(open) july catchall

[icanfixer]

WHO: icanfixer & plenty of others
WHAT: july catch-all stuff that's not event related
WHERE: anywhere, will mention specific locations in prompts if necessary
WHEN: latter half of the month haha
WARNINGS: projmoon staples like mentions of violence and death, will add more if they come up


see some prompts down below. post starters if you want. hit me up through pm or on disco @ tojokaname if you wanna do anything otherwise

Comments

[train station] glad everyone else can remember her death vividly for her

[icanfixer]

[ it really is just as she'd heard.

the same train, rolling into a station she hopes is the one she wants off on, and not a question to be answered in sight. don quixote feels her face for the second time, death fuzzy but remembering the ground, the ground and pain in her back and the backside of her head, a staff pointed down and--

words that sound like they're beneath the noisy burble of a stream, visage just as blurred.

... well. there's no point in wasting more time, so she hops up from the seat like she hadn't called for her own death the day before and strides on out with a happy hum -- don had invited plenty of people to see her revival, though it was on them if they came or not. ]

[codenametesla]

[She said she would be there, and so there she sat, waiting in the station with two coffees sat next to her and two bottles of water in a small bag next to them. Granted, she would have likely waited there anyway, if only to ease her own fear that the blond would really stay dead, despite everyone's belief that she would come back.

The noise of the train rolling in abruptly snaps Althea out of her thoughts and she looks up, hand reaching for the drinks next to her in case she needs to stand- then grabbing them all properly to do just that when she sees the shock of blond hair step off. There are bags under her eyes like she hasn't slept yet, but the smile she wears is one of genuine relief more than enough to shake off the tiredness though the coffee would still probably be required once that wore off. Speaking of, she held out one of the moderately sweetened drinks, shifting so the bag holding the water was also presented.]

I.. don't know if you like coffee, but I got that or water, if you want it? ...I'm glad to see you're back.

[icanfixer]

[ while she would never be surprised that sinclair had turned up (that was, after all, a given; they were coworkers, roommates, and friends, and he had an exhaustive, exhausted anger at her for the actions she'd taken only yesterday morning, althea is something of a surprise, though don quixote's face lights up as she happily reaches for the coffee offered. ]

I said I would return, did I not? I thank thee, Miss Althea, for thy kindness, though it would appear thee need this more than I.

[ but who is she is to deny such a kindness? she isn't. don'll gesture for them to sit again, though in truth she's much more eager to stretch her legs than not. there will be time when she returns to their residence, when she skips about the city to speak with others. ]

Were thee able to watch?

[codenametesla]

[Don's face lighting up is why she was there, why she brought coffee, and helped make all of what happened worth it. Althea was glad she still seemed to remember her, remember things at least in general, if not of the actual end. At the mention of the coffee, she can't help a breath of a laugh before gesturing at her own drink.]

That's what this one is for.

[At the gesture, Althea sits, letting out a sigh when she does as the relief starts to fully set in.]

Yes... I did. I'm... amazed how well people here seem able to fight.

[icanfixer]

Oho? I would ask thee to tell me, but if I do recall, there was someone who sought to record it despite the illness of such an idea... though I do not wish for such footage to be spread about, I confess that I would like to see for myself what happened.

[ it'll give her a nice view on what she could've done better, too; you don't often get chances to view actual recordings of your performances like that in the city. it'll be nice. she sips her coffee, wincing at the bite of heat. ]

Mm--! That's something for another day. [ the doctor, she thinks? she'll have to touch base with him, and with wufei... sometime before the month turns over. ] So, what is it thee normally do? Given that watching fights to certain death cannot be within thy regular routine.

[ she wants to get to know this odd girl, who seemed to turn her opinion around on being witness -- because it was important to don, because it was brave if disagreeable. ]

[codenametesla]

I don't know nearly as much about fighting as you, that's for sure. And, I... didn't pay much attention to what the others were doing as they watched, but I think I remember someone mentioning it? God, I hope no one would try to spread a video like that.

[She can't help but wince at that thought and shake her head, trying not to let the image of Don on the ground creep back in. At the next question, she quickly glances back to the blonde, looking a little sheepish.]

Ah, well not much. Most of my skills are in fixing electronics and other... electrical things. [But Don probably meant before they had all been brought here, huh? And she didn't know how much she was willing to dump on her, but she supposed she deserved to know something with what happened. With a little sigh and a shrug, she continued.] I was... sort of working for and sort of being trained by a Company, I think.

[fussiest]

[ 'i like to draw', the young lady had said.

in truth, kaveh's not quite certain why that specific thing she had said stood out to him so. the nature of empathy is that it cannot be explained using rational words. that is, kaveh thinks, what makes empathy such an outstanding thing. you have entire eons of human progression, the evolution of thought and theories of understanding, but the very core of humanity itself couldn't be explained by any of these things. it simply was. or is. it will continue to be, though kaveh wonders at the implications of the erosion of life in the context of forced immortality. the fact is, the very nature of humanity is tied to the duration of their existence. there's a reason why existences like the archons, who existed in all of perpetuity, are considered unreachable mountains. a part of kaveh wonders if nahida will eventually become as removed as one. a part of kaveh wonders if the people here will. but don quixote died.

it's not the kind of death that merits a forever goodbye, though kaveh hadn't been sure of it right up until the train had pulled up to the station landing and settled the bulk of its weight along the track, like something slow and heavy leaning to rest. the goodbye isn't even the worst of it - kaveh has said many goodbyes throughout the length of his life, and he is hardly exception for having done so. but the uncertainty, that eats you up. the night before, he had flung himself onto alhaitham's bed with the fury of something futile. 'what will you do, if nothing' alhaitham had asked him at long last, and kaveh had said, with the terror of a drowning flame: 'so i will do nothing - for don quixote, there is nothing'. the next morning, kaveh had thought it through with the furtive regret of a late, slinking dawn. alhaitham had only ever said the truth. there had been nothing to be done; kaveh had seen it too. that because don quixote had said it was personal, and who was to stand in the way of that? who would dare? kaveh had done nothing the night loudly and angrily, with the futility of the scorned, but just because there's nothing to do about an impending death doesn't mean there's nothing to do at all.

and so, kaveh's day had gone like this: the careful scouring of a sketchpad with paper of an appropriate thickness. the comparison of several pencils before settling on a selection of fine point thin liners and thicker, harder ones, a set of charcoals and a basic palette of watercolours that diluted well, if a little thinly. it had been difficult to find an easel that fit what kaveh could measure of don quixote's height from video alone, but a saw and a set of sandpaper had modified one of the larger ones to about what kaveh suspects would rest at perfect hand-height, give or take a few centimetres for margin of error. and then had been the ordeal of carrying it all. kaveh misses mehrak. the cooler he had used to transport food to his meeting with his friends had wheels; it had kaveh thinking there must be other wheeled implements for this sort of use. he finds a shiny sheen of a miniature wagon done in a red so vibrant that kaveh wonders how they managed to mix that paint just so. the easel fits into it nicely folded, as does the sketchpad, and he'd found a little cloth bag that worked well for the paints and pencils, which he tossed into the back.

with the wagon, time passed at a clip. the worst of it was the waiting. there are chairs built into the walls. kaveh thinks - they're much for moments like these, where uncertainty tips along the sides of a moving scale as time passes in terrible increments. but kaveh is on day three, and day threes tend to move in a post-modern blur that exacerbates the fidget of his hands. today's day three has fire ants crawl along his wrist like some terrible, moving rot. kaveh has a sketchpad of his own, however. and there is time yet. so he pulls it out, and, bereft of anything else to stave off the slippery slope of the on-going spiral, begins to draw.

the train takes shape beneath his hands as he remembers it. as it pulls in along the station, kaveh looks up from his imagination to the reality of it, and thinks - there's a bit of roundness to the exterior chassis, isn't there, as if someone had taken a hammer and hit it out from the inside. and then, because he's kaveh, his eyes carefully document the minute slide of the door punctuated by the sound of the hydraulics; counts the number of footfalls that take its inhabitants out of the fold.

don quixote is a wayward sunbeam. kaveh observes her for a moment, and then, lifting his penciled-hand over the sketchpad to lean over it, waves. ]

And there's you. [ kaveh says, and only manages to look a little tired, ] Come here, and stand against this wall. Let me take a look.

[icanfixer]

[ i like to draw.

a simply said thing, earnest and true, a far more normal hobby for a young lady to have compared to the work she might do, even if that work is so normal in her life. kaveh's shared love of it had excited her, for she could always do with more artistic friends, though the wagon is the last thing she expected when he comes into view, catches her attention with his wave and words. ]

If it isn't Young Kaveh! Good morn to thee, and I shall do as asked.

[ for she's got a lot of making up to do to different people, so a small request like that is nothing -- don trails over to the wall and stands with her chin high, golden gaze curious still of the various art supplies he'd brought, of the sketchbook in hand (it transforms from something that belonged to the world to something that belongs, at least for a brief moment, to me). she wears the same as she did in her challenging video, and she cups her hands in front of her more in the likeliness of a friend than one would expect from herself. ]

What is it thou'rt looking for?

[fussiest]

[ young kaveh, she's been calling him - it's a bit odd, kaveh thinks, to be called young by someone who looks at least a decade younger than he is. but he supposes that he's been called such by their lesser lord on a regular basis, and she looks all of ten years old if you were to take her age at face value. each society must have their own metric for comparative ages. if nothing else, the way she says it conveys no disrespect, and the fact that she's even walking around and perfectly able is more than what kaveh could have asked for after the debacle that was her bulletin post. kaveh has nothing to complain about, if ever.

and so kaveh eyes the measure of her height, using the brick around her to carry over a few quick calculations he'd mentally arranged while waiting listlessly for the train to appear. ]

Your height, actually. I have you pegged as... a hundred and sixty two centimeters, give or take half of one? Ah, that means I hadn't missed the mark after all. [ kaveh grins. it wouldn't have taken much to adjust the easel again, but it's nice to know that his eye has yet to be off about it. ] Height's important for this sort of thing. When I was in school, they'd given everyone standardised easels for our drafting and painting, and mine was always a little too short; it put a lot of unneeded strain on my shoulders and wrist, let alone didn't do much for the perspective.

Have you ever used an easel for your drawing before?

[icanfixer]

[ oh, the things you learn. like your own height. she takes that as being all done with her there and goes to sit by the wagon instead, to peer inside with delight practically radiating off of her in waves. ]

Nay, not once! It is not the sort of thing thee see oft in most of the City from where I and mine hail from, though perhaps Young Sinclair has used one... He had a schooling that was quite nice.

[ though she won't speak of her own, neither schooling nor the background she sprouted from, as evidenced by how she moves on. peeking into the small bag with all the curiosity of someone, as kaveh had same, ten years his junior. ]

Is all the rest for me as well? For what reason? Thee were so against mine actions, and yet I seem to be rewarded for it?

[fussiest]

[ thank u google. and the sheer glee that radiates from don quixote begins in the radiant shine of her eyes and ends somewhere in the swell of kaveh's heart. she looks happy, kaveh thinks. it's good that she does. after what has transpired all over, a little bit of joy couldn't hurt anyone. alhaitham may argue that it is merely looking away from the truth of the matter, a balm for a wound substantial enough that nothing can quite quench it; kaveh would argue that if you didn't have little things like these, why what would keep one going? how could one dare?

it warms him. kaveh smiles, broad, as he joins her next to the wagon. he picks the easel as she begins to look through the bag, unfurling it so that it can stand next to her like a three-legged companion. ]

This and your actions are separate. I can condemn your actions without condemning you. I cannot celebrate your actions, but I can celebrate your return. Humans are complex enough creatures; we can compartmentalise, even if it's for a day. [ kaveh's gaze rests on the set of her shoulders. it skims down, then up. she doesn't seem wounded, he thinks. that's good. though perhaps not. perhaps the wounds are all inside. the trains couldn't patch those up. ] Ah! That's right, you never told me what you use to draw, so I had to make some inferences. There are pencils and charcoals in there, as well as a set of watercolours. I wasn't sure about the oil paints, and the sketchbook I got for you isn't meant for that sort of thing anyway, but if that's what you'd rather, I can show you where I found a set that looks passable.

Well? Could these help you recreate that drawing of a monster that you spoke to me earlier about?

[halbird]

[ it's not the first time.

now, what part? waiting for the train to stop, not knowing what to expect? the aftermath of his silence? a dead comrade come back to life, sans the sight of flesh and blood stitching itself back together, though for a time he'd truly expected — and wanted — that to happen, even if dante was nowhere to be found.

after, maybe it was the haunting nightmare of a head, a life, smashed in front of him. the feeling of uselessness and responsibility, when he looked up the ceiling and wondered why the consequence of asking a particularly heavy question always seemed to be death.

when she comes off the train whole, it's all of those things. it's a time a month or so ago, where he'd been grabbed and called a fool; it's a time before then, where he was punched and snapped out of his bloodlust.

... it feels a bit like don quixote has done much the same here. every note of her hum is both relieving, exhausting, and infuriating; it dampens and bursts the anger he's felt at both himself and someone else when he moves to meet her, and it makes him

grab her by the collar, knowing she knows nothing of what he remembers. it doesn't last, because he isn't her; his indignant expression (that he's not sure she can see) doesn't last, and neither does his grip. it falters the moment he sees her face, in time with the drop of his gaze, the release of a breath.

it's not the first time. she had died, and so had he, and he tries not to think that she could be a little bit less for that. she's never less. ]

You're—

[ a fool. alive. ]

—back.

[ facts are all he can manage to start. ]

[icanfixer]

[ do you have any hesitations? any whatsoever?

it'd been a question posed to her, by someone she thought surely she would've argued the matter on, but they hadn't fought, they had simply talked, and don quixote had turned it over in her head again and again when she'd come to, when she thought about where she'd been prior to the train, when she had glanced through her feed and seen all who'd replied.

do you have any hesitations?

no, she isn't one to hesitate. she throws herself into battle, into danger, into protecting those she needs to protect without a hint of it -- without a single thought as to the ending, certain as she is that she is doing something to help. it's part of her principles, her personality, her way of life. the possible consequences didn't scare her. they were acceptable. but it disquieted, set her somewhat on an uneasy float, to think that she might not recognize those around her, that she wouldn't be able to read the faces of those she knew and those she did not.

seeing sinclair's indignant face, momentary as it is, unties and unravels a knot in her chest, loose ends lifting her hands, the unspoken words a fool, alive sweetly hanging in the hair, and she pushes her palms against his cheeks. his may falter in their grip, the hot air taken out by her cheery smile, but hers won't.

don quixote doesn't speak a moment, throat caught at the second thing she'd experienced from sinclair, before she clears it and finds her thoughts much clearer than his must have been. ]

Alive and well, my friend! Good morn to thee, for I have returned as I promised all I would.

[ hale and whole, both in mind and body. ]

Tell me, Young Sinclair, was it not a most exciting fight? I do not recall much of it, of course, but surely it was thrilling!

[ same old, same old, as if that fight hadn't been asked for, hadn't caused her this, hadn't forced her to trade something away in return a consequence they never dealt with in their line of work-- ]

[halbird]

[ same old, same old. defying death and discussing the events afterwards, as if it was a bold tussle and nothing that resulted in breath, blood and life leaving a body.

it's not the first time, but it isn't the same.

sinclair doesn't awkwardly reciprocate as he usually does, talking and agreeing through the hands pressed against his cheeks about the nature of an enemy or a particularly concerning part of a fight, even through the residual adrenaline or discomfort. maybe it's the fact that he was completely incapable of doing the same that causes such a disconnect between then and now, or maybe it's the fact that she's not. maybe it's that and other things. that or other things.

whatever it is, it brings his gaze back up to meet her eyes, and moves his hands to settle over hers, plucking them away from his face. they linger, of course, where he would normally be too timid to do anything beyond what scraps of courage he'd managed to gather. ]

It...

[ ... was the umpteenth time they've died, the time he hadn't. flesh and blood, metal and wiring. a direct choice, something out of his control. a memory remembered, a memory taken away.

it was lots of things. maybe "thrilling, exciting" were words on the list somewhere under harrowing, guilt inducing; somewhere beside "should be used to it."

but it wasn't the same. ]

That isn't a fair question.

[ said with his grip tightening around hers. it's a statement for the both of them, though maybe she ultimately wouldn't mind if he was honest. honest and similarly unfair. ]

You died. That- isn't a fair question.

[icanfixer]

[ no, it isn't a fair question.

but it'd been hers to say, hers to ask, thrusting normalcy between them only to have it pushed (plucked, held, gripped) away. don's gaze seems unwavering at first, but then slides away from his as her lips press together; it returns, frustrated somewhat.

quieter, then, the answer he hadn't (had) been interested in knowing. quiet but firm, since she'd been determined then and she's satisfied with the answer now. ]

... Then I should like to say, instead, that thee did land a killing blow to that woman. Most certainly, in fact, given her claims, though I do not know if I have forgotten anything save the moment I fell. Does that not gladden thee a bit?

for @coolerjunpei

[icanfixer]

[ ...

it won't be long after her return that she's making note of what else she promised people once she was revived that she recalls her and junpei's second bowling outing together, so he's getting a very. don text. ]

IF TONIGHT DOTH SUIT THEE
JOIN ME FOR ANOTHER ROUND OF BOWLING
WE SHALL NOT BE INTERRUPTED THIS TIME

[ even if the interruption was what they'd been there for in the first place....... nonetheless the plan is made and she's keen to not stay out too late, though it may be necessary to do so if they're in need of ingredients for their bet plans. she'll bring a knife just in case, hidden under her outfit because just like last time she's got drip.

she isn't!!! going inside without him though!!! so don's gonna linger outside, keeping an eye out for threats. and her bestie. who she might think a threat with her gently corroding mind because it's tinting dark and old habits die hard. ]

i'm here..........at last

[coolerjunpei]

[never in his life has junpei been more glad to see lines of unabashed capslock... she told him not to attend and so he didn't attend (also because. he's kind of a wimp, when it comes to actually watching people die), but can he be blamed for intermittently staring at his phone and just Wondering... just Waiting.

so the text is a relief, but he'll get all of his sighing and "oh thank god"-ing out right now, alone in his apartment, so he can be cool and chill and collected when he gets to the bowling alley. first, though:]

damn i dunno, i'm soooo busy. no i'm not, i'll see you soon.

[ha ha. so cool. okay. he's off, and since he continues to lack drip he's dressed in all black again, just approaching in the growing dark... luckily he's also got zero sense of looking out for threats in the dark himself, because once he spots a blonde figure by the bowling alley entrance he lifts a hand to wave and call out:]

Hey, you made it! [back from the dead--no, to bowling,] Are you ready for real bowling?

clutches

[icanfixer]

[ like anyone is soooooo busy in this city... but it's a tiny relief to know that hasn't changed anyway. hee.

junpei is sooooooo lucky he calls out, because don quixote's hand retracts from her side quickly and raises in waved greeting instead, the movement suitable to hiding both her better sized relief at not being alone and also the fact she was absolutely ready to stab his ass. ]

I would not miss it for the world! Let us sally forth, dear squire, and I shall beat thee soundly!

[ then he can have a taste of city cuisine...........!!!!!!!

the bowling alley, of course, is completely transformed at night -- it's glitzy and positively cosmic, don doesn't know where to land her eyes among it all. and so she doesn't, to absorbed to speak. ]

[coolerjunpei]

[who knows, maybe he had paint to watch dry, that could fill hours of time. but no, he was sitting around in his apartment doing nothing at all like any other normal evening. it's his dedication to the bit that's the important part here.

anyway, he has no idea he almost got stabbed just now... it's time for a perfectly normal bowling match. he scoffs and rolls his eyes at her surety that he's going to lose (he is going to lose so bad) and once they head inside he's immediately looking over towards the snacks. he's seen cosmic bowling before, so it's not as exciting for him—]

So, you wanna get a pretzel first, or does that defeat the purpose of the bet? They're not bad pretzels, so...

[...oh, she's in the zone. or she's in a zone, for sure. junpei gives her arm a little elbow nudge, then points above the lanes. lookie.]

Check out the disco ball.

[icanfixer]

[ her eyes go up as he points and she gasps loudly, grabbing his arm to shake it. ]

Never before have mine eyes seen such a display! The casino was certainly opulent in its own way, but in the way wealthy paints all things glittering and gold! This is... this is...!!!

[ very different, but no less exciting for her. what had he said? pretzel? that's the snack bar, right? yeah, junpei was gonna go that way anyway, but now don's a step ahead in dragging him even as she looks around. ]

I should like to take inspiration for it for mine own room! Junpei, my esquire, would thee like to come over even beyond our dinner? I believe I'll need more than a few hands for such a feat! Of course, I shall not allow thee to walk home in the dark alone, so I will lay a blanket out for thy slumber. Young Sinclair should not mind any, since it will not be his room that thee take refuge in.

[ they can sleepover.....!!!!!!!! she's sitting at the bar. pretzel pretzel pretzel. ]

action; sorry for the delay!!

[petsthedog]

[It's been a weird couple of days since Quixote's death. He's had a harder time sleeping than usual, and fresh new nightmares to change pace from his usual. But ... in a messed up sort of way, it'd helped to have run into someone who was struggling with the same thing. Like maybe he was a little less adrift in the sea, someone else clinging to the same piece of driftwood.

(Having a bed for the first time in a month because he's stubbornly refused to claim an apartment all this time didn't hurt, either)

Shinjiro's never been the sort of guy who was comfortable just accepting a kindness from others, though--it's an itchy, restless feeling, and he finds himself compelled to be of use somehow, even if he suspects the reason Gregor brought him here was because having someone to help was a way to get out of his own head.

So...chores? Chores. When he inevitably wakes up early from his nightmares, instead of staring up at the ceiling for hours, he decides to quietly pad out of bed and head out to the kitchen. If there's one thing Shinjiro would call himself genuinely good at, it's cooking, and as much as he gets a little awkward about his hobby, he thinks maybe Gregor might appreciate having some breakfast to wake up to.

He doesn't have time to go shopping, exactly, so he makes do with whatever he can find in the fridge -- and to that end, there's a nice frittata sizzling on the stove when Don Quixote wanders in the door.]

Morning. Hungry? I got breakfast--

[He turns the frittata over with his spatula, then makes the mistake of looking up. The plastic utensil falls to the floor with a dull clatter.]

...Cooking.

[He stares. And stares and stares and stares as though he can somehow banish the image of her crushed-in skull by just looking at her long enough, and it is by some sheer miracle or perhaps force of will that he doesn't start hyperventilating right then and there.

He swallows hard, trying to remember how to form words in his throat.]

Didn't, uh. Didn't know you lived here.

[An awkward half-laugh sort of escapes from his throat. It's an out-of-body experience, truly.]

How...are you?

[icanfixer]

[ what a

strange experience, entering the home of her good companion gregor as if she may own the place (as she does to everyone, to her friends and roommate and what not) and seeing someone new. new to the scene, not necessarily new to her... don, paused in her step as she registers shinjiro's face and then his height as she comes over to pick up the fallen utensil. ]

Salutations, Young Shinjiro!

[ she's not yelling. gregor seems to be asleep still, so she won't wake him. ]

Whilst I do not live here, I like to come visit Ser Gregor -- he is one of my trusted companions from home, and though our situation has changed he remains so. Are thee living here with him? That gladdens me, for it is most difficult to be alone.

[ oh. there's another question. hold on, she's got this, grinning up at the other as if she hadn't had her skull caved in some days ago. ]

As for myself, I am well! I... have come to understand that those who bore witness are not as, though, and so I must express my apologies to thee. It was not mine intention to catch those innocent in the crossfire of such an experiment.

[petsthedog]

[Even without yelling, this is still a lot of words and enthusiasm for poor Shinjiro, who is still struggling to remember higher order communication from vague incomprehensible grunts. His answer is somewhat ... staggered, like he's a record player with a needle that got stuck on a particularly large scratch.]

I'm...yeah, kind of. For now? S-seemed like, uh, he could. Use the company, and all, and I uh, I didn't have anywhere to go after...

[He trails off. This is embarrassing. He needs to get his shit together. She can't be fucking comforting him about her own death, god damn. He coughs, forcing his eyes shut a moment as he squares his shoulders. Breathe, Aragaki. You're a dead man walking, aren't you? Chill the fuck out and breathe.]

...Nothin' to apologize for, either. I coulda stayed out of it.

[But honestly, he doesn't actually regret being there, or putting her body to rest in the garden as she'd asked. He might be struggling with it all, but he would've been disgusted with himself if he'd backed out like a coward.

He already feels a little gross for not having been able to go to the train to see if she actually came back the next day.]

[icanfixer]

I would not have held it against thee.

[ kindly said, like she has others. nonetheless-- ]

Finish thy cookery and we may talk more yet, if thee should like! I would like to, in any case.

[ she'll wait by the door... she doesn't want to impose on breakfast rights, but she's digging into her jacket for an unopened bag of gummy sharks to leave on the counter. for gregor... ]

[petsthedog]

I would've.

[Held it against himself, he means. But the reminder of his food does get his eyes to widen, jerking back toward the stove in an 'oh shit' gesture. The frittata is definitely going to burn if he doesn't go address it right now, and his reluctance to ruin food overpowers his reluctance to step away from this conversation and her, so. One second. Luckily, it was already almost done when she came in, and its really just a matter of letting the edges brown up nicely before he serves it onto a plate.

Gregor's still asleep, it seems, so he portions out some to leave on the counter for the time being, and put in the fridge if he takes too long to get out of bed. He calls back to Don, then:]

You want any?