Prime Cutlet (Open)

[Chandler Stafford]

Chandler was a boy of wealth. His family represented such a good chunk of the economy (For a single private dynasty, they were pretty tops), that he'd often eat some of the most luxurious of lunches, courtesy of his brother, who was starting to receive more and more funds from their father. Every day, Blaise seemed to know what he'd wanted, and this small town had just what he'd craved. And if they didn't, one of the many expensive delivery services in the state did.

Today, it was a perfectly marbled, and seared steak. Every bite tasted of garlic, onion, and perfection. He ate politely, but he knew the looks he'd likely be receiving. He got to eat restaurant quality food, so he'd avoid bragging about it. It'd just land him in some trouble, and really be unbecoming as far as he was concerned. He wouldn't put it past his brother, but that was one of many things that he'd think about another time.

Maybe he didn't understand it, but aside from some of the looks he got, nobody would really interact with him. He didn't know if his brother set a bad precedent before Chandler was here, or if it was just a general fear of money and 'spoiled royal' syndrome, but Chandler really was an agreeable lad. He liked to be friendly more often than not, and earning his ire was a difficult feat. And yet, if it isn't with his brother, lunch is spent alone.

As his knife sliced through the medium-rare steak, he pondered that for a moment. How would he reach out and network with more people here at Hammel? A lot of them scared him, in a way. Be it their egregious irresponsibility when it came to their powers, or how quick they were to turn to insults and violence. It wasn't a fair sampling, since his experience in this school's cliques was so minimal. It'd be like polling Republicans only, and using the results to determine that everyone wanted so-and-so to be the next president.

He heard footsteps come up behind him. Don't look desperate.

Chandler kept his eyes forward as he chewed on his steak, if it was someone that wanted to sit next to him, it would be /wonderful/.

[Clement Evans]

As students went, Clement was likely one of the most diametrically opposed economically, socially, and just... everyday life-wise, to Chandler Stafford. But unlike the other boy, he was very used to being around kids who had it way better than he did, and he didn't often begrudge them it. Life was life, and what you got handed was what you worked with. Some kids got handed more, some less. Whatever. There was no need to whine about it. A pragmatic approach for a kid who had as little as he did. When, that was, the fridge wasn't spontaneously manifesting boxes of food with his name on them or his room wasn't somehow doing the same.

It was the smell of garlic that caught him. Familiar, very familiar, and not. The Koreans used a great deal of garlic, or maneul, in their cuisine, and he missed it. But typically the garlic scent went along with the scents of green onion, roasted sesame seeds, sesame oil, and/or soy sauce. But the strength of the scent was homey for him, reminding him of Ajima's cooking.

Unless Jesse was in the cafeteria, Clement ate alone, at the end of a table or at least two seats away from where anyone else was sitting whenever possible. Sometimes he brought a notebook to doodle in, but most of the time he just ate as quickly as he could and left. Today Jesse wasn't around, but this smell that reminded him of his Korean aunt was. Clement set his tray down a seat away from the smell, and squinted at what was producing it, since... there was nothing garlicky on the menu today.

And he did a double-take. What in fuck. Did this kid have some sort of in with the cooks here or what? Not that Clement was jealous, just confused. Enough to sit, brow furrowed, while he opened the spout on his milk. Clement was normally very okay with letting things that confused him sit, but... okay, this was weird. And... there might be a correlation here.

"Does the fridge in your dorm know your name too?"

[Chandler Stafford]

Chandler figured that it'd be just someone passing him by. It was a single pair of footsteps, so maybe it was just a student heading off to class, or his or her dorm. Maybe it was a staff member heading across the cafeteria, since it basically acted as a gateway to the rest of the institute. He continued to coolly eat. Politely cutting and eating piece by piece. And then someone spoke to him.

He didn't exactly know how to respond to that question at first. Was that some sort of jab at his wealth? Did this person perhaps think he could create food out of thin air? Well, he wouldn't mind that power, but honestly, that would have made him notorious of it from the start. People'd probably constantly be asking for snacks. Thinking about it a bit further, Chandler wouldn't have minded that power. Créme Brulée whenever he felt like it? Lovely.

So, he just took it as nothing, really, as if it were a greeting. He turned his head, looking the boy up and down with his deep-blue eyes. "I don't quite follow, I just order it. 'Comfortable Cuisine'." Something that nobody would be able to relate to. A food truck that cost more than any of these people could scrounge up at all. Perks of having a familial stake in the business when it was just starting up however many years ago.

He scooted over. He didn't really need to, but he liked to make space for people. Most people probably passed this boy over. "You could have some, if you'd like. I don't think they're serving lunch right now." He knew how some people missed lunch. He did, sometimes.

[Clement Evans]

Granted, it was not exactly the kind of question that made Clement easy to deal with, but then, he supposed he was the only kid at Hammel with a meta fridge. Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't be like, putting things back in the fridge to thank it or something, but he didn't know what fridges liked. It wasn't exactly a question you could bring Dr. Neville.

"Order it from where?" It wasn't taunting or overly skeptical, just curious. Clement didn't understand what 'comfortable cuisine' was, what he was eating or how he felt about it or what.

His own tray just had a carton of milk and a package of crackers. A snack, a concession to his trainer and his doctor, both of whom wanted him to eat more. Shrugging, he sat, keeping a seat's worth of space between them. Lunch was over, but he'd missed it. However, the aforementioned possessed fridge had manifested a turkey sandwich he'd had instead in the dorm room while he'd done some homework. It never manifested milk, though, and Clement liked milk. Thus.

It'd probably sound weird, but if the kid was offering... "If there's a garlic I could have I'd have one of those, but you can keep the rest."

Now that he was close, the kid was dressed... kind of formal. "Are you visiting?"

That would explain the clothes and the food. Sort of. Maybe. He didn't know. Did visitors bring their own cooked meat?

[Chandler Stafford]

"Oh -- my apologies, I should have explained." He definitely didn't understand, and that was just fine. Things like that that happened quite often, he sometimes forgot he was from the top echelon when he wasn't surrounded by it all the time. "It's a company that delivers freshly-made dishes, or things for you to cook on your own. This is just their London Special." Well, save the fish. This was more-or-less in honor of his father, and he learned to love it over the years.

He poked some marinade-soaked cloves of garlic to the other side of the plate. "Help yourself, I don't really eat the cloves, anyhow." The flavors would have been dulled, though. That sharp garlic was just something he normally wasn't a fan of. He much preferred it accompanying the flavors of other spices and seasonings, like it was now.

This boy was in a pretty lucky spot, though. He could have run across Blaise, and he didn't even want to imagine how his older brother would have treated him. Probably with disdain, disgust... And he would have really made an embarrassment out of this poor boy. When the conversation turned on him, well, he was charismatic enough to answer non-awkwardly.

"Oh, no. I just recently came here. A month after my brother's transfer, if you can believe it. Two lads from the same immediate family getting this one-in-a-million benefit." He really just said that for the optimism, the friendly tone. He didn't view this as a benefit, neither this school nor his 'power'.


If he had a choice, or if Father could actually grease the palms of these sticklers, he'd be back in one of their many homes, doing what he normally did, seeing the tutor that could understand him, instead of sitting cramped in classrooms, not really getting to fully grasp each assignment due to troublemakers.

Maybe some day he'd fit the niche here.

[Clement Evans]

The kid also spoke a little like his trainer did. Like he was reading from a really old book. He cleared up what he meant, though Clement didn't see what was so London Special about... meat.

Surprised when the kid not only gave up his garlic but didn't think it was weird at all, Clement blinked once and then used a cracker to shovel all the little dark cloves off the plate. "Kam... Thank you."

See? See? He had manners!

Though he preferred Korean, Clement wasn't at the point some of the older generation were, popping fresh raw cloves of garlic like they were chips, but he did like it in dishes in whatever state it was.

...Who in the world said 'lads' anymore? Besides this kid. Seriously. And somehow he managed to make saying it look... natural. "Lots of kids have brothers or sisters here," he said, shrugging and eating one of the cloves. "There's even a whole family here that has a billion kids in it."

A swig of milk later, and he thought he really shouldn't still be calling this kid 'kid', even in his head if he'd been nice enough to share his garlics. "I'm Clement. You? Is your brother older?"