teleios | { open | event, and for the month! }

THE WEEK OF THE TRIFFIDS |

It's Jazz who notices that things aren't as they should be, a fact which he'd certainly try to parade around if he could speak. As it happens, he spots something amiss as Fortescue is on a morning walk into the city. Movement snakes at the corner of his green eyes, and he shifts on Fortescue's shoulders to watch it. She pays no mind, humming a bit of The Magic Flute; he watches birds in the same manner.

But she absolutely notices when a section of vine suddenly extends from a planter and wraps around her ankle, yanking her off of her feet. Jazz leaps to safety, snarling and hissing, keeping his distance as he was trained to do.

Fortescue, meanwhile, grits her teeth and taps into her pyromancy. Flames dance along her skin, avoiding her skin but not the vines that are trying to drag her bodily into the planter for... whatever the vines are attached to. She isn't too certain.

"Oh, just get off," she manages. The vines make a whining sound -- how on Earth or any other world do plants make sounds? -- and retreat, but not before a section of one burns off. Fortescue doesn't get up immediately, watching with narrowed eyes. "...just where did you..."

The thought is abandoned as two more sections of plant life suddenly lurch out, one around her right wrist and one around her other ankle. Fortescue's yanked a few more feet along before she huffs out an angry, "All right then," and ignites all of her body. This time, though it hurts the vines the same, the plant seems just as angry and sends out as many vines as she can burn. A deeper noise starts coming out of the planter, something bigger wriggling forward -- something which looks like a person-sized, yellow bulb.

THE THINGS FROM ANOTHER WORLD |

When she isn't being grabbed by enthusiastic greenery, and when other people aren't, Fortescue can be found in the library looking at cookbooks. She's curious about other things she could make which would be feasible for a beginning cook, and the library does have a good selection. Jazz lounges in the sun on the floor, often right in the way of other readers. Some of her experiments are done in the temple's kitchen as well as her own, and when they turn out well she sets them out in offering to those who still bunk down in the temple. She's experimenting with various pasta dishes, slowly amping up the difficulty.

She can also be found in the temple training rooms ever so often, dressed simply and taking out any excessive energy on a punching bag. Everything about her form and stance indicates a seasoned fighter. Jazz curls on the shoulders of a training dummy, and purrs smugly at anyone who approaches it and needs to use it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Luke's smirk becomes a grin when Fortescue turns to give him that look. When she waves the parmesan at him, though, he just tucks his chin into the palm of one hand.

"But then you'd miss out on the cheese-grating experience. That's a very important part of learning how to cook. You won't learn if I do it for you." He raises his eyebrows, as if indicating that he has a very good point.

And it is a good point, but Luke's mostly just giving her a hard time. He picks up the cheese grater by its handle with his free hand and idly plays with it, taunting her.

She lets out a tiny, exaggerated huff of air, one hand on a hip as she glances at the wiggling cheese grater. Part of her just wants to let out a snort of laughter and tackle him, but the rest of her holds on.

There's time for that later, after all.

"I've grated cheese before. That's one of the things mum would trust me with, since there was no heat involved," Fortescue scoffs, mostly for the effect of this teasing exchange they're in. Smirking, she holds out her hand for the grater. "If you're just going to stand there and look handsome, I'll ask for posing. It's the least you can do."

"Posing? What kind of posing?" he asks warily despite grinning, suddenly holding the cheese grater closer to him. He doesn't want to give it up if posing is the alternative.

The truth is, he knows exactly what kind of posing Fortescue wants. He's just trying to buy himself some time. The very idea makes his cheeks go pink and he's already telling himself that it's just not happening.

Fortescue continues to smirk at him, her eyes glittering and just as mischievous as the rest of her expression as she gets some butter out of the fridge.

"Oh, you know. Entertaining poses." She may, or may not, be working up to what he's dreading. It's hard to tell, with that face of hers. "Like stage performers finishing an act. Voila!" Lifting her arms briefly skyward, she gives a demonstration. "Or clothing catalogue models, pretending to be casual and just being strange."

Her arms at her sides again, she displays the pose of someone laughing at a vaguely funny joke they'd just heard at a party.

It couldn't have been better if Luke had planned it. The second Fortescue starts posing, he subtly grabs the parmesan and starts grating it over the cutting board.

All the while he watches her, even grinning appreciatively. He doesn't like to show himself off that way but he'll gladly watch someone else, especially if he already likes looking at that someone anyway. By the time she's finished her demonstration, he has a nice little pile of shredded cheese on the cutting board for her.

"Well you sure showed me," he comments as he sets down both the grater and the cheese, then folds both arms in front of him on the counter with the most shit-eating-est smile.

There are two options that she ponders, for the very briefest of moments. One is to show him exactly where he can put his cheese and probably cause some sort of food war in the process. The second is what Fortescue, smirking back at him, decides to follow through with. She drops her arms, curtsies, and then turns on the heat to the skillet on the stove.

"Thank you for grating my cheese, Socks," she says primly, making a small show of leaning up and kissing his cheek, like a performer milking every second of their onstage time.

Their cheese, but, well. It has some cooking before it gets to that stage.

Then she pokes his cheek with an index finger. "I see you know one of those catalogue poses."

Namely, the models who look smug.

Luke beams in reply as she kisses his cheek. "I guess you did show me a little bit. The cheese got grated after all." So they both wound up getting what they wanted. Luke can live with that.

With his grin still firmly in place, he moves around the corner of the counter and up behind Fortescue. "Oh yeah? You won't find this in a catalogue." He leans into her warmly and his hand slides up the back of her thigh, then squeezes her rear once it gets there.

"I'll grate your cheese anytime," he murmurs against the side of her neck, though he can't get all of it out without chuckling at the ridiculousness of trying to use that sentence as a euphemism.

Fortescue smiles, in the middle of organizing the rest of her ingredients on the board, a jolt running up her spine when Luke squeezes her behind. Having him close always has that effect on her. A shiver is starting to gather in her nerves as Luke leans close to her neck... and then... he speaks.

The shiver and a quiet laugh ripple through her. Her smile sprouts up into a grin, and she bites her lower lip.

"That doesn't sound very pleasant, darling," she chortles, unable to help herself.

As Luke leans to the side to glimpse her face, he chuckles some more in amusement. His gaze darts down to her lips and he can't resist moving in to leave a quick kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"I was talking about cooking. What were you talking about?" There's an obvious smirk in his voice and his hands travel up to rest on her hips, stepping close to press against her from behind. Luke knows he can't keep this up, otherwise they won't get dinner.

But a little teasing never hurt anybody. Besides, he knows Fortescue can give as good as she gets.

She shakes her head in mock exasperation after he kisses her. "Wouldn't you like to know."

All of her ingredients are assembled, which means they're only waiting on the pasta -- and a little pasta water -- for another couple of minutes. More than enough time for some teasing between the two of them. Fortescue runs the tips of her fingers, feather light, over the tops of Luke's hands.

"You can grate cheese for me anytime you'd like."

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