five ○ voice / action

[mylegacy]

Who: Caesar & u
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: Marsiva, kitchens & gym!
When: Ostensibly 11/15, but really whenever

[His voice sounds muted, almost bored, but anybody who actually knows him might be a little worried at the lack of underlying irritation there. There's the clank of pots and pans in the background, also muted.]

Since we're stuck here for the foreseeable future - I understand that people are coping. [As people do. For what good it does.] I don't have the proper augment, but I know how to cook if anyone wants to learn. I don't have anything else to do. [Besides watch The Princess Bride on endless repeat.]

[. . . And then, almost as an afterthought:]

I can fight, too. If anyone wants that.

[Find him in the kitchens, or the gym on request. Close CR can assume a delivery of a comfort food of their choice.]

Comments

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[he doesn't have a perfect recollection of everything that's been happening over the last few weeks. that's part of why he's so constantly on-edge about everything. but the first thing he does remember is the warmth and the writing on the walls, so he doesn't know what to make of Caesar's reaction.

but at least--] So that... Wasn't just me, then. Okay.

[great. fantastic. awkward. he's going for the little refrigerator on the other end of the counter.]

[mylegacy]

[Honestly, he'd probably get a little flustered about either thing. It's not like collapsing on a stranger's bathroom floor or . . . whatever that fight was is exactly how he likes to do things normally. But the weight of both of them on his mind is overwhelming, so much so that he has to breathe out sharply and turn his head away for a few moments while Robin rummages through the fridge.]

[Punch, punch, punch. After a while, though, kneading dough only serves to ruin it, so he has to stop. And then . . .]

[Then he mutters something, barely audible.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[...he emerges with something not much more exciting than packaged protein. he hasn't eaten in days, so much so that he can't tell if the thought of actually eating it is relieving or nauseous.

but then there's a muttering on the other side of things, which he absolutely hears, and he can't just let it go unquestioned. he doesn't do that.]

What was that?

[he looks unintentionally expectant, holding his unopened package and waiting.]

[mylegacy]

[He's still staring at the dough. Although not just standing there, that would be ridiculous - he's dumping it in a bowl and laying a cloth over it so it can rise, and it's a nice excuse not to make eye contact while he repeats himself.]

Do you want me to make you something?

[That is, does Robin want him to make something. Him, specifically.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[does... Robin want Caesar to make him something. does he. him. make. want. lots of little words that just sound like an awkward apology to him. he continues standing exactly where he's at, looking a little confused on the outside and slowly unraveling, frazzled, on the inside.

...] Shit, yes.

[he would like to still be friends, please. if that's what this really means.]

What can you make?

[mylegacy]

[Oh, good. Robin is learning to speak Caesar, the language of nuance and extreme stupidity. Yes, he would very much like to still be friends, and also never talk about any of that again.]

[He may get one of these two things, if he's lucky.]

[On another day, the question might've gotten a cocky grin and a what can't I make? Today it gets a shrug and a smile that's more crooked than sure and quite small, considering.]

I can make a lot of things. [Tipping his chin up at the not-protein:] Better things than that.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Done.

[so, he throws the protein behind him. he literally tosses the still-wrapped package over his shoulder, hard enough that it smacks into the wall and comes to a crumpled, dejected stop near whatever counts as a corner in this room.

Robin's already way past it. he's walking over, so he can have a seat and start rambling on about food. he can think about food, rather than the rest.]

I'd kill someone for some waffles, but I don't know if you know what those are. And I don't know if there's an iron in here. Sandwiches are good. [slumping down in a chair, letting his head plunk down, and talking at the surface of the table:] And those little bun things where they put meat and vegetables and stuff in a layer of dough... They have those in basically every culture that's ever existed...

[mylegacy]

[Oh. Well. Okay. This is happening now. Just breezing right past the awkward and throwing things and collapsing on the table. Honestly, all things considered, he isn't sure why he's surprised.]

[Food, food, food. Focus on the food. All right.]

I know how to make waffles, but I don't think there's an iron. Sandwiches--

[Are too simple, he almost says, but bites it back, because what exactly is he trying to prove here? Ugh.]

That last thing I can do. It'll take a little while, though, I'll have to make the dough.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[he lifts his arm, propping it up on the table, high enough to give Caesar an apathetic thumbs-up.]

S'fine. You're a sweetheart.

[mylegacy]

[mmmmMMMmmm]

[His ears go a little pink again. Right when he was just starting to feel sort of normal again, too, damnit. Hesitantly, he wipes his hands on a towel and shakes his head a little, to hang his hair over his eyes until he can make normal facial expressions.]

It's . . . no trouble.

[Well, it is, but that's kind of the point, so. Ugh. Whatever. This is so confusing and weird and difficult.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[he wouldn't have thought to make it weird if Caesar wasn't such an easy target. he would have been content to sit there with his face pressed against a flat surface in exhausted apathy.

but this is... the kind of thing that Robin just can't resist. this is how he gets in bar fights. this is why his best plans end up failing. Robin is a dumbass who can't keep his mouth shut. so after a measured pause, he sounds... a little incredulous, but mostly amused.]

... Are you blushing?

[mylegacy]

[What sin did he commit to deserve this, for God's sake. He punches the center of the dough and pushes it into a ball, drops it in the bowl he had set out, covers it with a cloth, rests his hands on his hips. Which does nothing to change the overall impression of slightly-flustered-pretty-irritated-but-not-doing-anything-about-it.]

What's your point.

[Look, at least he's not denying it. He's not that much of an idiot. Right now this precise second, anyway.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Nothing... [oh, no. it's just more fuel, for him.] It's just cute, is all.

[mylegacy]

[sCREAMS]

[Well if he wasn't blushing before he is now. Why does this - why is this happening, how does the script get flipped so easily, why does it get to him like this? Ugh.]

No. It's not.

[. . . A quality retort.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

It is...

[don't look back, Caesar, or you'll see that Robin is grinning from ear to ear... his face still pressed on the table...]

[mylegacy]

[He doesn't even have to look. He knows. He can hear that grin. So instead of looking he's just going to slam around in the fridge for a moment or two, get his ingredients out. He glares at them all. Fuck these eggs in particular.]

[Once he's slammed the door closed again:]

Don't fuck with me.

[he will MEET YOU IN THE PIT]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[.........]

I dunno, sounds like you'd like that.

[robin, no.]

[mylegacy]

You couldn't handle it.

[. . . oh. Yeah. That is not going to work, but good try, son.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[...he cackles. the rest of his rude laughter is barely stifled after that, as he shoves his face down against his arms. it quickly becomes clear that he's either lost this battle, or lost his fucking mind.

he's cracking up over this, lost to the midst of a proper giggle fit. by the time he gasps up for air, he has to wipe tears away from the corners of his eyes...]

Oh Gods, I am so fucking happy right now... [sounding breathless, still grinning.] You're the best...

[mylegacy]

What the fuck.

[Why is everything about this so weird. He leans against the counter and just watches Robin with a bemused expression for a few moments, before . . .]

[Yeah, he reaches over and cuffs him on the back of the head. It's affectionate, but absolutely not gentle.]

Glad you're having a good laugh at my expense.

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Ha-- [and he gets hit on the back of the head. he winces, but doesn't seem to mind all that much when he straightens up again.] I didn't know you swore so much, either! It's funny.

[mylegacy]

Only sometimes.

[Just. Gonna shove his head forward so his nose is squished against the table, yep.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

Hh... Hey...

[he is surprisingly (or maybe not, at this point) easy to push against the table. his nose is squished. it's rather silly, but at least he's not smiling anymore.]

No? Not good?

[mylegacy]

[Holding him there for a little bit, yeah . . . and then that appears to be all. Caesar flops down across from him and starts measuring flour into a bowl like nothing even happened.]

Could be worse. It could've been Cici again.

[Is that covert permission to carry on with whatever weird bullshit? Could very well be.]

[birdsbirdsbirds]

[ah. for as stupid as this is, this is a language that Robin very much understands. he's extremely comfortable with it. the swearing, the violence, even his getting flustered--it reminds Robin of some things he's very fond of from back home.

so, he's finally comfortable here, lifting his face up from the table and rubbing his nose. he's tired and hungry and worn to the bone emotionally... but this is safe, and nice, and the comment makes him laugh like nothing was ever strange.]

You really didn't like that one, huh. I thought it was clever...