with_my_teacup | R 22 - Where are you going? Nothing here is free

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R 22 - Where are you going? Nothing here is free

[Who was found in a ~~pineapple under the sea~~ dumpster on Furya as a kid and really doesn't give much of a shit about parent-oriented holidays except for the tension it's causing? This guy! Who's pissed off because one of the kitchen badasses is down? This guy! Who has learned to cook instead of murder when he's feeling tense?

Fortunately for the Bargians who don't consider fighting a form of entertainment, this guy.]

Who out of all you people knows what a bagel tastes like? I need taste-testers. I always fuck up my sugar content on the first try.

[LATER, ALSO PUBLIC]

Bagels are edible, gonna have them for breakfast twice a week if people eat'm.

[Private to Chris]
What's the other thing you wanted with bagels. A topping. You were throwing a fit about it like a month ago.

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Anything you say, baby boy.

[Sweet as sugar.]

[Chris enters the kitchen, hands in pockets after he's shut his communicator off]

Fuck you, bagel boy.

Eat this.

[Riddick spins a bagel at him like a deadly implement and gestures at a small plate of lox and cream cheese impatiently.]

I've got three more batches of dough sitting, I need to know which one to actually cook.

[Since this bullshit takes so long, he grudgingly hedged his bets and made three batches. It's a waste of food but with his slightly .. different sense of taste it's the best he can do.

This batch, his sugar-blindness has erred on the side of too-sweet-- and more, his tendency to overwork dough has taken it from 'chewy' to 'endurance test'. It's not the kind of thing you notice when your jaw is strong enough to break apart bone, unfortunately.]

[Sparing the mercenary an increasingly skeptical look, Chris drops down in a seat and spreads the cream cheese over the surface. Warily, he takes a bite...or tries to. With his mouth full, he mutters around the bread,]

Thish tashtes like I'm eating rocksh.

[Riddick sighs and goes for the covered dishes. Note: work it out a little less before boiling. At least he knows what he did wrong.]

Sugar content high, low, or right.

You're going to rot my teeth.

[Nudging the trash can over with his foot, Chris spits out the half-chewed mouthful]

Holy shit. Did I lose a tooth?

[Bowl 2, then. Sugar-. He'll cook the rest for himself after everyone's asleep.

He pulls it over to him, notes the volume of dough-- punches it down per the book's instruction, with a little less gusto this time-- and flips the towel back over it.]

This goes to boil in ten. If you ain't been too badly defeated by cooking, stick around.

[He leans back against a counter, eating one of the first batch of bagels, the ridge of muscle along his jaw working as he munches through it with contentment.]

Drink-?

No, I'm cool. Shut up, not everyone has a fucking iron jaw line.

You can't smell anything, you can't eat anything, I wonder how you people get through the day so often.

[A long sigh, and he jams his somewhat floury fingers under his goggles, massaging his eyes and the bridge of his nose.]

I kind of want an invasion again. Fear and adrenaline's so much easier than all this free-float misery.

Yeah, we're all pathetic humans with crap senses, I know.

[He begins making symbols in the flour with his fingers, frowning at the counter]

Don't say that.

...the admiral doesn't actually listen when we say we're irritated. Warden secret.

Yeah, I got that part. Otherwise this trip would be a hell of a lot nicer.

So what, you get off on everyone feeling shitty for no reason?

I don't give a fuck about how anyone else is feeling. I'm just saying I'd rather be fucking miserable as I am than in fear for my life.

And it's not for no reason. I know exactly why I'm feeling like shit, thanks.

Edited 2013-06-17 06:10 (UTC)

[He gives Chris a cool, blank-goggle look.]

...I'm astonished. Really.

So why are you so pissy.

Edited 2013-06-17 06:12 (UTC)

Asshole.

I'm dead, I'm on a prison ship, I'm a million miles from home, every asshole I know now has embarrassing baby photos of me, my dad's dead and it's Father's Day, and I just had the most retarded fight ever. Take your pick.

So aside from you not knowing how to communicate any way but your dick and your fists, same as everyone else.

Wonderful.

C'mere, help me make the dough shapes. Then they have to sit some fucking more, you have the most inconvenient taste in food. Anya's is so easy and you fry it.

Good for Anya. Bagels are fucking particular and you don't have the right kind of water anyway.

[Rolling his eyes, Chris comes around to the other side of the table, starting to roll up dough]

What makes you think I know how to cook them just because I know how they're supposed to taste?

I don't think you can cook them, but I was kinda giving you the benefit of the doubt about being able to make a circle.

[Riddick takes balls of the dough, punctures hole, works it into a rough cylinder and puts it back to rest.

The most restful food he's ever run into. Meat doesn't have to rest this long.]

[The curses and the sarcasm sink into absolute silence, as Chris steadies himself to the task and goes quiet]

[Riddick finishes his batch of dough and waits, eyebrowing at Chris' intensity.]

[The dough is worked rigorously and angrily, and when it's less than perfect Chris smushes it up, rolls it into a ball, and does it again.

And again, and again]

D'Amico. Stop a second. You're gonna overwork it and it's gonna be too tough for you again.

Ask me if I care, Riddick.

They're for you, you have to eat that shit if it's too hard.

I'm not going to get all wide-eyed to get you to talk about this. You know I'd listen if you wanted to, but I'm not going to pretend you're doing me a favor.

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