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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Fuck you, I don't want to talk about shit.

[Finally he pushes the dough away from him, in full-on teenage pout mode]

Here, I can't do this shit.

Yeah, you'll just do angry sign language with my food.

[He takes it, starts gently shaping it and setting it aside.

Then the dough is all in rings and has to sit, and there's nothing to do but stare at each other.

Riddick turns on the burner to boil the water, checks the temperature of the stove, leans back in silence.]

[With his arms crossed, Chris scowls at the stove as if it's personally gone and punched his own mother]

There's got to be more New Yorkers here who know what good bagels taste like. I'll send my warden down here instead.

[It's not a human sound, the growl Riddick makes]

Keep your warden out of my kitchen.

[This at least shakes Chris out of his sulking, as he looks up in confusion]

The fuck kind of problem you have with my warden?

I don't like his scent trail. I don't like his methods. If I hadn't been in a coma when he went after you, he'd have had a real enjoyable death toll.

He thinks I'm unredeemable. I think he's fucking nothing, and I'd ghost him like I turn off a light if I didn't give a shit about being a warden.

Dude, he thinks everyone is unredeemable. That's just how he is, he's an uncompromising stupid bastard.

Just don't kill him. I like him.

[Riddick's lips pull back from his teeth. It's not a smile.]

I know. You love him because he beat it into you. Not something I can respect, but not really my problem, either.

I need my job. And death doesn't last here. So he walks. But he stays the fuck out of my kitchen.

Edited 2013-06-17 07:00 (UTC)

For fuck's sake, I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing that from people!

No, asshole. That's not why I love him. Christ.

[Riddick shrugs at him.]

Not my problem either way. As long as he stays out.

[The pot of water is boiling, and he checks a timer before taking some of the dough rings and lowering them in with a spoon.]

Hey, can you not diagnose me for fucking Stockholm Syndrome, asshole? Christ. Asshole wardens don't stay the fuck out of my business.

You think you're the first person who ever thought a fist in the face meant forever? I don't have time to fix whatever bullshit's in your head, and unlike some I ain't willing to spend a lot of energy trying to engage.

How am I in your business, D'amico, besides trying to make some comfort food, which I do for every-fucking-body. I don't care what you do with yourself.

Hey, how about you go to hell?

Christ, I'm out. Talk to you later.

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

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