ArchivedLogs:Robot Chefs

Robot Chefs
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson	14 February 2014 Valentine's...Midnight dinner.
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It isn't your typical candlelight dinner set-up, in that there are /many/ lights burning in the kitchen and living room in addition to the red and white tapers on the dining table. Dishes have been set out with careful timing: fried okra, spicy maple glazed sweet potatoes with chopped pecans, garlic sauteed collards. After kids-school-style My Little Pony valentines with chocolate-ginger candies attached had been hidden all over (not /well/ hidden, places like the bedroom door and bathroom mirror and Jax's bag and coat pockets) throughout the day, the last one can be found taped to the front door and waiting for Jax to get home from work, late though it is. On this one, Applejack is rather cheesy-cutely declaring, "You're the apple of my eye, sugar cube!" Dressed not in pajamas (as is usual for this time of night), but in a green button-down shirt with a leaf pattern worked into it, a pair of relatively nice jeans, and Tenderheart Bear socks, Micah is still putting some finishing touches on the table. Jackson is /hugging/ the last of the valentines against his chest by the time he unlocks all the locks and gets through the door. He looks a little bit worn -- it's been a /bit/ since the last night he slept -- but there's a ridiculously bright smile on his face. /Micah/ today had glass flowers to find, dotted around /his/ daily path with a handcrafted teal-and-starry-gold-yellow swirled vase waiting in his snowman's arms to receive them. Jax is unwrapping the chocolate candy from this last valentine already, slipping it into his mouth with equal parts relish and relief, a tiny moan escaping him as he sucks it between his lips and starts slipping out of his layers. He turns to hang his coat and slip out of his shoes and stops, wide-eyed with a small gasp of -- "Oh!" His cheeks flush red, smile brightening. His eyes drop down to his own clothes -- ridiculously wiiiiiide-wide-wide leg JNCO jeans, contrastingly ridiculously extra-tight shiny-blue long-sleeved shirt with a black shirt over it dotted in its lower corner with silvery gingko leaves, bright mismatched armwarmers layered over his shirt, bright mismatched socks. Mirrored dark glasses. Top hat, nabbed from his snowman. He keeps the valentine hugged to his chest as he skate-slides across the wood floor; his makeup had reflexively started to fade when he came in but now his nails are brightening back to a chrome-blue, his lips growing a subtle touch of glimmer. "Oh, /angel/." That last touch at the table consisted of rearranging the glass flowers in their vase as a centrepiece, turning one of the blossoms so that it better faces the outside for viewing. "Evenin', hon. Found your flowers." Micah takes the last few steps over to Jax, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Love you. Figured you workin' late weren't a good reason for us not t'do dinner. S'just...midnight dinner." His lips pull into an amused, lopsided grin with the declaration. Jax wraps his arms around Micah tight and hard -- undoubtedly crumpling his last valentine with the squeeze -- and buries his face against the older man's neck. He pulls back just enough to kiss Micah, fierce and hard as well. Then kiss him /again/ before he checks himself with -- "Right no okay /dinner/. Dinner first." Though he doesn't let go, tipping his head down to nuzzle against Micah's neck again. "Thank you, honey-honey. This is -- such a sweet thing t'come home to, I can't. You're amazin'." Micah returns the kiss readily, tugging Jax that much closer against him in the process. "Mmn...yeah, the greens'll go all soggy if y'let 'em sit too long." He tips his head into the nuzzling. "Ain't nothin' much. Just wanted t'do somethin' a little special." His hand traces up and down along Jax's spine before settling against the small of his back, leading him to the table and pulling out a chair for the other man to sit. "You're always amazin'. Um...there's cinnamon rolls for dessert. Hanna made those, though, on account of how y'don't want nothin' I been bakin'." Jackson giggles, spine arching and pressing back into the touch; he pulls away to bounce over to the table, though the heaviness with which he drops down into his chair afterwards belies his exhaustion. There's a definite slump to his posture at first, though it doesn't last overly long before it returns to his habitual dancer-upright carriage. "Ohgosh. Cinnamon rolls. That sounds amazin' too. Only but sweet potatoes is pretty much like dessert already so I kinda jus' want t'start with /that/." He bounces slightly in his seat with a sudden remembrance -- "/Oh/. Hive says he thinks that buildin' in Anole's picture is -- wait I probl'y shouldn't be talkin' depressy-things right now ohgosh." His cheeks burn deeper crimson, eyes drifting towards the flickering candlelight. Which is reshaping itself in a way candlelight usually doesn't, idly taking strange forms; a pair of small fairy-creatures chasing each other about the flame, a lean serpentine form writhing its way upward, a tiny fiery hummingbird that grows into a phoenix before it shifts back into just a flame. A heart, that he reaches out to cup his fingers around, with a slow smile curling his lips. "How was your day, honey-honey?" Micah slips around to the other side of the table. Before taking his seat, he grabs the pitcher of sweet tea from the middle of the table, filling a glass to set by each of their plates. "Figure y'can use all the sweet by the end of the day, anyhow. Y'can start with /everythin'/ on the table. Was gonna reheat the rolls just a bit once we're finishin' the other food." While Jax is playing with the fire, he starts spooning large helpings from all of the serving dishes onto the other man's plate, grinning at the light show. "A lead ain't depressin', if Hive has thoughts. I was kinda /hopin'/ he'd be a good source on an architectural question." He nods at Jax's change of topic, however. "Day was...pretty much a regular work day. Magic snowman went idle on me, though. I kept the hat an' scarf. Didn't seem like things t'just...leave out in the melt. 'Specially when there's a whole Tom Baker scarf goin' on. Those take /forever/ t'make." "/All/ the sweet," Jax agrees, "Protesters were /pretty/ terrible today. It was kinda hectic-crazy. Like a bit'a a mob scene. With this registration news I guess everyone had freaks on the brain. But I barely got any light /left/ by the time I get t'work already." His nose wrinkles up, fingers closing around the fire, a deep glow lighting within his hand as his fingers shift into the flame. Light rolls between his fingers, tiny silhouette-images of people twirling and dancing from knuckle to knuckle. "Mine's gone idle, too. Kept his hat though. Pretty pretty thing. That scarf yours had was /right/ impressive, though. Oh my /gosh/ are those collards who's Tom Baker?" "Protesters again? Ugh, I was hopin' maybe the worst of that would be over with once people got bored of the Clinic bein' news." Micah's nose crinkles as he finishes plating Jax's food and moves on to his own. "The cuffs an' collar ain't been helpin' y'get through the day? Or are they runnin' out too fast? Maybe we should have y'switch sets before y'head out again." His head shakes slowly at the questions. "Yes, collards. An'...oh/gosh/, sometimes I forget y'don't... Fourth Doctor. Scarf's kinda /iconic/. Also 12 feet long, so yeah...impressive. S'why I've never bothered /makin'/ one before. S'all straight knit-knit-knit. Borin' t'do no matter how impressive the end product." "Think it's kind of like abortion clinics. There's some diehards who're just never going to go away and then every so often something flares up to just make people come outta the woodwork and --" Jax shakes his head, dropping his hand to the table as the glow starts to fade from his fingers. "Oh, they been helpin' for sure. Without 'em I'd be /so/ more than jus' wiped." His blush deepens again as Micah explains about the scarf. "/Oh/-oh-oh right." He circles his heart with a fist. "M'still -- workin' on -- educating myself. On all that. Stuff. I got a lotta -- catchin' up to do. S'a /neat/ scarf though, I shoulda knowed it was somethin' like that Dusk got Ian one once-upon-a-time that's a /whole/ lotta scarf." "Hm, yeah, I could see that," Micah replies to the analogy. Once his plate is full, he finally takes his own seat. "Maybe we should get B to make another set or two? Just keep y'swappin' out constantly? Have 'em on pretty much all the time? 'Least in winter. Ain't enough light for you." He chuckles lightly at Jax's apology. "Hon, y'ain't gotta /apologise/ for not knowin' everybody else's fandoms. Ain't a /crime/, much as some fanboys'll act like it is. Y'get into what you're into." Grabbing his fork, he starts in on his greens. "/Is/ a whole lotta scarf." "M'not really into anything. I can barely even make the television /work/ upstairs." Jax's nose crinkles up again. He's quiet after this, saying grace silently over his food before he's rather occupied for a time just eating; it takes a bit before he slows enough to actually /appreciate/ the food instead of just inhale it hungrily. "OK understatement. I actually can't make the television upstairs work. I can barely make my /computer/ work when I want to use the Net -- flix. For playing the shows on. B gives me such despairin' looks." He gulps down a swallow of tea, the flames starting to contort again into fantastical shapes. "We /could/ get him t'make another set, but --" He ducks his head sheepishly. "-- I know that's more /practical/, I jus' -- I don't. Feel right. Changin' 'em out myself." He sounds apologetic about this. "You're into things. Maybe not /TV/ things, but things. Care Bears an' Ponies an' fantasy books count, y'know." Micah grins between bites of food. "Y'get by well enough, I think. Can always teach y'more computer stuff if y'really wanna know. Though...I'm way more limited in that than B is. He'd be the better teacher." His fork taps against his plate idly for a moment. "Even just the cuffs? I can be 'round as much as possible t'change the collars out just a little less frequently, prob'ly." "I am into /so/ many book-things," Jackson agrees, with a pleased hum and another sip of tea. "I guess those are things too. Jus' don't think of them quite so much on account'a everyone else has so many --" He shakes his head, hair -- it's changed colours again, black at its root fading to a deep purple, then blue, and faded out to a stark white by the time it reaches the tip -- flopping down over his sunglasses. "Things. I -- should prob'ly learn how to do more computery stuff. I mean I send email aright. Though I kinda do the --" He mimes a two-fingered hunt-and-peck typing, "that makes B cringe /too/ sometimes. M'gettin' a /little/ better." He tips one hand up, sliding it over on the table to find Micah's hand and slip his fingers gently over the other man's. "Just the cuffs," he allows. "That'd be -- a little more okay. I just -- can't, with the collar. That's yours." Micah giggles at Jax's mime of his typing. "Mmhmm, that's pretty...crazy inefficient. There's plenty of computer classes 'round an'...sure it's just more a matter of /time/ than anythin'." He curls his fingers in around Jax's, squeezing gently. "That may help, though. Some. Have some extra cuffs 'round t'change whenever y'need. An' I can change out the collar whenever I see you." He squeezes the other man's hand again. "Just another excuse t'try an' see y'more durin' the day, s'all. Not gonna complain 'bout it." "M'school teaches literacy classes, jus' -- m'kinda dumb when it comes to --" Jackson shrugs quickly, squeezing Micah's hand back, his hand barely warmer than an average person's. With his other hand he keeps working through the remainder of his food, happily picking off the rest of his collards. "Well, /I/ sure ain't gonna complain 'bout that neither I jus' don't want t'be interruptin' your day none. I mean, t'ain't like m'dyin' or nothin'. Jus' bone-tired by the time I get back, end'a day. There's worse things than being a bit tired. An' s'only till spring. We'll have sun again soon enough." "You ain't any kinda dumb, honey, stop that." Micah's brow furrows slightly. "It just...ain't your area of strength. Or y'ain't found a teacher whose style works quite right for you t'click right." He shakes his head at Jax's not-quite-protests. "No, hon. Bein' tired all the time's more of a trouble than people give credit to. Y'should be able /not/ t'be exhausted. Need t'set y'up with sun lamps everywhere else y'spend a lotta time, too." Jackson blushes, looking down at his plate. "Kinda not real bright in a lot of ways," he demurs, "school outside'a art was always a struggle an' a half. An' /three/ halves." He sets his fork down briefly, scrubbing his hand against the back of his head to rub fingers into his floppy multicoloured hair. "Think I feel about tired the way I feel about headaches. Kinda just /assume/ s'gonna be pretty much a daily constant. /Specially/ in winter. Well, tired in winter, hurty in summer. Like a -- /oh/-gosh now I'm sayin' /sad/ things again I swear I ain't even sad I jus' /babble/." His cheeks flush deep crimson. "But I'm not -- I mean I'm pretty much insanely happy. Only jus' my mouth won't shut up. Maybe I should jus' stuff it with more delicious-delicious food." "If you're anythin', it's /bright/, honey," Micah counters with a smile. "Well, either way, sugar. If we got ways t'make it better, we should." He lifts Jax's hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss to the back of it. "Not sad, just talkin'. Not everythin' has t'be completely idyllic at all times. S'life. Not gonna complain 'bout y'talkin'...or eatin' more, either." He rests their hands back on the table, other hand using the fork to deliver more okra to his mouth. "Only genetically," Jackson replies, with a quiet laugh. "Don't hardly count." He shivers at the kiss, squeezing at Micah's hand again. And quieting, at least until he's cleaned his plate of food. And downed half his glass of tea, flames still flickering in a constant shift of imagery while he eats. "Is kinda idyllic, though," he finally murmurs, contentedly. "Come home t'find -- oh/gosh/." Suddenly he's laughing all over again. "Earlier t'day I was talkin' t'someone 'bout how nice it'd be t'have robots that can cook on days when you're too tired except there's the /internet/ for delivering food which is /basically/ like the same thing right? Except then I come home an' you cooked for me. An' you're /totally/ like my own personal cookin' cyborg." "Pfft, I think it counts." Micah is quiet for a moment, as well, making his way through his food. "Yeah, takeout an' delivery s'kinda the same outcome as havin' robots. Though robots're /way/ cooler." He starts out blushing at the talk of his cooking, then dissolves into giggles at the last label. "Oh, gracious. Do I get a uniform now? Might need t'rearrange m'schedule t'keep up with that job appropriately." The lopsided grin reappears. Jackson presses his knuckles to his lips to stifle another fit of laughter. Micah's clothing shifts and changes, tidy-neat uniform now in (very /sparkly/) silver-edged blue. With toggles instead of buttons and a neat little mandarin collar. And an ostentatiously tall chef hat. For a moment, Micah's dinner disappears, plate mirroring an image of Micah's current attire so that the other man can see it properly as well. Micah deposits his fork on his plate so that he can cover his lips with his fingertips as well, giggling fairly steadily through Jax's antics. He brushes at his jacket, though he can't actually /touch/ it. Surveying the uniform in the mirror-plate only makes him giggle more. “Hee. Seriously, that's what you're goin' with if y'can dress your personal cook in /anythin'/ y'want? Just sayin'.” "I like blue an' silver!" Jax protests. "They look good together. An' I spend well enough time in the kitchen t'know that dressin' you in things that'll jus' let me /ogle/ is /cruel/ because the last thing you want is hot oil on too-much-skin. So I'm jus' goin with sparkle." He gulps down the rest of his tea, clothing fading though the (now also very sparkly) hat remains. "Though I gotta admit now I ain't dyin'a hunger no more I jus' kinda want to /un/dress my personal cook there is way too much clothes still happenin'." "Wasn't sayin' there needed t'be less of it. Just felt silly. Not that silly's bad. Judgey McJudgerface pickin' on your illusions here," Micah teases back at Jax's protests. "An' we got options... It'll take about five minutes t'reheat the cinnamon rolls in the oven. Or we can put 'em up an' have 'em for breakfast. Though no amount of care on reheatin's gonna get 'em back to as good as the day they were baked. S'totally up t'you." He lifts the other man's hand for another kiss, this time placed to the inside of his wrist. "You can be Judgy McJudgeface all you want, you still gotta cook in sparkly-uniform." Jackson slides his sunglasses off, folding them to set them down beside his empty plate. He hums quiet and happy at the little kiss, fingers curling inward to brush lightly against Micah's cheek. "Breakfast. /Definitely/ breakfast." His voice is softer, eye fixed on Micah's face with a very faint luminescence blossoming behind it. "Five minutes maybe but I kinda don't even want t'wait that long for dessert." He slides down out of his chair, his other hand pushing at the back of Micah's to push the chair angled away from the table so that he has room to drop to his knees in front of it. His fingers trail down against Micah's chest, dropping to brush down against the front of the other man's jeans. "Love you, sir." "Yessir," Micah replies glibly with a mock salute at the requirement of uniforms. His head tilts slightly to nuzzle his cheek against Jax's fingertips. "Can sure wait 'til breakfast if you're feelin' well enough fed an' sugared now." He shivers faintly at Jax's trailing touch, his hand moving to snake into the other man's hair. "Love you, too, hon. Should prob'ly...move t'the bedroom in case Spence wakes up." "Bedroom. Right." Jax's cheeks flush deeply again, fingers already starting to work open the fastening of Micah's fly before he stands up, tugging at Micah's hand. Dishes can wait, apparently. "Get a little impatient," he mumbles sheepishly. "But m'sure feelin' well enough for -- well. You."