I'VE ALWAYS BEEN A MERCENARY (oriana)

[EDGAR CEDRIC VALKYRIE]

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I DODGE THE BLAST AND APOLOGIZE FOR COLLATERAL DAMAGE

When Edgar was three years old, just a chubby little toddler with sticky cheeks and shaggy hair, he concocted his very own midnight snack one time by melting some cheese in the microwave he was not supposed to be using and reached by climbing up on the counter top and stirring it into a mixture of tomato soup and half-and-half and eating it all together like soup and dipping pieces of homemade bread in it. Though it didn't taste very good and Edgar most definitely did not eat all of it, that night began the beginning of his passion for cooking. He was very driven back then--he still is, really--and so he decided that since this experiment failed, he absolutely must figure out how to make his food and have it taste good, too. He was not even dispirited by a very stern talking-to from his father whom found the mess the morning after and was not happy at all. His exact words, Edgar could tell you, were, "You have to learn to clean your own God damned mess before you try to cook anything." Edgar got his desert privileges revoked for the rest of the week, which certainly whipped him into shape. For about a month, that is.

Regardless of any blunders he may have made concerning cooking in the past, however, Edgar is still rather passionate about it and finds that it is quite relaxing. And so, when he discovered that there was a kitchen in the dorm that all of the students were allowed to use so long as they cleaned up after themselves (the principal must have spoken to Edgar's father), he was rather eager to try it out. So he planned, one day while everyone was at dinner, to cook something. He did not know what yet, since he had not seen the kitchen yet. However, he was excited to be cooking again regardless. He missed it very much, and school was beginning to tie him down. As a result, his migraines had become more frequent which made it difficult to even make it to class, much less concentrate on his work. But a few hours of cooking would make him feel better.

Edgar headed to the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, whistling a song from the film Marriane, his eyes tired and his hair unruly. He had just woken up from a too-long nap and the medicine he had taken for his headache had only just begun to wear off when his alarm announced that it was time to start cooking. Edgar was rather grateful for the heater, because he hadn't thought to bring a jacket and it was extremely cold out that night. His striped t-shirt did very little to ward off a cold like that.

The kitchen, he observed once he had arrived, was rather small. The appliances were very modern, all stainless steel and powerful-looking, but the counter space was minimal and it appeared, to Edgar, that the students at AGM did not clean up after themselves very well. There crumb trays in the toaster were full; the counters were streaked with soap, a sign of hasty and improper cleaning; the fridge had sticky spots; there was a lot of burnt food at the bottom of the oven and on the rungs of the shelves; and the floor hadn't been swept or mopped in a few days. It would have been repulsing except for the fact that Edgar rather disliked cleaning and so it did not bother him very much, though he did empty the crumb trays and clean out the worst of the crap in the oven.

Then he looked inside of the fridge to find that the ingredients were a bit lacking. He would just have to make do, though. At least the contents didn't insist entirely of packaged food. He pulled out some celery, onions, bell peppers, and beef from the fridge. He also got a can of tomato soup and cream of mushroom soup from the cabinet and started cooking soup. He cut up the vegetables and put them in a pot with the soups on low and discovered that there was a crock pot (thank God) and started the beef on high. He didn't use a lot of it, so it wouldn't take very long. He added a liberal amount of spices to both; food where he was from was never any good if it didn't taste like it could burn a hole through your tongue.

With that all done, he leaned back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen with a bottle of water in one hand a book--poetry, naturally--in the other to wait for his food to cook.

TAGGED: oriana | WORDS: 805 (whoa) | OUTFIT | OOC: dude these lyrics like batman and p!@td all in one me gusta

[ORIANA VIOLA BASILE]

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i'm too strung out on compliments, overdosed on confidence

It had been far too long of a day. Oriana hastily dumped her bag onto the bed, then stripped her soaked clothes off of her body. Stupid girl didn't know how to control a measly teaspoon of water, but no, she wanted to show off. Oriana wasn't the only one to have gotten soaked; the girl attempting to lift the water, three of her friends, and about four other students all got drenched. Oriana, though, had probably been the most pissed about it. Dressing herself in the first clothes she could easily access, Oriana dressed herself and worked out most of her rage. After swearing in a steady stream of Italian for several minutes, Oriana grabbed her little waist-apron and tied it around her hips. There had better be some kind of meat Oriana could tenderize, or at the very least something to cut up.

Oriana stomped downstairs, fuming silently. She ignored the curious looks of students peeking out of their rooms and focused only on getting to the kitchen. She needed to cook. She needed to warm up, to calm down.

But there was someone in the kitchen.

Oriana had never seen anyone else in the kitchen; in fact, she had begun to think of it as her kitchen. But she supposed that others were certainly entitled to use the kitchen. Not saying much of anything, Oriana browsed through the pantry and the fridge. There was nothing, nothing to cook. With a hearty sigh, Oriana ended up getting a box of farfalle out of the cupboard and the ingredients out to make a quick alfredo sauce. There was a bag of frozen cooked shrimp in the freezer, and Oriana got that out to thaw. She filled a pan with water before talking to and acknowledging the boy. "So, what are you doing in here? I have never seen anyone else in the kitchen." Her tone was short and clipped, but not hostile. While Oriana usually pushed away everyone she met, the boy was in cooking... something in the crock pot in the corner.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd be okay to talk to. He hadn't spoken to her first, which led Oriana to believe that he didn't know who she was. That was okay with her; maybe he wouldn't immediately try to be friendly. He wouldn't immediately try to find out why Oriana was such a bitch. She might have made a few friends, but they all just wanted to know why. They didn't want to know her, they just wanted to figure her out. It bugged her even more than overcooked pasta (because seriously, pasta should never be more than just past crunchy).

Oriana didn't spend much time looking at him. She was busy thawing the shrimp, then adding in the pasta and beginning the sauce. Oriana thanked heaven that there was heavy cream in there. She wasn't quite sure why there was, when there was so little else, but some other student must have been needing it. All for one and one for all, right? Once she did get a look at the boy, though, Oriana had to bite her tongue quite literally. He was wearing, more or less, the same clothes as Oriana (excepting the apron).

What. The. Hell.

Nostrils flaring, Oriana began whisking the beginnings of her sauce with a fury. As soon as she could leave her meal, she was going upstairs and changing. It was all because of that lousy hydrokinetic girl with no control; how hard was it to manipulate water, really, it was everywhere you would think she'd have controlled it better by now the girl was a junior and older than Oriana. Ridiculous! And what were the chances of that happening, anyway? Oriana's arm just whisked and whisked. Her whole day had been ridiculous.

eddddie | 685 | OUTFIT | OOC: man now i want pasta and junk

[EDGAR CEDRIC VALKYRIE]

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I DODGE THE BLAST AND APOLOGIZE FOR COLLATERAL DAMAGE

For a while, everything was nice and peaceful. Edgar's food cooked and he read, occasionally reaching out to stir his soup absentmindedly. He was enjoying the heavenly aroma of beef and tomato soup and cooking vegetables and heavy spices all mixed together and the soothing effect that the setting of any kitchen always had on him. He no longer minded the size of the kitchen. The lack of room gave it a sort of isolated, cozy appeal and Edgar thought that he rather enjoyed it. It wasn't his kitchen at home, of course, but he just knew that it could be his sanctuary here in school. A place to escape to and forget the world. That is the definition of a sanctuary, isn't it? Ah, well, it doesn't matter. At least he had a place to cook. Edgar thought he might have dropped out a very long time ago. He would have been entirely too frustrated and stressed out all of the time if there wasn't. He didn't think he would have been able to function at all. What was a man without a kitchen to cook in?

That actually probably works much better as a sexist joke about women, but that never crossed poor Edgar's innocent mind.

The spell of pure bliss was broken when a rather angry-looking girl stormed in. She looked at Edgar, he thought, as though he were intruding. She did not ask him to leave, however, but simply disregarded him as she set about making some sort of pasta dish. It amused Edgar how terribly put out she seemed. Something had gone wrong with her day; it was very obvious through he demeanor. He watched her for a while, and observed four things. The first was that she had some amount of experience concerning cooking, which Edgar rather loved. At least, if someone were going to interrupt his peaceful time, they would do so in order to cook. The second was that she was dressed in an outfit very similar to his own. The coincidence both amused and disconcerted him. He was not sure which was the more significant emotion. The third was their mutual disappointment with the mediocre stocking of ingredients in the kitchen.

Finally, he noticed that her demeanor suggested that, in many ways, this kitchen was hers. She did not see it as a place where any student could come in and cook or grab a snack or . . . read poetry or anything of the sort. It was solely hers and hers alone. Edgar found that he rather admired this about this strange girl. It was a sign of confidence, pride. Maybe arrogance, but he didn't really see anything that proved that. Besides, Edgar liked to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Then she spoke and it almost made him laugh. He didn't think she was pleased with having anyone else in her kitchen. "Oh, it's nice to meet you, too, Ma'am. My name is Edgar. I was just in here cooking soup for myself. I've never actually been in here before, so that might be why you've never seen me." Edgar flashed his most charming smile. Rudeness from others he didn't mind very much, but Edgar was never rude if he could help it. Even though the Kitchen Girl hadn't been particularly nice, she wasn't exactly rapacious or anything. She was just comically angry. He wondered if she was always like this.

Kitchen Girl went back to cooking, and Edgar just quietly observed her. Everything she did had a purpose. At one point, he recognized the need to stir his soup, but she was in his way and he had to reach around her to do so. He didn't think that, after the way she had been acting thus far, she would be too comfortable with the invasion of personal space. "Excuse me, please," he said politely, just before reaching over to stir his soup. It wasn't even boiling yet, so he turned the heat up a few notches. The beef in the crock pot shouldn't be too much longer. Though, he would need time for it to simmer and soak up the flavor of the soup. Ah, well. He could always turn the soup down later.

He returned to his spot rather quickly, but Kitchen Girl seemed to notice what he was wearing right about then, and he laughed aloud. "Is there a problem, Miss?"

TAGGED: oriana | WORDS: 744| OUTFIT | OOC: i'm so hungry now man

[ORIANA VIOLA BASILE]

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i'm too strung out on compliments, overdosed on confidence

Ori's current problem with alfredo sauce is that it did not take very long at all to cook, and her whisking was beginning to separate it. She sighed, and turned the heat off. She didn't speak to Edgar while she added the cheese to the sauce, but she did speak. "Ma'am! He calls me ma'am, like I am a married woman." Ori walked on over to the shrimp, which were done rinsing under the warm water. "I say, little shrimp, do I look like a married woman? Now, on, on, into the pot." And into the pot the shrimp did go, right with the boiling pasta. . Oriana tasted a piece of the farfalle. They were fairly perfect, if a wee bit more cooked than Oriana liked. Checking to see that the sauce was still quite hot, Oriana picked up the pot with the pasta and the shrimp. "Please, excuse me. I do not want you to get burned, like your soup is certain to be if you keep it on that heat much longer."

Holding the pot over the sink, Oriana made a small gesture with her unoccupied hand. Small holes opened up in the metal, allowing the water to drain out. She smiled. She had not used a colander since she was twelve. "No, really, your soup is sure to scald to the bottom of that pan. This set of cookware gets particularly hot. It bothers me quite a bit." Oriana turned the faucet on full blast cold, and rinsed the pasta off. Shaking the last flecks of water out of the saint-like holey pot, she closed the holes up seamlessly, and brought it back to the stove. The sauce had thickened up quite a bit in the moments of draining, and Oriana poured it into the pot holding the rest of her meal. She stirred it up, tasting a couple of spoonfuls. Quite tasty, all things considered. Needs salt and pepper, though.

After adding in the necessary spices, Oriana turned towards Edgar to really size him up for the first time. He was handsome, surely; it was hard to miss. He seemed a bit older than Ori, but not by too much. She guessed he was a senior, then, since she had never seen him anywhere else. Oriana noticed that his right eye seemed to have a sort of cataract, or perhaps he only had a case of heterochromia iridis. Oriana did not ask. Instead, she focused on that damned outfit that matched hers. It didn't help that he was much taller than Oriana, but that happened with pretty much everyone Oriana she met (she stood at a mere five feet and three inches). "You said your name was Edgar, then? Well, I am Oriana. I do not have a problem. I have many, and you are the root of two at the moment."

Before she could really get going into bitch mode, though, Ori couldn't help but eye the boy's soup. The stainless steel knob turned itself down a few clicks. If the boy had already turned it down, it had not been enough. Oriana just couldn't let a soup burn, partly because it was one of the most absurd things to happen in a kitchen, and partly because Oriana just hated to see food go to waste. She thought for a moment that she might taste the soup to see what the boy was cooking, but she refrained and served herself her pasta instead. Bah. The changes of clothes could wait; Oriana was hungry.

eddddie | 588 | OUTFIT | no more food threads ever xDDD this is awful

[EDGAR CEDRIC VALKYRIE]

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I DODGE THE BLAST AND APOLOGIZE FOR COLLATERAL DAMAGE

Edgar watched Oriana walk around the kitchen, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter again. He found her very amusing, and even a bit clandestine. Edgar found that he wouldn't mind getting to know the girl. He found her behavior refreshing. He wondered if she acted differently outside of this tiny kitchen. Edgar himself was much more mild-tempered and easygoing while he was cooking than he was in any other setting. He set down his book and moved around her to get to his soup, as well as out of her way. He was right. The soup had heated up quickly. He frowned. The vegetables wouldn't have had time to simmer for long enough. That wouldn't do very well. He turned the setting down two notches to the lowest setting he could go without turning it off. Still, he was worried about it. He stirred it twice before maneuvering his way back to his former position. He would keep a more watchful eye over it. Maybe he might send home for his own pots and pans and other such cooking equipment. He hadn't thought he would need it here, but Edgar had accumulated quite a collection of nice equipment and he was used to cooking with things of their caliber. The quality of the school's utensils were disappointing in comparison.

Back to his quiet solitude of sorts, as the girl still had yet to truly address anyone but her shrimp, he thought back to her reaction to his calling her "Ma'am." Edgar had never thought it was strange, really. His own mother and many of his teachers had the tendency to call everyone baby affectionately, so what was so odd about Ma'am? Maybe it was just the area. Maybe manners aren't held in such high regards. Well, in any case, the girl would simply have to get used to it. That is, if they were to both be using this kitchen as frequently as he planned to. He didn't doubt that they would meet often.

Edgar only chuckled at her reiteration, though he was a bit anxious about his soup in truth. He trusted his instincts, usually, but he wasn't very familiar with this cookware. "I think it's going to be fine," he said nonchalantly. "Cook often? You seem to know a lot about it." While from most people, Oriana's comments about his soup would have agitated him, he truly did think that she cooked very often and, from the looks of it, in this very kitchen. She probably knew it much better than he did, and he should probably be heeding her words. But a part of him wanted to see if she would turn it off for him. The risks one takes to study the habits of another person, sometimes. Edgar had burnt many a dish in his home to see which of his family members--and occasionally, a few of his friends--was a more observant cook. None of them were, really, which he didn't mind. It meant that he had the kitchen all to himself. He was a bit remorseful about letting all of that food go to waste, though. It had truly pained him.

Edgar smiled when the girl spoke again. He rather liked her diction. That was an odd thing to like about a person, he supposed, but she was so very amusing. "It's nice to meet you, Oriana. Aside from my invading your kitchen, pray tell, what is your other problem with me? Oh, you know what, I do think I know what it is. Does it bother you that we're dressed alike? Because it will never do for me to leave a lady unhappy. I'll be happy to go and change for you." Though Edgar was only teasing her, he knew that he could come off as sarcastic on occasion. He didn't really mean to, it was just that the way he spoke wasn't very normal and he had a way of not sounding entirely sincere all of the time. He hoped Oriana didn't interpret it that way.

WORDS: 687| OUTFIT | OOC: o man o man got that food swag

[ORIANA VIOLA BASILE]

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i'm too strung out on compliments, overdosed on confidence

The small meal Oriana had made was delicious. Terribly simple, but still quite tasty. The shrimp added protein enough to fill her up more so than the pasta alone would have, Oriana liked seafood (not chewed up "see-food", like, real stuff from under the sea), but not nearly as much as she liked red meat. She was one of those people who could eat a massive steak every other day, if it were at all close to healthy. She preferred lamb, honestly, over beef, even, but lamb was tough to cook with and rich to boot. She was not surprised to even find the shrimp in the freezer, now that she thought about it.

Once she finished her meal, Oriana stood and scooped the remainder of what was in the pot into her bowl, then covered it in plastic. She would have put it in a Tupperware, but the advantage of putting it in a bowl was that others were less likely to eat it. Did she truly mind when others ate her leftovers? Not entirely, but the problem was the lack of food anyone gave her in return. In all honestly, and especially when she was at home and cooking in huuuuge batches, Oriana loved it when people ate what she had made. It was a feeling rather hard to find, but it was one Oriana let herself enjoy as much as she could.

Oh, right, the boy. "I have cooked in here for the past three years probably more than all of the students in the past have since the AMG opened. I was raised in a big, classic Italian family, and I have been cooking with my Mama, and my Nonni ever since I could walk. So yes. I cook often." Oriana answered his questions, not unkindly, but still fairly sharply. "You do not need to change, for I do not plan on spending much time here anymore. I do not care that we're dressed the same. It bothers me more so due to the fact that I had to change today at all, but I suppose that is really not your fault. My other problem is not so much that you are... 'invading' my kitchen. It is your not listening to me. I do know what I am saying. I do not know what is in that soup, and while I will not try to teach you how to cook properly, it bothers me when I am the one scraping burnt soup off of the bottom of a pan. It bothers me that I am the only one to clean the dishes from this kitchen, and I do not even reside in these dorms. It bothers me that people only eat what is there. It bothers me that they do not replenish food often, and that I am so limited in this space. You do not bother me, at least not now that I am full, but this whole place bothers me."

Oriana's nostrils flared as always when her temper was beginning to escape her. She continued mundane tasks, such as filling the dirtied pot with water and soap and searching for something to clean it with while some of the sauce soaked off. She focused her powers on her ring, which was of course not on her hands, but was on the counter instead while she cleaned. It turned into several different shapes, from the basic ones (a star, a square, a triangle) to more complicated ones (outlines of animals, of people). Another talent Oriana had: she could make the coolest cookie cutters ever.

eddddie | some | OUTFIT | that is seriously the most ori's talked like ever

[EDGAR CEDRIC VALKYRIE]

[/style][style= background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/IyEuo.png); border: solid #b9b9b9 15px; width: 400px; height: 200px;]

I DODGE THE BLAST AND APOLOGIZE FOR COLLATERAL DAMAGE

Edgar has a well-established foundation of morals that he's very good about upholding. However, he holds everyone that he meets to those standards as well. Oriana's ignoring him was most definitely an example of a person breaching his moral code, he decided, but for some reason, he didn't feel the familiar tug at his temper. He found that it was very difficult for him to become upset with the peculiar girl. So he wore the pretense that he had forgotten about her and set about fixing the food he had prepared and, somehow, managed to ruin. He looked down at his soup with a frown. It wasn't quite burnt yet, but it was disappointing--overcooked. He supposed that someone else might like it, so he put it in a container and then shoved it in the fridge amongst other leftovers, then he started cleaning the pot he'd used, just as Oriana finally addressed him. Oh! And he had actually begun to forget about her. How unfortunate.

He listened to her talk as he finished his task, smiling lightly to himself. The way she spoke--her tone, mannerisms, and cocky disposition--was so incredibly amusing. And, for some reason, he rather liked the sound of her voice. Maybe, he mused, it was just the fact that he had not yet made many friends. Maybe it was just the fact that human contact was rather . . . soothing. Something to that effect.

When he was done with the dishes, he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching her with his head tilted to the right. He grew ever more curious as she went on. When he did reply, his tone was light and confident, and he could never remember having to exercise such self control to keep from laughing at her. "I'm glad you could make use of the kitchen. It looks as though the other students who use it--if any--don't respect it." He stopped for a moment to check for her reaction, and for a brief second, a visual of her cooking, a sort of mental montage, flashed in his mind's eye and he had to refocus his thoughts because he knew he shouldn't be intruding on her memories. "I do offer my apologies for the ignorance of our classmates, I assure you, but my mother did not raise an ignorant man." Though it felt a bit strange on his lips, Edgar truly did consider himself a man. He certainly conducted himself in such a way, despite having much to learn. "I clean after myself, and I'll be glad to help out with the 'replenishing' of the food supplies." He gave her a smile, then, and pushed his hand through his hair.

"You seem very . . . irritable." He only pointed it out because Edgar himself was rather easy to piss off sometimes. "Is today a special day, or are you always like that?" He felt a pang of remorse for a moment, though Edgar often asked questions like that, because for once, he actually cared about whether or not he scared off this person. He liked her, and he didn't want her running away because of a blunt observation. He didn't take it back, however, and only hoped that her straight-forward attitude meant that she could take just as much as she dished out.

WORDS: 566| OUTFIT | OOC: gaah they would be so ca-ute