Cammie & Jean-Paul, Tuesday Morning (backdated)

[x-quebecois.livejournal.com]

Cammie comes over and Jean-Paul makes her some bacon, as promised.


Jean-Paul hadn't really been practicing his cooking so much, recently, as being very, very careful about what he cooked. He paid extra attention to everything, keeping the heat on the pots and pans very low. It took twice as long to cook things that way, but he'd rather have that than another ruined dish.

"Sorry," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at Cammie. "It should not be so much longer."

"I protest this 'cooking time'," Cammie said, mockingly pounding a fist on the table. The one she didn't mind looking at at the moment, "All bacon should be instant frying.

"There is always the microwave," Jean-Paul said, his tone almost contemplative as he turned the bacon over. He'd taken to using a fork rather than a spatula, since it splashed grease less that way. "How is it, not being sick? Your illness has gone away?"

"Yeah, the princess and the cheerleader took me shopping, they replaced my mattress, my towels, everything down to my fucking underwear," Cammie said, picking her teeth, "Oh, and my hair is starting to come in brown. I'm going to have to go get hair dye later." You could barely see the line right now, but to her it was as clear as day.

Leaning away from the stove, Jean-Paul peered at Cammie's hair. "Why do you want it to stay green?"

"Because dark brown is boring. Why does it have to stay brown, I won't recognize myself in the mirror with dark brown hair," she pointed out.

"I did not say it had to be brown," Jean-Paul pointed out, poking at the bacon once more before removing several slices from the pan and putting them on a plate. He slid the plate toward Cammie, then quirked an eyebrow. "You could dye it blue. Or orange. But the green, it is nice, still. I think it will be hard to find the exact colour to match, though."

"Yeah, toxic sludge green isn't a marketable hair color," Cammie said with a nod, "I'll figure that out later though. I have awhile yet before everyone else will be like 'holy shit, your hair!'"

"Your hair does not look like toxic sludge," Jean-Paul said, snorting. "It is a striking green, but sludge is darker. And stickier. And also not so green, really." Reaching over, he stole a piece of bacon from Cammie's plate, then took the pan he'd cooked with off the stove. Turning the eye off, he stuck the pan in the sink and turned the water on, watching the steam sizzle and rise for a moment before bracing one hip against the counter. "Eat. I think I did not do such a bad job this time."

Cammie laughed, "Yeah, I know, but it's the color name they'd put on the bottle. Which really isn't as bad as some of the names they come up with," she looked down at the bacon. It smelled different too, but given that whole thing about taste and smell being connected it didn't surprise her. It smelled like weekend breakfast back when she was a kid. It was just missing the coffee. And her parents, but that was another issue, she picked up the bacon, broke a bit off and put it in her mouth.

She just let it sit there for a long moment. After her initial period of not being able to distinguish anything based on taste it seemed like everything just tasted... even more than it should.

"You are an expert in the naming of hair dye?" Finishing off the piece of bacon he'd nabbed from her, Jean-Paul smirked. "Also, you are making a face a little like a fish."

Cammie finally swallowed, "Shut it," she said, sticking out her tongue. Dead pig, the gift that keeps on giving, "And yeah, I'm something of an expert. Had to explain green hair to my parents somehow."

Smirking still, Jean-Paul shrugged and wiped his fingers on his trousers. "You are allowed to say these things to people, but they cannot say them to you? What is it people call it these days? Telling it like it is?" Then he smiled a little and indicated the bacon, asking, "Good?"

"I'm a well practiced hypocrite," Cammie pointed out, popping another piece into her mouth and nodding, "It's... I can't describe tastes right now. But it's a good taste."

"Well, so long as it is not bad," Jean-Paul said, "I think it is alright." Reaching over again, he tugged at one of Cammie's braids. "Oui?"

"Oww," she said, though it didn't hurt at all, "No, it's not bad. I believe it's been quoted once that nothing bad ever came from pork related products."

"I do not know this quote," Jean-Paul said, half-smiling again. "But I know that bacon is very, very good." He paused for a moment, then turned to actually clean out the pan now that it had stopped sizzling and steaming. "I am glad, though, that you are no longer sick."

"Yeah, being sick blows. Chunks," Cammie said, taking another bite.

"Too descriptive, mon ami. Too descriptive," Jean-Paul said, quirking a rueful smile.

"Well, I'm not going to lie about it," Cammie pointed out.

"But maybe you do not need to share quite so much information about the state of your sick, oui?" Jean-Paul laughed a little, though, and shook his head. "Especially now that it is not so much an issue."

"But I'm the Queen of TMI!" Cammie complained.

"Oui," Jean-Paul said. "And I wish that you were not." He quirked a smile, though, to show that he was joking - mostly.