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March 14, night
Mar. 15th, 2013 11:39 amBy now everyone knew what to do when the replicator gave you things you didn’t ask for: bring them to the Level 1 kitchen and put them in the refrigerator. It was rather like what Erik imagined living in a university dormitory to be like-- you opened the door and could find anything from a six-pack of questionable origin to a container of something that had once been a vegetable (but what vegetable it had been was better left a mystery).
It was rare Erik found himself unable to wrangle the replicator in his room into giving him something at least resembling what he wanted, but tonight apparently his quest for a glass of milk was too much for the bloody machine to handle. Shoving his feet into a pair of ratty slippers (which had come to him from the wardrobe already worn in; he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful) he trudged down the hall to the kitchen and started going through the fridge.
The carton of milk was at the back, naturally, shoved in between a bottle of violently green soda pop and a bunch of brussels sprouts still on the stem. Erik reached for it, snagged it, and in an act of petty rebellion against being made to go to such effort, popped it open and drank straight from the carton.
He heard a noise behind him and realized someone was there. He swallowed and turned as he scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, ready to sarcastically defend against anyone who might be ready to tease him--
--and stopped short at the sight of Charles standing on the far side of the kitchen.
Shock numbed his fingers and he felt the carton of milk slip from his grasp, heard it thunk against the metal floor. A moment later his foot grew damp as the puddle of milk spread. His first thought-- not a single set of words so much as a jumble of panic and relief and fear-- quickly gave way before the memory of Mystique running from a phantom assailant, Amy’s moving angel statues, the hellhounds that had hemmed them in and torn Shepard to shreds-- hallucinations made flesh, some madness brought on by the station.
Furious with himself for being so easily taken in, Erik turned his back on the vision of Charles and bent to pick up the carton of milk, throwing it in the sink and going to take a towel out of a nearby drawer.
It was rare Erik found himself unable to wrangle the replicator in his room into giving him something at least resembling what he wanted, but tonight apparently his quest for a glass of milk was too much for the bloody machine to handle. Shoving his feet into a pair of ratty slippers (which had come to him from the wardrobe already worn in; he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful) he trudged down the hall to the kitchen and started going through the fridge.
The carton of milk was at the back, naturally, shoved in between a bottle of violently green soda pop and a bunch of brussels sprouts still on the stem. Erik reached for it, snagged it, and in an act of petty rebellion against being made to go to such effort, popped it open and drank straight from the carton.
He heard a noise behind him and realized someone was there. He swallowed and turned as he scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, ready to sarcastically defend against anyone who might be ready to tease him--
--and stopped short at the sight of Charles standing on the far side of the kitchen.
Shock numbed his fingers and he felt the carton of milk slip from his grasp, heard it thunk against the metal floor. A moment later his foot grew damp as the puddle of milk spread. His first thought-- not a single set of words so much as a jumble of panic and relief and fear-- quickly gave way before the memory of Mystique running from a phantom assailant, Amy’s moving angel statues, the hellhounds that had hemmed them in and torn Shepard to shreds-- hallucinations made flesh, some madness brought on by the station.
Furious with himself for being so easily taken in, Erik turned his back on the vision of Charles and bent to pick up the carton of milk, throwing it in the sink and going to take a towel out of a nearby drawer.
