taxonomites | tenth; [visual]

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tenth; [visual]

When the tablet comes on, there's Toby. He's looking pretty good despite the faint red, healing scratches across his face, care of Cassie. Well, good enough that he's decided to show his face publically over these things again, anyway. And for Toby, standards are somewhat high.

He's sitting at his kitchen table, and there's light filtering in through the window. Pausing for just a moment, Toby glances somewhere offscreen.

"Hypothetically speaking, if I had a little get-together this weekend for, uh, Thanksgiving - Canadian Thanksgiving, I mean - who would wanna show up?"

Dean, there is a Mom-look reserved for you. Shut up.

"It'd be even better if everyone could bring something with them. I'll take care of the turkey." ... So maybe Toby had a foster mom who taught him how to cook like a badass, what of it? "If not... hey. That's cool too. So let me know. It might be nice."

He smiles, and then the transmission cuts.

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[Cassie noticed the post and her heart sank into her stomach when she saw the red lines on Toby's face. She can't bring herself to show her own face, thanks to shame, so she switches to the voice function.]

I know there's not a chance in hell that I'd be invited, so I'm not holding my breath for that. But I do want to say that I'm...so sorry.

[... Toby goes to voice to answer this, too, because... well. Because.]

Are you...

[A heavy, pained (emotionally, of course, because she's fit as a fiddle) sigh escapes her.]

Yeah.

But you weren't... you. Were you.

I don't think so. I'm...not usually like that.

[Thank god he can't read minds over the tablets. Cassie would be screeeeeewed.]

... Didn't think so.

[... Yeah, he has no idea what else to say to that.]

I am really sorry, though.

[Cassie feels the need to repeat this. You might also be getting a gift basket, Toby. Just FYI.]

I'll, uh, leave you to your...Thanksgiving thing.

Canada has Thanksgiving?

[ Jokingly said, of course. ]

Toby smirks, used to the Canada jabs by now. "Yeah, around September we start making special long igloos so the whole province can eat together. It's great."

Pretty impressive igloo. I'm in awe.

"Yeah... I'm homesick already." Pft. "But seriously, though... we haven't met, have we?"

Probably not. Been here about a month. Peter Petrelli.

"I really am behind. Toby Logan, nice to meet you." He smiles, despite the fact that he's only talking to a voice.

[ No worries, Peter is smiling too. ]

There's been a lot of people show up. I wouldn't beat yourself up too much.

[Dean will take that Mom-look, because he can't resist a good ribbing. And, well, he might be internally cringing at the lines across Toby's face and wants to check in. Shut up.]

The real Thanksgiving's not for a couple more weeks. But sure, I'll go.

Edited 2009-10-11 05:01 (UTC)

Congratulations, Dean, you've earned your eyeroll of the day. "Ours comes first, what makes you think yours is the real one?" Beat. "Oh, right, and for health reasons, you're not allowed to cook anything."

Just 'cause yours is a month earlier than ours doesn't mean anything. We got Pilgrims and Indians. Did you guys have the Eskimos come help you through the winter by building you igloos?

[Dean, be nice. Stop trying to set world records.]

Hey, what are you trying to say?

Edited 2009-10-11 05:11 (UTC)

Toby ignores that. Because he can. You, sir, are getting moosemeat or something, and Toby won't tell you.

"I'm just lookin' out for everybody. Y'know."

[Ew, moosemeat. If Toby tries to hatch moosemeat, Dean is going to give him the weirdest look ever. That's worse than trying to hatch crack. Which Dean totally hadn't even thought about doing. Cough.]

Shut up, I can. I'll prove it. Pie. Most freaking delicious pie you've ever had.

[And if that fails, he'll... just ask Mary, or something.]

Toby grins, trying to imagine Dean making pie. "Hatching it doesn't count as making it, Dean."

Edited 2009-10-11 13:00 (UTC)

[Imagine explosions. Lots of explosions. And fire. Dean is not a cook.]

Bite me. [Roll eyes.] So where'd you learn to cook, Emeril?

Toby smiles somewhat sheepishly, glancing at the table. "Foster mom. When I was sixteen. She was obsessed with food. And, well, now... living on my own, basic skill, right?"

And you never told me you could cook? The hell, man, I thought we were friends.

[He is so joking around.]

Pfft. Toby rolls his eyes. "'Cause that kind of thing comes up so often with us, right?"

Hey, that's something you can slip into casual conversation. No excuses.

"Hey, Dean, want a beer and maybe some pie? I'm a freaking awesome cook, just so you know." Like that.

[... Dean, Toby is not your personal housewife.]

That eyeroll has just turned into an 'oh please'. A kidding one, obviously. "Were you planning to tell me that I'd crossed the barrier from friend to housewife, or...?"

Nah, you're smart, you can figure it out.

[Dean is so amused.]

"I'll just make sure I have your slippers and coffee ready for the next time you come over, then, 'kay?"

[/brainbreak.]

... Dude, I so did not want that mental image.

Pft. "Don't talk to me about mental images. Payback."

Next time I see you, you'd better be blocking.

"I think I know better now."

Wow. Hope it was good for you.

Oh, and turkey sounds good.

Uh... great. Okay.

I'll have to talk to himself, see if he's up to being social. I'm sure food will be big draw, though.

You okay?

Good to hear.

Uhh, yeah, I am. How're you?

Bored. I'm thinking of taking up macrame.

You know I saw already, right?

Sounds like a good time.

... Saw what?

Your face looks like my kittens were running races over it.

... Oh, right. That. Yeah, uh, it's no big deal. It's healing up pretty good.

Why do I think it's a good thing I can't do what you can?

I'm not lying. Really, I'm okay, just got on the... uh, wrong end of a psycho's fingernails.

Oh, yeah, nothing new, nothing wrong.

I trust that person isn't still a psycho.

... No. At least, I don't think so. 'm pretty sure it was one of those things.

One of those things? The things that put vampires in the place of cops? Lovely.

Great place we have here.

Ah... yeah. It doesn't joke around, huh.

No, it does not.

Some kid is talking about chopping off limbs to get out. Did you know that? I can't tell if I should think she's crazy or I'm a slacker.

You know I'll cook whatever you'd like, Toby. This is a lovely idea.

Really? Well, uh - whatever you want. That's great.

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