abidinglaw | [voice] it had been strange, even in a dream

[While over the past few days the draft has been threatening the lives of cast-mates and strangers and acquaintances alike Admiral Norrington has been fighting a battle of his own. He chose the evening of the fourth to investigate the purpose of that odd little bump on his wall. Flick.

At once he murmured a quick curse to himself and spun around. All alone in his apartment he stepped back and drew his sword. There was no-one at the door, of course, no army of pranksters could have simultaneously lit up each and every one of the candles on all the tables and counters in the room. The light was coming from above. He narrowed his eyes at the brilliant bulb and tentatively flicked the light-switch back with the tip of his blade. Darkness. Light. Darkness. Light.

It was quite enough excitement for one evening.

On the morning of the fifth he tried all of the lights in his apartment, and then a few on the landing outside. Buoyed by his success, he then investigated the electrical devices in his residence and the kitchen beyond - strange boxes with nobs and things which he had ignored up until now. Unlike the light these made horrendous droning noises, or else they glowed in unearthly shades of red and gave off uncanny amounts of heat. He aborted his efforts for fear of them.

Today he sits at a table in the kitchen and opens his journal.]

Might I request that someone explain by what force the light above my head is being generated? And, since I hardly believe that mine are the only quarters to be granted them, what on earth is the function of all of these peculiar boxes?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ she's busy. strategies to work out. safety to ensure. ergo, this is the sort of post that -- right now? -- she would prefer to ignore. but it's that too-evenly-toned voice she has come to pin instinctively on the admiral. and she is very curious about the admiral. ]

...Peculiar boxes? [ it sounds like he's griping about electricity. still -- a peculiar box could mean any number of mod-cons. ]

[The journal lifts to display Norrington's stern expression and behind him - for starters - a microwave. He twists his body to the side and gives it some sort of threatening glare by way of demonstration.]

That is a box, is it not?

Edited 2011-06-07 14:14 (UTC)

That's [ she drawls ] a microwave. Mic-ro-wave. You use it to cook things. It's a cooking things kind of thing.

[ she leaves the setting on video; after all, she is well healed up from the draft. no bruises or cuts left. ]

[Should he admit to having tried his hands at activating the infernal thing? No. To do so would be to admit that he had failed.]

It is a stove, then?

[He doesn't sound at all certain.]

From where would one conjure the fire? And how?

[He glances up, though he has done so before. Perhaps a chimney was installed within the time it took him to put out his broadcast.]

...Ideally? There's sort of no fire involved at all.

[She's having him on, surely.]

Then I suppose one merely places the food inside and waits.

More like pressing the right buttons and then comes the waiting.

Edited 2011-06-07 17:13 (UTC)

[As always with this girl he wonders - fact, or misdirection? To solve the question he stands and walks off-frame. Around a minute later his return is announced by a succession of thumping rolling sounds. He appears presently with a sausage in hand.]

Very well.

[He opens the door to the microwave and puts the sausage inside. Closing it abruptly, he turns again to the journal.]

The right buttons, if you please.

...You might want to put that on a plate.

[ someone stop this; buffy should never teach cookery. ]

[Which would mean open the door again. He's fairly certain that the girl is stalling, but he obligingly fetches a plate and puts the sausage on it. Back in microwave, door closed again, he looks at the journal expectantly.]

[ this is possibly the most pathetic conversation she has had over the journals in a very long time. ]

...Okay, first? Was it frozen?

[How on earth would he have kept it frozen at this time of year? Again she is playing him for a fool. He replies in a monotone.]

No.

...Oh! Wait -- you should probably poke it a few times with a fork, too. Otherwise? Sausage explosion. No one wants that.

[At the mention of explosions the admiral abruptly snaps the microwave open again. He removes the meaty lump and sets it gently on the counter.]

That is enough. I thank you for your help, but perhaps I should wait until somebody more...

[Reliable? Experienced? Trustworthy?]

Capable is available to aid me.

[Wow. Capable. Good save Norrington.]

Edited 2011-06-07 21:29 (UTC)

[ acts and ruses be damned, she is INDIGNANT. ]

Wh-what? I'm capable. I'm totally capable. I'm the queen of capable. There's not much I'm not capable of. Put that back in the microwave. Better yet? Where are you? I'll show you.

[ oh you bruised her ego. ]

[On the one hand he is being asked to give his home address to a suspicious character - possibly an enemy of Jack's. On the other hand she's wrapping her intrusiveness up with a kind little ribbon. Does she always operate this way? It's quite off-putting.]

I am living in the sixth community building. Second floor, room ten.

...I'll be there in twenty, okay?

Okay.

[Meanwhile he's going to hang around in the kitchen with the sausage sitting on the counter by the microwave. Toward the end of the twenty minutes, though, he'll return to his apartment and wait outside of the door.]

[ she is only a few minutes late -- carrying a canvas tote over one shoulder. one measly little microwaved sausage wouldn't do for a true mod-con cooking lesson and so buffy has brought a few other things.

beware, norrington. be so very ware. ] Afternoon, Admiral.

This way.

[He says as though each floor of every community housing building wasn't exactly identical to the last. He walks promptly to the kitchen.]

Edited 2011-06-13 18:13 (UTC)

Yeah, yeah. I know the way.

[ she responds not unkindly, following at her own casual pace. ] It's gotta be really inconvenient to have these communal kitchens. Y'know, instead of your own.

[voice] it had been strange, even in a dream

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