![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_wildchild posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsForge and Kyle finally formally meet, and Kyle finds the New Forge remarkably similar to the old one, at least in food tastes. Which is to say, unwise. Of course Kyle joins him in the bad food decisions.
Forge, limping and relying on his cane, was wandering the halls looking for Kyle. If Naze had sent him a little something shamanic express, it was usually important. Old man didn't like antagonizing the spirits and spending strength frivolously. He was, after all, getting up there in years.
But for now he had a bag filled with some very, very mediocre Chinese take-out and he had to share it with a fellow Montanan. Even if he only spent his summers there on the rez, it apparently counted enough.
Like everything else about him, he thought with a sigh, split between different worlds.
And his goddamned leg ached.
"My dude." Kyle had followed his nose a little, and mostly the text message he'd gotten, back into the mansion. He was still leafy in places, walking the roofs to assess how many dead leaves were in the gutters had lead to clearing a few of them had led to saying 'fuck it' and going looking for the pressure washer. Which he could not find, and then his phone had whistled at him, with a "prty sre forge looking 4 u"
He'd instinctively looked for the smell of red bull and microwave burritos, followed that for a few minutes, realized it might lead him in the wrong direction, considered what he knew of this new Forge, and then revised. Red Bull, Microwave Burritos and Cordite.
"Yo. I heard you were looking for me and holy shit is that what I think it is." Kyle had intended to ask a relevant question, and completely veered off the path. "Is that from KK? Holy fuckballs. How. Also why, but mostly how."
To Kyle's keener-than-most ears, Forge had a certain amount of Montanan accent. Not much, and not strong, but it was there. Most of it got smothered by the Texan in his voice. "Shaman Express. I think my uncle is trying to kill us with thoroughly mediocre mall fast food." he said with a wry look. "But yeah. KK's." he said, holding the offending food item bag up for Kyle's inspection. "Wanna take five, scarf it down, see if we survive the experience?"
"At least it's not the cinnamon rolls. Or that cookie stand that I am pretty sure got burned down twice." Kyle snagged the edge of the bag with a claw, pulled it open a little and sniffed. "Oh, we gonna die. It's that garlic chicken and the 'kreb' wontons." He was nodding the entire time. "Hell yes I'm in. I bet they still spell it kreb too. I dunno what the eff a kreb is, but it's sure as hell not crab, or fake crab."
Forge was pretty sure Kyle knew how to handle his claws but Forge was gonna treat it with respect. Give him a slight wiggins about things slithering about on a dusty desert floor, but he blinked the images away. "It's ... kreb." he said with a shrug. "Right up there with bagles." he said with a grin.
"Oh my god, is that store still there?" Kyle let the bag go, and waved down the hall. "Okay, kitchen so we can go outside and die, or the garage so that we can just open the big bay door and air the place out?"
Forge contemplated this question for a moment. "Kitchen. I don't want this shit anywhere near my bike." he pointed out reasonably. "Plus, easier to run outside and barf than try to find an open restroom" he added after a moment.
"God, same, I just did a full detailing on mine. I don't need it to smell like death." Kyle said, with a nod. "Okay, so was KK's your 'if you're good during christmas shopping" treat, or the 'got dragged halfway across the state because nobody had a sitter and now someone feels guilty so you get to eat wontons until you hate life."
Forge snorted in amusement. "No, KKs was the "If you will fucking stop whining about being a rez brat for FIVE MINUTES you can have your white people garbage food." he said with a grin and a shrug. "I was kinda a dick for a few years there until I got over myself to a certain degree." he said. "And think about it - I've got a stomach of steel and you _literally_ regenerate and we've both had terrible experiences with KK's. We sure they're not drugging us with mind-control chemicals?"
Kyle coughed a laugh. "Yeah, in my case, I'm sure. I've had a medical workup down to my literal DNA. Your uncle knows that like, calling bad chinese food white people garbage food is the height of fuckin irony, right? I like this guy already, and all I know is that he's a complete troll."
Forge laughed at that. "That's part of his job description." he said. "Man forgets how to laugh, he gets busy dying." he said. "And if there was anyone suffering from more cranial rectal inversion than me when I was a teen, I really don't want to hear about it." he said. "Naze loves those big soft pretzel things and when I remind him that they're literally German, he likes to start positing about lost tribes in Europe." he said with a snicker. "But yeah. White people garbage food. Think the Asians got lumped in just by proximity there."
"And he's not like. Entirely wrong. Get Jubilee on the subject of why American Chinese food is legit, but also specifically like, American Chinese. She's got a whole rant, with academic citations. There's a powerpoint." Kyle led the way to the kitchen, and disappeared to collect the paper plates and some disposable chopsticks. "But basically it starts with her going 'look crab rangoom's fucking delicious but it's also white people chinese food."
Forge groaned theatrically. "Great. He hears this, he'll be even more insufferable than he already is." he said with a laugh. "White people can't leave well enough alone." he pontificated.
"My dude. I am a white people and I am right there with you." Kyle said, agreeably. "You know Maya knows KK's too, right? One of the two things that got her to stop just hating me on sight for whatever reason. I knew about KK's, and I kept just handing her venison jerky everytime she remembered I can read sign. Can't sign much myself, because." He held up both hands, claws all the way out, and wiggled his fingers, then slid them in and his first knuckles locked straight. "I gotta lisp in ASL. In English too if I'm not careful about my teeth, but I read it pretty well."
"Makes sense, but I did not know this." he said with a shrug. "Naze made sure I could sign and when I built the hand, it's flexible enough to be able to sign with." he said. "Unlike the disaster the VA tried to fob off on me. Ugh." he said with a shudder.
"Well, you know." Kyle spread his hands. "The government can dump a grazillion dollars into aircraft carriers, can't actually fix the people they break." He unwrapped one of the sets of chopsicks, and handed another over to Forge. "The real test, and ima bet if you can sign with that thing you can already do this, is can you eat noodles with chopsticks with the robot hand."
"Full human range of motion." Forge said with a grin. "Could even go superhuman if I wanted, but it's a hand. If I'm close enough to punch people something has gone hideously wrong." he said with a laugh. "And hey, government's gonna government. Building aircraft carriers and fighter jets brings money into Congressional districts, makes their partners in the military-industrial complex happy. Not to mention keeping the fam in circuit boards and Go-gurt when I was young." he smirked. Taking up the chopsticks in his artificial hand, he twirled them about before picking up the infamously bowel-destroying KK's faux-Chinese food and taking a bite.
Kyle was significantly less graceful with his own chopsticks, having to retract his claws into his hand to keep from breaking the sticks. "I have... " He paused. "I have up close and personal experience with the government and a stupidly over funded military robot, so, you know, justifiably embittered." He took a careful bit of garlic noodles, wheezed, and then took another. "A thirty foot tall robot. It did not enjoy having it's insides ripped up."
"Sentinel project. Worst-kept secret in DARPA. I refused to work on it. Which made me sad, they were prepared to throw _stupid_ gobs of money at me to help them out. But no, mutant-hunting giant robots is a bit beyond the pale. Also, I'm technically under NDA so I said nothink." he said with a smirk. "And why does this taste so good when I know it's going to annihilate me later?"
"Plus you know then they turn on their creator and you've got your own giant robot gunning for you." Kyle said, around another mouthful of pungent noodles. "MSG, and hate. I'm convinced, they've got a mutant back there in the kitchen who hates everyone. Makes the food great, and then the shits are hateful."
Forge couldn't help it - he barked out a laugh at that. "Maybe. Or just a pissed-off Chinese dude who's hatin' on what America thinks is his national cuisine." he said with another laugh. "I'm so going to annihilate the bathroom later." he said as he reached for more of the known-suspect Chinese.
Kyle took another mouthful of noodles, and then sat his chopsticks down. "You know what, ima just order Gatorade now for delivery. Some poor driver for Doordash or whatever can get a twenty buck tip so neither of us gets dehydrated from the MSG shits." He tapped at his phone. "Gatorade color? Mine's yellow.'
Probably a good idea. And save the rest of that for Maya.": he said, gesturing with his chopsticks. "She deserves to suffer as we will." he added with a laugh. "And I'll take red. Duh." he said.
"Maya deserves to suffer just because I have to review her Danger Room runs." Kyle muttered. "I have no idea what Gatorade she drinks, so she gets orange." He tapped more on the phone. "okay, Gatorade, rice pouches... baby wipes." He tapped one more time, definititly. "Doordash arrives to save us in about ten minutes. In the mean time.' He snagged a 'kreb' wonton and crunched it. "kreb."
"Better you than me." he said, snagging a kreb and chowing down on it. "Yes. Kreb." he said sagely, then ruined it with a grin. "I don't want to even think about what X-Men Danger Room runs look like. I was E4 Mafia and infantry, I'm pretty sure my brain would break." he joked, then paused as his stomach started to signal the rest of his body. Still, for now he was ignoring it in favor of pummeling his body with more MSG and potential microbial death. "Sometimes I miss big sky country, you know?" he said as he chewed on more kreb. "Texas has those flat desert plains that stretch on, and that's cool, but man. Big sky country. Especially from the rez."
"Yeah. I mean I like here, but I miss seeing the entire skyline sometimes." Kyle said, with a laugh. "I don't miss driving an hour to get to fuckin' Walmart, but I miss being able to stand in the middle of nowhere and it's sky all the way around. Before - before my mom died, and my dad moved, I drove out a few times, and god, that last hour of the drive at night is amazing. Nothing for miles but all the stars."
Forge exhaled deeply. "Least you Anglos got a Wal-Mart. Thanks to the BIA we don't actually own land and shit on the rez so nobody wants to build stores, places to work." he said, and then shook his head. "Not the time to unload on you, man. Sorry." he said with another sigh. "With ya on big sky country. Just you and the cosmos, stretching on forever."
"Nah, you're good. I mean I don't get it get it, but.." Kyle spread his hands in the universal gesture of "you know what I mean." "I was in juvie with a couple of.." He paused, tilted his head, and counted. "Uh, maybe rez kids you might've known, you're my age, so I've kinda heard. Kinda. I was fifteen, and wasn't there long." He pointedly took an outsized bite of noodles. "Serious time over, but we should like. We should chat sometime for serious about this. When we're not both trying to murder our gut flora." Another bite of noodles went in, and Kyle stabbed his chopsticks into the box. "Yogurt. Fuck. I knew there was something else I should order. Eh, I'll borrow kombucha from Arthur, he usually has like 12 of them in the fridge."
"Looking back, man, my family was so lucky. Dad grew up on the rez, so did Mom, but they _got out_. Made something of themselves. But still kept their, and this is gonna sound _really_ stupid, their red." he said with a helpless little shrug. "Man, I ever become God-Emperor, one of the first things I'm gonna do is stop with the paternalistic BIA _bullshit_. Or, more realistically, make it fuckin' work for us and not against us. It's not like the schools are worth a damn on the rez so maybe teachin' the kids and the elders, whoever wants to learn, about how to work capitalism to their benefit might be worth doing. Shit, I could rant about this for hours - ate up enough it from Dad and Naze both." he said. "Ah, fuck. Now I'm depressed and murdering my insides." he said, stabbing an a kreb and popping it down the hatch. "And killing the vibe."
"Killed the mood, killed the gut flora, killed some kreb..." Kyle said, with a handwave. "It happens, the government is awful." He stood and dug around in one of the cabinets and pulled out a pair of red solo cups, filled both and handed one to Forge. "Pre death hydration."
"Pre-death hydration." he said with a grin, saluting Kyle with the cup before taking a pull from the contents of his. Mmm, Gatorade. "So. If you don't mind me asking, what was it like for white folks in Montana?" he asked, then waved his flesh-and-blood hand. "Don't want to talk about it, I get it, but I was curious."
Kyle scrunched up his face, clearly thinking and mouthed to himself. "I left when I was like fifteen. Maybe fourteen. So I dunno. My folks did okay, but I was a dumbass and got arrested, and I wasn't the kind of kid to pay attention to that. I mean I guess it's okay now, Dad sold the house when Mom died, and he made bank on it, so suburbia's decent at least. It's a fucking political nightmare now though, so kinda glad he and the grandparents got out." His stomach made a distinct gurgle, and he tapped his phone. "Okay, doordash guy in five with the Gatorade, and then we can go die." Despite the clear signs of stomach distress, he ate another 'kreb' wonton. "You know, I'll take this over eating this and then having to shit at the McDonalds ten miles before home. At least this way I can die in my own bathroom with a book and the fan on high."
Forge turned faintly green, which looked odd on his skintone. "Oh yeah. We've courted it for long enough and now it's gonna come calling." he said. "So at this point I'm gonna go befoul my own bathroom and leave you to yours. Save whatever's left, we'll feed it to Maya. Catch her after a workout and she'll eat damned near anything." he said and then got up to beat a hasty retreat. "Send a runner with the Gatorade, or make April come get it for me." he called out before beating a completely undignified hasty retreat.
Forge, limping and relying on his cane, was wandering the halls looking for Kyle. If Naze had sent him a little something shamanic express, it was usually important. Old man didn't like antagonizing the spirits and spending strength frivolously. He was, after all, getting up there in years.
But for now he had a bag filled with some very, very mediocre Chinese take-out and he had to share it with a fellow Montanan. Even if he only spent his summers there on the rez, it apparently counted enough.
Like everything else about him, he thought with a sigh, split between different worlds.
And his goddamned leg ached.
"My dude." Kyle had followed his nose a little, and mostly the text message he'd gotten, back into the mansion. He was still leafy in places, walking the roofs to assess how many dead leaves were in the gutters had lead to clearing a few of them had led to saying 'fuck it' and going looking for the pressure washer. Which he could not find, and then his phone had whistled at him, with a "prty sre forge looking 4 u"
He'd instinctively looked for the smell of red bull and microwave burritos, followed that for a few minutes, realized it might lead him in the wrong direction, considered what he knew of this new Forge, and then revised. Red Bull, Microwave Burritos and Cordite.
"Yo. I heard you were looking for me and holy shit is that what I think it is." Kyle had intended to ask a relevant question, and completely veered off the path. "Is that from KK? Holy fuckballs. How. Also why, but mostly how."
To Kyle's keener-than-most ears, Forge had a certain amount of Montanan accent. Not much, and not strong, but it was there. Most of it got smothered by the Texan in his voice. "Shaman Express. I think my uncle is trying to kill us with thoroughly mediocre mall fast food." he said with a wry look. "But yeah. KK's." he said, holding the offending food item bag up for Kyle's inspection. "Wanna take five, scarf it down, see if we survive the experience?"
"At least it's not the cinnamon rolls. Or that cookie stand that I am pretty sure got burned down twice." Kyle snagged the edge of the bag with a claw, pulled it open a little and sniffed. "Oh, we gonna die. It's that garlic chicken and the 'kreb' wontons." He was nodding the entire time. "Hell yes I'm in. I bet they still spell it kreb too. I dunno what the eff a kreb is, but it's sure as hell not crab, or fake crab."
Forge was pretty sure Kyle knew how to handle his claws but Forge was gonna treat it with respect. Give him a slight wiggins about things slithering about on a dusty desert floor, but he blinked the images away. "It's ... kreb." he said with a shrug. "Right up there with bagles." he said with a grin.
"Oh my god, is that store still there?" Kyle let the bag go, and waved down the hall. "Okay, kitchen so we can go outside and die, or the garage so that we can just open the big bay door and air the place out?"
Forge contemplated this question for a moment. "Kitchen. I don't want this shit anywhere near my bike." he pointed out reasonably. "Plus, easier to run outside and barf than try to find an open restroom" he added after a moment.
"God, same, I just did a full detailing on mine. I don't need it to smell like death." Kyle said, with a nod. "Okay, so was KK's your 'if you're good during christmas shopping" treat, or the 'got dragged halfway across the state because nobody had a sitter and now someone feels guilty so you get to eat wontons until you hate life."
Forge snorted in amusement. "No, KKs was the "If you will fucking stop whining about being a rez brat for FIVE MINUTES you can have your white people garbage food." he said with a grin and a shrug. "I was kinda a dick for a few years there until I got over myself to a certain degree." he said. "And think about it - I've got a stomach of steel and you _literally_ regenerate and we've both had terrible experiences with KK's. We sure they're not drugging us with mind-control chemicals?"
Kyle coughed a laugh. "Yeah, in my case, I'm sure. I've had a medical workup down to my literal DNA. Your uncle knows that like, calling bad chinese food white people garbage food is the height of fuckin irony, right? I like this guy already, and all I know is that he's a complete troll."
Forge laughed at that. "That's part of his job description." he said. "Man forgets how to laugh, he gets busy dying." he said. "And if there was anyone suffering from more cranial rectal inversion than me when I was a teen, I really don't want to hear about it." he said. "Naze loves those big soft pretzel things and when I remind him that they're literally German, he likes to start positing about lost tribes in Europe." he said with a snicker. "But yeah. White people garbage food. Think the Asians got lumped in just by proximity there."
"And he's not like. Entirely wrong. Get Jubilee on the subject of why American Chinese food is legit, but also specifically like, American Chinese. She's got a whole rant, with academic citations. There's a powerpoint." Kyle led the way to the kitchen, and disappeared to collect the paper plates and some disposable chopsticks. "But basically it starts with her going 'look crab rangoom's fucking delicious but it's also white people chinese food."
Forge groaned theatrically. "Great. He hears this, he'll be even more insufferable than he already is." he said with a laugh. "White people can't leave well enough alone." he pontificated.
"My dude. I am a white people and I am right there with you." Kyle said, agreeably. "You know Maya knows KK's too, right? One of the two things that got her to stop just hating me on sight for whatever reason. I knew about KK's, and I kept just handing her venison jerky everytime she remembered I can read sign. Can't sign much myself, because." He held up both hands, claws all the way out, and wiggled his fingers, then slid them in and his first knuckles locked straight. "I gotta lisp in ASL. In English too if I'm not careful about my teeth, but I read it pretty well."
"Makes sense, but I did not know this." he said with a shrug. "Naze made sure I could sign and when I built the hand, it's flexible enough to be able to sign with." he said. "Unlike the disaster the VA tried to fob off on me. Ugh." he said with a shudder.
"Well, you know." Kyle spread his hands. "The government can dump a grazillion dollars into aircraft carriers, can't actually fix the people they break." He unwrapped one of the sets of chopsicks, and handed another over to Forge. "The real test, and ima bet if you can sign with that thing you can already do this, is can you eat noodles with chopsticks with the robot hand."
"Full human range of motion." Forge said with a grin. "Could even go superhuman if I wanted, but it's a hand. If I'm close enough to punch people something has gone hideously wrong." he said with a laugh. "And hey, government's gonna government. Building aircraft carriers and fighter jets brings money into Congressional districts, makes their partners in the military-industrial complex happy. Not to mention keeping the fam in circuit boards and Go-gurt when I was young." he smirked. Taking up the chopsticks in his artificial hand, he twirled them about before picking up the infamously bowel-destroying KK's faux-Chinese food and taking a bite.
Kyle was significantly less graceful with his own chopsticks, having to retract his claws into his hand to keep from breaking the sticks. "I have... " He paused. "I have up close and personal experience with the government and a stupidly over funded military robot, so, you know, justifiably embittered." He took a careful bit of garlic noodles, wheezed, and then took another. "A thirty foot tall robot. It did not enjoy having it's insides ripped up."
"Sentinel project. Worst-kept secret in DARPA. I refused to work on it. Which made me sad, they were prepared to throw _stupid_ gobs of money at me to help them out. But no, mutant-hunting giant robots is a bit beyond the pale. Also, I'm technically under NDA so I said nothink." he said with a smirk. "And why does this taste so good when I know it's going to annihilate me later?"
"Plus you know then they turn on their creator and you've got your own giant robot gunning for you." Kyle said, around another mouthful of pungent noodles. "MSG, and hate. I'm convinced, they've got a mutant back there in the kitchen who hates everyone. Makes the food great, and then the shits are hateful."
Forge couldn't help it - he barked out a laugh at that. "Maybe. Or just a pissed-off Chinese dude who's hatin' on what America thinks is his national cuisine." he said with another laugh. "I'm so going to annihilate the bathroom later." he said as he reached for more of the known-suspect Chinese.
Kyle took another mouthful of noodles, and then sat his chopsticks down. "You know what, ima just order Gatorade now for delivery. Some poor driver for Doordash or whatever can get a twenty buck tip so neither of us gets dehydrated from the MSG shits." He tapped at his phone. "Gatorade color? Mine's yellow.'
Probably a good idea. And save the rest of that for Maya.": he said, gesturing with his chopsticks. "She deserves to suffer as we will." he added with a laugh. "And I'll take red. Duh." he said.
"Maya deserves to suffer just because I have to review her Danger Room runs." Kyle muttered. "I have no idea what Gatorade she drinks, so she gets orange." He tapped more on the phone. "okay, Gatorade, rice pouches... baby wipes." He tapped one more time, definititly. "Doordash arrives to save us in about ten minutes. In the mean time.' He snagged a 'kreb' wonton and crunched it. "kreb."
"Better you than me." he said, snagging a kreb and chowing down on it. "Yes. Kreb." he said sagely, then ruined it with a grin. "I don't want to even think about what X-Men Danger Room runs look like. I was E4 Mafia and infantry, I'm pretty sure my brain would break." he joked, then paused as his stomach started to signal the rest of his body. Still, for now he was ignoring it in favor of pummeling his body with more MSG and potential microbial death. "Sometimes I miss big sky country, you know?" he said as he chewed on more kreb. "Texas has those flat desert plains that stretch on, and that's cool, but man. Big sky country. Especially from the rez."
"Yeah. I mean I like here, but I miss seeing the entire skyline sometimes." Kyle said, with a laugh. "I don't miss driving an hour to get to fuckin' Walmart, but I miss being able to stand in the middle of nowhere and it's sky all the way around. Before - before my mom died, and my dad moved, I drove out a few times, and god, that last hour of the drive at night is amazing. Nothing for miles but all the stars."
Forge exhaled deeply. "Least you Anglos got a Wal-Mart. Thanks to the BIA we don't actually own land and shit on the rez so nobody wants to build stores, places to work." he said, and then shook his head. "Not the time to unload on you, man. Sorry." he said with another sigh. "With ya on big sky country. Just you and the cosmos, stretching on forever."
"Nah, you're good. I mean I don't get it get it, but.." Kyle spread his hands in the universal gesture of "you know what I mean." "I was in juvie with a couple of.." He paused, tilted his head, and counted. "Uh, maybe rez kids you might've known, you're my age, so I've kinda heard. Kinda. I was fifteen, and wasn't there long." He pointedly took an outsized bite of noodles. "Serious time over, but we should like. We should chat sometime for serious about this. When we're not both trying to murder our gut flora." Another bite of noodles went in, and Kyle stabbed his chopsticks into the box. "Yogurt. Fuck. I knew there was something else I should order. Eh, I'll borrow kombucha from Arthur, he usually has like 12 of them in the fridge."
"Looking back, man, my family was so lucky. Dad grew up on the rez, so did Mom, but they _got out_. Made something of themselves. But still kept their, and this is gonna sound _really_ stupid, their red." he said with a helpless little shrug. "Man, I ever become God-Emperor, one of the first things I'm gonna do is stop with the paternalistic BIA _bullshit_. Or, more realistically, make it fuckin' work for us and not against us. It's not like the schools are worth a damn on the rez so maybe teachin' the kids and the elders, whoever wants to learn, about how to work capitalism to their benefit might be worth doing. Shit, I could rant about this for hours - ate up enough it from Dad and Naze both." he said. "Ah, fuck. Now I'm depressed and murdering my insides." he said, stabbing an a kreb and popping it down the hatch. "And killing the vibe."
"Killed the mood, killed the gut flora, killed some kreb..." Kyle said, with a handwave. "It happens, the government is awful." He stood and dug around in one of the cabinets and pulled out a pair of red solo cups, filled both and handed one to Forge. "Pre death hydration."
"Pre-death hydration." he said with a grin, saluting Kyle with the cup before taking a pull from the contents of his. Mmm, Gatorade. "So. If you don't mind me asking, what was it like for white folks in Montana?" he asked, then waved his flesh-and-blood hand. "Don't want to talk about it, I get it, but I was curious."
Kyle scrunched up his face, clearly thinking and mouthed to himself. "I left when I was like fifteen. Maybe fourteen. So I dunno. My folks did okay, but I was a dumbass and got arrested, and I wasn't the kind of kid to pay attention to that. I mean I guess it's okay now, Dad sold the house when Mom died, and he made bank on it, so suburbia's decent at least. It's a fucking political nightmare now though, so kinda glad he and the grandparents got out." His stomach made a distinct gurgle, and he tapped his phone. "Okay, doordash guy in five with the Gatorade, and then we can go die." Despite the clear signs of stomach distress, he ate another 'kreb' wonton. "You know, I'll take this over eating this and then having to shit at the McDonalds ten miles before home. At least this way I can die in my own bathroom with a book and the fan on high."
Forge turned faintly green, which looked odd on his skintone. "Oh yeah. We've courted it for long enough and now it's gonna come calling." he said. "So at this point I'm gonna go befoul my own bathroom and leave you to yours. Save whatever's left, we'll feed it to Maya. Catch her after a workout and she'll eat damned near anything." he said and then got up to beat a hasty retreat. "Send a runner with the Gatorade, or make April come get it for me." he called out before beating a completely undignified hasty retreat.
