underachievement | IC INBOX + OPEN POST / memes, psl, etc.

Hell, he's right. Why not? The weather's clear enough. In the event that she gets too drunk to haul it back in, he can do it. The hardwood floors are hardly in pristine condition. A couple more nicks and scratches won't lose him the security deposit.

Jess carries the couch out, losing a cushion while wedging herself through the door. As soon as she makes for it to pick it up, Rocky dashes for it to snatch it up first. She scoops it right before his teeth chomp down on the air where it had just been. Once she reinserts it into the couch, Rocky jumps up, hopping from pillow to pillow, then jumps back down and bounds for the water. He barks up a chorus when his paws hit the lake, which doesn't distract Frank. She won't worry about Rocky, in that case, but she will angle her chair to give her a view of both him and the grillmaster.

She disappears inside to find and use the bathroom. Returning outside, she grabs their drinks. She contemplates grabbing the whiskey bottle to refill them but it can wait until it's time to get the plates and silverware. On the deck, she sets his glass on the seat of the unoccupied chair and occupies her own chair with drink in hand.

"I could eat." She's learning, too, though she'll have to watch him cook on the grill more than once to pick up what details she missed. Her attention is split, and if it weren't, she wouldn't be overt about it, lest he consciously teach her something. "Tell me what we're having and I can take some of the prep work off your hands."

Edited (blorbo) 2019-09-09 03:06 (UTC)

He spies his drink and scoops it up for a long sip like it's ice cold lemonade after a hard day's work instead of unpleasantly warm whiskey after a few moment's tinkering.

"You don't have to," he points out after swallowing, but she knows that he enjoys the work. And he's not opposed to her speeding him along so he waves her on as he makes his way back inside the house after another cautionary glance towards their stupid mutt. He's still playing along the water's edge and doesn't seem to be disturbing anything so Frank lets him be as he starts to dig his grocery bags out of the deep freeze, laying fingers against the glass of the liquor bottle to see if it's cooled any. "Was gonna make kebabs."

He remembers to tell her as the ingredients would have anyway, peppers and beef and skewer sticks hitting the counter all at once. Locating a few cutting boards, he lays them down side by side and holds up two knives for her consideration, intending for her to take one. Since he doesn't think she knows which is which anyway, when she makes her choice of the vegetable chopper he shoves the peppers over to her station.

"Ever chopped onions?"

Another night, she'll let him take care of everything, start to finish. She's too restless to sit back and watch it all come together. She can make it up to him by leaving him with dish duty while she gets a fire going.

Inside, she rinses her hands in the sink and dries them with a towel. She grabs the knife in his left hand, the handle settling into the palm of her right. There must be a distinction between them but pfft, not with super strength. And she'd rather chop into vegetables anyway.

"Once upon a time." In her twenties, she learned a couple of easy dishes to make with the TV on in the background. One way or another, Trish was paying for the food, but it felt more self-sufficient to put together a meal herself than buy take-out every night. Though that meal was usually pasta. She could've nailed kebabs, if she ever thought to try them. At least the skewering part.

Jess chops the top off the onion and cuts it in half, laying both halves flat on the cutting board. She starts to peel the papery skin from the nearest half and putting it aside in a little pile.

Edited (i was doing Last Looks and got cut off by sammy) 2019-09-10 02:09 (UTC)

That inspires a thoughtful little noise, though it never leaves his throat. This moment could remind him of a great many things if he allowed it to, but right now he's focused on remaining in the present with her, something that gets easier with practice. As he goes to the sink to wash his hands, Rocky is charging back inside as if just now realizing they ditched him.

"Dummy," he says affectionately before slotting himself in beside Jessica and starting to cube the meat. Unsurprisingly, this is the job he prefers as well. It doesn't take long for the onion to start getting to him either, rubbing at his watering eyes every few seconds with a clean wrist.

"Hey, Rock," she mumbles over her shoulder, then gets to cutting. The dog continues to bump his snout against her calves, and Frank's too, when he steps in beside her.

Once her eyes are stinging, she glances at Frank to find his are glassy. Jess suppresses a smile and switches to slicing lengthwise, dicing the onion into squares roughly the size of the meat they'll be slotted between. After a long, hard blink, a tear rolls down her far cheek, to be wiped off on her shoulder. "I forgot I wasn't immune to onions."

Edited 2019-09-10 03:31 (UTC)

He glances over, giving a watery laugh at their predicament.

"You can't have everything, Supergirl." Another hot tear runs down his face, but goes ignored as he reaches out to drain his glass and keep cutting. Once he's done, Rocky gets the scraps for not being an asshole and Frank sprinkles salt and pepper over the rest. "Wanna bring everything out for assembly?"

The weather is so nice, every moment they're inside he feels like he's missing out.

There's a nostalgic quality to the sensation that almost makes Jess like the sting. Up through the end of the first onion. Then her tears are forming as quickly as she can wipe them away.

"Yeah, right behind you." Both onions sliced, Jess goes to the sink. She runs cool water into her hands and splashes her face, eyes open. She does it two more times and twists the faucet shut. She flicks water from her fingertips and pats her hands on her jeans, then dabs her wet cheeks with the collar of her shirt. Without further delay, she scoops up the onions and heads out.

Jess summons the driest gusto imaginable to kick them off with, "Okay. Let's stab some meat."

A dangerous gleam flashes in his gaze, grabbing the meat, peppers and skewers. They can come back for the whiskey later, or Jess can, he reasons. She would anyway even if he had nothing to do with it. He follows her out with Rocky hot on his heels and sits on the couch to form an assembly line between them. Though it's surely self-explanatory, he telegraphs the moves of putting the meat on the stick with peppers then onions then another cube of meat then more peppers and onions and placing the fist completed one on the edge of the cutting board on his lap. The dog sits back on his haunches to watch them, already drooling onto the deck and looking back and forth between them waiting for one false move.

"...I like doing stuff like this with you." Normal stuff, is maybe what he means. It sort of slips out, he doesn't want to put her on the spot day one, it's just been a long road for them to get here, and sometimes he can't help ruining a good thing when he has it.

Jess soaks in his candor, focused on the task in front of her. There are more skewers than they need but she wouldn't mind grilling up extra kebabs for leftovers, for her to eat cold in the middle of the night. Obviously, she'll think back on right now. It's unavoidable. So far, it makes for a kind memory, but that could change.

"I think I can only tell if I liked doing something once it's over," she muses aloud, putting aside a stuffed stick and picking up a fresh one. She supposes postponing her happiness is a defense mechanism or a form of self-punishment. Pulling double duty, most likely. Jess has no idea where to start undoing that and no hope of succeeding if she did. "But this isn't bad."

Rocky seizes his opportunity when she looks over at Frank, snout peeking over her cutting board. Her soft smirk vanishes as she snaps down, "Hey! No!"

It's such a Jessica rebuttal that all he can do is laugh, a soft, almost defeated sound.

"I'll take it," he admits, like she doesn't already know he'd gladly accept her scraps any day. Speaking of... he glares at Rocky and the dog backs up a few steps, pressing his ears back against his head and whining pathetically. Mean parents!!! Frank gets up once they're done, gathering up all their finished sticks to toss on the grill. The sizzle threatens to pull him back in time again, so he glances over his shoulder and attempts to hold her gaze a moment. "When you go back inside, can you grab me a beer?"

She regrets scolding Rocky once her hands are idle and coated in juices, without a towel in sight. Somehow she managed to forget that cooking is messy. Surely that's among the reasons she gave it up. What a waste it's been, bothering with the complicated excuses, when the amount of cleanup could ward anyone off. Actually, she remarks as Frank sets about grilling, he prepared a dish that makes very little refuse and requires very little tidying up after. She can do it while she's washing her hands and rinsing her cutting board.

Frank catches her as she's standing, board held in both hands. His request is so mundane, it echoes surreally against the aggressively domestic scene they've created. What sucks most is that neither of them can make light of it. Instead of a snide "yes, dear," Jess nods and heads in.

Like she thought, it takes a mere couple of minutes to wash her hands and clean up in the kitchen. Scraps are sorted into the trash or a metal bowl, to be taken out for composting. She wipes the counter down and hangs the kitchen towel over the faucet to drip onto the knives and cutting board to be washed after dinner. Jess grabs her whiskey bottle from the freezer, as well as Frank's beer. She's reading the label as she crosses the threshold onto the deck.

Stepping into the billowing heat of the grill, she hands the bottle off to him. "So is this your brand or was there a deal on?"

He wipes his own hands on his jeans and rolls his eyes when Rocky tries to lick the grease off. Frank's closing the lid on the grill just as Jess hands him his beer, which has a grin spreading back across his face easily. Her question draws his gaze down to the label too, like he wasn't sure what he bought until now.

"Never had it before, thought I'd try something new." Which doesn't exactly line up with anything about him really, does it? Maybe he's just sick of reminders. Frank takes a long swig like it's familiar to him anyway, licking his lips for the excess. It's almost cold enough after defrosting in the van and being in the fridge almost an hour. He's definitely not complaining.

She gives a semi-invested "huh", then her eyes take on a thirst as he swipes the taste from his lips. She's going to have to beat him to that at some point tonight.

Her arm brushes against his incidentally as she turns to retrieve her glass. She sets the bottle in its place and carries it to the edge of the deck, where she can sip her whiskey and scan the shoreline. It's an objectively beautiful view; Jess wonders how long until that's true for her. A couple weeks is all she'll give it. And dozens more scans like this, every day, searching for what isn't there. She doesn't have to ask to know that Frank's running the same checks, and Rocky is their failsafe. Three layers of security, excluding general isolation. In a perfect world, she could feel safe three times as fast.

To Jess, there's nothing out there.

He can feel gooseflesh raise in her wake as she brushes against him only to move away. Frank watches the same thing she's watching, ears pricked like a bloodhound ready for a strike. But all that comes is the insistent sound of crickets and bullfrogs and measure by measure he relaxes almost as much as he was pretending he already was, frame sinking down into his boots while he lifts the lid back up to check on their food and turn it over to give it an even char. One hand stays on his beer, drinking it fast so it doesn't go completely warm by the time he can finish, the other hand buried in Rocky's furry neck scruff.

"Sun's goin' down," he announces to no one in particular, suddenly remembering that Jessica had brought her camera but he's loathe to suggest it and pull her away from her thoughts so he chews on his lip instead before taking another swig.

She likes his remark. He isn't imposing any judgement on nightfall, just calling attention to it. Jess enjoys the darkness. Regardless of what happened to her on the street one night, she's immune to fear of the dark. The night has always been hers, no taking back required. Now that her paranoia has plateaued at an all-time high, the ignorance of invisible threats gives her space in her head to relax.

All she knows is that when she cracks her neck and exhales, she feels a couple grams lighter. And that she's hungry.

"How about a walk after food?" she asks, diligently avoiding the word "dinner." Jess turns back toward him, punctuating her question with a drink.

The second she says 'walk' Rocky's ears perk up and he's pushing his nose against her legs insistently. Frank turns to watch them and laughs outright at her error.

"If he lets us get through our meal now, sure." It reminds him of walking with her in Reims and then in the villages, always at night and away from prying eyes - that is, until they just didn't care anymore. He wonders if they'll run into any late-season party-goers out here, but he's not that concerned either way. After a brief duck back inside the house, Frank puts two skewers on paper plates for either of them and closes the grill now off so Rocky doesn't eat their leftovers, then brings everything over so they can eat together. Instead of beer bottle against whiskey glass, he taps his stick against hers in cheers before taking a bite and leaning back into his seat to keep watching the waning Sun.

Talk about a rookie mistake, Jones! She knows what to avoid saying around dogs as well as she knows how to apologize to one. Jess sets her glass aside and cajoles Rocky with an inundation of rubs around the head. That, too, is a mistake, as he clatters to the ground and starts to wiggle around on his back. She thinks he wants her to rub his belly, but his joyfully flailing legs prevent her from getting a hand in. Then he rolls onto his front, hops to his feet and bolts for the water to run off the energy.

She keeps an eye on him to ensure he doesn't go any farther than before. As soon as she picks her glass up, there's a paper plate in her other hand. Jess smirks a little. Mass-produced and wasteful, they'd never see one at a town hall or harvest gathering. Crossing kebabs, she casually thanks him for dinner, so that it sounds more like she's thanking him for handing her dinner.

Jess takes up the couch, back to the arm and legs lain across both large cushions. Her glass is safely tucked between her thigh and the couch back, her plate held over her chest to protect her shirt. She digs her teeth in for a big bite that takes a lot of chewing. Her contentedness in doing so ought to ease any possible concern that she might not like his cooking. First for everything, etc. It's instantly filling, so her next bite is more modest.

Frank snorts and rolls his eyes as he leans back on his chair, legs up on the arm of the sofa with his plate resting on one thigh and his beer held over the other. He's not sure he's ever felt so relaxed, even long before Kandahar; not that he ever likes to compare the two opposing lifetimes he's led. But sitting here with her, eating meat off a stick and watching a dumbass rescue dog play his heart out isn't so bad.

The thanks is registered and filed away without comment, knowing she'd prefer it that way. He already said thank you in his way for her help with the task so it seems natural to just sit back and enjoy it. He's content enough to let the Sun run itself down while they eat in comfortable silence. After his meal is done he nurses the rest of his beer, trying not to let it make him sleepy when he promised her a walk but his eyes begin to droop despite himself.

Every time she teeters on the edge of relaxation, she compulsively reminds herself to stay alert (and don't show it). A quick and silent process, it doesn't register to her that she's doing it, and that's like relaxing.

Jess surprises herself when she's finished her meal and craving strikes her for seconds. Frank looks ready to take a nap. He can close his eyes for a few minutes while she chews half a second stick clean. Obviously, she hasn't had hearty food in a good while. No need to chitchat about it. Once she's full, she drains her whiskey glass and heads for him.

"Don't get up," she tells him, plucking the paper plate from his lap. If he falls asleep in the five minutes it takes her to toss the garbage and stow the leftovers, she'll be more impressed than annoyed. Doubtless that while they're here, they'll both get to know the lake, with and without each other. But always with Rocky, if he has a say.

He's finished his beer by the time she comes over to collect his plate, so he hands her that too with a mouthed 'thanks,' thinking of Maria when he really wants to do anything but that right now. If not for that reminder, he might have passed out before Jess could make it back outside, but as it is he sits up a little bit and whistles for Rocky, losing sight of him in the dim lighting. He races back to the deck from not-too-far, bounding up and into Frank's lap near violently. It knocks the wind out of his chest, but he just releases a tiny cough and pets the dog like he didn't just try to murder him.

"You're a special kinda stupid, ain't ya?"

She thought she was ambivalent about having his company but then she hears his whistle from inside and is suddenly pleased. It's only the first day. She's just a little giddy from isolation. And food.

Her grin breaks free as she steps back out. The dog is a pile of limbs in Frank's lap, the mud from Rocky's feet smeared onto his jeans. The next time she feels bad about walking all over him, she'll have to bring up that mental snapshot. Either as a reminder that there's always more to get away with, or that he thrives on being used when it's useful. Jess tamps down her smile on her way to the whiskey bottle.

"Who's looking after the other fleabags?" she asks as she fills the glass halfway.

Frank looks up at her, eyes crinkling with mirth though there's still some sleepiness lingering in his features. He's considering reaching out for her just as she turns to the bottle and it feels like a strange metaphor he doesn't care to parse at the moment.

"Kam's checkin' in on the bulk of 'em. Her and Lockjaw will keep those freaks in line." It doesn't occur to him that Jess might not know about Kamala's giant teleporting dog. #justdadthings. "Aretha and Max are at the Liebermans though. I'll probably never see 'em again." He sounds bemused by the whole scenario as he shoves Rocky off his chair who gives an offended bark as he hits the ground running, beelining for Jessica to get some validation. Heavy boots hit the deck next as Frank pushes himself up, knowing once he's upright walking won't be any task at all.

"Ready?"

Lockjaw has her drawing a blank. Detective mind initiate: Sounds like a dog. Until she's proven otherwise, she'll assume Frank arranged Kamala's acquaintance with him. He'll be better protected with her than with Frank. Same goes for the rest of the dogs. Jess has never seen Kamala in action and barely even remembers what her proper powers are but she's owed the benefit of the doubt dozens of times over.

She can look after the Liebermans too. It's not her job but she'll make it hers, that's the kind of person Kamala is. If they continue to get into bed with Frank, that's their prerogative, but if Jess ever sees Micro again, she'll be sure to guilt his ass about it. For Kamala's sake, and the kids'. He and his wife can make whatever dipshit mistakes they want together. But that's a whole big can of worms for another day.

"Ready," is her watery reply, fresh off a swallow of whiskey. She sets down her freshly empty glass and pushes her hair back behind an ear, just for it to fall loose when she leans down to pet Rocky.

He nods, knowing she's thinking about something and also pretty sure he doesn't want to know what it is. Frank closes their sliding door more so the bugs won't get in than any other reason, still used to living in places where locks were foreign objects. It hasn't served him so well in the city, but he doesn't have to worry about that out here. Shoving his hands in jacket pockets, he steps off the deck without looking back, smiling softly when he hears the crunch of leaves under Jessica's boots and four light paws.

"I wonder how far we are from the next cabin." He hadn't kept driving to find out, after all. He's hoping it's farther than they'll walk tonight.

They're going to sweep the cabin when they get back anyway, so Jess doesn't lag behind to bother with the lock. If someone wanted to attack them today, they would have done it already. If they're going to be late, how serious a threat could they be?

Falling into step beside Frank, her eyes are glued to Rocky while his pace and path are in flux from excitement. Wherever his nose takes him, he goes, zigzagging from leaf to stick to a different stick in front of them. She expects to lose him to a random point of interest but his investigation always ceases one step before he falls behind.

She checks up ahead before teasing, "Maybe you'll make a fishing buddy."

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rude perfect sammy

his patronus is interrupting starfish

Re: his patronus is interrupting starfish

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