towerofanimus | (no subject)

Characters: Garry and you!
Setting: The kitchen and cafeteria.
Format: Action, but I'll switch to prose if you want!
Summary: Backdated to shortly after the end of the event. Garry has just arrived in the Tower, and after freaking out for a while, he's come to the realization that he is going to need something to eat eventually, meaning a trip downstairs is in order.
Warnings: None. If getting something to eat somehow ends up requiring a warning, I will be very surprised.

[Garry is so very unsure about all of this. Waking up to find a letter saying that his world was destroyed? After his experiences in the Guertena exhibit, he's a little skeptical as to the veracity of that, to say the least... but that didn't stop him from freaking out at first anyway.

Said freaking out, however, was eventually interrupted by his growling stomach (and a brief moment of disbelief at his own body-- how could he be hungry at a time like this?) and the realization that just sitting around in the room wasn't going to do him or anyone else any good. That letter had said there was a cafeteria on the bottom floor of the Tower, so that's where he's going to head; once there, he's practically strong-armed into eating a bowl of oatmeal that doesn't do all that much to satisfy his hunger (and certainly doesn't give him a better impression of this place), meaning that he'll end up poking around the kitchen after that to see if there's anything he can use to make a decent meal.

Hmm, at least the kitchen itself isn't too shabby...]

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[Garry isn't the only one searching around the cafeteria for something that actually tastes good. France has been down here every day since he arrived about three weeks ago, hoping that if he searches enough, food will finally appear. Like every other day, though, he's not having any luck.]

Ridiculous! Stocking this many protein bars in one kitchen should be a crime!

[He had been complaining to himself, searching through cabinets and drawers, but upon spotting someone else in the kitchen, he straightens his back. His hair is disheveled, so he blows a puff of air out to get his bangs away from his face.]

Ah, bonjour, sir. How are you?

[He needs to talk to someone, or else he's going to go red in the face from screaming about unpalatable food.]

A crime punishable by having to eat nothing but that for a month, if you ask me. Can these things even be considered real food?

[Yeah, Garry hasn't had any luck with finding anything decent either. Ugh. He wouldn't consider himself especially picky, but really. Those things taste like cardboard, or at least the ones he's eaten before did. He's already had more than his fill of stuff that tastes like cardboard no thanks to that oatmeal.]

[France reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a protein bar. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger like it's poison, and wrinkles his nose as he looks it over.]

I would hesitate to give them that title, cher. I've been trying to find ways to spice them up, but with such, euhh, limited means... [He looks around the notably bare kitchen with a sour expression on his face.] ...it's rather difficult.

[He sets the protein bar on a counter and wipes his hand off on his shirt, then takes a few steps forward, arm extended in offer of a handshake.]

I'm Francis, by the way. Might I ask your name?

[Garry takes the offered hand and shakes it delicately-- he may not be sure what those protein bars are made of, but in this place, he's not going to be eating them and he's not entirely sure he wants to be touching them either.]

Garry. It's nice to meet you, Francis... well, as nice as it can be to meet anyone under these circumstances. This isn't exactly my idea of a pleasant vacation.

[France gives Garry's hand a final squeeze and barks out a laugh.]

I've seen prisons more inviting than this place, my dear.

[He spins on his heel and picks the protein bar back up, then leans against the counter, staring at it with pursed lips. With God as his witness, he will find a way to make these damn things palatable, he swears.

More to himself than anything, he mutters:] Prisons have a better selection of food...

Edited 2013-05-15 18:52 (UTC)

... you've been in a prison before?

[Suddenly slightly unsure about this. This man doesn't SEEM like a common criminal, but how else would he know about prison food and what prisons look like?

Oh gosh should he start looking around for a weapon or something just in case?]

[France doesn't understand at first why Garry seems so apprehensive, but it dawns on him after a moment's consideration. He laughs, half because he's amused, and half because he wants to lighten the mood.]

Oh, no, no, no! [He waves a hand in front of his face.] Not like that. But when you get to be my age, inutile de dire, you'll find there are few places in this world you haven't been to at least once.

[That's a little bit of a lie. He has been locked up before, centuries ago, almost always as a prisoner of some war or another, but he doesn't need to get into all of that right now. Best to just keep conversation steered toward those times when he was on the other side of the bars.]