Early Birds (Ferris)

[Vincent Meian]

((Backdated to July 27th))


Because of a sudden surge of new trainees in early spring, Vincent had been working harder than he'd had in a long while. His sessions tended to run long (which was fine, because he scheduled them accordingly), his office hours grew even longer, and his paperwork kept piling up by the end of the week. It didn't help that he had to go for weekly checks with Sean to make sure that one of his students hadn't changed a memory falsely, nor that he had to file extra monthly reports on a couple of his students for Yvette. It was more and more time eaten out of his week, and he was having more trouble putting down the work and going home before midnight. Oftentimes, he simply dozed off in his office and woke up a few hours later, hungry and needing to get ready for the next school day.

Yesterday was one of those days. Unfortunately, it was an unexpectedly long one of those days, meaning that he'd forgotten (again) to pack an extra lunch (or even dinner) for himself before falling asleep at his desk. He had extra clothes (for that reason), and it was early enough that he could shower in the pool locker rooms (which he just did), but it still left the matter of a very tall, high-metabolising individual without food for over... sixteen hours? Given the time (about a quarter to five), there were also no other teachers or day staff here, which meant there were no breakfast pastries left in the staff lounge.

Maybe he could see if there was something left over in the cafeteria kitchen...? Kane rarely if ever left prepared food in the cooking rooms' refrigerators, so it would be the only place with something prepared so that he could get back to work quickly. Maybe one of the cooks had even left out some fruit, if nothing else.

Running his fingers through his damp hair, Vincent strode through the halls leisurely to the cafeteria, pulling the dark strands back into a ponytail and out of his face. They'd fall as they dried, but he'd just put them back again later. It wasn't even a bother anymore, he'd done it so often over the years. The tall man wasn't really the most unkempt he'd ever been, but disheveled was still a good word even if he was clean and relatively tidy. Still, with so few people in the school, the veteran wasn't worried. No one would really notice, right?

Passing the door of the cafeteria kitchen, he was surprised to find the lights on and hearing something inside. Were the cooks already here? Or did someone leave a radio and the lights on last night. Pushing open the door, Vincent looked about the well-lit room carefully. "Good morning?" he greeted cautiously, unsure of what he'd find.

[Ferris Macklin]

Ramadan was almost over, and Ferris was so glad. It only shifted his schedule a little over an hour earlier in the a.m., but he'd already been coming in at 5. It was a little depressing to work eight hours and only have it be noon. Still, it was also rewarding to help the kids who celebrated Ramadan do so as comfortably as possible minus their families and mosques.

Those kids had already had their meal and left, the single table they used already cleaned and left set up waiting for the others to join it for general breakfast. Ferris oversaw the Ramadan meal himself with a rotating member of kitchen staff so that only one minion had to wake up at oh-my-god-o'clock in the morning, and only about once every ten days at that. But now that general prep time was on, the kitchen had its usual crew of five who came in to help with stuff like bread making (the regular whole wheat came already made, but the gluten and dairy allergy kids got their bread baked in the kitchen) and the endless chopping of veg and fruit and meat. The day's menu was egg and vegetable bake or waffles for breakfast, crumb-coated fish for lunch, and spaghetti for dinner, with sides and fresh veggies and fruit. At the long metal trestle-tables, mounds of broccoli, carrots, zucchini, onions, and peppers were being broken down - any extra would be put in soups or stews or casseroles later. The school was big enough that Ferris padded out egg mixes with a few scoops of powdered egg, but it was a small addition and a majority of it was fresh. Behind them, the big mixer was being cleaned, balls of dough resting and rising in big bowls covered with wet cloths.

Soft music played on the battered radio someone had brought in, mostly classic rock but a little pop too, though sometimes they played the oldies station. Ferris liked to keep upbeat music going to keep people moving, but kept the volume low to keep it from being too distracting. So far no one had objected to the genres, but then, most of the lyrics couldn't be discerned unless you were familiar with the song.

In a still white chef's coat over his t-shirt, slightly damp jeans (from washing vegetables), and steel-toed black boots, Ferris also wore a baseball hat backwards to cover his hair while he worked, and every so often gave a chew to the piece of grape gum in his mouth. His chef's knife flashed as he diced onion after onion, but paused mid-slice when an unfamiliar man presented himself.

Unfamiliar... but familiar at the same time. Much like Kane Woonren, Ferris had heard stories about the infamously tough (and disconcertingly tall) Japanese trainer, but they'd yet to actually meet. His minions kept working, but Ferris put down his knife and walked over, smiling and wiping his hand on the towel sticking out of his coat pocket. He offered it and said, "Good morning! Can I help you?" He smiled. "I wish I could say 'are you mister' and your last name, but I'm afraid I'll mispronounce it. I'm Ferris."

[Vincent Meian]

If he hadn't been so startled, the trainer might have remembered the Muslim fast going on, but as it was the idea completely slipped his mind. Honestly, he was startled to find anyone here at barely five o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. Even more surprising, the man apparently recognized him and was more than friendly enough. Stepping into the warm room enough for the door to close behind him, Vincent took the chef's hand and shook it firmly - a habit from his military days, now more prevalent after living in the US for over a year.

"Good morning, Ferris," he greeted, his heavily accented voice still at odds with the natural rhythm with native speakers of the language. "My name is Vincent Meian, but you may call me by my given name, if it is easier." Honestly, at this point, he was used to it - even some of his students called him by his first name, despite his distaste for it from them. Mildly confused, he added, "Have I been spoken of?"

It wasn't a worry either way - news got around this school faster than wildfire, and any talk at this point would be as positive as it was negative. He hoped. Still, the tall man could swear that he knew the name "Ferris" from somewhere, but knew it hadn't been spoken to him. Hmm...

After the brief handshake exchange, the trainer looked about the kitchen for a moment, then back to the head chef. "I had hoped to find a spare meal this morning," he admitted. "I was unprepared this morning and would appreciate anything you have to offer."

[Ferris Macklin]

If Ferris had not been cooking for it, he wouldn't have known when Ramadan was either, so that made two of them, really. Granted, he tended to forget about holidays he did celebrate too, but that was another topic. Ferris could feel a great deal of strength in the handshake, could feel the muscles of the man's hand. Wow.

The man spoke English with an accent that Ferris thought was rather lovely, though he'd studied Japan extensively for his doctorate and could still read it (though not speak it). Romanized Asian surnames could be a crapshot, pronounced however the bearers had the patience for, so he thought it best to ask. Still, "Vincent it is."

He smiled. "Not in the way you might think. There were some bao in the staff lounge once that I sampled and when I asked who brought them it they said one of the trainers. Tall, Japanese, mentioned your name but I forgot it." Ferris's smile turned apologetic at that, but then back to bright. "The bao were very good. Been awhile since I had one."

At the mention of finding a meal, he grinned again and then his expression turned thoughtful as he considered what was in the pantry. "I'm sure I could get you something. But... do you have any dietary needs or restrictions? Otherwise I have eggs I could do you up, and toast, and... hold on, lemme check."

Over to one of the big fridges, Ferris popped open doors and rummaged around a bit, smiled, and then walked back over to Vincent. "There's some sausage I could fry up too, if you wanted that, and we could throw some of that stuff-" he pointed at the growing bowls of vegetables being chopped "-in your eggs if you wanted. And there's leftover fruit from yesterday, chunks of strawberry and melon." Nodding in the direction of the kitchen's break room, he added, "There's coffee in there too, if you want it." Low, he added, "And if you wanted to snitch one of the pastries in there, I wouldn't tell."

That day Ferris had brought in almond rolls, and the plastic bag of them sat sealed on the staff table.

[Vincent Meian]

As often said, if Vincent were a telepath, he would have probably smiled or chuckled at Ferris' train of thought on the handshake. Much more than the average person, the tall man trained furiously to maintain his physique and his musculature, in addition to keeping up on his meditation in order to keep his mental walls strong. Mixed martial arts with Josef, shadow-boxing, and yoga made up weekly (if not daily) training practices and kept his body lean even as his metabolism finally began to slow. His hands, though strong, were also covered with scars across their fingers (mostly from cooking) and backs (from swordplay) - it was probably where some of the ropy nature of the shake had come from.

He had also never really considered his accent very attractive, though that in part came from the fact that he didn't feel he had and accent in Japan. He spoke with a standard Tokyo-ben, with a touch of Shitamachi dialect that never quite went away, no matter how he phrased his words. It wasn't a bad accent, and to an outsider the difference between his and the other Japanese teachers' accents would hardly be noticeably different (if Suekeichi didn't speak English like a Brit, that is). Still, he would have been flattered, and denied it rather vehemently.

Thank goodness (once again) that Vincent's not a telepath.

Nodding in acceptance of the decision, the trainer relaxed slightly as well. Oh, so he'd eaten some of his pastries. They did seem to be gone rather quickly whenever they were brought in, much faster than the normal bagels or cookies that seemed to appear in the mornings. "I am glad that you enjoyed them," he replied, accepting the compliment with a modest nod of his head. "I will bring a separate box for you and your kitchen staff when I next cook them. Do you have a flavor you prefer?"

The question made Vincent shake his head - he'd eat just about anything. He wasn't the biggest fan of nattō, but it was doubtful that they had any of that here in the first place - the closest Asian grocer was in Burlington, after all. Still, before he could really respond in kind, the chef had ambled off, chattering about the food they had available. It actually made the older man smile a bit - it reminded him of Ari and Suekeichi when grown men did that. Did he really attract such chatterboxes in adults? He wasn't upset; it was just an amusing observation.

"I will be humbled to take the choice that is most convenient," he replied, his voice holding a bit more mirth than his expression. "I am aware that you have much work to complete before the cafeteria opens for breakfast. For now, a cup of coffee seems like the best course." It was the first thing he started at home when he began making breakfast, and it was the first and most consistent thing he drank during the day. Not because of the caffeine (oddly enough, it didn't seem to affect him), but because he liked the small and taste of the bitter beverage.

[Ferris Macklin]

While Ferris did not train or exercise on purpose, he was still very active. Biking, his work at the school, and dancing (plus healthy eating habits) kept him trim. His musculature wasn't exactly impressive but it was still firm and let him deal with those fifty pound bags of whole wheat flour. As for accents, a few of his more cosmopolitan minions had remarked that he had one sometimes when he said certain words, a little Euro left there from his years of Swiss French, but, like his ability to keep Devon from knowing when he'd made pastry, it was fading.

At the offer of more bao, Ferris wanted to refuse - Vincent looked rather... ragged, and he didn't want to create more work for him - but it was phrased in such a way that he didn't quite know how to frame it. So he just smiled a little. "Whatever flavor is easiest for you," he said honestly. "They're all good."

Ferris would have objected to the notion he was a chatterbox. He was trying to offer a variety, in case the tall trainer didn't like eggs or wanted other options. Snorting a little, he said, "It's all convenient. I wouldn't offer anything that wasn't. You're right, we have a lot of work to do, but we're used to it and me taking a few minutes to fry you up something isn't going to break us. Why don't you have some coffee in there while I get you something?"

Leaving Vincent's company, Ferris tossed the smallest pan they had (which was still rather large) on a burner to heat while he took out the sausage and, after a moment's thought, four eggs.

Ten minutes later he carried one of the school's rectangular plastic trays into the kitchen's break room. In the main compartment were eggs scrambled with chopped onions and peppers, and in the smaller ones were three generous sausage patties, some strawberries, and a piece of buttered whole wheat toast.

"This alright? If you want seconds, just let me know." He stood there, waiting to see if Vincent had any objections.

[Vincent Meian]

The response was more non-committal than the trainer had expected, and he raised an eyebrow slightly in amusement. If he'd enjoyed them, then Ferris would have had one that he preferred over others, wouldn't he? Still, he himself was hard-pressed to choose favorites in his cooking, so maybe he'd just bring a bit of both; traditional dinner bao filled with meat and spices, and the fruit and cream that'd been so popular for breakfast.

Truth be told, almost everyone in this school was a more voracious talker than the trainer, simply because of their mastery of the English language more than anything. The tall man tended to speak slowly and with care, picking his words before he voiced them so he would not be misunderstood. He was not always successful in this endeavor, but it did help more often than not. So, it was not just how much Ferris spoke, but the ease in which he did so that made him chatter so amicably.

Being able to speak fluidly was not a bad thing.

"If that is your insistence," was the hesitant answer before Vincent could stop the chef from scooting off and doing what he'd stated. With a slight sigh, the older man moved into the break room, taking a nondescript mug from the rack and filling it with coffee from the pot. It was a slightly darker roast than the brew in the teacher's lounge tended to be, but in no way was that a bad thing. Vincent liked coffee; no matter the roast, so long as it tasted like coffee it was good enough for him.

He'd taken a seat and had almost finished the cup when the younger man walked in, bringing with him a plate that smelled quite delicious. And given the Japanese man's nature, even if there had been an objection (which there certainly wasn't), he wouldn't have voiced it; Ferris went out of his way to make him a meal when he'd been careless enough to not have his own prepared. However, it was certainly enough to at least get him started on the day. "Thank you," was the reply, punctuated with a dip of the head in gratitude and respect as he took the tray in both hands. "I will not hesitate to ask."

He wouldn't pester, though - that would have been incredibly rude, given the circumstances.

Despite what most of the students thought of cafeteria food in general, the meals served here at the Hammel Institute were quite filling and nutritious. Not to mention they tasted better than most foods served so quickly, and it was always hot, as opposed to the common misconceptions about such a venue. Vincent himself had never eaten in the cafeteria before - he usually brought his own lunch and cooked the other two meals at home. Nevertheless, the chef proved himself very capable with this simple dish; the eggs were fluffy, and the addition of the vegetables added a clean touch that brought out the flavors of the sausage well.

This man knew his food, certainly, even if he was limited by funding.

[Ferris Macklin]

In the case of the bao, Ferris had truly liked all the variations, but furthermore did not want to trouble Vincent. That and he didn't know what sorts his minions would like and didn't want to speak for them. He was sure whatever was presented would be appreciated. If asked point blank to choose though, Ferris would've taken the traditional filling over the fruit just because it was more familiar.

It was his insistence, and he was glad the tall trainer took himself into the break room. While he didn't think the man would bother the workers, his presence was something of an anomaly and they really did have to shake a leg in the mornings. At least this morning there had been no deliveries, or he would've had to either get a minion to do the frying or had Vincent do it himself.

With the tray delivered, Vincent looking more than okay with what was on it, Ferris gave him a smile. "You're very welcome. Don't hesitate to stop in if you forget your lunch or something. We'll always spot you." Rolling his shoulders under his chef's coat, he said, "I have to go get back to it. Holler if you want more. Just leave the tray where it is when you're done, someone'll get to it."

With a bit of a nod, he left.

Back in the kitchen, he took up his knife and started back in on the broccoli, smiling a little now that he had yet another face to go with another name. Especially when he was such a good cook.