(2019-02-02) What's Cookin'?
Saturday morning in the B&B kitchen, but it turns out Vyv's the one cooking there when Sam and Sevin arrive. August has a mysterious box…
Players:
august..sam..sevin..vyv..

Saturday morning, late enough that breakfast is definitely past, but early enough that it seems unlikely someone should already be working on lunch. Even so, there's the sounds of someone in the kitchen — footsteps, things moving on the counters, the buzz of the mixer. And if one's sharp-eared or getting close, possibly even some quiet humming. The timbre is not feminine, so it might not be a complete shock that the source of the various noises is not Katherine today, but rather Vyv. He's dressed down a bit today, for him, and looks to be a good portion through the way of baking… something. It smells spicy in there, mostly, with hints of vanilla and something else — possibly wine?

Sam moved out. Not that anyone likely really noticed aside from Katherine, but he'd packed up the day before and quit his brief stay at the B&B. The next day? Back again! The kitchen is always the hub of the place and when delicious smells waft out into the other rooms it's almost certain that Kate is at the heart of things, which is likely who Sam expects to find when he makes his way into the room. But it's not. He actually stops a bit short a few steps past the doorway, giving his mind a moment to re-wire and react to the unexpected. He's wearing tight fitting blue jeans, a simple black belt and a grey sweater with a deep cut v-neck, as well as a white cotton t-shirt beneath. His feet start to work again and he smiles in Vyv's direction. "Good afternoon, Vyv. You're not who I was expecting."

The sound of socked feet on floorboards suggests the incursion of someone who couldn't bother putting on footwear. Someone who, by their damp hair going every which way, probably just stepped out of the shower. Dressed down in a faded tee shirt and military-style BDUs, Sevin zeroes in on not-Katherine in the kitchen, and whatever it is he's making that smells so appealing. And then Sam walks in, and is the recipient of a curt little nod. "Morning. Didn't you leave?" Ever the conversationalist. He ambles off to make himself coffee, still with half an eye on Vyv.

Vyv's distracted enough with what he's doing that he doesn't catch the sound of Sam arriving until the guy actually reaches the kitchen itself — or so one might guess by the way the humming cuts off rather suddenly around the time he glances over his shoulder to see him there. it's just before that recovery and greeting, the latter of which gets a faintly startled "Is it?" and glance at the nearest of the appliances that bears a clock. Getting close, anyway, possibly closer than he'd thought.
"Mm. Hello again," he says, "…both of you. Good to know I'm literally stunning today." There's a pot on the stove, and he steps over to it, leaning in a bit to breathe in the steam, then making a bit of a face and shaking his head as he straightens up. Among the other things on the counters — which seem quite neat despite being in clear use —is an array of bottles of spices, and he measures a bit from one to add to the pot. "There ought to still be some breakfast in the fridge. Please don't touch the cakes. Or the mousse."

"Something about a man in the kitchen." Sam agrees with a brief smile, even as he eases onto one of the stools beside the counter in a way he'd done dozens of times before. It's about the moment that Sevin also walks into the kitchen and he watches the professor who seems to be fresh from the shower, nodding to the man's extremely functional greeting. "I did leave. And while Kate did say I should drop by any time, I was going to space it out a bit more liberally than this. But, I realized I forgot the book I was reading. So, I'm here again. And it smelled good in the kitchen." That's not a rare thing around here. "Good to see you too, Sevin." He adds, turning his grin back toward Vyv. "What are you making that smells so delicious - and how can you tell me the fridge is filled with cakes and mousse and not expect me to be tempted?"

The admonishment comes just in time; Sevin's hand was about point two seconds from touching one of the aforementioned cakes, though draws back obediently at Vyv's warning. With a look askance to the younger man, as if to make sure he didn't see that, the professor resumes trying to figure out the coffee machine. It's a slow affair without Kate here to help him, but he does eventually get it brewing. A cup is slotted in at the bottom, and he turns to lean back against the counter, hands retreating to his pants pockets. "Relax," he tells Sam with a twinge of a smile that even reaches his eyes briefly. "I'm just fucking with you. It's nice to see you again." He does seem to mean that, oddly. His phone promptly comes out as it buzzes, and his expression shifts to a thoughtful frown. Scrawled along his left arm, and more noticeable in the short sleeves he's wearing today, elaborately inked arabic lettering from shoulder to forearm.

"If you eat my ingredients we might find out if I'm also literally striking today," Vyv says, too mildly to qualify as an active threat, as he stirs the pot with a wooden spoon. That pot seems to be the strongest current source of the spicy and vanilla-y smells, and it's clearer now that yes, the other one is definitely wine. Something about whatever he added really seems to punch the scent of it up a bit. "I'm working on a new entremet. It's— experimental. And if people eat the bits before they're assembled, I won't know whether it works. If you're still here when things need tasting, I'll probably enlist you." It's more of a warning than an offer.
He pauses suddenly, looking over to Sam. "Oh. You moved out, did you? I'll have to catch Katherine again and remind her I want to steal your room." He catches sight of that movement of Sevin's arm, and gives the tattoo a curious look. Arabic is probably not one of the languages he can read.

The back door opens and in steps August Lexington, wearing a pair of grey cat-eye sunglasses against the glare of all the snow, mirror shades reflecting everything, revealing nothing. She wears a fitted red top, long sleeves nearly reaching her wrists, cropped just under her ribcage. A few inches of abdomen tattoo show between that and a long, tight skirt, which hits just below her knees, the delicate grey lines of filagree and inked pearl strings obviously part of a much larger piece. A pair of shiny, chunky heeled black boots complete the look, which is a shame, because it would be better with stilettos, but when in snowy ass Colorado, one makes the occasional concession to ice. Aug's long hair is left down and in loose waves. In her hands is a medium sized shipping box. She pauses just after closing the door. Because the smell in the kitchen, though not atypical, is particularly striking today. "Gentlemen." She makes her way to the kitchen island to drop her package with a light thump.

Sam looks genuinely surprised at Sevin's words and a bit of the tension that always seems to find its way into his shoulders seems to visibly slip away at the comment. "I did. Yes." He says to Vyv, but it certainly includes Sevin while he wrestles with the coffee maker as well. "We were just waiting for the apartment to be finished. Believe it or not they told us by the first of the month and they actually came through. I'm expecting the place might fall down around us - but without actually touching anything it looks really good." He looks toward the backdoor, watching August make her way in before continuing. "Had I known, Vyv, you could have used the room while I was here." He pauses just long enough before clarifying - "I mean, I didn't actually sleep in it that often. Between the weather and other circumstances."
"Hello, August." Sam says when she makes her way into the room.

Sevin probably doesn't know what an entremet is, but if it involves eating cake, it can't be all that bad. "Mm. All right." A beat while he taps on his phone. And then, "Experimental?" Like his mind's just caught up to his ears. A shift of pale eyes sidelong to the patissier, then back to his phone. A message is dispatched, screen tapped off, and the device slid into his pocket right as August walks in in her cat-eye shades and slinky red getup. And he watches her, of course, as anyone with a pair of eyes would do. To Sam, a little distracted, "Kate told me you were going to throw a housewarming."

"Ms. Lexington," Vyv replies to August, giving her a small inclination of his head and a quick flicker of a glance over her outfit. Less quick over her burden — which is what his eyes end up following, despite his having them, and they stay on it a beat once it's dropped on the island. Probably not solely because a few of the things he's cooking with are laid out there as well; the placement hasn't threatened them. "You've brought us a box."
Sam's retroactive offer gets a sidelong glance and arched brow, the almost imperceptible quirk of lips getting somewhat more perceptible at his amending. "Yes, it might have got a bit crowded, otherwise," he says. "But I'm a full-grown man and can certainly survive a few weeks in a room with bumblebee lamps. Or so I've reminded myself. Character-building exercise." A dessert spoon gets pulled from a drawer, and he spoons up a small bit of the liquid in the pot, blowing lightly over it before taking a careful sip. Hm. "…yes, experimental. I'm trying to—" He pauses, setting the spoon aside. "Well, it's a matter of some unusual tastes and methods, that's all. Theoretically, it should work. But one never really knows until one tries." The mention of the housewarming gets another quick glance to Sam, enough to show he finds it somehow relevant to his interests, but no immediate comment.

"Sam," Aug begins, and for a moment it seems that's all she's going to say, but then she glances over, "How's the head?" The tall woman turns from the island to start going through the drawers in search of something. Her claw-tipped nails are airbrushed with tiny white swirls today, otherwise translucent. She dips her fingers into the drawers after a specific treasure, nails occasionally ticking lightly against things while she searches. She reaches up to pull off her shades, tucking them up into her hair absently. She glances over at Sevin at the mention of a housewarming. And then her hands resume the search. "Malone wants to do a fancy ass dinner, after we come back from Jacksonville, provided my sisters don't try to dump his corpse in the Everglades." On the subject of housewarming. Everyone's warming new houses, these days. August's tone suggests she's neutral on the idea, but that could be her enthusiasm for food and good company battling by a certain, hm, anxiety about returning to Florida anytime soon. "Vyvyan, I have indeed brought a box." Funnily enough, the return address is Jacksonville. "If you need a taster, I'll put anything in my mouth once." She closes the current drawer and opens another.

"And Kate told me you don't much care for parties." Sam replies to Sevin, an easy smile playing at his lips. "She assured me that she had the means to convince you to come along anyway. And I left it in her more than capable hands. That said, I don't know exactly when it will be. We have to get properly moved in and then make arrangements - " Sam cuts a glance over toward Vyv at that comment before continuing - "and then actually invite everyone properly. Like, I hadn't told August yet. She likely things I was going out of my way to exclude her now and she's plotting my eventual downfall." He's grinning at this, watching August and her box on the counter next to him. "My head is fine now. I don't even think you can really see it any more?" He leans in a bit toward August and points just above his temple. The skin still has a hint of bruising, but the bump is gone. "Doctor says I'll live, just need to walk more carefully."

Sevin clears his throat lightly at something. Or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe just allergies. He's also reasonably certain he'd not be invited to any dinner Malone might be throwing, and watches August for a beat as it's mentioned. "When do you leave for Jacksonville?" he thinks to ask after a moment, eyes roving to the box with unfettered curiosity. The coffee machine signals that it's done round about then, and he reaches over to liberate his cup, then brings it to his mouth for a sip. He doesn't shift out of his lazy lean against the counter, free hand tucked into his pants pocket while he caffeinates. "Did she say that." His tone is flat, so it's hard to say what he's thinking. "And I don't." Much care for parties. Is that any surprise? He studies the bruising that's pointed out, but says nothing. Sluuuurp.

"At the risk of combining two threads of the conversation in an unpleasantly film-related manner," Vyv says, turning to lean against the edge of the counter, "what's in the box?" A glance at Sevin's coffee suggests the addition of that scent to those already present is either a potential obstacle, or making him contemplate the virtues of a cup himself. Or both. "And while I'm asking questions: what did you manage to do to your head, Sam; what are you looking for, August; and what does your tattoo say, Sevin?" One each! Well, technically August gets two. But that probably counts as chivalrous, right? A faint nod at that glance from Sam, but otherwise the matters of housewarmings are let be.

Anyone familiar with the layout of Florida may be wondering why someone in Jacksonville would bother driving five hours with a corpse in their car to yeet it into gator-land. The answer, my friends, is Miami. Any excuse to party in Miami, inconvenient murder clean-up certainly included. "Sam, I always show up anyway and drink all the top shelf booze. You can make it up to me with cupcakes, though. I'm easy." She gives him those raised eyebrows, and a little quirk of her lips. "Walking can be a challenge." She sounds like a smart ass, but she's not being one in this rare instance. She does wear stilettos, almost without exception, in snow, ice, rain, and sleet.
Ostensibly to Sevin, August says, "Mama tricked me into answering my phone the other day, so it'll have to be soon. She's suspicious and the last thing I want is her showing up here. She might take a semester at the University and then I'll have to dump her body." Finally, finally August finds what she was looking for. She comes up from the drawer with a box cutter in hand, flicking it open one-handed with a little click. She turns and makes her way back to her box on the counter, slice, slice, slice, making short work of the packing tape. "It's probably more stuff from my apartment." August pulls open the flaps of the box, peers inside for roughly six long seconds, and then closes it up again. Her hands rest atop it for several beats.

"I told her to reframe it as a union of friends coming together to drink and eat delicious snacks in an agreed upon location. Not a party at all. Change the equation. All about how you spin these things." Sam says, continuing that little thread with Sevin until Vyv directs a question toward Sam. Luckily the answer is pretty easy and likely a bit boring - "I was leaving the B&B in the middle of the shit show of a storm the other day and took a bad fall going down the hill. Must have landed on a hunk of ice, knocked me out for a few seconds. Anyway, I went to the ER and they said I was fine, just a bump." Sam shrugs.
He certainly doesn't miss the grand opening of the box, and when August finally opens it and then just - stops - he finds himself leaning a bit closer to the mysterious parcel. "August?"

Sevin furrows his brows at the suggestion that August's mother taking classes up at UCC would result in her untimely demise. Unless that's some reflection on the quality of teaching there, which is just plain rude. His feelings on the subject are articulated in a soft grunt, and he resumes his coffee drinking forthwith. And is promptly asked about his ink, which earns Vyv a speculative look over the rim of his coffee cup. After he's sipped and swallowed, "That's usually a question I don't answer until the third date." Is he joking? He's got his serious face on. His gaze trails back to August and her box, and flicks from one to the other in silent query.

Ah, yes. Boxcutter, and simple enough injury. Two out of three-or-four… could be worse. Vyv gives a soft 'ah' in response to the explanation of the latter, and this time Sevin gets the lifted brow. "Well, that's inconvenient, I can't imagine Katherine's terribly inclined to share."
There might have been more, if not for August's reaction to getting the box open. "…If someone's sent you Anthony's head I shall be most put out," he says, resisting the distinct urge to move closer and try to get a look as well, "This city can't survive the loss of another exemplar of acceptable suiting."

August clears her throat and opens the box again, like she didn't just close it up, this time pulling out five innocuous items: a sack of ginger candies, an acupressure wrist band, a tin of lemon fizz drops, a pair of thick wool socks, and a closed butterfly knife. She leaves the items on the counter, lined up in a little row (except the knife which goes into her back pocket without comment), and then Aug goes to dump the box in the recycle bin, checking the exact street address as she goes. "It's fine." It's not fine, but it's family. She chuckles at Vyv's comment about Anthony's head in a box. "Not today, Vyvyan, not today. I'd have to say put out would be… only the beginning." She glances over to the chef. "You should see his new shoes." And then, to direct the attention off of her box of goodies, she says, the amusement still lingering in her voice, "Don't let Sevin fool you. He never answers that question. So you have to have an excellent visual memory and google at your fingertips."

"Or be dating someone who speaks and reads Arabic." Sam remarks, finding himself eying the tattooed text on Sevin's arm since everyone else seems rather interested in it. He figures it likely translates to something like "Living My Best Life", but it's mysterious since no one can read it. He sweeps his gaze over the assortment of items that August pulls out of the box and his brow furrows, clearly unable to really see any connection between them or why they would have been shipped in the first place. Given August's reaction to the items though, he doesn't decide to make any quips about the items, keeping his concentration placed elsewhere. On Vyv this time. "Kate and I were talking about the next Naked Voices episode. I thought it might be a lot of fun since I really don't know much about you at all. Especially as it relates to the topics we usually discuss. A bit like August and I on the first taping." Not that anyone would have seen that yet. Aside from August.

Sevin sips his coffee and watches as the contents of the box are revealed, one at a time. The knife, in particular, is lingered upon - and tracked to that back pocket with a slight narrowing of his eyes in consideration. What sort of family ships their darling daughter a knife, anyway? He makes no comment though on whether he's ever been forthcoming about his ink. Just a sip of his coffee and a lingering of pale eyes on the younger woman, before they track back to Sam. And fix upon the man for a beat, two, before he speaks. "How's Layla?" Just that. The two have had some spirited conversations in arabic, but it's unlikely his ink has come up.

Those were definitely not on whatever mental list of possible contents Vyv might have been compiling for that box. He looks from one to another of them, eyes narrowed and head slightly tilted. "…are you being threatened with a boat ride?" It doesn't sound like he's very convinced about this potential interpretation, but presumably it's the best he's got so far. And he's just not as considerate as Sam about his curiosity, even if it doesn't seem to be a quip per se. This time.
The tattoo gets another glance as well, as if he might be giving the visual memory thing a quick go, but Sam's alternate solution makes him brighten visibly, if still subtly. "There's a thought," he says, smiling faintly, and something makes him turn to check the pot again — maybe just a sixth sense, since he leans to take another sniff, and then turns the heat down quite low. "And I certainly hope it's going to be fun, or I'll be quite disappointed. Why else do it? But the chat with Katherine when she brought it up seemed a fair start. I'd ask what you'd like to know, but that would rather spoil your whole anticipation thing, wouldn't it?"

August stows the box cutter in the drawer where she found it. She closes that handily, then returns to the counter to perch on the edge of a stool there, looking over at Sam as he mentions the show. "The hot seat under all those light is definitely the best way to get to know someone fast, that is if they're a talker." Her gaze wanders idly over the ingredients Vyv has set out, and she props her elbow on the counter, chin dropping into her cupped hand. Her pale-grey eyes occasionally turn to the items from the box, like she's thinking very carefully about how she'll be responding to those very specific. Or she might be resisting the urge to look at Sevin, who may genuinely be wondering, right about now, if she really did pull off some kind of artist mind trick to translate his ink.
Auggie glances over to Vyv and laughs. It takes her a second. "No, babe, no boats. I'm pregnant and my family doesn't—well, one of them clearly does know. And I don't know which one. That's the whole point of going to Jacksonville. Tell Mama before she finds out another way, and moves herself to Colorado, and makes herself Queen of the University. She's tenured, but also a little crazy. She might take her sabbatical and do it." Chew on that. August's mama is a tenured professor. She shifts a little in her seat, reaches back to slip the knife out of the waistband of her skirt, which apparently isn't tight enough, and slides it up and under her top. The move is smooth and practiced, to there's a chance no one notices unless they're looking right at her when she does it. "Just come to set fully caffeinated and ready to chat. A few pastry wouldn't go amiss." She's the epitome of subtle.

Mention of August being pregnant seems to be all the cue Sevin needs to begin making himself scarce. Goodness knows why that might be. He tosses back what remains of his coffee with a quick jerk of his chin, and a bob of his adam's apple when he swallows. Then he turns briefly toward the sink to wash out the cup and set it aside to dry, upside-down. "What does she teach?" is asked with clear curiosity as he dries his hands off on a tea towel and begins his slow amble out of the kitchen. He'll wait for a reply to that before he goes, and does not comment as the conversation turns to naked voices and people being put under the spotlight. Better them than him.

"Yes, it would ruin it entirely." Sam says to Vyv, his lips tugging toward a smile. "I'm trying to keep our relationship intentionally vague before we have a chance to delve into all the hard hitting questions under the lights of television. Because, usually I ask those very same kinds of questions to all of the new people I meet. Sometimes I wait until the second meeting before going too much into how they feel about open relationships and casual sex." And on that note he turns to Sevin's question - "And Layla is doing well. She's quite happy the apartment is done as well as her office downstairs. She'll be able to have space to run her business a lot more easily now. It's good to be finally settled into the city."
Sam listens to August's explanation as well and perhaps has a similar question to Sevin about what her mother teaches. "I'm getting the distinct impression that the idea of her being close by while you have a new child isn't something you'd be very excited for?" The comments about arranging to dump the body weren't all that subtle.

"Well. I got the nausea right, anyway," Vyv says, sounding a touch satisfied with that fact, though the glance that briefly flicks toward August's waistband seems almost wary. As if the fetus might suddenly do an impression of an anatomically-confused chestburster or something. "So somehow one of them's found out, and wants you to stew about who and how and whether they're going to spill your beans for you. You have more than one relative there that would tend to describe? No wonder you're not in a hurry to visit. Or be visited." Most of what's on the counter now are the various spices, though there's also some eggs, something still-wrapped in brown paper, and a few other things. He turns to settle against the counter again, letting the wine mixture simmer away a while longer. It really does make the room smell nice.
"I might be induced to bring something," he allows, "seeing as you lot will be providing the drinks. The non-caffeinated ones, at least. And in that case I will restrain the first several answers I might have given." The last to Sam, of course. Determining whether or not he qualifies as a talker is left as an exercise for the student.

August glances over at Sevin as he makes his move to begin taking his leave. She swallows and reaches for the crinkly sack of ginger candies, ripping the top off before she fishes one out and pops it into her mouth. She isn't showing in the slightest, and her clothing is definitely tight enough that one would notice if she were. "She's a cultural anthropologist, though her passions are weaponcraft and indigenous tattoo. She has almost as much ink as I do. She teaches everything under that umbrella, and she's a character, so her classes are always full." So perhaps not such a surprise after all. Aug looks to Sam, and shakes her head slightly. "She's a wonderful human, but there's a reason I keep an apartment in Jacksonville and spend my life on the road. She takes an ethnographic approach to everything, and systematic study of my behaviors and deviation from given societal norms isn't my favorite topic of dinner conversation. It's a fun diversion the first time, and people love that she pays such close attention to them." Try having an obsessive researcher for a mother. "But living it? Next level."
"I'm glad you're finding yourself a center, Sam. It's important to have a little ballast. Where's your new place?" Auggie finally glances over to Vyv, perhaps checking the progress of his mad science over there. She snorts a laugh at Vyv's expression. "I know, that was my immediate reaction followed by blind panic." She mms. "Yes, every one of my siblings would do this to me." She gestures to the contents of the table. "Every single one." Which may also go a long way to explain August's personality, if one were to get to know her a bit better. "I'm looking forward to learnin' more about you." This to the chef. "You tell me what it'll take to get some chocolate croissants out of you, and you can consider it done."

Sevin gives a little tip of his head to Sam when he gives his answer regarding Layla. He doesn't even comment on her business, though it's possible he's thinking about it. "Ana saeid. I'm glad." And maybe he is, or maybe he's not, and it's his token attempt at being polite. Which he manages, on occasion. "She sounds like someone I'd like to meet," is his sincere-sounding commentary on August's mother. One last fond glance is sent the way of Vyv's baked goods, an inhale of spices that somehow remind him of home. And then he angles back off from whence he came with a slightly gruff, "Have a good afternoon," to the gathering at large.

"Your life sounds a bit like something Heather would like to make a television show about, August." Sam says, his expression telling the story of how very little he'd like to live in the experience that August is describing. "I've met my share of people that never really put any distance between themselves and their family. They just come as a unit and stay that way their entire life. The idea of that is entirely foreign to me, but I do always find it fascinating when I see it." This really seems to be an aside more than anything, his attention fixing a bit more carefully on August again after he expresses it. "If she does come I'm sure we can mobilize the entire city to act as though you've never been here at all. If she asked around about someone of your description and we all plead ignorance she'd have to believe she had the wrong place, right?"

"I'm reasonably sure I'm the only one of mine who'd consider it," Vyv says, glancing to the items that were sent again, "…which means I'm fairly safe, but sadly, so are they. Vyolet would probably send back a C&D." He inclines his head to Sevin as the man takes his leave, giving that tattoo another quick look as he goes. Yeah, he's wondering.
Sam's remark about Heather gets a small smirk, one that widens a level further at the proposed plan. "Certainly," he agrees, "and if not, at least she might be seduced into examining the city's deviation from usual societal norms instead of August's. Really, it's a win/win. Though I admit I'd be interested to know what a systematic ethnographic study of my behaviours would turn up." He pushes up from the counter, heading toward the fridge, and glances back over his shoulder to say, "Anything for pain au chocolat, hm? I'll have to give my price some thought, in that case. Oh— and yes, I SHOULD see Anthony's new shoes, but I haven't even spotted the rest of him in ages. One might almost feel neglected."

August shoots a look after Sevin. It's a bit hard to read, but there's a slight frown line between her brows, so it's dancing somewhere in the hazy vicinity of wtf with a dash of confusion or irritation thrown in, but, hey, just another Saturday in the Stone B&B. She reaches up and rubs her forehead briefly, thumb skimming between her brows. The tattooer and the Egyptian forever with subtext. At Sam's suggestion of a show and Heather's potential interest, she groans. "Oh, god. Don't say that to her. She already tried for a tattoo reality thing." She seems to consider Sam's suggestion of a mass coverup of her presence in town seriously for a moment. "That could work, you know." Probably she's kidding. Most likely. "I do favor aggressive denial as a coping mechanism." She thinks for a moment about what else Sam said there. "You know, it might be nice to feel that at home somewhere, to just be okay with where you are, who you're with, where you come from. Most of my friends are nomads. I don't really know anything else." So the whole purchasing of real estate thing is also pretty out of the box in her world. "Oh, Sam. I have something in my glove box for you. I'll bring it to the next taping."
"Are all of your siblings V-named, Vyvyan?" August's lips quirk a little smile. "Before you know it, Heather'll be trying to talk you into some kind of speed cooking show where you attempt to teach laypeople the art of laminating pastry." She lifts a hand, "Just say no. No matter what she offers you." Aug drops her arms to the counter, crossing them loosely. "Oui, chef." is Auggie's reply to Vyv's question re: pain au chocolat. "As for Tony's disposition, he's moved out to the house farther down Oak. If you'd like to come by, I have a key and all it takes is a selfie to his phone to make him appear like the best kind of stalker. It helps if you show a little collarbone."

"I wonder if me taking down a few buttons would get his attention in the same way? I suppose you never know until your try." Sam says with a small grin while he eases down off the stool he was perched on and stretches. "The apartment is right in the heart of downtown. Heavy city living. Pretty much the same as it was in Manhattan. If you're down there you'll likely see Layla's storefront along the street. The apartment is in the loft above it. It's a great little space. And I will let you know when we're having our little get together. I'll be sure to stock some Kale juice." He swings his eyes around the room before coming back to his companions. "Something in your glovebox? Is it condoms you don't need any more, August? Because I have condoms."

"Mm. Vyolet and Vyktorya," Vyv says, "Presumably if I'd had a brother he'd be Vyncynt. Maybe Vyrnyn." Shame all those Ys aren't actually audible, isn't it? Though if either of them have seen his name written down… "When my parents make a decision, they commit. Don't worry, I'm remarkably difficult to talk into anything I don't particularly want to do. The city is safe from any sort of speed-cooking circus in my direction. Efficiency is one thing, but." He opens the fridge, leaning in to check on a bowl, and pauses. "Unless you mean cooking either on or with speed, which I'm also unlikely to agree to, but can at least see where the show might find a niche."
The bowl comes out, and he brings it to the counter; it's the mousse, apparently, a pale brown thing. Not dark enough to be chocolate. A silicon tray gets tugged from a bag laid on the counter, and he gets a spatula from the drawer. "Thank you for sharing the secret, August. I'm assured I have quite a fetching collarbone, so this might be a solvable problem. But can one really have too many condoms? Or are you already having difficulty fitting the current stock in the new apartment?"

Aug's lips part at the ask re: condoms, but then she smirks as Sam continues on to say he has some. "Buttons down do the trick for sure, and I'm sure Anthony would respond favorably to your collarbones as well." An answer split 50/50 to Sam/Vyv. She's quiet for a beat, perhaps thinking something she doesn't ask Sam. She then goes on to say, "I hope you don't keep your condoms in the glove box. I'm happy to know you're a safety first kind of guy." That's followed immediately by, "If you put Kale juice in my hand again, you won't like what happens." If Sam thought the horse head was bad… "I can drink half a glass of wine now and then." She says that like she's said it before, more than once.
"I tried to cook on coke once, when I made a lot of very poor life choices in my early twenties. I didn't know you could halfway melt a fridge without actually setting any structural walls aflame, but you can. And that smell does not come out." It's probably best for everyone if August stays at the counter and lets Vyv do all the cooking today. And forever. She eyes the contents of that silicon tray with interest. "If you change your mind about the condoms, I have an unopened, massive box, and it's not like I've transitioned into some kind of condom-cursing fertility idol. They do work. And yet no one will take them."

Sam's expression shifts toward something just south of neutral at the talk of trying to accomplish much of anything while on coke, but the idea of wiping out a fridge is enough to draw a smile back to his lips. "I don't even know how you would do that without the help of heavy drugs. I suppose that's the case for a lot of things that happen under the influence. The cell phone is always a delight of images the next day." He eases back away from the counter, putting a hand up at August's honest offer of the condoms. "You'll still get some use out of them, August. They're not just for stopping babies. But, if I find I'm running low I'll fire you a text before I hit the pharmacy again." He makes a gesture toward Vyv's continuing experiment - "I'm sad that I'm going to miss whatever this all results in, as well as the the company of you both, but I just ran up here to pick up a book I forgot when I should be helping unpack and organize things at the apartment. So - I should run. But, soon we'll all talk again under the lights."

The tray has dome-like wells in it, and Vyv's just transferred a spatula-full of the mousse to one of them in a careful but clearly quite practiced movement when the fate of the fridge comes up. That results in a good second or two of silent, almost expressionless stare from the chef, before, "That is the show Heather ought to be aiming at. I mean, the insurance costs would presumably be astronomical, but just imagine the ratings."
He returns to what he was doing, filling each of those domes about a third full with the mixture, treating it like something terribly delicate. "Pleasure seeing you again, Sam. I'm sure it's not beyond possible that there'll be one you could test at some point," he says, glancing back toward the man as he excuses himself. What scrapings are left in the bowl get a look, and then a small bit picked up on a finger and popped into his mouth. Hmm. Approved, apparently, though he looks thoughtful still as he moves with it and the spatula toward the sink. "Nearly, I think. I'll have to see how the layers combine. So you've been wandering about offering a massive unopened box of definitely not cursed condoms to all and sundry, have you?"

August snorts re: Sam's observations on hard drugs. "I still have a lot of that stuff backed up on the cloud. I should go through it sometime for laughs. Kinda makes me wonder if we ever ran into each other, Sam. I'll let you know if I find anything probative." Photos from days gone by, and many a heavily influenced photoshoot in Brooklyn. She clears her throat and reaches for another ginger candy. "I was assured, loudly, and in the supermarket, that my honey-bunny isn't hooking in his free time, and I really don't know where he'd find the energy. You know he's in his forties, right?" Like that's old. Also, that isn't exactly what he said, but she paraphrases. That pale-grey gaze follows Sam as steps back, making his prep to leave and be domestic. She regards him for a few beats before she says, "Be safe out there," because double entendre is all the rage these days.
August watches Vyv fill the domed wells in his tray, silver eyes tracking each move of the spatula, like it's some dance she can decipher with her gaze. "… I have offered my giganto box of protection to no less than five people, and not one of them has seen fit to take them. I'm probably going to drop them at the youth center at this point." She mms and agrees, "Definitely not cursed. Unopened even. And latex free." They just sit on the coffee table, and the poor woman gets a little more annoyed every time she walks past them. "Tell me, Vyvyan, how do you feel about vintage pocket watches?"

"Mm." Vyv runs some water into the bowl, and lets it sit in the sink for now. "Well, if it will help you out, I suppose I could take them off your hands. I'm sure I could find some sort of use for them sooner or later." He picks the tray up and pauses as he passes by on the way back to the fridge, slanting a sidelong glance to her and arching a brow, "…but if anyone ends up pregnant, you'll have quite a bit to answer for, you know." If there's the slightest twitch of a smile, it's not until it's safely masked by the stroll to the refrigerator, where the tray's safely ensconced. Turning, he closes the door and wanders back, dusting his hands off lightly on each other. "It depends on the particular watch in question, I'm sure, but broadly speaking, I'm in favour. Why?"

August flashes Vyv a wide, toothy grin. Her lipstick, deep red today, amps it up a bit. She always looks like she's up to something when she grins like that, and most of the time she is, so it works out. "I have some idea, yes, I know." She watches the chef transfer his bowl to the sink, and quietly enjoys her spicy candy for a moment. "Of course it depends on the watch. In all things, it's relative." She taps her fingertips against her upper arm lightly. "I've been researching them recently, and the Black Hills Gold line caught my eye, particularly the late nineteenth century designs. I bought one for Malone recently, and I can see you two share some aesthetics."

Vyv snags another dessert spoon from the drawer and returns to the stove. "We do," he agrees, scooping a small amount up to test. He doesn't look 100% satisfied, really, giving the mixture an almost accusing look. A small sigh, and he turns the burner off. It still smells really good; whatever he's not happy with isn't obvious. "…not quite all of them, granted, but really, who does? I don't know that line of watches, though. I ought to look them up, mm? What did you choose?" He leans comfortably against the edge of the counter again, and gives the ginger candy a considering look. Not a covetous one; more like it's sparked some other line of thought.

August produces her phone from god knows where, unlocking it with a press of her thumb to flip to her photos app, paging through for a moment in silence before she selects an image, and turns the phone to Vyv. "A 1902 Waltham pocket watch, decorative organic tooling, combination of golds. It's one of the more shiny of the line, but who doesn't like a little sparkle." She holds the phone for a moment, tipped so he can see it if he's inclined to. "On another man I think it might roll a little ostentatious, but he can pull it off, I think. You could too, I'm sure." She watches him look at the candies. "I'm in for anything you need tasted that contains ginger, by the by." Like she knows what that look means. As another creative, maybe she does.

<OOC> August says, "https://robertmaron.com/product.php?productid=21570&cat=&page=1"

Vyv is indeed inclined to, and leans in a little to take a closer look, eyes moving over the details. "Yes, I don't doubt he could," he agrees, "It's just a matter of balance, really. The detail on the dial is a rather nice touch. Have you given it to him yet?" He steps away, then, starting to move to the empty bowl on the counter, then glancing at his (wrist) watch, now that time's come up. "Mn. The mulling took longer than I'd hoped," he says, and though he does pick up the bowl, it's to tuck it back away in the cupboard. "I'm obligated to pause and go handle something less exciting for a bit." Which is clearly annoying, if not intensely so. Still, her offer gets a small smile, perhaps appreciating that she can identify the look, and he adds, "I'll definitely keep you in mind for all my ginger-testing needs. And I think I can assure you there will be some in the not too distant." The pot gets moved to another burner, and the lid put on; there's a glance to the fridge, which might be safer from anyone coming through while he's away, but the thought's dismissed.
"Nice to—" His pocket buzzes, and he mutters "Damn," pulling out his own phone and flipping open the leather case. A quick swipe and touch and whoever it is gets a somewhat terse, "Yes, one moment," before he lowers it from his ear and touches something else. "…see you again," he concludes, "If you're still here when I return, then I suppose I'll see you again again. Do excuse me, please." A small inclination of the head, and then he's turning to leave the room, lifting the phone once more. "You're ten minutes early, you know. No, it's not more polite, we schedule these things for a reason—" is about as much as floats back before he disappears through the archway and up the stairs.

"I have given it, but I didn't see him open it." August doesn't seem particularly concerned with the outcome, though it was an investment. Perhaps Vyv's comments align with her own thoughts on the matter, and that's enough. "I'll look for your invitation. I have a few very well honed skills, and tasting is one of them. I eat well." The tattooer clicks her phone screen off, and sets the device on the counter. "Good luck with that, Vyvyan," she murmurs, as the chef's irritation is clear in his dealing with the person on the phone. "Have a lovely evening." She glances after him as he goes, no doubt appreciating the view, as it is quite a picture. She rests her chin on her hand for a moment, languid in her seat, them smiles when he disappears into the other room. She picks up her phone, fires off a text, then pulls open the basket in the center of the island, fishing out a chocolate muffin before she retreats for the door, ostensibly to return to the Garage Suite. Her phone rings shortly, and she brings it to her ear. "Yep? Nope. No." She pushes through to the back yard. "Maybe." Pause. "Only if you do it in the nude." And then she's gone.

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