legionworld | FOOD FIGHT

Entry tags:

FOOD FIGHT

Who| Anyone who wants in
What| FOOD FIIIGHT
Where| The Mess Hall
When| A few days after "Resistance is Futile" and "An Eye For An Eye"
Warnings/Notes| Nope. Just some good clean fun

The last missions had been rough, but all missions were pretty rough anymore. Still, there was an extra bit of horribleness in seeing innocent people transformed into monsters, especially when it happened to teammates. A few had faced even more trauma while trying to put said teammates down, before it was known that the zombies could regenerate or that a cure was possible.

So the Mess Hall is tense and quiet in the days after the missions. Nobody's being very social, the native Legionnaires are quiet, even the staff are quiet when they're usually pretty chatty in the Mess. Everyone's caught in a groove of that sluggish post-crisis emotional exhaustion.

But then the donut hits. It goes in a soaring arc through the air and hits its target in the face, frosting first.

Everything freezes and stares wide-eyed, trying to figure out who threw it. The tension ratchets up a notch.

Then it breaks.

Someone takes advantage of the moment to do something they've dreamed of emulating from every kid or teen comedy they've ever seen, and screams:

"FOOOOD FIIIIGHT!"

It isn't long before tofurkey rains from the air like a plague. Noodles whip across the room in handfuls. Various rainbow colored puddings and deserts soon become dangerous artillery. Even the staff, who'd spent all that time making the food, gets in on it, taking advantage of the moment to do something wild they never dreamed they'd be able to do - throw mashed potatoes at the faces of the people they serve every day.

The Legion hasn't had an easy time of things over this last year or so, and it hasn't been getting any easier. But they have this moment, on the other side of yet another mission they survived, after yet more villains they've beaten. And right now, the worst they all have to worry about is getting soy whipped cream in their hair.

[ooc: Feel free to make whatever threads you want, with your characters doing whatever they want.]

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If nothing else, he could have been struck in the face. As it is, Gaelio lurches back in his seat as a handful of noodles whip him on the head, a persistent string or two clinging to his hair. With an indignant yelp, he reaches up to untangle the offensive food from his bang.

"What's the meaning of this? I just got here, and food's flying all over the place! Who—"

Perhaps he should have kept quiet, for a colorful pudding sails gracefully across the hall and nails Gaelio in the mouth. He swings backward from the unexpected impact of the ill-timed dessert, possibly headbutting any hapless souls behind him in the process. Pity; he'd just wanted to eat his exotic meal in peace.

Between finding himself here and all the formalities that came with it, McGillis could say, without hesitation, that he was definitely under the impression that this was a very different kind of place. While he hadn't assumed that the prior tension was the norm, he was kind of expecting a certain amount of... well, professionalism. Still, he supposes it's a bit quaint, even when an unidentifiable substance manages to connect and find its way onto his shirt. He can't say he's been involved in many food fights, after all, and this is very different from what he's used to.

Of course, quaint though it may be, it's still a mess he'd like little part of, so once things start picking up, McGillis takes his napkin and quietly stands to excuse himself. It's difficult to navigate with all the crossfire, and in carefully trying to avoid it, he's not paying enough attention to notice Gaelio, either before he's struck with the space pudding or after. And that is how McGillis becomes one of the hapless souls Gaelio bumps into, because such is his luck (or maybe it's karma).

It's just going to be that kind of day, he guesses.

"My apologies," he says, mostly to be polite. He barely spares Gaelio a glance before he starts to turn away and continue, but the glance is all it takes to give him pause. That's probably an understatement—he stops, mind and body. Very few things could catch McGillis off-guard, but this? This sure does it. In a rare moment, there are no smart comebacks or smooth words, nothing cool to deflect his true feelings for the situation, just... genuine surprise.

He's going to need a minute to process this one.

It's definitely going to be that kind of day.

Of all his senses, Gaelio's hearing has always been his sharpest. Even in the chaos of the mess hall, it remains true enough that he seems to recognize the voice before he registers to whom it belongs. He grips the edge of the table and promptly rights himself, then twists at the torso to catch an eyeful of familiar golden hair.

"McGillis! I didn't know that you were here, too." He opens his mouth, only to grunt as something hits him on the shoulder with a disturbing squelch. Grimacing, he swings his legs over the seat and stands, an arm held over his face for protection. Being quiet under normal circumstances, he doesn't think to question McGillis' unusual pause. "Let's get out of here first!"

"...right."

It's surreal, really... And kind of nostalgic. It's been two years since the last time he saw Gaelio, maybe even longer since he last spoke to him like this. (Excluding, of course, the memories that just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried.) Logically, it's entirely reasonable that Gaelio could end up here... McGillis couldn't question all this time travel stuff, even if it was strange to think it could be real. Their situation was proof of it. And yet, for as entirely possible as this is, it was a thought that had never even occurred to him. After all, what reason was there to wonder about someone who was long since dead?

He clenches a fist at his side, as if to steel himself for... whatever this was going to be. And he follows suit, an arm held over his face as they continue their escape. Once they're outside and out of the way, he looks over at Gaelio, and...

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Hah... ha... It doesn't feel right, truthfully, but he does what he figures Gaelio is expecting—a friendly, teasing greeting, and then he offers him the napkin he saved, because it looks like he could make far better use of it.

It's a miracle that they manage to escape the hall with no further hits. Gaelio swears that, had he been struck by wasted dessert one more time, he would have thrown something in retaliation (and his aim would have been far, far better). His annoyance dissipates once they're outside, replaced by frustration as he gratefully accepts the napkin to pull a string of noodle out of his hair.

"It feels like it's been a while," he says, because it feels as though an indiscernible time has passed since his awakening. "Did you just arrive?"

He wasn't with McGillis when he was seemingly plucked from their dimension. But Gaelio can't imagine a significant gap between them. They weren't apart for so long to warrant even the thought.

"Yes. Earlier today, in fact. I must say, it's a little different from what I was expecting." Of course, maybe 'a little different' didn't matter much when the whole thing was strange. But he could play along, if that was what he had to do—it was what he always did, anyway. ...but it was easier to say that before he knew that Gaelio was here.

It was a complicated situation to begin with, but this just made things even more so.

"Are you alright?"

Just in general, in case he has any grievances to air. From the food fight, from finding himself here, or maybe any mortal wounds, for example—

Maybe he's hiding a mortal wound under all that noodle and hair.

He supposes that that makes sense. If anyone from their dimension would be here, it would be McGillis. Gaelio doubts that most of Gjallarhorn's higher authorities would be willing to acquiesce to such changes.

"I'll be fine. But if this is how the Legionnaires conduct themselves, I don't know how anyone can eat in peace. Is there something that I'm missing?"

He peels off the last of the food that doesn't belong on his body, all wrapped in the napkin as much as it'll allow. In his haste, he'd abandoned his own morsel, but he also finds that he isn't hungry anymore. If anything, he's relieved to see a familiar face whom he can trust, the relief overpowering any irritation he might have been bottling up.

It was the noodles that did it... The noodles took him out.

"Let's hope that this isn't a typical occurrence on Legion World," he said. Otherwise, he would have Regrets. It seemed like the smarter choice to join the Legion in order to get a better understanding for their situation, but even his patience would run thin if this sort of thing happened all the time. "It would be a miracle to see how they get anything done around here."

He could suggest that the next time, they eat somewhere else to guarantee peace, but he catches himself. Thus begins the complications. For him, too, there is relief in seeing a familiar face here, especially one that, technically, he should never have seen again. It's more than relief, really—it's good to see him alive and well... but this already feels like a lie, and if there's anyone in his life that he'd been (mostly) truthful with, it was Gaelio. But what good would it do to be truthful with him here, now? He's not sure of the answer, so for now, he opts to keep a safe distance.

"You should probably get cleaned up," he says instead, taking off his own food-stained jacket.

"Yeah, you're right." He should get cleaned up. He wants to get cleaned up, so much so that he takes a preemptive step in the direction he vaguely remembers to be correct. The last thing he wants on his first day is to walk around in a soiled uniform. "Walk with me. I want to hear your thoughts about this place."

But first, he tosses the napkin and its offensive contents. Those don't need to follow him.

...he'd figured he probably wasn't going to get rid of him, but it's still a complicated thing—as much conviction as McGillis had in his actions and their purpose, even he knew that Gaelio would have difficulties asking such things of him, if only he knew. It may have been years, but McGillis couldn't forget his last words, no matter how much he told himself they didn't matter, he didn't care. This was a Gaelio who had yet to understand what kind of person McGillis truly was.

McGillis can't say no to him in this situation (but maybe a part of him doesn't want to, anyway). He starts to follow, and already it feels too much like old times.

"After you, then. Though I think I've already made my feelings quite clear."

Gaelio, meanwhile, remains blissfully ignorant in the old times as he makes his way to the crew quarters. Since McGillis has volunteered thoughts on the (literal) mess hall, now he wants something broader.

"So you've agreed to be a Legionnaire? I suppose we've got the time. According to the welcoming committee, the flow of time here is different." Or it was something like that. He isn't one for science, and McGillis tends to be better at condensed explanations. "Assuming that's the truth, we won't have to worry about our duties back at Gjallarhorn."

"The way I see it, the Legion is our best bet," he explains. "I'd rather not be stuck in another time and another place without any kind of support whatsoever. I can't say that it's ideal, but for now, it doesn't seem like we have any other choice."

'We.' It's so easy to fall back into old habits. But the truth was, even though McGillis had agreed, it wasn't something that he was happy about. Being dragged here against his will, when there are so many more important things to be doing... Sure, it was nice that time seemed to flow differently, but that didn't change the fact that he hated to be torn away from his work. And then, there was this... Whatever this was.

Either way, it certainly wasn't out of the kindness of his heart, or even a willingness to take a break, that McGillis had agreed to join the Legion.

As admirable as the work being done here is (in theory), Gaelio agrees wholeheartedly with McGillis' assessment. He shows as much with a nod. There's another idea, too, that continues to give him pause and a great deal of hesitation.

"What about," he gestures with a raised hand, craning his neck to get a better glance at McGillis, "these so-called powers we were granted? Do you know what yours are?"

Not the most pleasant of questions, but he already knows for a fact that it won't be the last. Still, there's no reason not to be truthful with Gaelio.

"Only from what I was told when I woke up here," he says. "I have yet to actually see these supposed abilities in action. But, according to what I was told, I should have the ability to borrow the strength of others and use it as if it were my own."

The irony does not escape him, but there's really no better way to say it.

"And what about yours?"

While Gaelio hasn't the imagination for this particular area, borrowing hadn't been anywhere in his mind when he'd thought about potential powers for McGillis. It seems strange, though he supposes that everything has been strange thus far.

"The details were vague, but I should be able to operate anything with a computer more easily." Unlike his fellow specialist major, Gaelio fails to see the irony, in part due to his ignorance toward his own power. "You're not going to actually use your ability, are you?"

"It's difficult to say," he admits, truthfully, even though he can already imagine how Gaelio feels about the whole thing. "Despite what we've been told, we don't know the true nature of our work just yet. I don't think I can rule it out completely—there very well may come a time when it will be beneficial to have access to such an ability."

He couldn't say when or how, exactly, especially because abilities like these were a bit more complicated than his typical idea of strength. Still, even if it wasn't exactly typical, he couldn't pretend like there may never be a time to use it. McGillis was not the type of person to waste resources at his disposal, and especially not when it was a matter of life or death.

"But I can understand your reservations. It's not as if we chose to be given these powers."

Gaelio purses his lips, his brow furrowing. Knowing that McGillis speaks sense, it's difficult to say anything in protest. But he's allowed to grumble: It may be acceptable to use supernatural abilities here, but such artificial assets would never make it past Gjallarhorn's regulations.

Being reminded that he was forcefully granted these powers makes him feel violated. Almost. He sighs.

"I see your point. But it's like you've said: we didn't choose to have powers." While McGillis says it so easily, Gaelio wonders if he'll be able to use his abilities with the same grace as his friend. What he can do for certain, however, is to be honest. "That's why I can't promise anything. I'm going to make full use of my own abilities, and . . . not whatever this is."

"That's fair," he agrees, and he means it. Not using them would be a waste if the right situation came up, but honestly, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the whole thing, either. He tended not to be too fond of things that were out of his control, and that, most certainly, was one of those things. "But I don't think there's any shame in using them if you have to. After all, we aren't the only ones who've been granted new abilities that we never asked for."

That's also easy for him to say, though. It's not like McGillis has any shame to begin with—

"But if you can manage without them, then I think that's fine. There's nothing that says you have to use them."

As the sole representatives of Gjallarhorn (to his knowledge), Gaelio struggles to blur the divide between them and the rest of the Legion; consequently, he counts himself fortunate for McGillis' understanding of his reluctance. He nods, then shrugs to diffuse any potential awkwardness looming in the air.

"Well, we'll see how things turn out. If I can do my part without relying on these unnatural powers, all the better."

And that, as far as he's concerned, marks the end of an unpleasant topic.

"So what name did you choose?"

Ah... Of course that's something Gaelio would want to know, though he supposed he'd have to find out sooner or later. He'd thought his choice was rather poetic... But that, too, was before he'd bumped into Gaelio.

"Are you familiar with Wagner's Die Walküre? I named myself after one of the Valkyries. Siegrune."

Gaelio is smarter than he likes to sometimes act, but this is one of those times where McGillis wouldn't mind if he didn't think too hard about what he said.

"If I had known you were going to be here, I would've chosen something to match."

The titles of books are ever elusive in his mind; however, the mention of Valkyries jostles his memory. His gaze drifts, unfocused, in thought to the ceiling. The name is certainly poetic enough to suit McGillis.

"A Valkyrie, huh." He wonders if there's a particular reason McGillis chose that association, but the conversation is already moving along. He won't think too deeply if McGillis doesn't deem it important enough. "For the lack of a better name, I chose Kimaris."

Speaking of matching, "I don't understand this place's method of introducing new members. If we hadn't met in the mess hall, who knows how long it would've taken for us to notice each other? There's got to be a better way."

"I think it fits you. It shows your sense of pride," he compliments. Whether Gaelio had thought deeply about the name or not, he could see the value in choosing it. It wasn't just the name of the suit he piloted, after all—the suit was a family heirloom. If he were in his position, he might have chosen something similar, but there was little good associated with his own family's name.

As for the complaint... Well, he supposes he has a point, though really, if McGillis had known he was there, it's difficult to say whether or not he would have sought him out.

"We would've bumped into each other sooner or later, I'm sure. Perhaps right before a mission," he says, though his tone suggests that he certainly doesn't think that'd be very efficient... "I suppose the network would also be a decent way of trying to make contact with people. If you were looking for someone, you could always just ask."

Edited 2017-09-24 02:19 (UTC)

When McGillis puts it that way, Gaelio suddenly finds his chosen name to be more satisfying. He would've been easy to spot on the field, too; on the other hand, he doubts he would have recognized Siegrune from first glance. How fortunate that the food fight occurred (ugh).

"That's more trouble than it's worth, if you ask me . . . but I see what you mean." Doing things the good old-fashioned way—hadn't he fussed about something similar a while back? "I might as well start with you. Have you heard of anyone else from Gjallarhorn?"

He almost asks for Ein by name, but McGillis would probably have brought that subject up on his own if that were the case.

"I can't say that I have," he admits, though that was mostly because... he just didn't think to look. Why would he have? It wasn't like there was anyone he particularly needed (or wanted) to see. In fact, he would have vastly preferred to be here alone. And the idea that someone like Gaelio might be here, while plausible, was the last thing on his mind... There wasn't anyone else whose presence would cause problems for him, he thought, but maybe this was something he should look into anyway. After all, if Gaelio could be here from the past, who was to say that someone couldn't be here from his future? He had always been careful in his actions, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Perhaps we should consider asking around. Once you look a little more presentable, that is." Again, he teases. (And he's distinctly aware that this isn't all an act, even if it should be, even if he was meant to be over this. He shouldn't get so caught up in these feelings, this nostalgia... but a little part of him does.) He puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. If anyone else is here, we'll find them."

He reassures him, if only because he knows there aren't many people Gaelio would be so concerned about. (And rightfully so.) He may not give a name, but he already knows.

The food residue on his shoulder notwithstanding, Gaelio takes in the comforting touch of McGillis' sure grip (though his features crinkle at the reminder of his current presentation). He hopes that, if anyone else is around, it's someone he'd be glad to see.

"It's not that I'm worried," he waves his arms to emphasize, "but now that you mention it, anyone could be here." Even Almiria, he thinks, as lousy as that would be: She's hardly suited for this kind of environment. "Personally, I'd prefer that it just be the two of us."

His next breath comes and goes with audible mirth. "When I last saw you, you were on vacation. Yet here you are now, on business as usual. Is there a more dedicated workaholic in this world?"

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