citynet | @junpei

i'll get out the fine china. see you soon.

[Or rather he will get out some paper plates, put them on the counter in the tiny kitchen, and stare at them for a while, Normally. He's chosen this fifth floor apartment for himself mostly at random, but he still doesn't really like to... touch anything in it; it feels weird to open the cabinets, so while Gregor is off scrounging, Junpei is having his latest in a series of paper plate mind sprials.

It's cool, it's fine. Eggs and toast are something to look forward to; he takes up loitering just outside in the hallway, since he'd only said fifth floor, so that's where he is when room service arrives looking like he's had better days.

Lucky: Junpei is also short. Unlucky: he definitely stares at The Arm for a beat too long, but you know what, he knows a kid whose head comes right off, so sure, why not.]

Hey. I'm ready for some culinary delights. C'mon in.

[Oh same, the drawers and closets are pristine in Gregor's own stolen apartment, though he maaaay have gone through the bathroom cupboards looking for clean towels. And soap. And a razor-- anyway. The look at his arm is-- normal, expected, still subdued, so he just grins a little more forcefully and slips on in with his stash.]

Thanks for having me, bud. I really can't actually promise the best eggs ever or anything, since apparently I'm a worse cook than I thought, but I'll still do my best. Haven't ever completely burnt one to be inedible, at least?

...You are going to have to help me, though. If that's alright. Don't think you'd want to eat stuff I cut with the arm! Heh, ah, hah...

[please laugh god please laugh

He's going to just carefully place all of his haul delicately on Junpei's kitchen counter in the meanwhile, fresh bread last and most tenderly handled of all. Can't squish bread and expect it to be any good.]

[Besides the fact that the couch in the main room of this apartment is sufficiently rumpled enough to have obviously been slept on a few times, Junpei's stolen apartment is how he found it. It lacks the serviceable chairs, of course, but there's a coffee table? The tiny kitchen is good enough. It's an apartment, for sure.

Junpei will fetch The Pan in the meantime, which luckily lives on top of the stove and not in any cabinets, or they'd be out of luck. He leans his elbows on the counter and watches all the stuff get placed down, and oh, arm jokes--

Cool, he was not really sure if he was supposed to acknowledge it, but if there are jokes...]

Sure, I think I can manage eggs. You're going out on a limb for me here, so...

[Okay, it's out of his system!! Now he does laugh, a sort of sorry-you-had-to-hear-a-pun noise. Ahem.]

Sorry— I'm done, I swear. Uh, what do you need me to do?

No no, if you got more, let 'em out now. That way I can sulk in private later, hah.

[Only 1/4 a joke. Okay, maybe half, because at least it's not open hostility, so that's! A Bonus! And it's certainly enough for Gregor to keep his smile in place for a few seconds longer than he might otherwise, even as he finagles the tip of the claw under the pull tab of the spam can.

Hm...What can he delegate, so that he doesn't have to bear the burden of nosing through cabinets in someone else's someone else flat...]

...You got knives? Salt and pepper? Plates? I'll get to work on the eggs once I get this open, but we still gotta cut this spam. Even if you don't like it, I'm going to eat it. Comfort food and all. And an egg flipper. That'd be great, if you got one! Or else we're kind of screwed, big time.

C'mon, don't sulk... [He's going to feel bad about his stupid puns forever, please do not sulk, he'll beg.....] I'm, uh, totally done. So done.

[See, watch him make a lip-zip gesture and then go to collect some knives, which tragically involves having to open a drawer and root around for a bit in what is apparently a loose pile of silverware. Paper plates are at the far end of the counter, and as for salt and pepper...

Well, don't judge him for this, but he presents a handful of those paper packaged, individual-serving salt and peppers that one might grab at the condiments stand at a fast food place. Ahem.]

An egg flipper is a spatula, right? That's a real question, I don't know anything about cooking. There's a spatula in here somewhere... [sigh. more drawers. while he's looking:] Look, I'm really not going to say anything shitty about your arm. This is an arm... friendly zone?

[the empathy curse, it's bothering him!!!]

Stop worrying, I'm just yanking your chain! As long as you don't go in too hard, I can tough it out. Heard way worse than 'you're going out on a limb', that's for damn sure.

[As soon as Junpei's back in range, Gregor makes a pointed effort to shuffle in closer and gently nudge him with one pointy elbow. Very, very gently. No commentary on the sachets, just camaraderie and an encouraging smile.] We all have our stuff. You got the curse making you worry way too much, I got the arm. And we are going to eat some eggs on toast together, because that's how men deal with their problems or something.

...I see you got the same problem as me. Determined to not touch as much as I can in my place too, but I've at least been using the bed like a disgusting, uh. Bug. I can't even avoid the jokes now, I brought that one on myself.

Alright, alright— just, you know... just saying. Let's eat some toast.

[Somehow, the elbow nudge sells it. The nudge of weird little guys having a weird time and making toast to cope, perhaps. Junpei finds a spatula, giving it a look for its flowery pastel handle - not because he's anti-florals, but again: this feels like somebody else's house - and sets it on the counter. After another moment he starts to sort the salts and peppers into separate piles, for something to fidget with in the interim.]

I've been sleeping on the couch. It sucks, but it could suck worse.

[And oh yes, the spam,] You know, I've eaten suspicious canned meat before. I can hack it.

Good plan, cap'n. Toast incoming, rest a bonus!

[A disgustingly sharp salute, before he gets to work poking around with the stovetop. More modern than he's quite accustomed to, but not altogether impossible to figure out; after a moment, the hob's burning bright orange under the pan, and he nods smugly.]

...You wanna pan fry the bread, make fancy toast? Maybe add some butter in the pan to get real fancy? Or should I use the fat from the spam...Dealer's choice for now, I guess; cooking in your-not-really-your place, after all.

Speaking of which-- [The pan's still gotta heat up, after all.] You really think they'll get less upset about us shacking up in their spaces if you don't use the bed? I'd assume that you used the bed anyway, if I came home to find you here. Just do it, bud. As long as you clean up after yourself, you've already crossed the line of actually bunking in here, and they'll be just as mad either way.

Ooh, fancy toast. Now there's an idea.

[He doesn't know if he can pull off fancy toast, but at least if it's a little crispier than it should be he can just blame it on a first try and not because he lacks all talent. He quits fiddling with the salt and pepper and turns to the fridge.]

Let me grab my fanciest butter. The toaster in this place isn't even the pop-up kind, can you believe it? Who wants to figure out all those knobs?

[It's just a normal toaster oven, but he prefers the pop-up novelty. Pan-fried novelty will do in a pinch. For a guy living mostly on noodles he's definitely rooting around in the fridge for too long just then, but it's because he doesn't know how to answer the whole... not sleeping in the bed thing. It just feels weird! Ugh!!

He puts a stick of butter on top of the open fridge door, to balance while he continues to pretend to have something to look at in there.]

I dunno... It feels too much like getting comfortable, you know? I sleep in the bed, somebody comes and grabs me in my sleep. [The logic is unsound and he knows it, conveyed with a shrug as he finally gets his head out of the fridge.] I really don't think the people who lived here before are coming back, so...

--yeah, I guess that fear's especially logical right now. [Logical most times, though. Still, Junpei's taking long enough with the butter that Gregor turns to face him, half-leaning on the counter with his claw precariously close to the heated pan. Anyone with any cooking skill might turn it off, but no. Not this guy.]

You got the luxury to turn down comfort?

[wait. Hold up, that's. That sounds a little more biting than he meant, fuck.] --that came out wrong, heh. More like...I'm starting to realise that maybe I'm the weird one out of everyone here. I'd like to get home, sure, but...Comfortable's something I'm willing to risk it for. If I go missing, it's absolutely because I'm sleeping in the bed.

You alright over there, by the way?

[Junpei makes a face, weighing the relative comfort levels of the not-his-couch against the other places he's been sleeping recently, and decides he doesn't want to get into all of that, because then he has to think about it. He shrugs; who can say!]

I guess if you spend all your time on a bus... That doesn't sound too weird to me.

[But he still doesn't want to sleep in the obvious kidnapping location, just in case.

He picks up the stick of butter to put it on the counter, with a half-assed flourish, because he is so alright.]

There you go, the fanciest. [it's still in its wax paper wrapping] I was just checking for more, uh... fancy ingredients. Never mind.

[Fridge shut! Never mind!! He's not awkward!! He's back and ready to make fancy toast, plucking at the wax paper to open it up. After that it's picking up a knife and hovering it back and forth, deciding how massive of a butter chunk to hack off. Like, a shit ton, right?? That's correct? He's going for it.]

More butter is better, yeah? Sounds fancier to me.

'preciate you not calling me weird, even when I am. Relatively.

[Big ups. Big ups for a whole stick of butter, too; Gregor snatches it up greedily, flicking the ends of the wax paper open and

then fumbling to balance it on his claw instead, so he can cut it with a knife. Harder when he can't just impale the thing, but Junpei doesn't deserve to eat Roach Leg germs in his butter, thanks. Do not perceive the sheepish face Gregor's pulling he's doing his best to not stab through chitin with a butter knife shhhhh]

More butter's good, even if it kills us faster. [Butter: melting in the pan. Gregor: grabbing bread.] I'm playing the long game here, but I don't think people like me have long life expectancies anyway.

[Oh, uh, does he want Junpei to do that, Junpei can do that... or he'll just wait like a good little helper, leaning his elbows on the counter again. Just say the word and he too will bumble through the toasting process.]

I've had way worse crap than super-buttery toast. At least this'll clog up my arteries with something that tastes good.

[Anyway, hmm, that's a downer... Someone's being a negative nancy during Toast Time...]

Hey, if we really do get the spooky mastermind order to start killing each other, you'll be on my "people who deserve to get out of here" list. [which contains everybody so far, he's not picky,] But uh, what, is that... a job security thing, or something?

[Does the bus get Too Hungry......]

[Turn That Frown Upside Down For Toast Time! Which he does, thankfully. Along with an automatic correction of:] Pan-fried super-buttery toast. Not even real toast. Just kind of crispy outside, if I don't screw this up. Probably different to fry soft bread and fry whatever meats and fats are all mushed in that can.

[Ough. That's a hell of a question, though. He's not going to answer in complete earnest, because saying something like 'people like me tend to scavenge in the ruins of dangerous science, because polite society refuses them and it's a bitch of a planet even for Non-Bug People'.

Just. Give him a second to think it over.]

Once I finish this job, I'll have to adjust to being without the perks. Like not dying! That's a hell of a thing to be accustomed to. Or-- not dying permanently, I guess. I've died plenty. It'll be getting sense back into me, you know?

[is

is that less depressing

and is he pulling a cigarette out whilst cooking UGH]

Oh yeah, my bad. Super-buttery, high-class pseudo-toast. For gentlemen.

[TM TM TM—

And that is really not less depressing, great talk! Junpei slumps a little lower on his elbows, like, dude... Dude......]

I dunno, I think just having the one shot at life is... okay? [Having the option to hit reset in any capacity sure does raise a long list of ethical considerations he's really sick of already, and it hasn't done anything particularly great for his mental health...!] Kinda wish I was done thinking about my own mortality, myself, but it's not like— Uh, are you gonna smoke that in here?

[homie!!!!!]

[He stops.

Looks at his hand.

Frowns for a moment, as if he's having to really think about why this would be weird. Blame the alternate timeline where he's a sous-chef smoking up a storm in the kitchen...Bad habits sometimes carry over! At least this Gregor sheepishly chuckles and puts the cigarette back in his vest pocket, though.]

...Sorry! Wasn't thinking. Wasn't really thinking when I started talking about dying over and over, too. Desensitisation. Let's skip the death talk altogether. You mind cutting up that spam for me, for one? Please, sorry. Manners.

[Finally, he takes a breath, flips the toast. A little burnt, but still more than edible! Good job, Gregor. It's fine. He's normal.] So. What's your favourite comfort food.

[Well, at least the only burnt taste their toast will get is from the pan and not cigarette smoke... little victories. Junpei hmms and picks himself up from his slouch, sidling around to grab the spam can and a knife. Time to schlorp this bad boy onto a paper plate, as god intended...]

Hey, you're the kitchen boss. [He is merely a mooch, which is fine. Schhhlorp... damn, nothing about spam is appetizing pre-cooked, huh.

Well, to cutting. Some of these pieces are going to be wildly different sizes because he wasn't sure how thick to cut them before settling on a mid-range put-on-toast thickness, so. Apologies to those funny pieces, sincerely.]

Uh—dunno. Does anything count? Like, what if I said it was chewing gum? Is gum technically a food? [it's not fucking gum] Never mind. Maybe garlic bread?

Gum absolutely doesn't count, but garlic bread? Top choice. Easy to make, if you're lucky enough to get good bread. Don't even need fancy butter, then; good loaf of bread'll take you a long way.

[Which-- once he's done sliding the fried bread onto another paper plate, he's just going to quickly give the rest of the bread a quick jab. MMMMMmmmm....Soft, fresh. It'll do.]

Maybe next time we can try that. Not that I know how long you'd cook it for in an oven, but it couldn't be hard to figure out, right? For now, pass us the meat! Here's where I'm really gonna shine, just you watch. Made grown men cry with this, I have. Taste of home!

--okay maybe that's. Rose-tinted glasses, that last part. But I think it tastes pretty damn good when I get it all crispy, so hopefully you don't pull a face like my coworkers did, hah.

That'll be my next desperate appeal to everybody online. "Hey, remember me, I thought we were all going to kill each other? Well this time, I need to know how long to preheat the oven for garlic bread..."

[That'll go over great, probably. He'll get made fun of the exact same amount, which is comforting, but in a ghoulish way.

Anyway, here are the meat slices, carefully passed one at a time as he finishes his slicing task. They're still uneven, but it's fried spam and not wagyu beef, so it'll do.]

I'm pretty hungry, and I haven't had a home-cooked meal in, uh... dunno, over a year? So I might cry, in that compliment-y way. Just don't make fun of me for sobbing over some toast and we're good.

Ha! If it's not gas or fire, isn't it alright to just turn it on and leave it?

...Okay, I don't know enough to say that sort of thing with such confidence. I should really shut up. [Meat: panned. The resulting sizzle is satisfying, like he's doing something right for once, and it's enough to buoy Gregor into humming a little as he nudges the spam slices apart.

Aw yea. Delicious Meat, friendly, no-stakes conversation. Homely. He could get used to this.]

As long as you're not throwing up while crying, I'll be pretty chuffed. Actually, you'll never get rid of me if you go being all mushy around me. I'm that guy who gets attached and thinks we're friends even if we're not, y'know? Dangerous, me.

[There is a certain level of homely going on here, Junpei would agree, even despite the continued casual self-deprecation. He's not going to point it out; he's probably been guilty of it plenty of times himself, and he wouldn't want someone to point it out... It's fine.

The food smells good, though. Superb distraction from this whole weird place.]

You're already in "my place"- [he does the fingerquotes,] -making food, man. I already decided we were friends ten minutes ago.

[If it gets him free food... Just kidding, one need merely show Junpei an iota of decency in a Kidnapping Situation and he'll imprint instantly. But that's a little mushy and a little strange, so. Free toast-!!]

That cool?

Aw geez, same sort of guy. Now we're in for it.

[Even if Junpei had put it in a decidedly Normal Fashion, Gregor's still going to look very pleased with himself as he flips spam, chuffing happily away like a steam train (minus the typical steam, thankfully).]

What I mean is, yeah. That's cool. Who's going to complain about having a friend in this place, or at all? Guess that means that, if you're ever in a sore spot somehow while we're here, just give me a whistle. I'm pretty good at fixing problems that can be solved with sharp implements, if it's for a pal.

[Ah - well, when making new friends, it's always important to establish who's ready to start stabbing. Not that Junpei wouldn't go to bat, optionally with a bat, for his friends, but he's kind of a stringbean and it's not his forte. He scoffs, anyway, amused.]

Sure, I'll keep you on speed dial. You ever need someone to solve your way out of a locked room without the keys, let me know. [......,] I've kinda got a weirdly specific skillset.

[But at the same time: isn't this whole city kind of one big escape room? He's convinced of it! He'll come in handy!

He leans over just so to watch the pan, ooh sizzly,] It smells good.

Ohhh, nice. That always seemed like real fiddly work, even with two hands, so I'll definitely keep you in mind. Guessing you already tried a few locked doors here, to see what's the deal?

[Hey, he's not judging anyone's skillset, especially if it's one he lacks. ...And especially if it might've come from someone who expects everyone currently here to just. Start killing each other.

There's gotta be a reason, right? So yeah. No judgment. Only spam. With a nice crust on one side, by now. Another flip, because the other side isn't quite as nicely cooked, before he shoots Junpei a sidelong look and a tiny smile.] Man, anything smells good in a pan, long as it's not burnt to absolute charcoal. Here-- [And he jams the spatula into a nice, crusty, crispy edge, cutting off a piece. Nudges it around the pan so the soft edge crisps up, then flicks it back onto the spatula for Junpei.

As a treat.]

Oh yeah, all over. I never actually learned to pick a lock, but I'm real good at the, uh, fiddly work. Loads of practice. None of the locked doors around here are giving up the goods yet.

[But here's to hoping. What he would give for even a crumb of indication that there is, indeed, a reason behind this whole place and their presence in it. A list of rules. A crackly voice-changer speaker. Anything. At least then there would be a place to start.

In the spirit of not getting too in his head about it, though: ooh, a sample? A treat, for him? 👉👈 He raises an eyebrow-]

Well, now I feel like a little kid begging for dinner early... [but he's still going to take this little piece and "ow ow hot" at it for a second before he pops it in his mouth. chew....] Hey, it's good!

@junpei | text

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