TMA!Jacobi and Jon

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asks the driver, who was already speeding off, leaving Jacobi in front of the old building.

"Thanks for your help!" he calls out with false cheer, rolling his eyes before trudging his way up to what he had been told was the Magnus Institute. He doesn't even flinch at the screech of tires that comes from blocks behind him. He doesn't have to see the car erupt into flames as a very confused driver crawls out and phones for help. That's chaos for someone else.

Instead, he takes the steps up, backpack on his shoulder. He had flown all the way out here, so it's not as if he's going to be missing any leads. Besides. He has an appointment.

The closer to the door he gets, the more uncomfortable he feels about this. It's like a whisper of wind against his skin, a suggestion of something dangerous, but Jacobi's never let something like that bother him. He walks through, hands in his pockets.

Comments

[mrballisticsdummy]

"You're actually going to cook?" he snorts. "Uh, yeah. I do, actually."

He sets his backpack down with that now-familiar metallic clang and sits at the table. He's hollow, a bit worn out, but there is some comfort he takes in not being dismissed.

[epistemological]

"it's cheaper than getting carryout," he explains before he'll put the rice on and start mixing the spices. Thankfully, the garlic and ginger past is in a can.

At least it smells good?

[mrballisticsdummy]

"I live like a college kid," he explains. "Take out and noodles. So I'm not exactly picky."

He leans forward, watching him. "Where did you find time to learn how to cook?"

[epistemological]

"I learned very early," he explains as he gives the spices a toast, tossing them in the dry pan.

"As I nearly starved on 'good, plain, English food' due to sheer boredom."

He's not quite sure how this turned into a friendly encounter. But at least Jacobi isn't trying to stab him and get by.

[mrballisticsdummy]

Not yet, anyway.

He leans back, crossing his legs. "My dad didn't think I needed to learn. I was probably gay enough without getting behind an oven."

[epistemological]

"My grandmother was just happy she didn't have to cook as much," he says as he starts in with the onions, cutting them up. Tomatoes from a can, cooked to give it a bit of a roasted flavor. Then more seasoning, chickpeas carefully drained, a few more bits and bobs.

"She didn't live to find out I hardly cared about the gender of my partner. She might have known. She probably didn't care. She didn't much care about anything to do with me."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Yes, well, we wouldn't be here if we had happy lives."

He picks charcoal from his fingers, watching his movements as he cooks. "How did you end up here?"

[epistemological]

"I don't know," he says thoughtfully, "some pretty big arseholes can have perfectly lovely lives before something happens to them. And then they're one of us."

He glances over at Jacobi before he shrugs.

"Here here, or touched by one of Them?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Whatever you want to answer," he says, finding the table exceptionally interesting.

[epistemological]

Someone's been stuck inside the Institute with no one to talk to for a while since Basira hates him and Melanie can't look at him and hell no is he talking to Helen.

We're not discussing Martin.

"Encounter with the Web when I was eight. A children's book Leitner, if you can believe that. Watched a near grown man be eaten by-"

He shakes that off as he continues to cook.

"Then I came to work here."

[mrballisticsdummy]

Well, now he wants to know what the man was eaten by, but that's not helpful beyond giving Jacobi a more accurate mental picture.

"Why here?"

[epistemological]

"They're probably the most prestigious and well known to have standards to their scholarship... as opposed to being a bunch of conmen seeking funding. I was looking for information and a place to research and it was the best one around."

He'll take the rice off the back burner and fluffs it, letting it sit as he finishes up the rest.

[mrballisticsdummy]

Jacobi stands up, restless, and finds a cup and some instant coffee. Nothing good, but it's caffeine.

"Yeah, you sure hit the jackpot with this place," he deadpans, filling the cup with water. Of course, it's steaming by the time he puts it back on the counter.

[epistemological]

"Hindsight is 20/20 for those of the Ceaseless Watcher as well," he says with a grumpy wry expression. But he's going to start plating up the meal for Jacobi. It's all canned and from containers, but it's still damnably well put together for all that.

"How about you?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

He gives Jon a side eye but picks up the plate from him when it's done.

"Accident at the place I was working years ago. A detonator went off early. Killed a couple of people on my watch. Only...it wasn't an accident. Not really."

[epistemological]

Jon will look back at him because he knows it smells good, at least.

"My condolences. I'm assuming that, hmm... your entire life was destroyed in one fell swoop?"

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Got it in one."

He takes the plate back to the table, picking at it, though he's more interested in the coffee.

"I mean, that's what it was like. And then a series of other life destroying incidences later and here I am at your stupid door."

[epistemological]

"Trying to burn your own heart out," he says before dipping his head towards the plate. "That might do it without the knife if you're really all that interested."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Why do you say that?"

Though, curious now, he actually does try a bite.

[epistemological]

...because it is delicious. But also? Hot as the fires of hell.

"...I wasn't going for that intentionally. I may have forgotten halfway I was cooking for someone else."

[mrballisticsdummy]

It takes him half a second to process what exactly he just put in his mouth, and he actually laughs.

"Shit. Do you actually eat like this?"

But it does entice him to try more.

[epistemological]

"...I grew up in a house hold that was careful with the black pepper," he explains with a wry smile, "and read a copy of a rather famous Indian cook book with rapt curiosity. Once I was cooking for myself, I put those lessons into practice. And given that the greatest appeal for me in food is something that reminds me to keep eating, the heat kept going up and up and... well, that's about where I am now."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"How fortunate for me," he snickers, picking up the fork again and pushing it around his plate. "Do you know what space does to your taste buds? Makes everything bland. Something about gravity and fluids. So it's just a chore to keep up appearances."

He sits back. "But that is a neat trick. Making it hot as fuck."

[epistemological]

That's a snort.

"No 'trick' to it other than seasoning," he says mildly before scratching at his ear. "I can make something more mild for you if you'd like."

[mrballisticsdummy]

"Really? That's your offering? To me?"

He shakes his head. "No. It's fine. It's actually kind of nice? I guess?"

He sits back. "So you're really going to just keep it around, huh?"