you learned to breathe underwater —

[gasping]

WHO: caroline forbes & you!
WHERE: the safehouse
WHEN: october 10
WHAT: an impromptu birthday celebration.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: excessive cheeriness.

[ by mid-day, a new message appears on the network from a new user, @caroline.forbes: ]

It's my birthday, apparently, so I made cake. Please don't make me eat all of it!

[ it's a fairly short message, but it's at least accompanied by a few photos of a cake, surprisingly delicious looking for being made of everything but chocolate.

those in the safehouse will have likely heard caroline baking up a storm all morning, and may be aware that the photos show her fourth attempt at this extremely finicky futuristic cake. by the time she posts her photos, all the evidence has been scrubbed clean from the countertops (and dishes and floor and tabletops and trash cans) of the safehouse kitchen. ]

—

ooc note: feel free to have your character reply on the network, come by in person, or a combination thereof. this post is a combo pack because i didn't feel like making a network and log post on the same day. #lazy

Comments

[apathet]

[ oh, you bet Laura's been watching the morning's activities from a bed with just the right angle to allow for snippets of kitchen views without being too obvious a lurker. she hasn't approached, hasn't asked, and has just about managed to curb her own curiosity and the lure of something as unaffected as earnestly attempting to make a cake

many times.

there's something in it that clenches a fist of nostalgia somewhere in her gut, a feeling she hasn't had the capacity for in a while but which predates this place. her mom used to bake sometimes.

when the flurry of kitchen activity seems to have stopped and the network post drops, things click into place. well, shit. what a time to have a birthday.


here's one Laura Moon, setting a - towel? - down on the countertop away from the cake before leaning in on her elbows, casual as you like. ]

Looks good.

[gasping]

Yeah?

[ it better look good, at this point. caroline's just grateful she finally managed to figure out the right dates to bananas ratio without turning the batter consistency into total goop — or, as attempt number two would demonstrated, getting it all over herself. ]

Thanks.

[ and proud. she's proud of herself, too. for not letting herself get bummed out by the fact that she can't leave during the day, or that she's in a mystery she can't possibly hope to solve on her own, or that this weird thing in her chest apparently makes touching people awkward now. ]

Do you want some? I made, like, so much. I'm never going to eat it all.

[ a lie. she could. but she won't. ]

[apathet]

I'd love some.

[ immediate. give her some of that cake, stat.

at this point she also leans to put a hand on that towel, sliding it across the worktop Caroline's way. ]

So. In honor of your birthday... a gift. [ light humour in the tone: "a gift" is pushing it. but given that she neither knew it was Caroline's birthday nor had the money, time or awareness of good shopping spots to get something decent even if she did, something's better than nothing.

call it captive humor. ] It's unused.

[ did somebody steal a spare on arrival and has been hiding it away for a rainy day ever since? you never know where the next clean, dry towel is coming from, you know? ]

[gasping]

You didn't have to get me a gift. [ but she's smiling all the same, pleased at the effort even if it's not exactly high fashion. a clean, dry towel is definitely useful when you have high maintenance hair needs. ] But thank you.

[ again. have some cake, laura, delicately sliced and plated on mismatched safehouse dishware. what caroline wouldn't give for a pretty cake platter and some scallop-edged china plates. ]

Please don't tell me if it's terrible, I don't think I can take the rejection.

[apathet]

[ a smile that looks almost uncomfortable, like she's not quite sure how smiling works, and then it's time for cake. she nabs a fork (look, she's not too proud to eat with her hands but she is in polite company), takes a stab, raises it to her mouth and takes that first bite - ]

... Holy shit.

[ spoken with a full mouth, but that's not the grossest thing Caroline's seen her do with food in their brief time here so far, so whatever. a hand goes to her mouth as she chews, trying to keep herself from further expression until she's swallowed.

no luck. ]

That. [ pointing at it with said fork ] Is delicious. [ swallow. ] What did you do?

[mercurio]

Iiiii heard it was somebody's birthday?

[prompto pipes up soon as he steps inside the safehouse, walking his way down towards the kitchen area where he is sure to find the cake that was advertised on the network.]

[he's carrying a bag, containing an impromptu gift, and boy is he glad he nailed it on thinking it was a girl who made the birthday post, because he totally assumed it because of how her hand looked, and got her a summer hat (which he won't know is actually useless to caroline).]

Here, for you.

[he raises the bag towards the girl with a grin, trying hard, after all.]

Happy birthday~

[gasping]

[ she doesn't expect gifts. to be honest, caroline doesn't expect much of anything — she's still new, still a stranger to the rest of the displaced. still very much different, especially without the familiar circle of silver around her index finger, and very much apart.

but this stranger gives her a gift, and caroline can't help the smile that pushes its way onto her features, one that grows into a full blown grin as slim fingers pull out a colorful sun hat. ]

Oh my god, thank you? [ yes. thank you. ] I love it!

[ she's just going to jauntily set it on her head, striking a southern belle pose with her mussed apron held out like a full skirt. ]

How do I look?

[mercurio]

[to be fair, prompto did not expect her reaction to be so-- enthusiastic. and that, certainly, has prompto staring at her like a deer in headlights, wondering why he got himself into this when he knows full well he has a weakness for cute, blond girls with a perky personality and a cute voice to match the enthusiasm.]

[he has already resigned himself to this hell.]

You look -- great!

[smooth, argentum. he's going to groan for a second and put a hand to his head, then smooth himself over and put a hand on the table, leaning in all casual and suave (he's not any of these things, tense shoulders and a cough to make his voice a bit deeper than usual).]

I'm glad it's satisfactory.

[lame LAME]

[gasping]

[ he might be tense and he might sound like he has a frog in his throat, but caroline is overwhelmed with gratitude and unable to just — stand there while he coughs awkwardly around the table. no, she's going to hug him, because hugging someone is a normal reaction to being given a very sweet and very unexpected gift.

it's also a great way to unintentionally bloom up that empathy bond between them, bright cerulean flooding between their bodies as her arms wrap tight around his neck and shoulders. ] It's better than satisfactory, [ sincerely given, her chin resting against his shoulder for a moment.

she doesn't quite let go, but she does pull back enough to beam brightly in his direction. ]

It's definitely the best birthday gift I've gotten thus far.

[thwipandrelease]

[peter parker is a man of many talents. cooking is sadly not one of them. on the 10th, he's smelled more than heard caroline's attempts at becoming new amsterdam's next baking champion, and the smell alone was enough to make his stomach express its extreme displeasure at having not yet had something to eat.

but peter doesn't venture down to the kitchen at first, no. he's far too busy reading everything he can to get a better gauge of the world they're in. it's important, and like any scientist, ample research is required before foraying into the unknown. at least, he doesn't bother until he sees caroline's network post.

they're all far from home. individuals caught in a bigger web of some kind and he's not sure what lies at the center of it all, but no one should feel like they're alone.

especially not when there's cake involved.

peter trudges his way to the kitchen, red t-shirt and grey lounge pants — the best fitting outfit he'd managed thus far but hardly appropriate for a celebration, even if it were a casual one.

he spies the cake and the girl, thinks of gwen, and heads over to greet her.]

Hey. Happy birthday. Sorry about the... [peter gesticulates all around them, an attempt to quantify everything: the safehouse, this world, their shared plight. realizing he probably looks like a crazy person waving his arms about, he drops them abruptly.] Anyway, how's about we have a go at that cake?

[gasping]

Oh, it's okay.

[ it's not. the whole displaced thing honestly sucks, everything from being away from home and friends to the new blue thing glowing in her chest is weird and unfamiliar, but caroline refuses to let herself dwell in the negativity of dissatisfaction.

no, she's taking a page from scarlett o'hara. she will persevere, she will rebuild. she's a survivor... and survivors don't let something like displacement ruin their birthdays. survivors bake their own cakes.

and they slice them, too; for peter, in his casual vibe, she slices a hearty piece of the dessert, dropping it onto an oversized plate that's way too big for its contents. ]

You can't tell me if it's terrible. I don't have any more bananas.

[thwipandrelease]

[she's really not helping him shed any of the spare weight by baking a cake. nope. definitely not helping by offering him a generous slice.]

Pretty sure as long as you've left out the high protein food meal, you're good on the cake front. [peter takes the offered slice of cake and nabs one of the forks kept conveniently nearby (how thoughtful!), digging in without further thought. as luck would have it the cake is good, perhaps the best thing he's had since arriving and peter doesn't even bother to finish chewing to offer his compliments to the chef.]

No need to worry there. It's really good. Is that... vanilla?

[gasping]

Extract. [ there hadn't been anything fancy in the cupboards. the bottled, chemical variety was what she had to work with. ] And bananas, which weirdly helps?

[ it's a bizarre recipe. more squishy, wobbly pudding chilled to set than an actual cake, and surprisingly bereft of anything remotely traditional in the ingredient list, it somehow comes together into something that tastes vaguely like chocolate cake.

caroline's not a scientist. she doesn't know how it works. all she knows is that the internet gave her a recipe, and after a few attempts, she gave the world a cake. ]

I'm normally more of a chocolate cupcake kind of girl, but I couldn't find chocolate or muffin tins, so. [ a shrug. ] This is it.

[resleeves]

[ god, when the fuck was the last time he'd celebrated a birthday? he doesn't know. maybe before he'd first be resleeved? but even then, it wasn't like his parents were really fans of parties and celebrations or anything resembling a normal fucking life.

but here he is, nearly three centuries old and in the same vicinity at someone deciding that a birthday celebration was just what was needed.

well, he wasn't going to pass up free food. ]

What kind of cake?

[ he doesn't bother with the network. she has to be the one with the birthday considering he's seen her going in and out of the kitchen all fucking day. ]

Anything good?

[gasping]

It's cake. Isn't that the important part?

[ the recipe had a weird name. fruity carob, apparently, was the future's way of making a super sweet chocolate cake without either sugar or chocolate. not that it really felt like a cake. it was more like a really dense pudding, if she was honest.

but the batter had been good, so she was going with it. positivity! ]

Why don't you have some and find out?

[ take a slice, tall man. pleeeease. ]

[resleeves]

What if it's something I'm allergic to and I take a bite and die right here? You can loan me your body to resleeve into?

[ DOUBT IT. good thing he wasn't allergic. ]

But fine, I'm fucking starving. I feel like all I've had to eat lately is dirt and my own spit. I'm fucking tired of this place.

[ let him out of this pit, thank you. ]

[gasping]

To what?

[ please enjoy that look of total disgust. she thinks it's a sex term. ]

Okay, grouchy, calm down. Just eat some cake. [ the world is not ending. they're not dead. it could be worse. his histrionics are not necessary. ] You know there's food here, right?

[ if he's starving, it's his own fault. she's only made meals a dozen times in the last few days. ]

network; @matches.malone / private

[reneger]

i don't party, but let me know when you're done with your cake

( he won't come by where she's at, but he will use her registered id to show her some sights around the city. )

[gasping]

i can keep a slice wrapped up for you, if you want.
in case you're the "indulge my sweet tooth in private" kind of guy.

[reneger]

not much of a sweet tooth, actually
wrap it up and save it for yourself
never know when you'll need it

[gasping]

i'm more of a salty snacks kind of girl, to be honest.
if i get hangry, i'll have to sneak out for some fries.

[ or a snack. ]

i think the party's all wrapped up, though, since you asked.

[revvedup]

[ they can leave now, but max has ended up sticking to the safehouse for the time being, venturing outside occasionally to see what she can of the city and survey her options as far as jobs and living situations go. she arrives back in the afternoon, a little after caroline's already posted her invitation, and ventures into the kitchen after it's already been cleaned, the cake set out invitingly on the table. ]

I came in here hoping for more potatoes, but this looks way better.

[gasping]

Yeah?

[ potatoes are top-dollar snack food. fried, mashed, boiled in a stew. as long as they're salty, caroline is down. she honestly prefers salty to sweet most of the time... but birthdays required cake, and so there was cake. ]

Knock yourself out, please, I'm so not going to be able to eat all of it.

[ okay, maybe she could, but she won't. ]

[revvedup]

[ max would have to agree, though she generally prefers sweet if she's being forced to choose. she's from a time where most people are forced to get creative when it comes to their indulgences, but she's never seen anyone create anything quite like this. ]

Gladly. Thanks. [ she looks around for a clean plate and fork, possibly two. ] Did you already have some?

[gasping]

I had some of the others. [ the now-destroyed original batches, of which there were three. they didn't pass muster. ] Really, though, I'm super full. Help yourself.

[ explaining that she could eat that entire cake and still be hungry later is probably too much on the weird side to say without getting questioned about it. her teen metabolism had been good, but not that good. ]