Blameless Mingle

[shishkebub]

Who: Those who are without blame
Broadcast: Nope
Action: On the Blameless
When: Whenever we feel like it! Gawd!

[A brand new crew has been assigned to a brand new ship. Can they find it within themselves to get along? Find out next time! Or you know, in this actual log.]

Comments

[pyroelectric]

Azula. Of the Fire Nation.

[She looks Kate up and down once. The woman is clearly athletic, that much is clear.]

... You're late. Your presence was requested on the bridge for introductions some days ago. Explain yourself.

[ladybro]

I wasn't here. [ she answers with a small shrug -- clearly not of the opinion that her absence was so egregious it needed an explanation. or an excuse. ] Can't exactly fulfill requests you never heard, right?

[ but she's not combative -- and not willing to die on this hill -- kate apologies: ] Sorry all the same. I'm hoping to make up for it now.

[pyroelectric]

[Finally. SOMEONE on this ship with some manners.]

... Well, I suppose that will suffice. Don't make a habit of it, though.

Your allocated position on this ship is as the cook, is it not? [There are only four other crew mates here save herself. It wasn't exactly hard to memorize the roster.]

[ladybro]

Mmhm.

[ she's not proud of the position, exactly. but nor is she so bullheaded as to be ashamed of it. her discomfort doesn't originate in her soft upbringing (although she certainly had one of those) -- instead, kate can't help but feel the weight of squandered potential. she's practically an avenger for pete's sake! ]

Everybody's gotta eat, right? And whatever our Atroma overlords did to me -- [ she gestures at her neck, and once again takes pointed note of azula's. did she try and remove her augment? ] It's like they downloaded the Joy of Cooking: Proteins Version into my brain.

[pyroelectric]

... Good. Then, if you truly wish to apologise, you can start with dinner.

[ladybro]

[ shrewd. careful: ] Is that another one of those damned-if-you-don't requests?

[ or is it an order? because this is a line in the sand they better hash out real quick, she figures. kate isn't spoiling for a fight, but she ain't no pushover. cooking augment or no. ]

[pyroelectric]

[Unfortunately, Azula's hardly in a position to enforce orders right now. Significant movement is still fairly painful, though she's loathe to let on.]

Nothing like that. Consider it a friendly suggestion.

[ladybro]

Tell you what. [ her smile returns -- almost a little too sweet. as if her early school years at st. jude's and then later at the hawthorne academy might have given her a first-rate education on how you snake your way through a conversation with other young, rich women used to giving friendly suggestions.

it's a little like a dance. ]

I whip us up something mostly edible. And you tell me what happened. [ to your neck. ] This ship isn't, like, booby-trapped. Is it?

[pyroelectric]

Oh, that. [Azula appears unconcerned-- it's best to come right out with it, after all. If Kate is determined to know the answer, she could just as easily ask Luke or Wolverine. And then she would get the full story. She's determined not to let that happen.]

No, no traps. Although, that is a good idea. ... No, it was a simple philosophical disagreement with another passenger. It's just a scratch.

[ladybro]

[ well, that's one giant red flag. kate's already doing a mental run-down of the two she's already met. ]

A person did that to you? [ this isn't skepticism. rather, a sort of swirling eddying concern -- not for azula herself, but for the precarious balance of a crew living in close quarters. ]

[pyroelectric]

It won't happen again, if that's what you're concerned about. The disagreement was resolved.

[ladybro]

Sure, ok. Somebody got their pound of flesh.

[ -- she's not proud to admit it, but her thoughts do leap to wolverine. short man with a shorter temper and some real long pop-up knives. but that assumption sits poorly in her stomach. after all? he's an avenger. and avengers just don't -- hm. ]

Speaking of pounds, though -- supper. C'mon. [ a jerk of her head. she ain't just gonna disappear and toil away all alone. ]

[pyroelectric]

[Azula inclines her head.]

... Of course. You may go on ahead. I will follow momentarily-- I wish to finish this page.

[She indicates the book in her hands. Of course, that isn't the real reason-- mostly she wants to avoid having Kate see her get out of bed with stiff and careful movements.]

[ladybro]

May I? [ dry dry dry. alright, kate-expectations. leave the fire nation (whatever that is) woman some space. she backs out of the bunk area. ] I just may. See you there, roomie.

[pyroelectric]

[Azula waits about two minutes, before standing carefully and making her way down the hallway to the kitchen.]

[ladybro]

[ kate bishop has never before cooked with peanut paste -- but she's done a lot of dining out on the town, and chicken satay is always a hit. she's starting to think if she uses some of that chicken-y protein and cooks it just so and smothers it in a sweetened slightly salty peanuty sauce, she might get somewhere near that dish.

most alarmingly, these thoughts had come to her quickly. methodically. comfortably. as though she'd always known them. so when azula walks in, she's treated to the very domestic sight of kate bishop whisking things together. all the while looking slightly perplexed at her own success. ]

[pyroelectric]

[Kate's expression doesn't escape Azula's notice when she comes in.]

You look surprised.

[Azula opts to stay standing, leaning against a wall, arms crossed as if she's perfectly relaxed. It involves less movement than sitting.]

[ladybro]

Like I said, the augment's kinda like having a cooking show in your head. [ she pauses to taste the sauce. considers the flavour. adds more salt. ] And celebrity chef was never one of my dream-jobs.

[pyroelectric]

Oh? And what would that be? Your dream job.

[ladybro]

Easy: principal cello for the New York Philharmonic.

[ so she isn't lying. a teenaged kate bishop certainly had felt that kind of ambition coursing through her veins. but then she'd traded one bow for another, and being hawkeye had become a dream job in itself. ]

[pyroelectric]

[Whoops, European instruments.]

... I see. And... what is that, exactly?

[ladybro]

Cello? Uhm -- yeah, like someone overfed a violin.

[ not helpful. also, too many food metaphors. can't be helped. ]

[pyroelectric]

... I see.

[No, she really doesn't. But she doesn't want to be caught out not knowing something twice in a row.]

[ladybro]

Anyway. When I was little, I also thought I'd grow up to be just like my dad. Some big-time business mogul. [ ... ] Dream-jobs should probably stay exactly that: dreams.

[pyroelectric]

Oh? I see no reason why they shouldn't become a reality, if you try hard enough.

[As hilariously backhanded and condescending as that is, she actually means to be encouraging.]