strangetrip | [GP/EP] Pie for Pi Day

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[GP/EP] Pie for Pi Day

The only ones who might have known yesterday held any significance were Jag and Sunny, and if they did, they also knew her well enough to know she wasn't big on celebrations. Her one tradition, a new deck for her birthday, hadn't been possible this year, since she hadn't found anything like a tarot deck on Asphodel Station. But that was okay.

Pi Day, on the other hand, was worth celebrating. Everybody liked pie. Last week, she'd talked to Pike, who had been curious and excited about a holiday for pie, and seemed eager to help. Yesterday, she'd put a notice on the bulletin board, hand-lettered over a watercolor scene of pies and more pies. She'd also made ice cream in a variety of flavors, since she wasn't Bobby to freeze it on demand, in less time than it took to prepare the custard base. Today, she left the non-pie food preparation to Ignis, the chicken chef, and anyone who wanted to fend for themselves.

Today, along with Pike and anyone else who wanted to and knew what they were doing, Emma baked pies. Fruit pies and cream pies. Quiche and pot pies. Shepherd's pie and meat pies. Hand pies, savory or sweet, baked or fried. As close as she could get to real Brooklyn-style pizza this far from Brooklyn. Some were decorated with the symbol π or the first few digits of the number it represented, as a vent in a top crust, piped in whipped cream, or carefully laid out in caramelized onions depending on the pie. And because she couldn't resist the visual pun any more now than she could the first time she celebrated Pi Day at the castle, a square apple pie (one of Bobby's favorites) and cherry tart (a recipe she'd learned from Sabine, the fruits a deep ruby red against white cream and pale crust that would have appealed to her cousin's aesthetics).

It wasn't the same as Pi Day at the castle, but there was a bustle and energy as people moved between the kitchens, the bakery, and the cafe, sitting to talk over a slice, or helping each other choose what to taste next. As long as Emma stayed busy, she could enjoy the memories without dwelling on the people she missed.

And there was pie. Everybody likes pie.

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Muscle memory as much as anything folded Maya's pizza and touched the tip to a paper napkin to draw off any excess grease. "Not really. I'd guess Pike from the baking." Alec helped out in the bakery sometimes, but she wasn't sure about today. "And I saw Emma – the shy redhead cook? – bringing in some quiche when I was looking over the spread. I haven't really met either of them, though."

"I've met her," Jackson said, briefly hoping she'd managed not to cut herself this time around. He liked his pies blood-free. "Emma, I mean. I'll be sure to give her my thanks."

When Maya took a bite of the pizza, she knew she'd be thanking Emma too. It tasted enough like home, she felt the other woman had to be another New Yorker. There were quite a few of them here, from what she could tell.

"I probably should have met more people after two months here. But recognizing them in the halls enough to wave or say hello isn't the same as talking with them. Spending too much time in the gym or my room maybe."

"I won't throw stones," Jackson assured her. "Not sure I've had a conversation with even half the people here." But he had to ask, given where her gaze was as they talked, "Are you readin' my lips?" It was that, or she just really liked his lips. She didn't sound like she was deaf, but it might have come on after she'd learned to speak. Whatever it was, he sounded honestly curious, and not much else.

"It would be a one-sided conversation if I wasn't. I'm deaf." A lot of people didn't notice that quickly, mostly because her own speech didn't sound like most deaf people's, but he was a doctor.

"Then again, with some conversations, that's a good thing."

"Here's to hopin' this doesn't turn out to be one of those," Jackson retorted, amused. "When did it happen?" He assumed that she wasn't born deaf, with the way she sounded, and he also assumed she'd tell him if she didn't care for his questions. But he was an inquisitive sort, and pertaining to a condition, at that. He was almost conditioned to ask.

She probably should have expected the question. "I was born deaf." And because he was a doctor, and she'd been asked so often anyway, she followed it up with the explanation she gave at her performances. "After a lifetime of reading movement as language, they say I can recreate any complex physical action that my eyes record. Even after observing it one time. That is why my speech is not slurred. I can perceive even the most minute muscle intonations. All physical movement is language. They say I am some kind of savant."

"Sounds about right," Jackson stated, clearly impressed and doing nothing to hide it. "That work on everythin'?"

"Everything I'm physically capable of doing. So it's at my strength, speed, flexibility, etc." It was an important caveat, she'd learned, and was one of the reasons she worked out to stay in the best shape possible.

"Languages, musical instruments, dance, fighting. I won Olympic gold in boxing a few years ago, and could have competed in gymnastics as well, if I'd wanted to and if anyone would have believed it possible. I'd probably be a good surgeon, except knowing when and why to do what you do is at least as important as what to do." She would leave that to the doctors.

After swallowing his latest forkful of pie, Jackson whistled. "Sounds impressive." And she absolutely had it right about surgery.

"Don't worry. I'm not after your job," she said, and winked, following it with another bite of pizza. She'd missed good pizza, and hadn't even noticed until she had it again.

The corner of Jackson's lips ticked up in an amused half-smile. "Not much of a job to go after, anyway." Not here. "And there's already plenty of magic folks do my job better'n I ever could." He mostly didn't even sound bitter, because it was better to laugh about it all than let it eat him up.

Having been on a team with a bunch of powered fighters, Maya felt like she kind of understood. "So you're as bored as the rest of us. Now I know somebody to turn to if I wind up with worse than a few sparring bruises."

"If you're after the long, painful recovery," Jackson confirmed, giving her a wry smile. It was true, after all, and he wouldn't be much of a doctor if he didn't acknowledge there were better options out there.

He had a point. Still. "This is the first time in years, I've actually had the time to take if I needed to recover, instead of bandaging up to keep fighting. I think I'll manage, if it becomes an issue."

"It's your recovery," Jackson answered easily. He wasn't going to make that kind of decision for her.

"Good enough." She wasn't going to go so far as to refuse magical treatment. She wasn't that kind of stubborn, and she knew, if she did get seriously hurt or sick, she'd be bored with recovery soon enough. But she wasn't going to turn down traditional methods either.

"Curiosity is getting the better of me. I have to ask. Hipster, or from some where and when other than twenty-first century Earth?"

Well, his question would likely answered hers, he figured. "What's a hipster?" Jackson asked, next piece of pie halfway to his mouth.

"It's –" Maya started, then paused, a lag before she closed her mouth, frowning. "It's something between an aesthetic and an attitude." She shook her head. "It's hard to describe, more an 'I know it when I see it' thing."

"Maybe start with why you'd think I am one, then?" Jackson offered evenly.

Maya looked him over, deciding how to start. "The plaid, for one thing. Old timey, to me, facial hair. Your signature hat. It's no so much I thought you were a hipster, as I couldn't be certain you weren't. But talking with you, I was fairly sure. You don't have the 'I'm too cool for your mundane existence' vibe."

"They don't sound like very recommendable gentlemen," Jackson remarked, and smiled slightly. "Brilliant taste in clothing aside."

"To be fair, 'hipster' isn't exactly used as a nice term, and it's not what they usually call themselves." Something Maya was usually aware of, having had labels put on herself and her people regardless of what they called themselves. "It's mostly for people complaining about them. But at best, I've found them boring, they're usually so focused on being ahead of the curve and being seen as better or different from everybody else."

"They sound... very full of themselves," Jackson settled on. Better than 'like stuck up pricks', he figured.

"Something like that," she agreed. "But at least we've established you aren't one."

Re: Jackson & Maya

st_illfleshandblood - 2018-04-03 21:24 (UTC) - Expand

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