IC Contact

[foundafamily]

 Here's where your character can contact Firo if need be. Please specify the game; the date (or general time); and whether the meeting is action, voice, video, text, etc. 

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[foundafamily]

[Firo reaches over to grab the least weird cheese-like thing he can find, grumbling half to himself:]

You're about to get yourself laid out by me...

[He talks louder and more conversationally once he straightens up with his prize.]

Anyway, there'll be time for that still, if you manage to find a bottle.

[As he returns to his dough, he watches Hank out of the corner of his eye. Will mentioning the bottle get him to stir?

In the meantime, Firo'll sprinkle the cheese on the dough and pop it in the oven. Here goes nothing. ]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[After a few seconds of silence from the pantry, Hank groans, rolling himself toward the nearest bottle, then rolling the bottle out into the kitchen. It's probably some kind of oil; looks like vegetable oil, anyway.]

Here, use the rest of this up so I can just take that one. God, did you do all this when you were sick too, or am I the only one who was too fuckin out of it to remember to come get fucking dinner at the right time?

[Does he sound peeved? He's peeved. He was supposed to be halfway to passing out by now.]

[foundafamily]

[Firo wrinkles his nose at the bottle; he doesn't like the thought of wasting that oil, but he picks it up nevertheless. He'll figure out something to do with it.

He shrugs at Hank's question.]

I wasn't thinking much about this kinda thing when it got that bad.

[He wonders if he shouldn't have admitted the weakness once it's out of his mouth, but given that everybody was sick it's not a secret.

For want of something to do, he picks up that weird vegetable (?) Hank had thrown over earlier and starts washing it off.]

So when was the last time you ate? Before the sickness got bad?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Uh, probably. I think I tried partway into it, but uh, didn’t get there.

[He scoots far enough out of the doorway to watch Firo. Firo looks calm, competent - he looks just fucking fine.]

So if you were messed up too, why am I the only one feeling like shit? That’s not fucking fair.

[foundafamily]

[Firo sets the veggie-or-not-to-be on a cutting board and saws into it, shaking his head all the while. With what Hank just said, he's glad that he pushed the food issue.

If there's a real answer to Hank's question, Firo doesn't know it. Well, if he had to guess, it's half because he made himself clean up when he started feeling better, which helped, and half that he can't let his guard down like that.

So Hank gets the un-serious answer instead.]

Not sure. I can tell you that I don't usually lie on the ground and throw food all over the place when I'm sick, so maybe that's just a fundamental difference between us.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[The answer to that comes in the form of a single perfect tomato punted in some random direction out the pantry door.]

So what, being more mature makes you some kinda stoic badass? I don't buy it.

1/2

[foundafamily]

["Mature"? "Stoic badass"? Firo likes the sound of that. Without thinking, he squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter. Yes, he may still feel pretty weird from the sickness, but he won't let it phase him. Nothing will phase him, at least not in front of this guy.]

Well--

2/2

[foundafamily]

[...Nothing except more food being thrown around, food that happens to be the exact thing he needed just a few minutes ago.]

--We coulda' used that before I put it in the oven, idiot!

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Well gee, silly me. Guess I'm just too sick and weak to look right. You think you could ever forgive me for havin to choke down shitty tomatoless pizza?

[foundafamily]

[Firo can't come up with a good response and so ignores the comment. He presses his hand to his forehead and debates if he should just go bring the booze here already. The scent of dough baking is already drifting through the room, but he knows they have several minutes to go before it's actually ready.

Best to wait. He's getting the sense that Hank isn't much for self control, and he'd rather not have puke in the kitchen either.]

If you're not gonna clean up after yourself, could you at least stop throwing things around like a kid?

[He turns to watch Hank in the pantry and leans back on the counter. His hands scrabble against the surface on either side of him like nervous spiders--briefly, until he reassures himself that he's not falling even though he can't actually sense the counter on his back or hands.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Why, won’t the ghosts just pick it all up anyway?

[He looks from Firo’s face to his hands.]

Alright there?

[foundafamily]

That's no reason to be a slob.

[Despite the harsh language, he mostly just sounds distracted.]

Of course I am. [A brief pause, long enough that it's probably evident Firo's trying to pretend that he's changing the topic, but short enough that it's also probably evident that his question is actually related to the same topic.] ...What exactly's still wrong with you?

[From the sickness, he means, since Hank was just complaining about lingering effects.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

What, uh. [He leans back, taking a second to untangle all the bullshit he's feeling. It's kind of hard.] I don't know, I think it'll be easier to tell once I eat. But, um- I'm not doing this to be a dick - well, maybe a little, but- look, just watch this.

[He digs around for something that's probably a lime and tosses it. If nothing else, it proves that he'll never be in the big leagues; it goes in exactly the opposite direction his fingers were pointing and rolls pathetically under the table.]

I was aiming for the sink.

[foundafamily]

[Firo's mouth tightens as he watches Hank appear to gear up for an otherwise fine throw and then somehow fumble the fruit. The clumsiness looks familiar to how he's been feeling (or not) the past couple days. He's not inclined to believe it's a coincidence.

That fact could be encouraging--that means that the symptom at least isn't abnormal. He tries to keep his mind on that thought instead of the nagging worry that this symptom remaining could mean that others will stick around.

Realizing that he's staring a little, he shrugs one shoulder and looks off to the kitchen entrance.]

...That doesn't really tell me much unless I know how bad you throw normally.

[Look, he has to get some sort of barb in, even though Hank's just provided him with helpful information. Instead of returning the favor, he hesitates a moment, then nods and walks over to the oven to take a peek.]

All right, thanks.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Thanks? For what, throwing food? I'd say we can have a foodfight once everything's back to normal around here so you can see how I throw, but I don't think 'normal' is ever gonna happen.

How long does this normally take? The whole pizza from scratch thing? No one makes em like that where I'm from.

[foundafamily]

For the information.

[No food fight, please.]

Not much longer. It depends on how thick you make it.

[This'll be a pretty thin pizza, since he knows they both want this to be over soon. He looks over his shoulder at Hank.]

Did you cook much of anything back where you're from?

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Uh... [He leans back, looking away at the food scattered across the kitchen and scratching at his beard.] Not for a while. Probably lost the knack. That was with a kitchen that actually made sense, too. And food you didn't have to catch and kill and plant in the fucking fields yourself just to get fuckin lunch going. So, I don't know. No, probably, by your standards.

[They're stupid standards. Is that clear? This place is stupid. The kitchen is stupid. He's tired of forgetting to come to the kitchen at the right time and having to survive off fruit.]

Don't worry, I'm not gonna start knocking on your door in the middle of the night with uncontrollable pizza cravings, or anything.

[foundafamily]

Not everything takes that much effort here.

[Are they really his standards if it's Astoria's world and he's just living in it?

The thought of Hank knocking on his door at night is nightmarish at best, and he makes no effort to spare Hank his grimace of distaste.]

Good, I'd kick your ass if you did.

[fuck1ngusernam3]

[Hank huffs a laugh, catches his breath in habitual preparation for a cough- a cough that, hey, doesn't come. That's still cool. He takes a slow, deep breath.]

Gotta take care of my own cravings. Noted. Guess I'll just learn to really like weird produce. Think I'll have to learn how to make bread before I can even try to get used to mutated-cucumber sandwiches?

[His definition of 'everything' and Firo's probably differ. Everything is absolutely going to take that much effort, except the shittier options that aren't even worth it anyway like, say, living off apples. Fuck apples.]

[foundafamily]

[He sighs and once again wishes that he'd brought the booze with them. But he reminds himself that this is to make his life easier in the long run--besides, he's used to putting up with weird chatter from Isaac and Miria, Dragon, and even Ladd. He smiles to think that he should at least be grateful that Hank is just eccentric and obnoxious and not a psycho cannibal.]

Why don't you just swipe food from breakfast or dinner if you're that desperate?

[Speaking of food, the scent of freshly baked dough and melting cheese is about to get stronger as Firo finally determines that their pizza is ready. He wraps a towel around his hand and slides it out of the oven onto a plate. Ta-da!

Hank is now one (1) pizza away from the sweet, sweet oblivion of moonshine.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

Sounds like you expect me to keep track of time. How do you remember breakfast or dinner when we’re busy having all this fun?

[Hank eyes the pizza, frowning. Is it worth getting up for?

Yeah, probably. Fuck. He starts slowly hauling himself to his feet, and once he gets there closes his eyes and swallows, leaning against the doorway.]

[foundafamily]

Honestly, I don't really expect anything of you now. Remember when it is or starve.

[But, hey, it looks like Hank got up, so Firo can at least be reassured that this probably wasn't all for nothing. He holds the plate towards Hank.]

Here, take it. You know how to feed yourself, right?

[The act of giving food to the guy has to be balanced out by something acrimonious, so he gets that verbal jab with his meal. It's the Firo special.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I'm tempted to say no and just fall face first into it. You think that would work?

[The plate starts to slide out of his hand when he tries to take it. He isn't surprised, at this point; he frowns, sighs, and holds the plate from underneath instead, then manages to collapse onto a chair. He doesn't dig into it right away, just takes a second to fight down the feeling that if he tries it's just going to come right back up.]

Or maybe I should save that for the- what are you calling that shit, anyway? Moonshine?

[foundafamily]

[Ah. Should've anticipated that handing over the pizza wouldn't be so simple either. Firo's hand twitches out but stops when Hank seems to have it under control.]

That'd be a waste of your one bottle, unless you wanna be into me for another favor.

[Carefully, so that he doesn't miss and go falling onto the floor, Firo takes a seat across from Hank.]

[fuck1ngusernam3]

I don't want to be 'into you' at all, kid.

[He sets an elbow on the table and goes to lean his face against his fist, misses the first time, and kind of dips in his seat a second before righting himself. This does not, by the way, make the expression he looks down at the pizza with any happier.]

You can't act like it doesn't sound like a good idea right now, though. I mean, you had the same... [Hell?] ...the same kind of time I did, right? You can't tell me you don't need to lose your shit too, just a little.