Patrick Dawn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bashfulshifter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-07-16 08:56 pm
bashfulshifter) wrote in towerofanimus2013-07-16 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
Continuing Distractions
Characters: Patrick Dawn and YOU
Setting: Dorm Floor One and the Cafeteria on July 16th (day after hacking plot consequences)
Format: Prose to start, can match as always!
Summary: People need to CHILL. Rick makes comfort food for this purpose (also, obligatory morning cat patrol).
Warnings: Rick is still terrified of talking to new people and will stutter A LOT. The horror!
Dorm Floor One: as promised, Obligatory Morning Cat Patrol
Rick wasn't sure what caused the commotion outside his room in the early hours of the morning, but whatever it was, he deduced it wasn't pleasant. Recent posts on the network, combined with the collar boycott going into full swing, had made him reasonably nervous for the tower's well-being the past few days, and now it seemed things were about to get much worse.
He didn't have the stomach to step outside while it was still dark. Sometimes he could hear, in the halls, the scraping of talons, the whisper of feet, the soft voices of the creatures as they stalked their sleeping prey just out of reach, leaving only their vile scents behind. They, more than anything else in the tower he'd encountered so far, scared him senseless. He was far from prepared to run into one anytime soon.
Still, Rick could not sleep. He lay motionless on his back for several hours until the first rays of artificial daylight flickered in from under the door; then he slipped silently from his corner, careful not to disturb his (probably) slumbering roommates, crept into the empty hallway and took on his typical orange tabby form. Both Rusty and Rick had settled comfortably into this morning routine of territory patrol. Now it provided them with much-needed stability and an excellent couple hours of quiet contemplation before the crowd awoke.
That is, if the crowd wasn't as restless as they were.
Floor One (Cafeteria): Soul Food
After much thought over precisely what was bothering him and what could be done for the rest of the tower, Rick remembered what he'd heard about the recent actions of a strange French man and decided that he had a passable way of bringing something from home that could also ease the nerves of his fellow captives.
Granted, his level of culinary expertise was not on par with some other members of the tower (see the aforementioned breakfast), but nothing calmed Rick's mind more than a routine, and nothing calmed his wife's mind more than a good meal. They had long since synthesized this process through daily themed dishes, either for lunch or dinner, most of which Rick cooked himself because he liked memorizing the different recipes and seeing if he could reproduce them exactly. Since this had been the pattern for nearly five years, he'd become rather good at it.
As he recalled, Tuesdays were pasta days, which left a lot of room open for seasoning and the like so long as the noodles were established. Based on the resources available for the lunch menu--despite it being more a dinner dish--he decided on a hearty meat lasagna. They were slotted to have spaghetti later, but Rick preferred to think of that meal as a source of much-needed ricotta cheese rather than a redundancy. Plus, if people liked it, he could just keep cooking more through dinner.
He arrived in the cafeteria kitchen at the closing of breakfast and did not eat. About two hours later, the first massive batch of lasagna found its way in front of the rows of bland hotdogs and hockey-puck hamburgers and the second batch was already in the oven, giving Rick some time to sit back behind the counter and breathe (and gently dissuade any cafeteria drones from disturbing the oven while he waited).
Is the lasagna messy? Yes.
Is it full of meat and grease? Yes.
Is it delicious? MOST CERTAINLY
Setting: Dorm Floor One and the Cafeteria on July 16th (day after hacking plot consequences)
Format: Prose to start, can match as always!
Summary: People need to CHILL. Rick makes comfort food for this purpose (also, obligatory morning cat patrol).
Warnings: Rick is still terrified of talking to new people and will stutter A LOT. The horror!
Dorm Floor One: as promised, Obligatory Morning Cat Patrol
Rick wasn't sure what caused the commotion outside his room in the early hours of the morning, but whatever it was, he deduced it wasn't pleasant. Recent posts on the network, combined with the collar boycott going into full swing, had made him reasonably nervous for the tower's well-being the past few days, and now it seemed things were about to get much worse.
He didn't have the stomach to step outside while it was still dark. Sometimes he could hear, in the halls, the scraping of talons, the whisper of feet, the soft voices of the creatures as they stalked their sleeping prey just out of reach, leaving only their vile scents behind. They, more than anything else in the tower he'd encountered so far, scared him senseless. He was far from prepared to run into one anytime soon.
Still, Rick could not sleep. He lay motionless on his back for several hours until the first rays of artificial daylight flickered in from under the door; then he slipped silently from his corner, careful not to disturb his (probably) slumbering roommates, crept into the empty hallway and took on his typical orange tabby form. Both Rusty and Rick had settled comfortably into this morning routine of territory patrol. Now it provided them with much-needed stability and an excellent couple hours of quiet contemplation before the crowd awoke.
That is, if the crowd wasn't as restless as they were.
Floor One (Cafeteria): Soul Food
After much thought over precisely what was bothering him and what could be done for the rest of the tower, Rick remembered what he'd heard about the recent actions of a strange French man and decided that he had a passable way of bringing something from home that could also ease the nerves of his fellow captives.
Granted, his level of culinary expertise was not on par with some other members of the tower (see the aforementioned breakfast), but nothing calmed Rick's mind more than a routine, and nothing calmed his wife's mind more than a good meal. They had long since synthesized this process through daily themed dishes, either for lunch or dinner, most of which Rick cooked himself because he liked memorizing the different recipes and seeing if he could reproduce them exactly. Since this had been the pattern for nearly five years, he'd become rather good at it.
As he recalled, Tuesdays were pasta days, which left a lot of room open for seasoning and the like so long as the noodles were established. Based on the resources available for the lunch menu--despite it being more a dinner dish--he decided on a hearty meat lasagna. They were slotted to have spaghetti later, but Rick preferred to think of that meal as a source of much-needed ricotta cheese rather than a redundancy. Plus, if people liked it, he could just keep cooking more through dinner.
He arrived in the cafeteria kitchen at the closing of breakfast and did not eat. About two hours later, the first massive batch of lasagna found its way in front of the rows of bland hotdogs and hockey-puck hamburgers and the second batch was already in the oven, giving Rick some time to sit back behind the counter and breathe (and gently dissuade any cafeteria drones from disturbing the oven while he waited).
Is the lasagna messy? Yes.
Is it full of meat and grease? Yes.
Is it delicious? MOST CERTAINLY
no subject
At least for Rick's sake, it's not more shouting and chasing. He opens the door to his room, pausing for a moment before he steps inside.
"I'm Zelgadis. Have a good night."
no subject
Instead he called quietly, "B-But...it's morning..."
Rick deflated with a sigh, silently kicking himself, and shifted back into a cat to continue his rounds.