Cammie and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jean-Paul stops by Cammie's suite and she winds up agreeing to be a guinea pig for some unique cooking experiments.



Jean-Paul had been in the middle of cleaning out the fridge in his suite when he recalled that he'd had questions that he wished to ask of the new girl...what was her name? Oh, yes. Cammie. A few moments of investigating the room assignments, and then he headed downstairs to knock on the young woman's door.

Normally by three in the afternoon Cammie could be counted on to be up and moving around. But only for a half an hour or so in this case. But hey, she was now officially waking up before five in the afternoon. Progress!

"Gimme minute," she called out. Lethargy being what it was it took her a minute to throw on a crumbled black shirt, her only pair of pants and open the door yawning when she did so. "Yeah, what?"

"Excusez-moi. I thought you would be up and around by now." He didn't try to walk in just yet; they hardly knew each other and he had not been invited. "I had some questions about your eating habits."

"I'm working on it," she muttered to the first part and stifled another yawn. She had been up until... she wasn't sure when the previous night just trolling youtube, and later on reading the Burlington post to torture herself. Sometime, she wasn't sure what time it was, she had even started looking up old classmates on Facebook. Which she had done once or twice before (internet cafe's were great for that sort of bullshit).

"Oh, questions? Yeah, sure. Uh... did you want to come in or something?" she said, standing away from the door a bit. Her room still pretty much bare except for the laptop on the desk which was still open on the "Bunny Survival Tests Home Page." Nothing like a classic.

"Merci." Jean-Paul followed her in. "You mentioned not being able to taste food until it had started to turn. I was wondering if that allowed you to taste any of the basic flavors, or if all you tasted was the rot. Would overripe fruit be sweet, for example?"

"Um... kinda? It's sort of sweet after it starts turning, yeah," Cammie said, thinking about it while stretching and then reaching for her bandages. She didn't sleep with them on, after all. She thought about it a bit more as she started to bind her left arm, "It really tastes the best to me about the time you'd expect it to be covered in fruit flies. You know, all mushy and stuff."

About the time where no one else would touch it.

"So there is some point of commonality to work with, at least. What about meat?" Jean-Paul was trying not to look too enthusiastic; even for for someone with Cammie's experience, that might have been odd. The idea of trying to actually cook for a unique palate was still too intriguing to let go entirely, though.

"Um... Well... when it's fresh I like to put Tabasco on it... or the type of pepper they have at pizza joints. Oh! Or paint chips - lead's good," she had done the last with school lunches way back in the day. "Or, you know, let it age a bit I guess. I mean, if this is your way of asking if I used to eat out of dumpsters, the answer is 'yes. Yes I did.'"

"It's my way of trying to find out what I could actually cook for you that wouldn't involve dashing chemicals together at random," he confessed with a slight smile. "I like a challenge."

Cammie took a second and shook her left hand a bit. She was nearing the 'full' end which meant a trip to the medlab was on the schedule. She then looked at him as if she was trying to divine whether or not he was actually serious. "Knock yourself out, I guess. But there's nothing wrong with enjoying a glass of bleach. Unless your not me. I mean, generally the more all out poisonous something is, the better it tastes. Or spicy things are good too."

"I don't mean to imply that there is anything wrong with it. I just wouldn't have any idea of how to find flavors to complement something like bleach. I am not quite dedicated enough to the culinary arts to die for them." He considered again. "How do you feel about sushi?"

She had to laugh at the first part. "Then you're not as dedicated as chemists in the middle ages were, if I remember right," she had to think back for that one - to stories her Dad used to tell. Trying to spark her interest in a field she had none for. "As for sushi, it used to be alive, was never cooked and wasabi's okay. Well, the fake stuff's good. By itself. Oh! I've always wanted to try fugu, but I've never had the money or quite known how to ask someone to not bother to cut it up right."

"That could be awkward. Still, nothing ventured..." He was getting ahead of himself. "Some of us are going out tonight to trade war stories about the latest risk to life and limb. You're welcome to come along if you like. The bill is taken care of and the place has a fairly exotic menu."

"Yeah...." Cammie said, "I really don't like taking handouts and stuff, so if someone else is paying I'm going to have to pay them back. Especially given I don't really have 'war stories,'" Cammie said. Unless you counted a long list of barfights. And breaking and entering and conjobs and... It struck her then how odd it was she hated being lent money, but was totally okay with stealing it.

Jean-Paul actually perked up a bit when she mentioned having to pay back whoever picked up the check.

"It is not necessary, but I know someone who would have considerable interest in your kitchen input if you're looking for a way to pay back the meal," he suggested.

She thought about it. On one hand, her in a crowded resturant, surronded by people she didn't know had absoutely no appeal to her what-so-ever. On the other hand it was food, and some people there wouldn't live at the school. Normally people who went to sushi restuants had money. Money was kept in wallets and pockets could be picked to bloster her meager funds.

"Um...sure, I guess...? What type of kitchen input can I give?" Other than 'don't lock up the chemicals, please,' she thought to herself.

"Letting me know if some of the milder concoctions I attempt register on your taste buds at all would be a good start," he said. "We can build from there. I admit, the rest of it will likely depend on how adventurous I feel."

"...Okay... letting you cook for me doesn't seem like payback for dinner out though," Cammie said. "But hey, whatever. This place doesn't have a dress code, does it?"

"Trust me, it's to my advantage if you're obligated to put up with it. I tend to forget the meaning of restraint when I get enthusiastic about a thing. As for the dress code, it is not so formal. Just make sure that all the bits that would get you arrested are covered."

"Fair enough. Fine, I'll go. Just don't stick me inbetween kids and I'll be fine," Cammie said. "Or inbetween anyone really." Eating left handed was a bitch at a table where almost everyone was right handed. She couldn't be so lucky as for that not to be the case.

"Head of the table. It is so noted. We will see you tonight."