Kyle and JPC, brunch buffets
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xp_logsKyle and JPC recover from the Danger Room with brunch. Spite eggs are eaten.
Jean-Phillipe was reasonably sure there was not a muscle in his body that did not hurt. Garrison did the brunt of Danger Room scenario planning, and today's training had been particularly grueling. His jacket was already unzipped and almost completely off as he made his way to the locker room. His tight workout shirt was next - wicking could only do so much on a day like this, and it was soaking with sweat. He dumped his gear on the floor and slid backward to lay flat on one of the benches, reveling in the feel of cold wood against his back.
"Shit, how did you do that with the jacket on, my dude?" Kyle had exited the Danger Room first, and had planted himself on the floor, back against his locker. "Seriously, how?" He had ditched his early, snagging it on his way out to shove back in his locker. "God damn I missed this though. Man. I hurt but." He waved at the bruise that was coloring half his right bicep. "At least it's a productive kind of hurt."
"Calisse, I do not know." It certainly wasn't body modesty, as just about everyone at the mansion, and especially his X-Men teammates, had seen him in various levels of undress over the years, whether it be lounging around the pool or the result of a mission. More likely it was a perverse sense of stubbornness, after a certain point. "I think that I could eat an entire pig of bacon," he declared. "An entire pig of bacon." Kyle repeated. "Man, who taught you English?"
Jean-Phillipe snorted. "European sailors. And Magneto." "Yeah I instantly regret asking." Kyle hauled himself up and peeled his shirt and uniform pants off, using his feet to kick the pants into a heap as the shirt came off. "Okay man, I am gonna go stand in the hottest shower I can tolerate for a month. And then I am gonna go find a way to get an entire pig of bacon. You in?"
"I know just the place." Jean-Phillipe was still flat on his back, but the hand wave he made was a bit more animated. "I have actually been waiting for an excuse to go to this place I heard about. A very high quality all you can eat brunch." It was very likely that between the food needs of the pair of mutants, the restaurant would quickly come to regret the 'all you can eat' clause. Kyle gave the other man a skeptical look. "High quality like in the city, or are we gonna have to drive the fuck to Atlantic City and hit a casino?"
A very derisive sound came from the bench. "Atlantic City? For a trip of that length, we could simply find a pig and slaughter it, which would likely be faster." He levered himself upward and began peeling at his pants. "It is perhaps half an hour, forty five minutes of driving. And it is apparently far better than a casino. Roasts that do not simply sit under a heat lamp, seafood, excellent baked goods." "How is this even remotely affordable?" Kyle asked as he headed to the showers. "Actually you know what, I don't care. I get paid and I never go out. As long as it's not stupid expensive, give me twenty minutes to stop stinking and I am right there with you."
"I need to remove stink as well." Jean-Phillipe was not far behind Kyle into the showers. "And ache. And basically that entire session." The showers were on, and his head buried under the hot spray, before he got to Kyle's question. "I have no idea, I am sure that someone is underwriting them. Given that I discovered this place through the 'secret gay grouptext', who knows."
"Bi-erasure!" Kyle complained jovially, as he disappeared into a shower stall.
==
--The buffet was just as good as Jean-Phillipe had promised - fluffy waffles, what looked to be several different cuts of bacon, and an enormous roast of prime rib being slowly turned on a spit, attended by a white-coated chef with a pair of knives scabbarded at his hip. "I may eat that entire roast," the Frenchman murmured as they were directed to a table.
"I can't decide where to even start." Kyle had to sit down and breathe through his mouth for a moment, just to catch up on the vast amount of conflicting scents. "Okay. Okay kay cool cool cool. Gonna do fish and bagels. Smoked salmon. I can smell it I'm gonna find it. I'm gonna eat it."
"Fantastic." When they both returned with laden plates, a variety of juices had been set in carafes to one side. Jean-Phillipe poured a bit of cranberry and tasted it, then decided to mix it with some of what appeared to be fresh-pressed apple juice. "Tres bien," he decided after a bit of experimentation. His plate was dominated by a fried egg atop a hefty slab of ham, slathered in bechamel and melted cheese, all atop an English muffin. "Croque madame benedict. I felt the need to be aggressively French at the outset." The plate also had a banana, breakfast potatoes, and a small bowl of yogurt. He leaned toward Kyle's plate, now able to smell the salmon close up. "That does smell good as well."
"Wait, wait, wait, fuck, is there hollandaise up in there too?" Kyle had the salmon, a small mountain of it, and a bagel with cream cheese, and an omelette that looked to be roughly a third steak and another third swiss cheese. "Okay, which one of us hits a dozen eggs first, not counting the hollandaise."
"Bechamel and hollandaise. It is a good thing we burn so many calories, otherwise I am sure my arteries would be hardening already," Jean-Phillipe declared, before putting a forkful in his mouth and making a contented noise. "Dieu, this would be worth it, though." Seeing the way Kyle had already put away a large chunk of the salmon, he shook his head. "We may eat the same amount, but you eat faster than me, I think. I would not bet on myself."
"Well, probably depends on how you top out at carbs versus protein." Kyle said, around a mouthful of fish and bagel. "I'm protein heavy but I gotta omnivore it up, so it's like, meat, meat, fruit, meat, meat, bread."
Jean-Phillipe gave a shrug as he steadily made progress through his plate of food. "My body does not entirely seem to care, so long as it gets the proper amount of calories. Which is to say, very many of them." On a day like today, when he'd pushed his power as much as he had, would likely wind up somewhere in the 'bodybuilder' range just to keep from having issues.
"Well, shit. I'm jealous. I actually have to keep track of mine." Kyle complained lightly. "I lose muscle mass if I'm not careful. I mean it's not full keto, because I mean, ugh, who wants to give up bread, but..." He waved a hand at his plates. "This place is gonna lose money on us."
"D'accord." Jean-Phillipe mopped up some extra hollandaise with a crust of the English muffin and made a satisfied noise. "I think it is the omelets for me this time," he declared. "And some kind of potatoes."
“They had some wicked good smelling gratin potatoes, but I need to like, rest the taste buds from all the heavy.” Kyle agreed. He took another oversized for anyone else bite of steak omelette and then set down his fork. “Yo, I bet they have brunch cocktails.”
A thoughtful noise came from Jean-Phillipe as he considered the option. "I am certain they do. Mimosas and bloody marys if nothing else - those are traditional." He shook his head minutely. "I suspect that would be ill-advised after such a training session as we had. Like as not it would leave me passed out on the table."
"Lightweight." Kyle taunted as he stood up. He returned a few minutes later bearing a plate that was half fruit and half flaky little pastries, and a large bloody mary, complete with celery and a piece of bacon sticking out of the cup. "Dude, this thing is. Yo." He set the plate down and pushed the cup towards Jean-Philippe. "This thing is lit. It'll put hair on your hair."
Jean-Phillipe answered with a snort. "And people mock my occasional turn of phrase as a non-native speaker. At least I do not mangle the tongue quite like you." It was teasing, but a good natured sort. He took a sniff over the glass, and his eyes watered. "There must be tomato in that, because it is the proper color, but tabernac, how much vodka is that?"
"I think it's just tomato colored vodka, my dude." Kyle coughed a little on first sip, and then knocked back half. "Tomato vodka, clam vodka, tabasco vodka." He set the glass down and carefully rubbed at his watering eyes. "It's just all vodka."
"-Clam- vodka." Jean-Phillipe's expression was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "Why would you do that to perfectly acceptable vodka. Tabasco, yes, fine, I can even somewhat understand tomato. But there are things that ought not be, and clam vodka is one."
Kyle took another drink, and let it sit in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "Efficiency of like, alcohol. They could've gone Clamato and vodka, but this way it's everything is vodka. I bet they made it in house too, because fuck, if there -was- clam vodka, Gar would've bought some for Ceasar drinks, and we'd know about it."
Jean-Phillipe did his best impression of Tim Gunn's 'I am doing my best not to vomit' face. The one that everyone seemed to use an animated image of to express displeasure. "That is another thing," he muttered. "Kane has excellent taste in beer, but everything else..."
"Yo, you eat snails." Kyle retorted. "I mean, garlic butter snails but, snails." He sat back in his seat, arms crossed smugly for as long as it took to remember he had two plates of food still. Which was almost no time at all.
Having decided that the better course was not to acknowledge the dig at all, Jean-Phillipe laid into his own plates of food. After all, there was a race to see who could eat a dozen eggs first.
==
Kyle had decided that the better part of survival was reclining his seat, pushing it as far from the steering wheel as possible, and then stretching out. "Okay, maybe. Maybe. That was too much, but man, they had a raw bar." He lifted his head, groaned and then let it fall.
"And a potato bar. And a bar...bar." Jean-Phillipe was sluggish enough from fullness that words were somewhat difficult. He leaned his own seat backward so that the seatbelt would not constrict as much. "How many eggs did we wind up eating in total?" He had lost count.
"Dunno, lost count when you ate a spite egg." Kyle half-heartedly pointed a finger at his buffet companion. "Eggs eaten out of spite after you're already hating yourself don't count, bro."
Jean-Phillipe groaned and batted the finger away feebly. "I am French. I exist on spite. And I had to hold the honor of la patrie after you...'dissed' escargot."
"How. How does that even make sense, bro?" Kyle asked. "You know what, ima just text your husband and be like "hey, driving your idiot hubby home cause he ate spite eggs after I said snails are gross." and you can see if he thinks it makes any more sense than I do. He pulled his phone out and flicked through apps.
"Pfft." Jean-Phillipe would have snorted, but he didn't want to upset the extremely delicate balance his body was currently maintaining. "My mari knows who he married." After all, Angelo had his own quirks, the honesty about who they were was why they were together.
"Well, hope he likes those spite egg burp kisses." Kyle tapped out a text.
Jean-Phillipe was reasonably sure there was not a muscle in his body that did not hurt. Garrison did the brunt of Danger Room scenario planning, and today's training had been particularly grueling. His jacket was already unzipped and almost completely off as he made his way to the locker room. His tight workout shirt was next - wicking could only do so much on a day like this, and it was soaking with sweat. He dumped his gear on the floor and slid backward to lay flat on one of the benches, reveling in the feel of cold wood against his back.
"Shit, how did you do that with the jacket on, my dude?" Kyle had exited the Danger Room first, and had planted himself on the floor, back against his locker. "Seriously, how?" He had ditched his early, snagging it on his way out to shove back in his locker. "God damn I missed this though. Man. I hurt but." He waved at the bruise that was coloring half his right bicep. "At least it's a productive kind of hurt."
"Calisse, I do not know." It certainly wasn't body modesty, as just about everyone at the mansion, and especially his X-Men teammates, had seen him in various levels of undress over the years, whether it be lounging around the pool or the result of a mission. More likely it was a perverse sense of stubbornness, after a certain point. "I think that I could eat an entire pig of bacon," he declared. "An entire pig of bacon." Kyle repeated. "Man, who taught you English?"
Jean-Phillipe snorted. "European sailors. And Magneto." "Yeah I instantly regret asking." Kyle hauled himself up and peeled his shirt and uniform pants off, using his feet to kick the pants into a heap as the shirt came off. "Okay man, I am gonna go stand in the hottest shower I can tolerate for a month. And then I am gonna go find a way to get an entire pig of bacon. You in?"
"I know just the place." Jean-Phillipe was still flat on his back, but the hand wave he made was a bit more animated. "I have actually been waiting for an excuse to go to this place I heard about. A very high quality all you can eat brunch." It was very likely that between the food needs of the pair of mutants, the restaurant would quickly come to regret the 'all you can eat' clause. Kyle gave the other man a skeptical look. "High quality like in the city, or are we gonna have to drive the fuck to Atlantic City and hit a casino?"
A very derisive sound came from the bench. "Atlantic City? For a trip of that length, we could simply find a pig and slaughter it, which would likely be faster." He levered himself upward and began peeling at his pants. "It is perhaps half an hour, forty five minutes of driving. And it is apparently far better than a casino. Roasts that do not simply sit under a heat lamp, seafood, excellent baked goods." "How is this even remotely affordable?" Kyle asked as he headed to the showers. "Actually you know what, I don't care. I get paid and I never go out. As long as it's not stupid expensive, give me twenty minutes to stop stinking and I am right there with you."
"I need to remove stink as well." Jean-Phillipe was not far behind Kyle into the showers. "And ache. And basically that entire session." The showers were on, and his head buried under the hot spray, before he got to Kyle's question. "I have no idea, I am sure that someone is underwriting them. Given that I discovered this place through the 'secret gay grouptext', who knows."
"Bi-erasure!" Kyle complained jovially, as he disappeared into a shower stall.
==
--The buffet was just as good as Jean-Phillipe had promised - fluffy waffles, what looked to be several different cuts of bacon, and an enormous roast of prime rib being slowly turned on a spit, attended by a white-coated chef with a pair of knives scabbarded at his hip. "I may eat that entire roast," the Frenchman murmured as they were directed to a table.
"I can't decide where to even start." Kyle had to sit down and breathe through his mouth for a moment, just to catch up on the vast amount of conflicting scents. "Okay. Okay kay cool cool cool. Gonna do fish and bagels. Smoked salmon. I can smell it I'm gonna find it. I'm gonna eat it."
"Fantastic." When they both returned with laden plates, a variety of juices had been set in carafes to one side. Jean-Phillipe poured a bit of cranberry and tasted it, then decided to mix it with some of what appeared to be fresh-pressed apple juice. "Tres bien," he decided after a bit of experimentation. His plate was dominated by a fried egg atop a hefty slab of ham, slathered in bechamel and melted cheese, all atop an English muffin. "Croque madame benedict. I felt the need to be aggressively French at the outset." The plate also had a banana, breakfast potatoes, and a small bowl of yogurt. He leaned toward Kyle's plate, now able to smell the salmon close up. "That does smell good as well."
"Wait, wait, wait, fuck, is there hollandaise up in there too?" Kyle had the salmon, a small mountain of it, and a bagel with cream cheese, and an omelette that looked to be roughly a third steak and another third swiss cheese. "Okay, which one of us hits a dozen eggs first, not counting the hollandaise."
"Bechamel and hollandaise. It is a good thing we burn so many calories, otherwise I am sure my arteries would be hardening already," Jean-Phillipe declared, before putting a forkful in his mouth and making a contented noise. "Dieu, this would be worth it, though." Seeing the way Kyle had already put away a large chunk of the salmon, he shook his head. "We may eat the same amount, but you eat faster than me, I think. I would not bet on myself."
"Well, probably depends on how you top out at carbs versus protein." Kyle said, around a mouthful of fish and bagel. "I'm protein heavy but I gotta omnivore it up, so it's like, meat, meat, fruit, meat, meat, bread."
Jean-Phillipe gave a shrug as he steadily made progress through his plate of food. "My body does not entirely seem to care, so long as it gets the proper amount of calories. Which is to say, very many of them." On a day like today, when he'd pushed his power as much as he had, would likely wind up somewhere in the 'bodybuilder' range just to keep from having issues.
"Well, shit. I'm jealous. I actually have to keep track of mine." Kyle complained lightly. "I lose muscle mass if I'm not careful. I mean it's not full keto, because I mean, ugh, who wants to give up bread, but..." He waved a hand at his plates. "This place is gonna lose money on us."
"D'accord." Jean-Phillipe mopped up some extra hollandaise with a crust of the English muffin and made a satisfied noise. "I think it is the omelets for me this time," he declared. "And some kind of potatoes."
“They had some wicked good smelling gratin potatoes, but I need to like, rest the taste buds from all the heavy.” Kyle agreed. He took another oversized for anyone else bite of steak omelette and then set down his fork. “Yo, I bet they have brunch cocktails.”
A thoughtful noise came from Jean-Phillipe as he considered the option. "I am certain they do. Mimosas and bloody marys if nothing else - those are traditional." He shook his head minutely. "I suspect that would be ill-advised after such a training session as we had. Like as not it would leave me passed out on the table."
"Lightweight." Kyle taunted as he stood up. He returned a few minutes later bearing a plate that was half fruit and half flaky little pastries, and a large bloody mary, complete with celery and a piece of bacon sticking out of the cup. "Dude, this thing is. Yo." He set the plate down and pushed the cup towards Jean-Philippe. "This thing is lit. It'll put hair on your hair."
Jean-Phillipe answered with a snort. "And people mock my occasional turn of phrase as a non-native speaker. At least I do not mangle the tongue quite like you." It was teasing, but a good natured sort. He took a sniff over the glass, and his eyes watered. "There must be tomato in that, because it is the proper color, but tabernac, how much vodka is that?"
"I think it's just tomato colored vodka, my dude." Kyle coughed a little on first sip, and then knocked back half. "Tomato vodka, clam vodka, tabasco vodka." He set the glass down and carefully rubbed at his watering eyes. "It's just all vodka."
"-Clam- vodka." Jean-Phillipe's expression was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "Why would you do that to perfectly acceptable vodka. Tabasco, yes, fine, I can even somewhat understand tomato. But there are things that ought not be, and clam vodka is one."
Kyle took another drink, and let it sit in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "Efficiency of like, alcohol. They could've gone Clamato and vodka, but this way it's everything is vodka. I bet they made it in house too, because fuck, if there -was- clam vodka, Gar would've bought some for Ceasar drinks, and we'd know about it."
Jean-Phillipe did his best impression of Tim Gunn's 'I am doing my best not to vomit' face. The one that everyone seemed to use an animated image of to express displeasure. "That is another thing," he muttered. "Kane has excellent taste in beer, but everything else..."
"Yo, you eat snails." Kyle retorted. "I mean, garlic butter snails but, snails." He sat back in his seat, arms crossed smugly for as long as it took to remember he had two plates of food still. Which was almost no time at all.
Having decided that the better course was not to acknowledge the dig at all, Jean-Phillipe laid into his own plates of food. After all, there was a race to see who could eat a dozen eggs first.
==
Kyle had decided that the better part of survival was reclining his seat, pushing it as far from the steering wheel as possible, and then stretching out. "Okay, maybe. Maybe. That was too much, but man, they had a raw bar." He lifted his head, groaned and then let it fall.
"And a potato bar. And a bar...bar." Jean-Phillipe was sluggish enough from fullness that words were somewhat difficult. He leaned his own seat backward so that the seatbelt would not constrict as much. "How many eggs did we wind up eating in total?" He had lost count.
"Dunno, lost count when you ate a spite egg." Kyle half-heartedly pointed a finger at his buffet companion. "Eggs eaten out of spite after you're already hating yourself don't count, bro."
Jean-Phillipe groaned and batted the finger away feebly. "I am French. I exist on spite. And I had to hold the honor of la patrie after you...'dissed' escargot."
"How. How does that even make sense, bro?" Kyle asked. "You know what, ima just text your husband and be like "hey, driving your idiot hubby home cause he ate spite eggs after I said snails are gross." and you can see if he thinks it makes any more sense than I do. He pulled his phone out and flicked through apps.
"Pfft." Jean-Phillipe would have snorted, but he didn't want to upset the extremely delicate balance his body was currently maintaining. "My mari knows who he married." After all, Angelo had his own quirks, the honesty about who they were was why they were together.
"Well, hope he likes those spite egg burp kisses." Kyle tapped out a text.
