|Location||Jeremy and Kade's Apartment|
|Summary||Jeremy tries to make Richard an accomplice.|
| A three-bedroom apartment, not much larger than the other units in the Avenue B building, but its limited space has been divided up into a few more pieces. This makes the common room and kitchen more cramped than in some of the two-bedrooms, but there's enough counter space to cook on, and and old futon and a couple of thrift store chairs give the living room a comfortable look. Some attempt has been made to keep the place cleaned up, though clutter occasionally accumulates. A hallway leads to a bathroom and farther back to the apartment's bedrooms. There's no view to speak of out the windows, save of the alley outside. It's nothing fancy, but it's not too shabby by Mutant Town standards.|
"We've got to time it exactly right," Jeremy is telling Richard seriously as he stirs his risotto with methodical intent. The targets of his malice aforethought are sitting in ice-induced lethargy in his ice bucket, their big blue claws banded shut by bright yellow rubber bands so that they can't assault their killers on the way out. "We can't murder the little monsters until the timing is perfect. If you overcook 'em I think it's a hanging offense. At least in New England."
"I dunno. It seems kind of mean." Richard is watching the poor, sleepy crustaceans where they lie in their bucket. "Can they feel it?" he asks with the mild nervousness of one who's probably never had lobster cooked in front of his face.
"Would you be surprised to know that there are multiple scientific studies that have been published on the topic of whether lobsters feel pain when you drop their little butts in a pot of boiling water?" Jeremy says with a glance in Richard's direction beneath the upsweep of his eyebrows. He keeps stirring the risotto, turning his glance back to it. "And yet I still can't answer that question. Some say yes, others say no. Science has proven conclusively that the scream you hear when they cook is just steam escaping their shells, though."
"Oh my God." Richard doesn't quite blanche, but he does look distinctly disturbed. "This all seems like a pretty violent meal." He shuffles back from the lobster bucket to find his way behind Jeremy and set his chin on his shoulder. The hand not holding a beer slides around his middle. "Please don't starve yourself."
"Do I seem in danger of that to you?" Jeremy asks. He lets his weight settle back on his heels, leaning his back into Richard's warmth even as he keeps his wooden spoon going in the risotto pan. "Don't you get punched in the face for fun? If you're really freaked out about it you can go read in my room or something and I'll call you when they're cooked."
"I get punched in the face for money," Richard corrects mildly. "And really, I try to /punch/ for money." He ducks his chin, nose tucking against the base of Jeremy's neck. "I'm not /freaked out/."
"Okay, then, because I think it's murder time," Jeremy says, reassuringly. He sets the wooden spoon carefully on its stand, picks up both lobsters in his hands, and draws away from Richard as he says, "Take the lid off the pot, accomplice."
Richard does a total about face to look totally aghast. "You didn't say I had to /help/!"
Jeremy turns to look at him for a beat, and then breaks out laughing at the appalled look on Richard's face.
"Look." Richard frowns faintly, his brow furrowed. "I'm not saying I'm /freaking out/, but /you're/ the one calling it murder and telling me to be an accomplice."
"Okay," Jeremy wheezes a little, biting his lower lip as he turns back to the stove. "Okay. I'll get creative. God, Rich." He sniggers and then snorts as he focuses his attention on the lid of the pot. "Hold onto your hat," he says.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then there's a resounding crack. The steel lid of the pot hurtles off the top of it with startling force. It flies up to crack into the hood of over the stove, ricochets off and then clatters to the floor. A spray of fine droplets of overheated water splash across his T-shirted chest even as he flinches back from his handiwork, cackling as he crashes back into Richard with a little bit more force than he originally intended.
Nothing hits Richard; his reflexes are too fast. The lid doesn't actually make it to the floor at first, because he's moving at blinding speed to catch it, only to belatedly realize that handling it with his bare hands is a /bad idea/. He yelps, dropping it to complete its journey to the floor, and then Jeremy is crashing back into him while he holds his burnt hands up. This is great.
<FS3> Jeremy rolls Reaction+reaction: Failure. (2 6 5 3 4 6)
So you know what else is ill-advised about Jeremy's wild idea of literally blowing the lid off of his cookpot full of boiling water is that he stumbles backwards into Richard while holding live lobsters.
One of the lobsters makes it into the pot where it was meant to go. The other one-- is exploring its newfound freedom, awakening from its cold-induced sluggishness as it begins to creep along the floor.
"Gah!" Richard literally jumps back from the deadly threat of a lobster creeping on the floor. "Can you--" He tries to edge around it towards the sink, but clearly he's having trouble squeezing by the wide berth he's apparently determined he has to give it. "Can you just--"
<FS3> Jeremy rolls Reaction+reaction: Success. (5 8 2 2 2 2)
"I got him," Jeremy announces, in advance of success. He goes after the lobster with his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip, fighting more laughter. He hits the floor on one knee, lunging after his escapee. He manages to catch it -- it hasn't gotten very far yet, still groggy from its ice bath -- and holds it up in triumph. "Ow," he adds. "All right, I am-- ow -- officially too old for this shit."
"Stop laughing at me!" Richard says in a loud whine as he makes it to the sink -- why didn't he just fly above the lobster -- and gets cold water streaming on his poor hands. "It's not my fault I didn't want to be an accomplice."
"Your innocence is assured," Jeremy promises him. He scoots forward on his knee, and reaches up from the floor to drag the oven lock into place with its spoke. Then he reaches up and hauls on the oven door with his free hand, using the locked oven as a brace to get himself awkwardly back to his feet again. "Ow," he says again, and then drops the other lobster into the pot to join the first. He sets two different timers, reduces heat on the risotto pan still further, and then winces as he backs away from his stove. "How bad? Do you need burn cream for that? I'm sorry, that was dumb."
"No, it's -- it's fine, I think they're fine." Richard is leaving them under the tap for the time being, but he does twist his head to look back at Jeremy with a crooked smile. "I've had worse. Did I ruin anything?"
"Never." Jeremy winces a little as he tests a hand at his back, and then moves back to hover over his pot as he waits for the timer to go off. "I just, uh, set two timers. They'll be fine."
"But how are you gonna know which is which?" Richard says, like someone who sucks at cooking.
"Their color changes as they cook," Jeremy assures him with a faint, sideways hook of his mouth. "Also they're only a couple minutes apart. Trust me, I will not feed you overcooked or undercooked lobster. These bad boys will be delicious."
"Well. Okay." Richard finally pulls his hands out from under the tap, eyeing them. They look a bit red, but he's definitely not dealing with anything beyond first-degree. "I'm trusting you here. I'm placing my trust in you. I'm just hoping you don't break that." He turns the faucet off.
"Never," Jeremy says. His smile is slight, but the word is a little quieter than it was a moment ago. He watches the lobsters in the pot for a long moment quiet.Richard's smile goes a bit soft and crooked; it'd be really embarrassing if someone were to walk in and see it. Then he snuggles back up behind Jeremy and presses a kiss to his neck. That lobster risotto is probably going to be delicious.