(no subject)

[cutting_edge_physics]

The front door opens, allowing in some crisp leaves (and some not-so-crisp escaped napkins from the hot dog guy down the street), as well as one experimental physicist/engineer. Now, see, she was going to take apart this toaster she found in a dumpster back at the Firehouse, but here will work just fine too, and she bets she can get, like, all of the Pringles here.

The best plans are the ones that are adaptable, after all.

So, engineer, with toaster (and her conveniently portable toolkit), headed for the Bar.

Comments

[livinginmyglass]

All the Pringles, plus one Elizabethan pageboy (or at least someone who appears to be so), all in matching silks and little stockings, sitting at the bar and rather anachronistically chowing down on a bowl of macaroni and cheese-- the bright orange kind, from a packet.

(Viola was, frankly, horrified by the color at first, but it's not so bad!)

She can't resist casting a curious glance at the toaster and the tools.

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann takes in the silks and the stockings and the general level of floof.

She then takes in her own attire (pants and vest found at Goodwill, t-shirt (engineers do it with precision, it declares), screw-U necklace, check).

She then takes in the attire of the bar as a whole.

Eh. She's not doing too badly.

"You know what makes that better? Chips." Adds a whole 'crunch' factor previously missing.

[livinginmyglass]

"Chips," Viola echoes carefully, like learning to pronounce a foreign name. "I know not of them."

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann thrusts the bowl full of Pringles in the general direction of this fellow that has somehow managed to find a more complicated outfit than Erin.

"Just try saying no to these salty parabolas." They are, quite frankly, perfection in potato form.

[livinginmyglass]

Viola reaches in and holds up a chip, looking slightly skeptical.

"This is no food," she says, giving it a wave. Sure, there's salt on it, but... "It is... why, it is some parchment, some-- bark, I would say! It is no food."

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann crunches on a chip, deliberately.

Then she shrugs, unfazed.

"Well, if you don't want any..." She has a toaster to demolish.

[cutting_edgex23]

There's a slim, dark-haired woman seated at the bar as well. She's dressed in a black tank top, black yoga pants, heavy black combat boots, and fingerless black gloves that go past her mid forearm.

Whether she has been there the whole time the engineer has been sitting there is an open question.

Some people move very quietly.

Most people, however, do not move so quietly while eating a plate of spaghetti. But it takes all kinds.

She looks up and over at Holtzmann after a moment, head tilting very slightly.

"Your toaster is not sentient?"

Look, after babysitting Franklin and Valeria Richards more than a handful of times, some questions really need to be asked.

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann turns, pauses, and her lips curl up in a rather bemused smile. Is it Christmas?

"Hope not, that'd be hard to get by an ethics committee."

[cutting_edgex23]

"Some people disregard committees. About that."

Or, you know. Shoot them full of lasers during a mad scientist rampage and go on to become annoying supervillains.

"You could ask? The toaster. To check."

Beat.

"Unless your world does not usually have them. Then it is okay. Probably."

[cutting_edge_physics]

"Mooooost likely no sentient AI, just because I don't think the computer dudes would be able to keep that kind of secret." Considering the sort that were in her engineering classes in college, there's no way in hell they'd be able to be so secretive.

"... maybe possessed. I mean, not that I know of, but..." She shrugs. It's been known to happen, but so far her day has been ectoplasm-free.

[cutting_edgex23]

X's nostrils flare slightly as she scents the air.

Then --

"That smells different."

Beat.

"I think it is safe."

[cutting_edge_physics]

Sniffing.

Sniffing is... new.

She takes an experimental sniff herself, but yep, deodorant happened today, awesome.

"That's... um. Good." The amount of eyeing here is pretty much equivalent to 'Kevin-trying-to-answer-the-fishtank-phone' levels of weird, which... tragically is becoming closer to her new baseline every day.

[hangingoutwithcrows]

Oh hey, here's someone who looks to share a general aesthetic with Ursula. And she's carrying a... "Is that a toaster?"

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann pauses, mid-chip-order, and eyes first the girl, then the toaster, then the girl again.

"Most likely, for the moment, yes."

[hangingoutwithcrows]

"Neat! If I had electricity in my cabin I would so get myself a toaster. --Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your order."

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann tries to parse 'having electricity' into something other than a temporary power outage, and shudders. No, that's not okay. She lives in a world of electricity, it'd be so boring without it.

"Err... generators?"

[hangingoutwithcrows]

Ursula shakes her head. "Nope, no generator. Cabin in the woods. I love it, but there's a reason I pop into Milliways every couple of weeks. Best of both worlds."

She doesn't really look too troubled by her lack of electricity--though she is eyeing that toaster wistfully.

[cutting_edge_physics]

Holtzmann can look disturbed for her - pretty much everything she works on involves electricity somehow.

[stilljustandrew]

No Pringles immediately in evidence, but there's a guy at the bar with a root beer float and an order of fried ... something-or-other.

He blinks at the toaster, but doesn't immediately comment.

[cutting_edge_physics]

"Bar, a can of your finest Pringle products." Hey, she's got this thing figured out, and it's sweet. If she can figure out how to carry it back, she's totally stocking up the Firehouse lab with all the potato-y goodness she could possibly need (and more, she knows Abby makes off with a can here and there).

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew grins as the can materializes. It's an approving sort of grin.

[cutting_edge_physics]

Well, of course it is - Pringles are awesome. She acknowledges the staring dude with a waggle of eyebrows. Yeah, she knows she's awesome too.

[stilljustandrew]

An eyebrow-waggle is like starting a conversation, isn't it?

"So are the Pringles for something to do with the toaster, or just unrelated quality snack item?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"There's more than one kind?"

Not the toaster. The Pringles. Ellen's only ever seen boxes of potato crisps- not even chips, crisps, which by the standards of pre-War America would've been Pringle-type things- that were over two hundred years old.

These? These are new.

[cutting_edge_physics]

"Oh yeah, there's a chip for all of your snack-having needs." She's partial to the original flavor, but hey, to each their own.