OPEN RP LOG

[112ounces]

Here is where you go nuts with Carl "Future Serial Killer" Grimes, whether it is just a set in game-verse or whichever.

Comments

[peepeepants]

[Well hot damn, you go Russia. Probably didn't have as rockin' tunes as the Saviors but not everyone can reach that level.]

Which side were you on? [He chuckles.] They kidnap you or you get to play big fuckin' hero?

[DID HE KILL RUSSIANS IN THEIR SLEEP]

[112ounces]

Both.

[ He did win an award from the President for his efforts in killing Russians. ]

I help break out the prisoners. When the Russians invaded a month later and started the brainwashing, I stayed behind. The Porter stopped me from being brainwashed.

[ It was a nasty shock realizing that he lost an eye just as he was being forcibly brainwashed. Something about the trauma saved him from being a loyal Soviet soldier, and led him to kill actual loyal Soviet soldiers. ]

[peepeepants]

[A pause follows, and as soon as it's possible Carl may believe he got lucky and Negan is shutting his trap for once, the sound of applause hits the air. He doesn't say anything (it's a miracle) but the shit-eating grin only reaffirms that this is not, right now, genuine applause. Whoohoo, great, kid's a hero. Here, anyway. Gravel McGees in the forest didn't have Grimes heroes.

No flat stare will cut through. Actually, if Tommy shows any distress at the upsetting frequent loud noise, that's what'll have Negan stopping early. Go figure.]

[112ounces]

[ And Carl's going to ignore the fuck out of Negan as he cracks the eggs and cook the bacon. Tommy is going to slink off, unnerved by both the noise Negan is making and the tension the dog is starting to detect. ]

[peepeepants]

[Usually, ignoring Negan is a really bad idea. But this time it comes in hand with the whole getting fed thing sooooo he'll tolerate it. For now. He stops clapping, of course, and keeps his spot, legs spread like he's king of this particular kitchen. As soon as things start sizzling, though, Carl may hear an unnerving sound. Like spinning a bat idly around on the floor. Because that's exactly what Negan ends up doing, just like it's no big deal. Just keeping his hands busy. No threat here nope. Tommy was wise.]

[112ounces]

[ The bacon sizzles and the eggs harden, and Carl is left wishing he could have his other eye back so he can keep an eye on both the cooking breakfast and Negan. He sees movement of the bat out of the corner of his eye.

As he goes to gather (paper) plates, he briefly touches the metal handles on the drawers and cabinets, giving them just enough rust for Carl to control.

He looks at the eggs and bacon. They look about past halfway done. He'd wait a little while longer, but he doesn't intend to give a good breakfast.

After all, Negan didn't specified. ]

[peepeepants]

[He did not specify; he'll learn to deal with Carl more accurately sooner rather than later.

Lucille spins and spins. This is probably the quietest Negan has been in ages, outside of sleeping. What a lucky kid that Carl Grimes is. Lucille stops spinning—if Carl looks, it's about the same time that Negan catches sight of people outside the window. Just walking to their jobs, or schools, or just getting the paper, but it's weird. Usually the people outside of Negan's window were doing just what they should or no longer people.

Having to face this return to normalcy is going to take some getting used to.]

[112ounces]

[ If Carl really wanted to, he'd sympathize. It's hard, the first months. When there's a herd of people, the immediate thought is not, oh, rush hour, it's a large herd of walkers. There just isn't enough people to make up that kind of mass anymore, not where they come from.

But Carl doesn't want to sympathize with Negan, fuck that guy.

Still, he takes an opportunity of Negan's moment of rediscovering civilization by opening a drawer to give Negan a fork and a knife . . . and a knife for Carl, who rusted the handle slightly so he can control it even without gripping it, and discretely puts it in the small of his back, hiding the knife with his shirt and jeans.

The egg is half hard and runny, the bacon is just a sad sight, half of it burnt to a crisp and the other half just barely cooked. Good enough. He puts the bacon and eggs on a plate, along with the fork and knife and puts it on the table on the side closest to Negan. Carl then backs up, his back leaning against the wall with his arms folded. ]

[peepeepants]

[A Negan needs no sympathy X( But if he was adjusting well, he might not have found Carl's place and let himself in. Here he is, though, staring at a group of folks who are definitely not the bitey type. A few of them could probably use a kiss from Lucille, but. That's just how humanity operates.

He turns when the plate hits the table.

He blinks. He leans forward.

They have, all of them, at one point in time, had to stomach what they never would have imagined before the world went to shit. Packaged goods way past expiration date. Veggies and fruits shoved into mouths with no thoughts given to washing them. Even raw eggs sucked straight out of their shells. And worse, always, always there was someone who'd had it worse. Or who'd gone after worse and grew a taste for human flesh.

Negan peers at the horrible excuse for breakfast a few more moments.

He leans Lucille against the chair again, removes his usual one glove, and starts to separate what's properly done of the bacon from the rawer bit.]

That daddy of yours taught you to cook this way, kid?

[Not poorly. Poorly on purpose. There's a message here, and it's not that Carl's just too fucking stupid to cook some bacon and eggs straight through. It's that little spark of fight Rick held onto even with his face spattered with friend residue. That spark willing to shoot at Saviors and talk after. Negan pops the extra crispy section in his mouth and looks up at Carl, expecting an answer and giving away absolutely no signs of distaste about this Breakfast of Assholes.]

[112ounces]

Oh no. I had to learn how to use the oven here. [ Which is true - Carl did learn to cook mostly from here, though Carol and Michonne and Dad and others taught him a little of their knowledge back home. He learned enough how to cook well enough to feed himself, and knows how poorly to piss someone off. ] I usually spit in my meals while cooking them.

[ But he didn't. Although that's a lie, Negan doesn't need to know that. ]

[peepeepants]

[The change on Negan's face isn't shock or disgust—he has like nine wives or something, a little spit is nothing—but amusement. He laughs like he does at his own stupid jokes. And then a bit more than that, bringing his hand down loudly on the table edge twice like Carl is just That Funny. He even wipes at an eye. What a joker, that Carl Grimes.]

Shit! Where d'you come from? Goddamn. [He won't be trying the veal, no worries there.] Spit's the least of your worries. This egg ain't done all the way.

[His hand goes back to Lucille, who helps him stand.]

But we've established you cook differently for yourself than you do for anybody else, haven't we.

[He gets the insult. Of course he does. And yet there's something to be said for even (not actually) spitty, shitty hospitality. When he provides a service, he expects a great deal in return. This is similar, so Negan finishes that sad sad bacon with eyebrows raised in Carl's direction. Can't spit on this, buddy.]

[112ounces]

[ He'll fucking try and will definitely kill Negan's friends in order to do it. ]

What you see is what you get.

[ Carl's not even going to do an half-assed excuse on his cooking. Not when it is so obvious. ]