ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ (patrickb) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-11-23 20:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, ian malcolm, ororo munroe (storm), t'challa (black panther) |
Who: T'Challa, Ororo, Ian Malcolm
When: Sometime in October
Where: University of California Irvine
What: Breakroom, between classes, chance meetings!
Rating/Warnings: Low
Status: Complete.
T’Challa had never been happier class was done for the day. His Post Colonial Africa course ended at noon, and he was insanely hungry. The dreams had given him a body that now burned calories at a higher rate, and somehow kept him fit even if he didn’t go to the gym every single day. But hunger wasn’t his only reason for being grateful; the dreams of his alternate life had also gifted the man with extreme intelligence in the sciences and math, and now his mind was full of concepts and theories that distracted him constantly. He loved teaching African studies, but now T’Challa had been debating a career change - or at least a very high tech hobby. He sighed heavily and the tall African stooped to pull open the door to the refrigerator in the mostly empty breakroom. He pulled out the chicken salad he’d made himself; most of the other teachers got their lunch from food trucks, or ate outside, but he preferred the quiet solace of an empty lunchroom after teaching a room full of half interested students. The food trucks were indeed a tempting smorgasbord, but Malcolm preferred to bring something from home when he could (just for himself - he’d stopped packing lunches for Kelly because apparently that wasn’t hip and cool). Then he’d settle with the most recent book, or his newspaper, and allow himself to give his mind a rest for an hour and not be in teaching mode for a little while, until his afternoon classes. In this case, for lunch he was touting leftovers from the night before, a casserole with chicken sausage and cauliflower; he heated it up in the microwave, and it at least gave off a pleasant aroma. “Better than fish, isn’t it? Small favors,” he chuckled, halfway talking to nobody, halfway talking to the man with the chicken salad. “That particular putrid stench tends to put a damper on the day.” Contrary to the pair dining in the breakroom, Ororo had opted to take a chance on another food truck. She had been trying them all one by one since arriving in an attempt to see which she liked the best. It was something she had enjoyed immensely while living in New York and rather missed, so seeing them around campus gave her a sense of home. Though, that feeling had become a little skewed since her first dream. It had been several days now since she dreamed of another childhood, and from it woke with her alternate self’s trademark appearance. It had certainly dropped a few jaws around the classroom, but no one had been untoward to Ororo thus far. Strangeness and the OC did go hand-in-hand. Entering with a styrofoam box, thoughts on her class that wouldn’t start for another hour or so. She paused to survey the tables and the gentlemen in her midst, instantly finding an empty seat closer to T’Challa, but angled so that she could glimpse Ian, too (she didn’t want to be rude!). “Greetings to you both,” she said warmly, popping open the carton filled with salad. “I hope the day has found you well.” T'Challa chuckled a little and nodded to the new man. He hadn't run into him before and would have questioned his presence there (especially judging by how he dressed which seemed too casual for his tastes) but his food coming from the fridge clearly identified the stranger as fellow faculty. Not feeling terribly conversational, he returned to his meal and had been ready to devour a forkful of salad when he heard Ororo’s familiar timbre. He looked up, ready to return the greeting but was struck dumb at the sight of her. He knew her hair and eye color had changed, she’d mentioned it on Valar. Heck, he’d had that image of her locked in his head for months before she’d shown up in Orange County one day. And he’d just gotten used to her black hair and brown eyes too. Not that he was complaining, mind you. He thought Ororo the most beautiful woman in the world - both worlds if you counted the dreams. To see her dream self realized before him was stunning, and his heart had not only skipped a beat, but jumped straight up into his throat, leaving him at a loss for words, fork poised mid air. Ah. Right then. Malcolm lifted an eyebrow, snapping his paper to look over the top at the way T’Challa had suddenly become a statue incapable of speaking. Obviously Ian was missing something, but where the speechless man left off, Dr. Chaos would just step in. He’d slide on in like the puzzle piece no one even knew was missing; you know, make it effortless. “You as well, Dr. Munroe,” he toasted her with his drink (unfortunately, not spiked - he hadn’t quite reached ‘I teach my classes while drunk’ status yet, but give it some time in this county and he might reconsider). “Though I do see the day has treated you well, since you look...especially stunning.” She really did. What a beautiful woman - easy on the eyes, no complaints about the view. Distracted from T’Challa’s dumbstruck visage, Ororo looked to Ian. She had seen T’Challa stopped in his tracks once before, strangely from the moment they’d first incidentally crossed paths. She did not know what to make of it, but wouldn’t read too much into his behavior for the time being. It would not be appropriate to bring up around others. Slow to catch on to his meaning, Ororo’s smile turned into a thin grin. She was not at all surprised by the remark, but neither was she offended. A little ego fluffing went harmless, though she certainly did not require it to get her through the day. Having changed drastically, however, it was nice to hear. A tiny bit. “You are too kind, Dr. Malcolm,” she responded evenly, nodding her gratitude. “Though, I am beginning to wonder if I have something on my face to the contrary…” Icy blues shifted to T’Challa, eyes wrinkled with a hint of amusement. “Are you alright, T’Challa?” ‘She’s talking to you!’ T’Challa’s brain screamed at him. Belatedly he realized Malcolm had given her high praise he wasn’t sure he could top, and a part of him started to burn with jealousy, even a hint of possessiveness. ‘You are the king of Wakanda! Black Panther, and future husband of the woman standing before you! Say. Something.’ Instead of looking embarrassed, T’Challa straightened up and gave her a dashing smile; he set down his fork and pressed a hand to his chest in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, Ororo.” his deep voice, and his expressive eyes asked of her. “I meant no disrespect. Your beauty goes beyond ‘stunning’,” take that Malcom!, “beyond all words that I could possibly hope to form.” His dark eyes met her sky blue ones, and he could feel his breath being sucked out of his lungs. Goddess, it was as if she had stepped out of the ethereal plane of his dreams and into his life all over again! He had to remind himself that she still had barely started to dream, and knew keeping himself and what he said in check would be even harder than before. Beyond stunning? Malcolm chuckled. Hey, if the man wanted to lay it on so thick that they’d all suffocate to death in here, then by all means. He didn’t make a quip about how boots would be needed to wade through that flowery bullshit (for once, his snark-o-meter stayed firmly at ‘zero’), but instead just fought the entertained expression that threatened to make his face crack. Perhaps this lunch hour wouldn’t be so boring after all. Paper laid aside, he gave his attention to the other two in the breakroom. “Ah, so which food truck did you try out there?” he asked Ororo. “There’s one that does burgers, but I’m dubious. Can’t go wrong with the crepes, however.” There were savory as well as sweet ones - he just couldn’t eat there everyday, it’d be a gross indulgence. The loaded compliment left Ororo at a bit of a loss. She stared blankly at T’Challa, uncertain of what to make of his words. Not one to leave people hanging, however, she flashed him a smile to show that she wasn’t uncomfortable with the praise. It was certainly a surprise. Had he always been so doting on her and she hadn’t noticed? His words were different from Ian’s in the way they were delivered, like something hinged on the very conviction of their delivery. It was unusual, but not altogether detested either. “My thanks,” she responded, coolly collected. Thankfully, she had a distraction from having to address it at all. Icy blues back on Ian, she relaxed in her seat and popped open the to-go box. “I confess I did not note its name,” Ororo lamented. “They had wonderful-looking wraps, so I have elected to try one. What have you both brought today?” Anything to take the heat off her appearance would suffice! This was the problem with having emotions bleed over from the Dreams. T'Challa had essentially fallen in love with a woman he hadn't met yet in the waking world, and now that she was here, he couldn't help but slip into those feelings. His dream self made statements like the one he’d just uttered, and belatedly he realized he’d been overzealous in his compliment. He was grateful that Ororo was gracious enough to accept it and move on. In the Dreams T'Challa was a prince of Wakanda in his youth, and had no small amount of female admirers vying for his attention. So it hadn't been necessary for him to be suave or work hard to be noticed. Even when he was king women from all nations were practically throwing themselves at him, each competing to be the Queen of Wakanda or even one of his royal consorts-slash-bodyguards, the Dora Milaje. It had taken his royal advisers pestering him to no end for T'Challa to finally choose a bride, and Ororo had been the woman he wanted. In contrast, here T'Challa had been a shy youth, brought up in the Midwest after being adopted from the killing fields of the Congo. He'd had a few relationships but wooing had never been his strong suit and work now consumed most of his thoughts and time. So bumbling his way through complimenting a beautiful woman was nothing new to him, but was no less embarrassing. At Ororo’s question about lunch, he remembered his neglected salad and picked up the fork again. “Chicken salad. From home.” And he proceeded to resume eating so he wouldn't continue to make a fool of himself by talking further. It was actually somewhat...sweet. Ian was a smooth talker, he loved the ladies, he didn’t even mind being in relationships - but he still didn’t really seem to have a knack for staying in one. His divorce from Kelly’s mother had been a rough patch for him, and he hadn’t really experienced anything serious since (though it took two to tango, and it was probably his own doing, halfway, that kept him from commitment). However, even just observing a lovestruck man (because that was obviously what was going on) was sufficient in reminding him that the heart worked in mysterious ways. Love did too - it was much more than chemicals and science. His grin was amused, gaze flicking back and forth between the other two professors - alright, T’Challa, Malcolm would help you out a little. “Casserole, leftovers from dinner,” he replied. “It’s just me and my daughter at home but I try to cook as often as I can.” But well, hmmm, let’s see... “I hear they do food truck faires, something like that, in Costa Mesa,” he added. “If you’re both into that, you should...ah, go together and check it out, yes? Report back.” You’re welcome, T’Challa. Although not always the most perceptive when it came to matters of the heart, Ororo wasn’t completely blind. Although unaccustomed to the level of praise T’Challa had unexpectedly breathed, she found herself strangely at ease with it. She’d been comfortable with the man from the moment she’d nearly collided into him on campus. “Well planned,” she smiled with a polite nod. Perhaps even she could be slightly shy in a group. At Ian’s suggestion, Ororo looked intrigued. “Is that so?” She paused then, if only to flash Ian an I-see-what-you-did-there look. Clever man. Even so, there wouldn’t be any protesting on her end if T’Challa asked to go along with her. “It sounds interesting. Have you ever been to one, either of you?” T'Challa wanted to glare at Ian for trying to play matchmaker if only because he felt his pride poked at - he could handle asking Ororo out thank you. But he only gave him a cool glance before turning his attention to Ororo. “I have not,” he replied, poking at his salad. “But it does sound like it could make for an interesting adventure.” A pang of guilt for being antisocial towards this new professor he set down his fork and twisted in his chair and asked, “Doctor Malcolm?” as if to pass the ball to him. Well, pick up the ball faster next time, fellow scholar. None of them had time to waste - especially here in Orange County, CA, when he was under the impression that a meteor could fall from the sky at any given moment... Now wouldn’t that be fascinating. A mood-killer, certainly, but still infinitely fascinating. Malcolm smirked, but it was more a return of the fond, telling glance at Dr. Munroe. He was just trying to help. “I’ve never been, no,” he shook his head. “I probably need to research more things to do around the area, if only for my own self. So far, my daughter has me tending to her social calendar - but it’s still a few years until driving age is commenced.” Though he didn’t want to think about that. It made him dread getting older. “At any rate, I ought to get going. My next class approaches.” It was a most curious atmosphere in the breakroom. Inwardly smiling to herself over the unexpected turns the day had brought her, Ororo elected to look forward to whatever may come of the subtle glances and pointed grins. It would seem she had picked the appropriate school when seeking to uproot her life. If days were as unpredictable as this, she could want for nothing more. The little things were what she appreciated most, after all. “Well, perhaps we will go and have a report for you at another time, Doctor Malcolm,” Ororo said with the tiniest of grins over the rim of her water bottle. “In the meanwhile, it was good speaking with you both. I must also finish quickly to prepare for the afternoon.” ‘We'? That worked for him, and he couldn't help a small smile before stuffing some salad into his mouth. T'Challa seemed to be the only one not in a hurry. It was a shame everyone had to go so soon, in particular Ororo. “Take care, Doctor Malcolm. Ororo.” he said with a smile; it lingered a little longer at Ororo. Before he knew it, he was left to his own devices, at least until the next professor would walk in. He would spend this time of quiet looking up food truck fairs on his smart phone. It never hurt to plan ahead. |