ArchivedLogs:Juice, I think

Juice, I think
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Ivan	2013-02-17 A meeting in the kitchen. Things are spilled, and things should have been spilled.
Location <XS> Kitchen
It is mid-afternoon on Sunday, and the bustle of the school during the week has faded to the quieter noise of the weekend. The cold outside has driven the students who remain at the school inside, for the most part, yet even many of them have retreated back to their rooms or to more interesting places than the kitchen. It is nearly abandoned, except for a single figure standing by the counter. Clearly too old to be a student and yet unfamiliar as a teacher, Iolaus is dressed in a neat black dress shirt with a golden tie clipped onto his shirt. His black slacks and black dress shoes as well indicate him as being an outsider, yet he is going through the Xavier's fridge as if he belongs. He pulls out a tupperware of some leftovers and glances over it for a moment, opening it to sniff, cautiously. It seems to pass whatever his test is, as he begins spooning it out into a bowl and jams the now-full bowl into the microwave. Ivan's entrance into the kitchen is characteristically quiet, and despite lugging a heavy, opened cardboard box with an address label on top in his arms, he barely makes a sound as he, too, heads for the fridge, wearing faded jeans and a white dress shirt. His hair sticks up more on one side than the other, and his eyes easily betray a less than perfect night's sleep. His pace slows as he rounds the corner and notices it's occupied, but he presses forward in calculated steps, arriving to the fridge just in time for it to be freed up. Then, without warning, he clumsily lowers the thing to the ground with a loud THUNK. Iolaus jumps slightly, whipping around. The microwave hums in its careful work, unbothered. "Oh, hello." Iolaus says with a warm smile at the teenager. "Can you put this back?" he asks, sliding the now-closed tupperware across the counter, so as not to get back in Ivan's way once more. He glances, impatiently, at the bowl of food in the microwave, pursing his lips and leaning against the island opposite. The saying only applies to watched pots, right? Ivan seems to have no need for greetings today, and the tupperware container is eyed somewhat tentatively before he makes a move to grab it and slides it back in the most convenient spot he can find. A little bit skewed, but that'll do, right? No it will not. Things come tumbling out of the stocked fridge, first one by one, then a couple dozen. Ivan promptly jumps back and crashes into the counter with a stifled grunt of pain. One or two tiny black dots of creatures fall from his form to the floor around him, but soon dart into his trousers as if they were never there at all. "Easy, easy!" Iolaus says, springing forward. He gathers up the food quickly, packing it back into the fridge. "Are you alright?" he asks, concerned, looking Ivan up and down once. One of the containers opened when it fell and dumped some food on the floor. After Iolaus has moved the containers back into their rightful - and stable - locations, he glances down at it, then back up to Ivan. "Are you hurt? That looked like a hard hit." Ivan's first concern seems to be the food, and though he takes a short breather to figure out whether he /is/ hurt, his face flashes red when he notices spilled food. But he's already shaking his head almost before the question is even asked, quickly moving to grab the box he brought in himself to flip open the lids to check the contents, slightly stiffly moving it on the counter to rifle through it. He lifts out bottles, the size of some beer bottles, but filled with bright orange and yellow liquid instead. A label the shape of a crescent moon on its side shows Russian text and pears on some, oranges on the other. Still, Ivan says nothing. Iolaus glances down at the labels in the other man's box as he goes to wet a towel and clean up the food on the floor. He doesn't say anything until he has stood up once more and the floor is clean. Well. As clean as it was before, anyway. Tossing away the small wad of paper towels, Iolaus glances back at the microwave. "Well, I'm glad you're alright." he says, with a small smile. "My name is Doctor Saavedro. I work with Ha... with Doctor McCoy." he explains. When all of the bottles - 12 in all - are lifted out of the box, Ivan visibly calms down a little. His side still smarts, but he's felt worse and, well, he knows where to go if the smarting continues. Speaking of which. "Ivan." The boy responds, clearly not the biggest of talkers. He fumbles for a moment,gingerly pressing a hand to his side as though to test it for bruises. Just as his face has settled on something that looks like guilt for not having cleaned up the mess himself, the microwave beeps. "Ah!" Iolaus says, happily, turning and taking out the food from the microwave. It seems that it is hot, for he quickly places it down on the counter and shakes his hands, muttering something rather inappropriate under his breath. At least it's in Greek. "Mmm." He looks down at the 12 bottles and tilts his head slightly to one side, studying them. "Schnapps?" he guesses, glancing at Ivan with a smirking smile, turning to begin to search the drawers for silverware. Ivan once more turns his attention to the fridge, opening it but seeming suddenly a little worried at the sight of its current amount of content. Well. He snatches up one of the bottles in each hand and closes one eye while peering into the fridge's guts. Slooowly one of the bottles is slid into a more or less stable place, before the other is reverse jenga'd into a spot. Before trying the same with yet a third bottle, he shakes his head at the question. But the third bottle never quite manages to make it there, because Ivan finds himself wondering something. He glances up at Iolaus with a look of half excitement, half doubt. "... Is it allowed to keep alcohol here?" His accent matches the text on the bottles as well as vodka does, though these bottles in particular seem innocent enough. "I have no idea." Iolaus says, brightly, finding a drawer and pulling out a spoon. He tosses it up in the air and catches it, then spoons some of the food up and into his mouth. He gives a little shrug of his shoulders, putting the spoon back in the bowl to reply - after swallowing - "You probably know a lot more about the school than I do. I just help out every once in a while." he says, watching the other man move the bottles in the fridge. "What are they, then?" he asks. But you're an /adult/. Ivan seems vaguely displeased with the answer, but shakes it off in a shrug. "I don't know." He manages to find a spot for the third bottle, then eyes the rest of the box he brought and wanders back over to poke at it. "Juice, I think." He sounds genuinely uncertain, lifting another bottle to stare at the label. This non-committal answer gets a slight look of confusion from Iolaus. "Are they yours?" is the next question, as the doctor eats several more spoonfuls. He then places the food down and goes through the cabinets once more to retrieve a glass and some water from the sink. He, too, takes a step forward to look at the label from a different angle. Sadly, this does not help translate it in the least. "Where did they come from?" Ivan knows this one! He nods, firmly. "My mother sends me things." Too many things from the sound of it. He sounds nonplussed about the whole affair, but gives a small smile in amusement that fades almost immediately afterwards. The bottle he's holding - one of the yellow, pear ones - is then offered to Iolaus with a shrug and an inquisitive look as if simply to say, 'Want one?' "Ah." Iolaus says, taking the bottle from the teenager to examine it, carefully, turning it over and reading the labels. Well. Looking at the labels, anyway. "Russia?" he guesses, placing the bottle down on the counter, and setting down his glass to retrieve two more from the cabinet. "May I? Only one way to find out what it is, I guess." he says, with a warm smile, as he tapes hold of the top of the bottle. Ivan runs a few fingers over his side for a moment, wrinkling the shirt, but seems unworried at the results of the prodding. Huzzah for not sustaining injuries from knocking yourself into solid objects. There's a nod and a quiet 'm-hm' for both of those questions, occupying himself with folding the rest of the box shut. Iolaus twists the bottle open with a brief struggle, then wafts the scent from the top of the bottle towards his nose. He thinks for a moment, then shrugs and pours about a quarter of an inch in the bottom of each glass. He sets one of the two glasses down on the counter next to Ivan and lifts the other to his nose, smelling again. "Smells non-alcoholic." he comments, then takes a small sip, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing it. "Yeah. It doesn't have alcohol in it, whatever it is." Ivan seems, just for a moment, a little disappointed. But it fades quickly, and he picks up the other glass to try the drink himself. It's barely down his throat before he pulls a face, nose wrinkling. His gaze slides slowly over to the box, and he quietly ponders for a moment. "... Maybe I should leave it." Iolaus chuckles and finishes off his own glass in not a dissimilar way than he would drink a shot, or take a dose cup of NyQuil. He makes a face and then goes to place his glass in the pile of dirty dishes to be washed. "It's not the best, but I'm sure someone here will happily drink it." He says, before swallowing a large gulp of water and returning to his food. "Lots of different kinds of tastes and taste buds." Ivan pulls another face, sticking out his tongue for a moment just for good measure, before making his own way over to put his glass away. Afterwards he fumbles to find something for a moment, checking a pocket of his shirt - nope - before reaching for a pocket on his jeans instead and pulling out a pen from there. A piece of what looks to be dark lint seems to be pulled out with it, until... it actually buzzes around a little before it flutters down to the floor as Ivan wanders past. Probably not lint, then. The teenager leans to press the pen to the side of the box to write, in big strokes. A few seconds later, he's written in big, bold letters 'FREE TO TAKE'. "That's the way to solve the problem." Iolaus says, with a chuckle. "With so few people being able to read the labels, I bet lots of people will take it thinking its booze." he says, brightly, with a playful wink. His eyes follow the not-lint for a moment, and his head tilts slightly to one side. "Hm." he murmurs, looking back up at Ivan. "Not your problem anymore." Ivan gives a satisfied nod, crossing his arms over his chest contentedly. Just in the for the not-lint to lift itself twitchily off of the floor again, fly in a few tight circles, and beeline its way directly into the side of Ivan's head. It bounces off and lands on a counter, wrong side up. A tiny little moth. Ivan twitches an eye at the impact, seems confused for a moment, then finds the tiny and dramatically sputtering insect, frowning with concern. "You control insects?" Iolaus asks, still with the warm smile on his lips. He picks up spoon once more and spoons some more food into his mouth, leaning back against the counter. He takes another sip of water from his glass, then glances down to his watch. He still must have time, since he looks back up questioningly at Ivan. The moth finally flips itself upright, starting to walk over the counter in displeased little zigzags. Too much /day/ out here. Ivan places his hand down next to it, and the moth redirects itself straight for his fingers. "Also arachnids." He lifts the moth to his shirt pocket. A spider shoots out of it and rapidly makes its way up his neck before he carefully urges the moth to fall into the now empty pocket instead. It clings onto its claimed finger, but eventually loses its grip and falls where it was supposed to. Ivan himself looks slightly baffled, and his look downward lingers. "I have to go." Moths are /very important/. Iolaus nods, accepting both the little mothdance and the man's statement equally quickly. "Alright. It was good to meet you, Ivan. Perhaps we will bump into each other again. Hopefully, next time, with less actual bumping into things." he says, brightly enough, as he spoons another bit of food into his mouth, chews, and swallows. "It was good to meet you." Ivan cracks a short-lived and slightly embarrassed smile, almost picking up the box up again before pulling his arms back when remembering he was going to leave it. Right. He nods, turns on one foot, and promptly starts out of his way. "Good bye Doctor Saavrnnh-..." Mumblemumble. Ahem. When in doubt of someone's name if you've started saying it before realising you won't know how it ends, just make something up as you walk off. Yes.