Meg (meganmasters) wrote in oakdelllogs, @ 2013-05-31 01:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, castiel, meg masters |
Who: Meg and Castiel
Where: Castiel's Apartment
When: Friday Morning, early
Summary: Meg has had some more time to heal, making it easier to be around Cas when he accidentally steals her powers. She's fallen back into the roll of his caretaker fairly well, and is attempting to keep him fed, even though she hasn't had to cook anything since she was a human herself, several thousand years ago.
Warnings: Language possibly
Status:: Complete
Meg pushed the door open awkwardly, attempting to force her way through without damaging anything in the bags she was carrying. The kitchen of the apartment had come stocked with a fair number of things, which they'd burned through fairly quickly...burned being the operative word. They'd both been equally useless when it came to cooking and the precious supplies they'd been given were the casualties. A thin hint of smoke still permeated most of the apartment, despite their attempts to air the place out with open windows and fans. Meg didn't mind the smell so much, truth be told. It sort of reminded her of home. The food problem, however, was becoming very real. She felt useless and angry every time the subject came up. On the surface, she hated that there was something she was apparently expected to do that she was inherently bad at. A part of her even riled at the unintentional sexist connotations of her being expected to cook for him. Mostly, she hated the constant reminders that he was human. She had nothing against humans, as a rule, and had even tumbled a few of them in her time. No, this went deeper, but she didn't know exactly how deep. She just knew that the sight of him, weak and mortal, left her feeling at once angry and upset, and she couldn't seem to make the feelings go away. She set the bags down gently on the kitchen counter. It was still early, and she wasn't sure if he was awake yet as the bedroom door was still closed. In the week since he'd arrived, they'd developed a bit of a rhythm, though it was still rough around the edges. She hadn't wanted anything to do with the forming of his human habits, and thus had tried not to influence his sleeping pattern, or dictate what he did, or when he did it. She mostly just let him do his own thing, keeping a careful distance, answering questions when they were asked.. Whenever they were close, she could feel the pull of her power leaving, and thus had stayed as far away from him as the small apartment would allow. An extra week's worth of healing at least done it's job on her wrist and ankle. When they did come close enough that he took her power, she no longer crumpled in pain, though the areas still twinged a bit. Her scars had all but faded, leaving behind nothing but thin pink lines as testaments that they had ever even been there. Even those would probably be gone in another week, and it would be like she'd never been wounded at all. As she put the groceries away quietly, she glanced at his bedroom door, resisting the urge to take a peak. When she'd decided to stay here, she'd made a point of staying away from the bedroom. Aside from the obvious reasons, concerning her wounded state and his far to breakable human body, she hadn't wanted to push the issue and make him feel strange towards her. She knew she could have had him in a heartbeat if she'd really wanted...and she did. But she was afraid, as well. She was afraid that once she crossed that line, that would be all she had with him, and though the idea had held merit in the past, she worried over it now. As she finished putting away the groceries, she set a plate of sticky buns on the small dining room table. The boy in the bakery, Peeta, had given them to her. He hadn't asked her why she so badly needed his help, hadn't pressed her on the issue or her complete lack of knowledge, and had, in fact, been very helpful indeed. She could stand to have a few more people like him around. Carefully, quietly, she pulled out a frying pan and a few bowls and sundry other items. The boy had shown her to do some basics...a pot pie being the easiest, and the only one she'd felt like maybe she could handle. But he'd also mentioned some other easy things she could do, and she wanted to try them now. Cracking a few eggs into the skillet, she started on what she hoped would be edible scrambled eggs. In another pan, she set some bacon to slowly crisp, taking perverse pleasure in the tiny snaps of burning grease that hit her skin. |