Log: Clarice & Hank

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Clarice meets Hank coming back from classes. It's Clarice. There are knives. He walks away still clothed!



Hank quickly learned that entering the mansion through the front door was an Uncool thing to do, though he still wasn't quite sure how he had picked up on that. Maybe it was the fact that he only passed teachers and staff going in and out of the giant reception hall on his way to and from class. In any case, he certainly didn't want to be lumped in with all of them (though he'd never say it to their faces) so he usually made ingress through the back door or any number of side doors on his return from the city.

As he approached the back door that particular afternoon a vaguely familiar scent caught his attention. It was earthy, autumnal, vaguely herbaceous.... ah yes! Pumpkin.

Newspapers spread out on the back sidewalk, Clarice was busy scooping the innards of a pumpkin out into a bowl. Spying the new guy, she paused for a moment, "How's a pumpkin like a man?" she asked with a grin. Several knives glinted next to her.

"...I'm guessing it's not that we share 75% percent of our genome with it?" Hank ventured nervously. He too had spotted the knives.

"We share more than 97% with chimps," Clarice retorted, "I thought you were some science geek? No no. Their brains are all mush and if you scoop them out, they rot!" Okay, so it was a terrible joke. She still thought it was hilarious. Taking a knife, she used it to loosen some of the insides so she could finish scooping them out.

"Oh." Briefly he opened his mouth to protest that pumpkins didn't technically have brains, but then he bit back the comment in favour of a wan smile. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know of me, but I'm not sure I know you. Unless we've corresponded on the journals..."

"Clarice," she glanced at her messy hands and then didn't offer one, "I'm the PA here. I've seen you on the journals, but didn't reply. I figure, we'd meet in person soon enough since you're a science-type. My specialty is emergency medicine, so y'know, I'd appreciate it if you didn't have one of those," no comment or mention of powers and she appreciated that he hadn't had a reaction to her purple skin.

"I'll certainly be trying my best not to," Hank assured her. "My labwork isn't really the type that's prone to taking off limbs."

"Who said anything about dismemberment?" Was Jean talking about her or something!? "Emergency medicine is a lot of things, not just extremes. Or are you prone to taking off limbs? Detachable penis?" And now that song was stuck in her head. No thank you very much.

He blinked at her. "Er... no. All limbs and other... extremities remain firmly fixed to my person at all times." Hank's cheeks began to burn. Suddenly stopping to chat seemed like a very bad idea.

Poor guy, she really should take pity on him, "That's probably for the best, unless it's your mutant ability. But....even then, kinda awkward," better to leave all extremities in situ. "Anyways, I'm Clarice. Welcome and all that."

"Thanks." He shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the door inside before making a resolute decision to try one last time to strike up a decent conversation. One without detachable appendages. "So what sort of designs are you carving?" he asked, gesturing to the pumpkins laid out on the steps.

He was the one that started things, not her problem if he wasn't able to finish them. "This one's a face cut in it," she gestured to the big pumpkin, "And he's growing to be chewing on the smaller one," she gestured to the smaller one that wasn't cut open. "You know, like a funky pumpkin cigar."

"Ah, I see. You know, if you had a few more of the smaller pumpkins and some toothpicks you could create one with some sort of tumorous mass," he suggested, crouching down to eye up the vegetable thoughtfully. "It could really be rather gruesome, if that's what you're going for."

"And here I was thinking pumpkin on pumpkin cannibalism was bad," she grinned, appreciating the twistedness of it, "But, I'd rather it be a mix of cutely creepy as opposed to outright gore," there would be time for that closer to Halloween anyways. "You like roasted pumpkin seeds?"

"I've never had any," he admitted. "Just pumpkin pie, which I do like, very much."

Well, that was settled. She would have to roast the seeds so he could try them. "Then I'll roast them. I don't make pie, but I'm sure someone else can. Unless you cook?"

"I won't burn the kitchen down, but I don't know if I'd claim to be a cook. Or a baker." Though baking did have quite a lot of science to it, and that much appealed to him. As did freshly made baked goods. It was finding the time that was hard. "But as you say, I'm sure someone will step up to the challenge. If not now, then at least in time for Thanksgiving."

"And there's always pumpkin spiced latte's at Starbucks," the drink was vile in her opinion, but it had a cult following so apparently they were doing something right. "I can feed myself, but I do not claim to be any sort of cook. I just follow directions."

"Well, that's more than a lot of people can claim. I'm sure you're a perfectly decent cook."

She shrugged, "There're people here who like to do it, they're really good. I just dislike starving and enjoy eating. If I can get someone else to cook for me, it's almost always better. I'm not creative in that way. Give me a good old-fashioned sewing machine and fabric. I'll make you something fabulous."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hank replied with an amused-looking smile. "Though I can't imagine when I'd be in need of anything... fabulous, outside of a costume party I suppose."

Giving Hank a Look, Clarice didn't stop her pumpkin work, "There is always a need to look fabulous," she replied, "Everyday is a chance for fashion. And everything you wear makes a statement. Better to say what you want than what you don't."

"Oh." Hank had never really considered that his clothes might make a statement, but the idea was vaguely worrying. Mostly because he still wore the clothes his mother bought him. "What sort of thing would you say my outfit says?" he asked her, spreading his arms and looking down at the checked shirt, dark tie and corduroys he was currently sporting.

"What do you think it says?" Clarice turned the question back on him. Self-perception was important.

"I, uh, don't know... that I like to be warm?"

"You look like you're going for hipster and didn't quite make it," Clarice replied, which was a nicer response than her first thought. At least she was learning? "What do you like about your outfit? I mean, the tie isn't for warmth, but you're wearing it."

"I guess it makes me look more mature?" Hank fingered the tie in question nervously. "And professional. I want to be taken seriously by my professors and the other students."

"Other students won't care. You're a student too, same as them. Ties just make you look like you're trying too hard right now. And your professors won't care either unless it's a health hazard in lab or you need one for a presentation and you're not wearing it. You're in undergrad. This is the time where you can be crazy and no one cares. Grad school's a little different, especially depending on your major. If you like wearing ties because they're cool, that's fine. There's been a major resurgence with bow ties in the past few years. But do it because you love them," she grinned, "You should get a wardrobe makeover. You really could pull off geeky hipster with a few minor adjustments."

Hank's eyes widened. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. But thank you for the advice. I'll, uh, think on it." Thinking at all about his clothes would be an improvement over his current habit, which was to spare them exactly as much time as it took to select a clean outfit and put it on.

"Well, there are plenty of people here in fashion, both for hobby and professionally. And I sew. So whatever, whenever," she grinned, "I'll roast these seeds tonight and you can try them. Study snack and all that." Clarice grinned and waved Hank inside.