seraphish (seraphish) wrote in xemplified, @ 2012-09-04 20:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: anna-marie d'ancanto, character: warren worthington iii, player: e, player: mel |
Who: Warren & Rogue
NPCs: (Likely some students wandering around)
When: Wednesday, September 5th, Mid-morning
Where: The main kitchen
What: Breakfast!
Rating & Warnings: Likely PG
Warren was well-aware of the benefits of having a kitchenette only a few steps away from his bedroom door, especially one he presently didn't have to share with anyone else. He hadn't had a roommate since his years in private school, and during that time food had always been prepared by staff (much like his home life in those days, and the years after) and eaten in a dining hall, but he knew well-enough the horror stories of food labeling and sorting out dish duty. It was an amusing, somewhat trivial, painfully normal thing that most people had to deal with, and part of him wondered if it was a rite of passage that he'd missed out on. Chances were good that once he did end up with an occupant in the empty room beside his he wouldn't have that sort of a problem. Perhaps that was a good thing considering the issues he already had to deal with. Warren was no small fry even without the added bulk of his wings, and it was the latter that inevitably tipped the scales as far as comfort went when preparing a meal. Simple things were usually no problem, as a bowl of cereal could be handled away from the cramped counter space, and most of what he needed could be had in the short span of a flyby at the fridge. Yogurt cups were snagged and bottles of water were tugged back to his nest for proper consumption. Unfortunately, he was certain that the effectiveness of making a proper meal in such a small space was nearly impossible even the most reasonably sized person. It was hardly his first trek to the main kitchen, his own ingredients in hand. Half of a carton of eggs, some assorted vegetables, and what was left of a brick of cheddar were cradled in one arm while his fingers clasped lazily around the lid of his nearly-full bottle of water. Despite the fact that the hallways were dotted with several other bodied, they felt less claustrophobic than his residential suite. Only a few steps from the entrance to the kitchen, Warren maneuvered himself out of the way of a pair of pre-teen boys, proudly brandishing a pirated booty of oreo cookies. The smaller of the two stopped to the side of him despite the fact that his friend continued on, focused entirely on the wing presently arching out of his way, and reached a small hand out to gently drag along the feathers as he sped off again, no questions asked. Warren's eyebrow quirked up, but so did the side of his mouth in an amused half-smile, wondering if that meant the awkward introductory stage of his arrival had passed("Are they real?", "Can I pet them?", "Can I have one of your feathers?", "Can you talk to birds?", "No, really. Can I pet them?"). Apparently asking for permission was only customary for the first few weeks, though Warren didn't particularly mind the curiosity that still lingered. After all, there were far worse sorts of attention to be subjected to. Warren was comfortable enough with the layout of the kitchen to begin pulling what he needed out of the cupboards. Vegetables rinsed, he began cutting them into slices, popping a sliver of mushroom into his mouth as he worked. Despite the fact that the island counter was directly behind him, the room was far more comfortable and spacious than the entirety of his his mini apartment in the residential quarters, or it at least felt that way. It made him miss the space of his home in Seattle, but not the solitude of it. He hadn't really realized how much he missed people until he was actively around them again. That thought made him fully aware of just how empty the kitchen was, a slightly perplexed expression furrowing his eyebrows as he glanced over his shoulder, his left wing deftly moving out of the way of his gaze. The windows along the back wall of the kitchen showed several residents enjoying the expanse of the yard outside, their shouting and laughter drifting in through the open window. No present company, but not entirely alone either. It was a happy medium for the moment. |