2019-09-18 - Beignets?!

There's cooking being done... which is surely not odd. But when Monica receives a text that there's beignets, well, that has her coming out of her semi-reclusive state. The Latina comes down the stairs, dressed in an athletic styled tank and some loose running shorts (ya know, the ones with the slit way up the side?). She gives a quick look around, then gingerly approaches the kitchen. One never knows when they might upset a Chef.

It is true. When Corey gets stressed, he bakes. In this case, lovely golden beignets are sat on the cooling rack, a pot of brown sugar and cinnamon mix to one side, while he goes about cleaning up the bowls and pans he used to make them. Looks like a solid two dozen, crisp and perfect and untouched. Possibly not for long, though these are definitely not paleo-friendly.

Monica spots Corey, then freezes, considering her options. Or, maybe, considering which treat she wants to pounce on first. It seems it's the 'little' Chef she chooses, because instead of attacking the fried dough, she stops in the entryway of the kitchen, and leans against the wall there. Arms crossed over her chest, she stares for a moment, then, "Hey good lookin'," she says, with a smirk. "Whatcha got cookin'?"

Glancing over from where he's elbow-deep in washing up, Corey gives Monica a brief upnod in greeting. "Beignets," he replies, scrubbing at one of the bowls. "Help yourself." Clearly he's not going to be a dick about it; there are baked goods, they should be eaten, and he's not saving them for any person or event in particular. "Dunno how they fit on your diet, mind. Might need to do a couple extra crunches if you wanna burn them off."

"Oh, definitely," Monica says, nodding along. She considers another moment, then pushes off, and walks forward, toward the beignets. "They look great. Totally worth the extra work." Beat. "I'm looking to get into open water swimming, but the water pretty fucking ridiculously cold. But it's just, like, such a good work out. Plus you can totally get almost naked in public and no one calls the cops..." She's smirking, as her eyes shift from the dough to Corey. "You ever been out there swimming?"

"Fuck no, that shit is cold," Corey replies absently, finishing up on scrubbing dishes and letting them drip-dry on the side, though wiping his hands off with a bit of kitchen towel so they're at least mostly dry rather than dripping dishwater everywhere. "Better with the cinnamon and sugar on top. There's vanilla icecream in the freezer, too," he adds, maybe making an effort to be nice. Or maybe this is just what he does, and he's being 'Corey who works in a service industry and feeds people' right now rather than his regular self.

"Yeah, I guess, like, if you don't go into shock and drown... it's super invigorating and excellent for your muscles..." Monica says, holding that smirk for a moment longer. Then she looks back to the beignets. "Like-... Do I dip it in? Or, like, just shovel it on or..." And she lifts her hands like she's making to grab one, but she doesn't. Instead she just frets, and frowns, and pouts. "Help?"

"Sprinkle. Get a bowl or a plate, put a couple on, and sprinkle the stuff over. Sorta like churros," Corey supplies, trying to find a frame of reference. "I mean, you can dip 'em in sauce, but I prefer them with just the topping." He even goes so far as to pull down a bowl and add three crispy little golden balls of joy to it, then handing to Monica along witha spoon.

"Because that's all we eat. Churros. And tacos, too, probably?" Monica asks, her tone clearly teasing. "I know what a beignet is. I've been to both N'Orleans and France," she says, as she accepts the items. Then she sets down the bowl, and grabs her spoon, and gets to sprinkling. "I'm just trying to annoy you. And you're being, like, super nice. Is this your tactic to make me feel bad?" Brows go up. "Why beignets?" she asks, as she continues to very, very carefully sprinkle.

Brows raise slightly. "If you know what a beignet is, why don't you know how to eat one?" Corey enquires pointedly, and yes there's a sliver of irritation in that tone, his hands shifting to rest on his hips. "And no I don't think you ever ate churros or tacos. Way too many carbs for you babe. If I had to guess, I'd reckon you live on raw vegetables and well-done lean meat." He says it like an insult. It probably is.

"I've eaten tacos!" Monica huffs back at him, though she can't help her smile returning. Because, yes, that's a better response to her being annoying. "There's plenty of foods you can, like, gorge yourself on. Some of which are not raw... and not vegetables," she says, before sticking her tongue out at him. Then she turns, to lean back against the counter, with her bowl in hand. "I don't eat a lot of meat, and when I do, I prefer fish. And well done fish is like-... you know. No. Might as well go buy fishsticks, right?"

That earns Monica a deep frown. "How the fuck are you on a paleo diet and not eating much meat?" Corey sounds both baffled and concerned. It's less that she's one or the other, but the combination is an odd one. Moving past the most irksome of his housemates, he reaches into the fridge for a can of soda, popping the tab and taking a drink before flopping down into one of the chairs at the table.

"Fruits, vegetables, nuts. Some of us were gatherers in the paleolithic, okay?" Monica asks, as her brows go up. She then pushes off the counter... to follow him. It's totally needless, but like a lost puppy, she trails behind him, until he sits. Then she stands there, next to him, staring. "And I just said fish. But, like, all these concerns about mercury... it's hard. Besides, I'm not only paleo. Because, like, paleolithic woman was a scavenger! So..." She lifts her bowl of beignets. "Probably going to drop the paleo thing, anyways. Raw vegan is where it's at."

"Sure. But your body's dietary needs are not the same as those of a paleolithic gatherer." He doesn't get up when she puppies over into his space, though his brows do rise a little. "And those are neither raw nor vegan." As if it needed to be said, or at least he's making a point. "I have no idea why you're into these fad diets, babe. That's all they are. Ways of makin' you think about food, but none of 'em special."

"Why is fad anything popular?" Monica counters, brows lifting, as she stares down at him. She continues to stare for a long moment, then finally takes a step back, and takes her own chair. "I mean, vegetarian has a lot more to it than just fad. And no, I'd never actually live on a raw vegan diet. Did you know some of them don't even do fucking coffee or tea, because it's 'cooked'?" she asks, brows lifting. "It's totally fucking insane. No." Beat. "But maaaaaybe pescetarian. I just, like, you know, can't pass up the whole 'mistreatment of animals' thing?" Beat. "Plus, like, food is the only thing I know about you so it's the easiest to talk about!"

"Because people evangelise it, swear by it, show off amazing results that probably last a year tops, then fade into obscurity when the next thing rises, so people don't see how it ends," Corey replies with a dismissive tone. Clearly he is not a fan of fads. Though, he does nod slightly when she explains all she knows of his interests are food-related. "Gardening, hiking, foraging, all good topics," he offers after a moment, relenting. An olive branch, maybe.

"Well, clearly, my diet switching lasts more than a year," Monica says, as she gestures to herself. As if her current state is somehow proof of the lasting effects. But, really, it probably is. Then she considers, and nods, and thinks, and then her eyes light up. "Will you take me hiking?" she asks. "I don't know any of the trails and, like, there's nothing like a local guide!" Beat. "You are local, right? I think... Sparramena said so...?"

"Yep, local." Corey confirms that at first, before reaching out to steal a beignet. Sure, he could get up and fetch one from the cooling rack, but she's right there with her bowl, and this way he can remain lazy, sipping coke and then taking a bite from his purloined treasure. Powdered sugar and cinnamon go everywhere, but he doesn't seem to care. "I could take you hiking, but honestly Mon, you irritate the fuck out of me." Woo honesty!

No objections to donut stealing. She surely wasn't going to eat all three, and is still nibbling on the first. She even smiles as he steals one. But then, the real talk starts. "Ouch," she says, as her brows lift. "Irritate you so much you won't taking me hiking. An activity that's known for shutting up and observing nature." Beat. "That's okay, I understand. Some people are just... like you."

The chef cocks his head slightly. "Can you stop talking for that long, babe?" Corey enquires, a genuine interest there. "Like, four or five hours? Because if you can, I'm down." He pulls no punches, but the offer is out there nonetheless, for a short hike. "And what do you mean, people like me?" Likewise curious, rather than defensive.

"Not only can I not talk for hours, I can professionally not talk for hours. How long do you think a shoot takes?" Monica asks, brows up. "And professional photographers are, like, well-..." She pauses, considers, then gestures to him. "I just like talking to you. I mean, I like a lot of the things I know about you and maybe if I talk enough I'll find something to talk about!" she says, with a hopeful smile. There's a pause, then she flaps a hand. "I don't know. You're just like-... Like the people around you are... unimportant. There's the shit Corey's doing and everyone else is just here."

Sitting back in his seat, eating his beignet then dusting the powdered stuff off him and onto the floor, Corey considers what Monica is saying. The first parts he just nods to, perhaps acknowledging that she's capable of being quiet, but then his gaze focuses on the model when she gets personal. "Sure, when I'm cooking," he confirms, accepting that criticism without rancor. "And that's pretty much all you've seen me doing." Because he's usually out, otherwise, save for occasional moments in the back yard.

"I also don't pay much attention to people who aren't important to me," he then adds, another confirmation in her favour. "Life is too short to give a shit about everyone and everything. Unfortunately for you, I don't consider you important, except for making my sister happy. Maybe that'll change, but right now.." he shrugs. This, unlike the beignets, is not sugar-coated. "So I can see why you'd think that."

"And while gardening," Monica points out, with a sweet smile. "But, yeah, that's exactly it. People like you," she repeats. "You got a girlfriend, right? Probably reall great to her. She gets to feel super special," she bobs her head. "I know I would! That whole 'chicks dig assholes' thing..." A pause, then, "But I can be quiet. But, like, don't feel obliged. I'm sure there's other people in this town."

There's a shake of the head. "I don't have a girlfriend," Corey responds, brushing his hands off and taking another sip of coke. "Not too fond of being tied down. But I do try to treat my friends right." Blue eyes fix on Monica's expression, one brow raised slightly. "Do you wanna go hiking or not?" he asks, bluntly. "I don't mind if you go with someone else, babe. Just need to know if I'm planning something some weekend."

"Really? Phil-row told me you did..." Monica says, her look going thoughtful. She considers a moment, then lets it go. She nods, instead. "Yes, hiking. Cause, like, maybe we can become best friends," she says, winsome smile fixing on her lips. "Or maybe I just work some of these Corey-cooking calories off," she offers, with a faint shrug. Then she blinks. "Wait-... What do you mean... make your sister happy?"

The boytwin shakes his head. "Nah. She was probably messing with you. She's got a good line on bullshit," Corey notes, sounding proud of his sister rather than condemning. "Not going hiking to become best friends, Mon. Just to hike. See some sights, climb some hills, maybe forage a bit."

Then, as she asks that latter question, he grins. "She likes watching you. Dunno if she wants in your lycra or just finds you pretty, but you being here makes her happy. And did you not see her face when you were playing with her hair out in the garden?" Yes, he's more animated when one of his siblings is the topic of conversation.

"Just hiking," Monica answers, her tone very serious. She even gives a big nod. Yes, just hiking. Very serious. "And that's, like, you know. I would have totally-... nevermind," she says, then gives a delicate clearing of her throat. Then the rest comes. "Uh-... I mean..." She's blinking. "I mean, a lot of people like looking at me? It's why I get paid money to stand still? But-... you are suggesting she's... into me?" she asks, curiously. "I mean, i'd play with your hair if I thought for a minute you'd enjoy it..."

"I think she is," Corey confirms as to whether or not Sparrow is into Monica. "And, no thanks. My hair is a mess, and not much is going to change that." He seems perhaps a little defensive about his mop of dark locks, that it never really looks tidy. Of course it's usually under a hat when he's working. "You should try flirting with her. See what happens."

"Wait-... like, into me?" Monica asks, brows lifting. "That's-..." And she takes a moment. To process that. "That... makes all my touching her pretty, uh. Provocative?" she asks, as if he might know better. "Playing with hair is not about fixing it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I can do hair pretty well. But it's just about... you know. It feels nice," she says, with a shrug. "I'm not going to sneak in and cut it all off!" she huffs. There's a pause, then a nose scrunch. "Is she... into girls? Like, as a general preference?"

"Yep." Corey nods to the notion of Monica's casual touches being provocative. "I think she doesn't discriminate," he then muses with regards as to whether or not Sparrow likes girls as a preference. "Known her to enjoy the company of both men and women. No idea if there's a rhyme to that reason, but." He shrugs, then pushes up to his feet, patting one pocket of his jeans. "Going out back for a smoke," he decides, heading for the door to the garden.

And Monica's thinking. Thinking. Thinking. A little smile crosses her lips, growing ever so slightly as she continues to think. "It's a bad idea to fuck one of your roommates, right?" she asks, idly. Then blinks, and clears her throat. "Right, sister, sorry!" she exclaims. Then she waves. "Enjoy your smoke! Thank you for the beignets! I'll be, like, 50% less annoying from here on. Super promise!"