[All he'd wanted to do was put hot water in the stupid cup and have the closest thing to cup noodles he could find. For comfort sake. That's all. He didn't count on his arm setting off the appliance. Or the fire.]
[He also really didn't count on broadcasting the whole incident.]
[This is a stream of alien curses. He doesn't mean for it to happen. He's just not... well. In control of this whole mess just yet. But this is what happens when you go from a live-in school setting, to space prison, to the Castle, where most food is just plain green space goo.]
[This is what happens -- you don't do so well with cooking. Even microwave noodles in a cup.]
[So Sam is treated to the cursing, to images of fire and a microwave in the shared kitchen -- or the approximation thereof -- and a wave of startled panic because shit shit shit where's the suppression kit? This is the opposite of what he wanted... Mixed with jumbled memories of ramen cooking in a coffee pot and blackened, burned coffee and why does this keep happening?]
[ Sam'd been half asleep when the press of another mind against his jolts him awake, leaving the feeling of something close to an accidental distress call. He blinks for a moment, sorting through that, and then lets out a low chuckle.
He’d send a reply back, but he remembers how Shiro had reacted the last time he unintentionally broadcasted something. So instead he rolls out of bed, murmuring, 'be right back, gotta make sure one of your broodmates isn't gonna burn the kitchen down,' at Clint’s questioning look.
Sam's in purple pajama bottoms and a black tank top with a red bird on it as he pads out into the kitchen, feet bare. He leans against the doorway, one eyebrow raised. ]
[What even are pajamas. He probably doesn't own a pair. But he's minus the armor, finally -- now just in pants and what remains of the all but skin-tight shirt. We say 'what remains' because of the scorch marks on it.]
[While he stuffs a towel into the burning microwave with one hand. The metal hand.]
[ ...all right, between doesn't own pajamas and what remains, Sam is definitely making Shiro go shopping in the morning. Or at least letting him borrow some clothes.
But for now, he can't help but make a face when Shiro shoves his hand towards the fire, metal or not, and moves a little more quickly over towards him. ]
Man, get your damn hand out of the microwave.
[ Sam reaches over to unplug the microwave, followed by slamming the door shut to contain the fire. ]
It'll burn itself out with the door shut, I had to learn that the hard way.
[Honestly, it doesn't bother him. There's enough sensation to know it's hot, but the alien metal never seemed to be bothered by anything before. Not even being shoved through spaceship hulls. Or burning hot enough to seal metal doors closed.]
[A microwave fire is nothing.]
It's fine -- I can't feel it. [Which he probably should have fucking said a minute ago, oops.]
So... this isn't the first time someone's set cup ramen on fire? That makes me feel better.
[ Oh, it's totally cool that I'm sticking my metal hand in the microwave fire and making it worse, Sam, because I can't feel a thing! That definitely doesn't say shit about my psyche.
But Sam's too tired to go into that, and he's pretty sure he pushed enough last time they talked, so he lets it go. Keeps the subject light, shaking his head a little. ]
Welcome to the club, man. My old wingman back home, he couldn't even microwave soup without making it explode. My casualties include a potato and at least a dozen or so burritos.
[He couldn't shove it into spaceship hulls or use it to weld doors shut if it hurt him. Well... if it hurt when he did those things. He doesn't know why it hurt so bad when it first activated.]
[ It's just that Sam has a different defintion of fine, and 'robot arm that may or may not have been inflicted on me without my consent and makes it so I can't feel anything in that hand' doesn't count as fine. Doesn't matter that Sam has experience with that kind of thing, it'll never get any more fine.
But Sam is sticking to light, here, and he means it, so he just chuckles a little. ]
Hell yeah. It'll get you a baked potato in about five minutes - just don't forget to poke it a couple of times with a fork, or it'll be less 'baked' and more 'exploded.'
[ He can laugh about it now - though back when he'd first started using a microwave to make his baked potatoes because he couldn't actually convince himself to cook, the explosion in his microwave had dropped him onto the kitchen floor for a solid ten minutes before he stopped tasting dust and hearing IEDs.
Sam's tired enough that a flash of that memory bleeds through, but he lets it go just as quick with a shrug and a smile. ]
If a spaceship hull can't hurt it, I think the microwave is out of its league.
[If Sam can stick to light, then Shiro can at least try and reciprocate. At least try and make it sound amusing. Maybe sometime, he'll think of Pidge using it as a modem before he thinks of it as a weapon he didn't ask for.]
[That'd be nice.]
[But then the conversation changes, and there's a memory. Right as he thinks of oh god a potato. Because how long has it been since he even saw one, let alone had one. Which, of course, leads him to thinking of every other food he misses.]
[And then there's the time he was dared to eat six bowls of Garrison macaroni at one time. He fuckin' won that one.]
[ Sam's chuckling even before Shiro cuts off his food train of thought with an apology. He shakes his head, flashing a wide, gap-toothed smile at him, warm and amused. ]
Uh-huh. Last time I think about sharing any of my shit with you, man.
[ As though he'd actually thought about sharing it this time instead of just having the memory triggered, but still. He's teasing - except for the part where yeah he's gonna remember that, but probably only to bring it up again and tease him with it later. He tugs open the fridge, pulling out a couple of potatoes and a tupperware of leftover chili, nodding in the direction of the damaged microwave. ]
I'm pretty sure you just did that so I'd feel bad enough for you to make you something to eat, but fortunately, I could use a midnight snack. Fire should be out in that one by now, see how much you can get cleaned up while I use the other one to bake these?
Sorry. I... it's been a long time since I had anything.
[Anything that wasn't space goo or whatever it was the Galra handed to their prisoners. He can't really remember what it was. But that's probably for the best, in all honesty.]
[And he really is apologetic about it. He hadn't meant to suddenly leap into a pile of food-related memories. Maybe Hunk has rubbed off on them all.]
[Except that. Literally all goes out the window. Because there is actual, goddamn, recognizable human food in the other man's hands. His eyes actually get a little wide. No way, he's not going to get emotional over a plastic container of chili and a couple goddamn potatoes.]
[ Man, even if Sam couldn't feel the guy getting emotional over potatoes and chili, he could still see it. Might as well not even bother trying to deny it.
Sam doesn't call him on it, though. He passes Shiro by on his way to the other microwave, and bumps his shoulder playfully against Shiro's - the not metal side - as he moves. ]
It's cool, I know how it is. I damn near wept over the first hot dog and soft pretzel I had when I got back home for the first time after being deployed.
I honestly don't even remember what a pretzel looks like.
[Call it a combination of however long they were on the Kerberos mission, the year in space prison, and the weeks, maybe months, afterward.]
[Those thoughts flick through his head, briefly, hovering for only a moment, before he grimaces, padding over to the microwave to assess the damage. Sam's nudge gets a glance and the barest glimpse of a smile.]
Nah, come on, don't tell me that. That's a damn tragedy, now I'm gonna have to personally undertake this mission. Re-introducing you to good food.
[ And he's only partly teasing. Well. He sounds like he's all teasing, but nah, he's damn serious. It's gonna start with chili and baked potatoes, apparently, and he stabs two of them a couple of times with a fork before setting them in the microwave. ]
Yeah, they're still bread. The original kind, anyway, now they've got all this gourmet pretzel shit that I can't make any sense of half the time.
You could try anyway, but yeah, I got the same feeling. Most of the time I try to be as honest as possible, anyway.
[ Or bury his secrets in so many truths that no one suspects he's hiding anything, but same thing. It still means he tries to be as honest as he can.
Shiro hovering over his shoulder doesn't bother him - he'd gotten used to it, too, living at the Avengers compound. He just adjusts a little to let Shiro into his space. ]
You got me. I saw a spinach and feta cheese one once, but I didn't have any plans to try it.
[ Sam gives him a sloppy salute - or at least, his attempt at a sloppy salute, which is still pretty damn sharp. Hard to take the military out of him, after all.
But that's something they have in common, again. Sam's never been that kind of person either.
He still lets out a groan at that wide eyed blink, eyes gleaming and smile teasing even as he points his spoon accusingly at Shiro. ]
Yeah, in a salad or on a flatbread or something, not a pretzel. Come on, man, don't do this to me. We got a great thing going here, don't hop on the gourmet pretzel train.
[And before that, anything. He doesn't even know what it was he'd had to feed himself. If it had been anything to remember. Maybe there's a reason for his lack of memory.]
[He shrugs, and it's helpless, weary.]
Even overcooked fish sticks sound like heaven, if I'm being honest.
[There is cheese in the white fluff of hair dangling in his eyes. So, of course, he does the only reasonable, mature thing -- he flicks it right back at Sam.]
[Hey, it worked with Allura.]
Good luck. You've got more than a year of astronaut food and space rations to deal with.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
29 ish - night time
[He also really didn't count on broadcasting the whole incident.]
[This is a stream of alien curses. He doesn't mean for it to happen. He's just not... well. In control of this whole mess just yet. But this is what happens when you go from a live-in school setting, to space prison, to the Castle, where most food is just plain green space goo.]
[This is what happens -- you don't do so well with cooking. Even microwave noodles in a cup.]
[So Sam is treated to the cursing, to images of fire and a microwave in the shared kitchen -- or the approximation thereof -- and a wave of startled panic because shit shit shit where's the suppression kit? This is the opposite of what he wanted... Mixed with jumbled memories of ramen cooking in a coffee pot and blackened, burned coffee and why does this keep happening?]
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He’d send a reply back, but he remembers how Shiro had reacted the last time he unintentionally broadcasted something. So instead he rolls out of bed, murmuring, 'be right back, gotta make sure one of your broodmates isn't gonna burn the kitchen down,' at Clint’s questioning look.
Sam's in purple pajama bottoms and a black tank top with a red bird on it as he pads out into the kitchen, feet bare. He leans against the doorway, one eyebrow raised. ]
You, uh. Need a little help?
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[While he stuffs a towel into the burning microwave with one hand. The metal hand.]
[Sam just. Gets a look of long-suffering.]
... Is there a fire extinguisher.
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But for now, he can't help but make a face when Shiro shoves his hand towards the fire, metal or not, and moves a little more quickly over towards him. ]
Man, get your damn hand out of the microwave.
[ Sam reaches over to unplug the microwave, followed by slamming the door shut to contain the fire. ]
It'll burn itself out with the door shut, I had to learn that the hard way.
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[A microwave fire is nothing.]
It's fine -- I can't feel it. [Which he probably should have fucking said a minute ago, oops.]
So... this isn't the first time someone's set cup ramen on fire? That makes me feel better.
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[ Oh, it's totally cool that I'm sticking my metal hand in the microwave fire and making it worse, Sam, because I can't feel a thing! That definitely doesn't say shit about my psyche.
But Sam's too tired to go into that, and he's pretty sure he pushed enough last time they talked, so he lets it go. Keeps the subject light, shaking his head a little. ]
Welcome to the club, man. My old wingman back home, he couldn't even microwave soup without making it explode. My casualties include a potato and at least a dozen or so burritos.
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[He couldn't shove it into spaceship hulls or use it to weld doors shut if it hurt him. Well... if it hurt when he did those things. He doesn't know why it hurt so bad when it first activated.]
[... part of him doesn't want to know why.]
You can microwave potatoes?
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[ It's just that Sam has a different defintion of fine, and 'robot arm that may or may not have been inflicted on me without my consent and makes it so I can't feel anything in that hand' doesn't count as fine. Doesn't matter that Sam has experience with that kind of thing, it'll never get any more fine.
But Sam is sticking to light, here, and he means it, so he just chuckles a little. ]
Hell yeah. It'll get you a baked potato in about five minutes - just don't forget to poke it a couple of times with a fork, or it'll be less 'baked' and more 'exploded.'
[ He can laugh about it now - though back when he'd first started using a microwave to make his baked potatoes because he couldn't actually convince himself to cook, the explosion in his microwave had dropped him onto the kitchen floor for a solid ten minutes before he stopped tasting dust and hearing IEDs.
Sam's tired enough that a flash of that memory bleeds through, but he lets it go just as quick with a shrug and a smile. ]
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[If Sam can stick to light, then Shiro can at least try and reciprocate. At least try and make it sound amusing. Maybe sometime, he'll think of Pidge using it as a modem before he thinks of it as a weapon he didn't ask for.]
[That'd be nice.]
[But then the conversation changes, and there's a memory. Right as he thinks of oh god a potato. Because how long has it been since he even saw one, let alone had one. Which, of course, leads him to thinking of every other food he misses.]
[And then there's the time he was dared to eat six bowls of Garrison macaroni at one time. He fuckin' won that one.]
... sorry, I. That sounds dramatic.
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Uh-huh. Last time I think about sharing any of my shit with you, man.
[ As though he'd actually thought about sharing it this time instead of just having the memory triggered, but still. He's teasing - except for the part where yeah he's gonna remember that, but probably only to bring it up again and tease him with it later. He tugs open the fridge, pulling out a couple of potatoes and a tupperware of leftover chili, nodding in the direction of the damaged microwave. ]
I'm pretty sure you just did that so I'd feel bad enough for you to make you something to eat, but fortunately, I could use a midnight snack. Fire should be out in that one by now, see how much you can get cleaned up while I use the other one to bake these?
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[Anything that wasn't space goo or whatever it was the Galra handed to their prisoners. He can't really remember what it was. But that's probably for the best, in all honesty.]
[And he really is apologetic about it. He hadn't meant to suddenly leap into a pile of food-related memories. Maybe Hunk has rubbed off on them all.]
[Except that. Literally all goes out the window. Because there is actual, goddamn, recognizable human food in the other man's hands. His eyes actually get a little wide. No way, he's not going to get emotional over a plastic container of chili and a couple goddamn potatoes.]
... sure. Right.
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Sam doesn't call him on it, though. He passes Shiro by on his way to the other microwave, and bumps his shoulder playfully against Shiro's - the not metal side - as he moves. ]
It's cool, I know how it is. I damn near wept over the first hot dog and soft pretzel I had when I got back home for the first time after being deployed.
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[Call it a combination of however long they were on the Kerberos mission, the year in space prison, and the weeks, maybe months, afterward.]
[Those thoughts flick through his head, briefly, hovering for only a moment, before he grimaces, padding over to the microwave to assess the damage. Sam's nudge gets a glance and the barest glimpse of a smile.]
They're still bread, right?
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[ And he's only partly teasing. Well. He sounds like he's all teasing, but nah, he's damn serious. It's gonna start with chili and baked potatoes, apparently, and he stabs two of them a couple of times with a fork before setting them in the microwave. ]
Yeah, they're still bread. The original kind, anyway, now they've got all this gourmet pretzel shit that I can't make any sense of half the time.
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[Or going to work.]
[Also don't mind him if he peers over your shoulder, Sam. He's used to just sort of lurking behind clusters of people while they huddle around tech.]
Gourmet pretzel... How does that work?
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[ Or bury his secrets in so many truths that no one suspects he's hiding anything, but same thing. It still means he tries to be as honest as he can.
Shiro hovering over his shoulder doesn't bother him - he'd gotten used to it, too, living at the Avengers compound. He just adjusts a little to let Shiro into his space. ]
You got me. I saw a spinach and feta cheese one once, but I didn't have any plans to try it.
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[For his part, Shiro's just not that kind of person. He's always been open as possible. People bouncing around in his head aside.]
[Sorry, Sam. That gets a wide-eyed blink from him.]
That... that sounds really good, actually.
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But that's something they have in common, again. Sam's never been that kind of person either.
He still lets out a groan at that wide eyed blink, eyes gleaming and smile teasing even as he points his spoon accusingly at Shiro. ]
Yeah, in a salad or on a flatbread or something, not a pretzel. Come on, man, don't do this to me. We got a great thing going here, don't hop on the gourmet pretzel train.
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[And before that, anything. He doesn't even know what it was he'd had to feed himself. If it had been anything to remember. Maybe there's a reason for his lack of memory.]
[He shrugs, and it's helpless, weary.]
Even overcooked fish sticks sound like heaven, if I'm being honest.
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And that somehow is by throwing a handful of grated cheese at Shiro. ]
Traitor. This is just a challenge, you know, now I'm gonna have to remind you what good food is so you can be appropriately discerning.
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[There is cheese in the white fluff of hair dangling in his eyes. So, of course, he does the only reasonable, mature thing -- he flicks it right back at Sam.]
[Hey, it worked with Allura.]
Good luck. You've got more than a year of astronaut food and space rations to deal with.