sacrificialking | CDC ;; Inbox

[There is a tin of chicken and leek soup with your name on it. It may not taste exactly like your mother used to make, but that's because your momma never substituted three thirds of the chicken meat with shille. And sure, maybe it's a touch watery, but this is planetside, gdit, and you're going to have to deal with that.

Havoc is aiming to sneak these things in- left on bedsides or in Medical, but. In some circumstances she might have to track someone down in person, surprise a roommate, or ring the... rover-bell... point is, you're getting soup handmade by a semi-Contractor with the help of another loser Contractor and the ingredient assistance of several recruits.

Team effort. Enjoy. She's sorry about the punishment thing.

ooc; and if you want to action, totally just reply to this with one of those scenarios, go wild! otherwise, handwave at will!]

[Once Holland had been conscious enough to know he shouldn't be taking up space in Medical, he'd retreated back to the rover to shut himself off in his bunk and pass out for a while. Rover 017 was quiet, at least, probably would be for a while; all but Havoc had been forced to endure those thirty seconds of torture. What a sorry mess they all were.

After a few hours of fitful sleep he still felt like hell, body aching all over as it tried its best to reverse the damage done early that day. Despite it, Holland's been sequestered in bed long enough that the familiar itch to get up and move is hitting him. With a weary sigh, he gets up and pushes aside the curtain around his bunk.

He almost regrets it a moment later, belatedly realizing that he wouldn't be the only one hanging around there. Havoc is up and about working on something, the smell of food in the air cluing him in on exactly what. Well, too late to go sulking back in solitude now. So he gets up, tries to stretch but immediately regrets it when his muscles scream in protest and instead opts to stumble over to one of the stools, sitting down with a tired grunt.

He stares down at the cuff encircling his wrist. The red lights of its display remain steady.]

How long have I been out? [Voice hoarse, the ache in his throat when he speaks just another added to the tally.]

[It had been too quiet.

Havoc had at least managed to fill the time- make attempts to forget that she was waiting for every person who shared the rover with her to be punished. Cooking let her take her mind off it, gave her a task. But it hadn't stopped her from wondering.

Why was she the only one spared?

At his question, though, she turns, looking him over with a careful eye.]

A few hours.

[Tried to put on a comforting smile, softer expression.]

[He grunts at that, rubbing at his face wearily. It had felt like longer than that. He probably needed a longer rest than that. His resiliency in bouncing back from injury could be pretty damn impressive, even if it was 90% due to his stubbornness, but something like this was gonna need a lot more downtime than he cared for.

A sigh, then he's glancing back her way. While the gentleness in her expression wasn't unwelcome, it did bring about some uneasiness in him. It always felt odd to him, comforting gestures like that. His usual brashness meant it wasn't something that he experienced all that often, and half the time when he did he wound up brushing it off in a hurry.

Still, he makes an effort not to shy away from it. He clears his throat—wincing as a result—before giving another shot at speaking. Didn't much help the roughness draped over his words though.]

Probably won't be doing much but sleep for a while. [He hated the mere thought of it. The fact that their other rovermates were in the same position didn't make him feel much better about it either.] Guess you're stuck babysitting the lot of us, huh?

[In the space between words, hers and his, Havoc allowed him the privacy of weakness, turning her head back to the soup she had simmering on the small kitchen stove the rover provided. Turned back for the clearing of throat, the coming speech.]

I don't mind babysitting.

[Assured, making sure to keep her tone light, conversational. No need to think about incurring debt or inconvenience. After all- she was free. Unpunished.]

- do you like soup?

[The only explanation for that somewhat classic, somewhat distorted smell of homemade... meat and leek? Was that even recognizable meat?]

[Even if he'd never admit it, Holland is glad there's someone here to look out for them while they recover. The question gets the slightest of nods from him. He can't deny that he's hungry, though the feeling is somewhat muted by his exhaustion. Food would do him some good.]

Soup's fine by me.

[His gaze drifts to that pot she's got simmering on the stove. Not exactly a familiar aroma, but not unpleasant either.]

Didn't know you had a knack for cooking.

[Really didn't know much of anything about her—or his other roommates, for that matter. Probably well past time he remedied that.]

[At his agreement Havoc only nodded, moving to busy herself with further preparation. Fetching a bowl, turning down the heat, finding a clean spoon, all of the little actions that allowed her not to focus on the guilt.

Convenient hobby, cooking.]

Surprise.

[Still trying to keep it light, beginning to ladle out a bowl.]

It's something I picked up in the last few years... pretty useful.

CDC ;; Inbox

late d.119/early d.120

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