks, "What kind of sammiches do you like, anyhow?" She has no idea. She tends to make whatever, herself.
"Pastrami and mustard with pickles? …Anything you've got is fine," America promises. "Thank you for lunch." This does pose the question of if it counts as manners when Eve isn't even sure how America arrived much less how she considers herself to have permission to be here.
"Pastrama it is. After sandwiches, you want some tips for that?" A nod towards the screen. She is offering help of course.
"Nope. I've got it," America replies determinedly.
Of course, American ever actually does.