Turnabout, Info-Slut

[Chuck Carmichael] [On a scale of 1-10, 1 being snoring and 10 being bright eyed and bushy tailed, how awake am I?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7

[Molly Quincannon] [[Hrm. Nightmares?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Chuck Carmichael] [On a scale of 1-10, 1 being ZOMG KILL ME NOW and 10 being fine, how hung over am I?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 3

[Chuck Carmichael] [.....wait a minute, am I still drunk? odd = yes, even = no]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Chuck Carmichael] [Last roll! Have I been to sleep yet? See below/above about odds and evens. Yay, die of decision!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 5

[Molly Quincannon] Molly was up early this particular morning, and went for a jog. (She still hates it, for the record.) Somehow, jogging through Bronzeville flagged up for her that, hey, it's been awhile since she surprised Chuck with breakfast. So, after a quick trip home for a shower and a stop via a Cabrini-Green kosher deli (and her favourite coffee shop in the area), Molly turns up at Chuck's doorstep bearing bagels, creem cheese, warm beef sausages and cups of fruit salad. Coffee too, of course. It's a bit of a juggle to ring the doorbell as a consequence, and therefore Chuck, in whatever state he's in, will find Molly holding a couple of jumbo-sized to-go cups of coffee in her hands and a fair-sized carry-out bag of food between her teeth. "Mmph," is about the only comment she can make, really. It's probably 'Hi'. Or possibly 'help'.

[Chuck Carmichael] Chuck is also up early - ridiculously so for him, on a day off. He's not happy about this, and is dressed just in flannel pajama bottoms (MIT, not Harvard this time; though he lacks the accent, based on his clothing choices, anyone would guess he's a Boston Boy) and nothing else, as far as can be seen.

What can also be seen is bleary, somewhat bloodshot eyes, and an aversion to bright light or certain sounds, if the look on his face when he opens the door is any indication.

He sees her, offers a watery smile and holds a finger to his lips (universal sign for shh), then takes some of her burden to the coffee table, where there linger many empty cans of sugar-free Redbull and a mostly empty fifth of pretty nice vodka, which get kicked under the table in bachelor fashion, making room for feet. (Most of this, of course, after she comes in and the door is closed behind her.)

"Nico's sleeping," he says, not whispering but still quiet, unlikely to go anywhere past the counter that divides kitchen from living/dining room. "Morning."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly, with a light sigh of relief when he takes the coffee so she can take the bag of food out of her mouth, sets the coffee down on the floor and quietly unbuckles Those Boots. She can't move quietly in Those Boots, not with the several inches of platform. That done, she collects the coffee again and moves quietly in Pi-symbol-print socks to the coffee table, where she deposits the coffee before shrugging off her jacket to reveal a red T-shirt reading "Music + Science = Sexy" and some bandaging on her forearms. There are unbandaged cuts around the region of her elbows, indicating that yes, the local cyberCultist got herself into a scrape again.

"I'll leave off the ten-piece band, then," she says, matching his speech volume and grinning a little, though the look around at the drinks detritus gets a light note of concern. "G'morning to you too. Looks like I missed quite the session. There's ... foodstuffs, as you can see. And probably smell. How're you feeling this morning?" Yes, Molly knows hangovers well. She hasn't had one in quite some time, but she knows them.

[Chuck Carmichael] "Headache-y, nauseous, trying to force myself to eat anyway. Go team diabetes," he answers with a semi-amused snort. "Basic hang over. Guys' night, whatever. What're you doing up so early?"

He's eying the bandages and cuts, or starts out so, but then looks away - it's not disinterest or a lack of concern, really, but the knowledge that he probably can't deal with the story that goes with them right now. Though he's sober, the world is still woogly; his knees are stiff and weak at the same time (dehydration) in a way that hasn't been alleviated by the water he's been chugging since he woke up yet, his head is still both fuzzy and pounding. It is, as he said, a basic hang over.

"Not, mind, that I'm complaining about anything that brings me breakfast rather than making me go out for it right now."

[Molly Quincannon] "Yeah, glass of water, and go for the sausages and some juice," she tells him - it's not that she doesn't think he's never had a hangover, but ... well, she's a veteran. "Anyone else, I'd apologise for not bringing bacon sandwiches. Well, almost anyone else; I figure you and Israel would both have issues there. And I'll explain these--" she adds, raising her arms a bit "--when you look a bit more with-it. Suffice to say it wasn't a really serious thing, though, and I wasn't even alone. Be pleased with me." She's teasing, but not precisely joking.

Then, to the question, she sighs. "I was jogging, believe it or not. I've been trying to get more exercise, but I'm starting to wonder if bojutsu, belly-dancing and dee-dee-arr isn't enough. Jogging's boring as hell. Though I guess it'd be worse on a treadmill. At least there's a 'going somewhere' element to street jogging. Though that pain-in-the-ass meth-head who hangs out in the car park of the Dennys' a few blocks down? He threw a cup of something I ... don't think was meant for drinking at me."

Then, an addendum to the hangover thing: "I have Tylenol."

[Chuck Carmichael] "Turkey bacon," comes answer to the first bit, "though my roommates used to throw things at me when I suggested that as a viable alternative. And in this case, I suppose it wouldn't be. Since it's the grease and all." He's way more awake than he usually is at this hour, which only really means he's had awhile to get there; goodness only knows how much sleep he's had, though he doesn't seem particularly ill rested or anything. Other than the vague signs of hangover and the lack of shaving, he looks pretty much as he usually does.

"And yeah, I hate jogging. Though oddly, I prefer the treadmill. Only at the gym, though - it's a people watching thing, I guess. That, and I never got the hang of working out alone." The offer of Tylenol gets a smile. "Thanks. I might take you up on it in a bit - I have to wait awhile to see if the Aleve I took a bit ago kicks in and takes care of it."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly ponders the subject of turkey bacon, and then asks, "Philosophical point - seeing as turkeys and pigs aren't even in the same phylum, and you can't get that ... whatever cut of meat you get bacon from on a turkey the way you can on a pig? Can you really get turkey bacon? Isn't it just ... really thin strips of turkey? I'm not against it as a foodstuff, but the concept ... it's not bacon. So why call it bacon?"

Molly rummages a cup of the fruit salad out of the bag and gestures for him to help himself. "Eh, yeah, I figured I'd give it more than just the one try, the jogging. I don't like giving up. It's why I'm sticking with this ... whole ... 'healthy lifestyle, exercise and food groups' crap in the first place. It's boring, though. And time-consuming. I know it'll be worth it in the end, but where's the fun?"

After a sip of the coffee (she's marked hers, as hers has way too much sugar in it for anyone sane, let alone Chuck), she adds, "So what else is new in your world?"

[Chuck Carmichael] "Nico's back, but you knew that. Work. Progress on a few different things I've been coding. Freelance gig, building rigs for a homeschooling group in the suburbs. You know. Nothing, really." Which is to say, nothing much that would be interesting to most people, or that justifies wide discussion; he is, from his point of view, a fairly boring person. "Crew's done for the season, though we still go out and practice if it's nice enough. Otherwise, it's the gym and rowing machine for me. I heard there's a party happening."

The last is added with a smirk, and a raised eyebrow; he'd seen the very glittery invitation in his inbox, and its physical representation at the chantry last time he was there for rounds.

"Got any wishes, birthday girl?"

[Molly Quincannon] [[Can she put two and two together? Wits + Aware, I guess, for look on Chuck's face.]]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Molly Quincannon] "Yeah, I need to meet him properly. Hope he's doing okay." She's not asking. This is probably killing her by tiny degrees, but there's always another outlet for her curiosity. "How's the coding going? Anything I'm allowed to hear about? And you know you can always nudge me if you need or want a second set of eyes on this kind of thing. And that's not 'nothing, really'. Man, you have awesome!" She nudges her shoulder with his and places a kiss on his stubbly cheek. "Sell it!"

And then... It hasn't been Molly's turn on sentry duty since the invitation went up. She hasn't seen the invitation. But she does recall Isabel offering the party planning and something about sparkly invitations, but Chuck already when her birthday was and she mentioned a party to him ... data not quite computing. "Yeah ... I asked Isabel - y'know, the new quasi-apprentice? - to plan the thing. She wants to get into party planning semi-professionally so I thought ... gives her something to do, lets her get to know the community, and ... what are you smirking about?" It's mostly amused, that last, but there is a certain note of Oh, great Google, now what? about the look on her face.

And then it hits her. "...The invitations have the fact that it's my birthday on them, don't they? I did tell her not to make a thing of that..."

[Chuck Carmichael] "That they do, yes. Here." He pulls over a precariously perched laptop and pulls up his email just to show her the blinged-out email he'd gotten; this invitation makes both the coder and the designer in him cringe, but he says nothing to that effect. "This is pretty close to what the one at the chantry looks like. I think the girl bought stock in a glitter manufacturer."

He's teasing, of course - Chuck ribs as if everyone's already his friend, even people he hasn't met yet.

"So, yeah. Everyone knows it's your birthday. Not such a bad thing, really - they'd have found out eventually. Maybe it's better to just get it over with, hmm? And let the holiday obscure most of the birthday-ness if you're not particularly interested."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly can't help but laugh about the glittery invitations. Yes, it offends her sensibilities too, but the raw enthusiasm of the whole thing seems to delight her, even as she groans about the rest of it. "Oh, I like birthdays as much as the next big kid. I just didn't want to be the person who jumps up and down announcing it. Or look like the person jumping up and down announcing it. Maybe it's better that Isabel did it this way; I can enjoy the ... possible benefits of a friend-filled birthday the likes of which I haven't seen since the Mayhem - the Filthies were more in it for the drinking and the Tater Tots tended to think it was a week ago Tuesday most of the time - without having to actually raise the banner myself." She sighs. "Though the first thing she's going to have to learn as a party planner is that the customer should be listened to..." Then comes the sheepish grin. "As to what I want ... I honestly don't know. I guess it'll be nice enough just to have people think of me. So ... use your imagination, I guess? Needn't be a huge deal kind of thing." This, of course, despite the lengths she went with his present. But she gives to give, apparently.

Then she nudges him with her shoulder again. "C'mon, eat up. I know it's hard the first few bites but you'll feel better with a bit of something greasy in your system. Oh-jay's good for the dehydration too. Anyway, if you don't start nibbling food, I might start nibbling you." She's not really serious, to judge by the grin - she knows he's got company - but the glint in her eye suggests that she'd be quite serious about it if he didn't have company. "Still want to hear about this coding stuff you've been up to."

So breakfast goes and, when Chuck is looking a little more with-it and less queasy, she explains about rude, uppity winter spirits somewhere in the tunnels under Chicago who flung ice shards at her and who she and Natyana reduced to a puddle, and a little bit about her own projects - she's coming close to cracking Prime and is thinking of building a R2 Unit. Or a Dalek. She hasn't decided yet.

[Chuck Carmichael] Chuck has, it seems, given up on making a separate sonic screwdriver - what he's done instead is turned his 'berry into one. Every scan (as far as his spheres cover, anyway) is programmed in, along with quite a few higher functionalities. This is, of course, his Very Special Toy and he hardly ever lets it out of his hands, but this is different. It's hardly the first time he's shown her some of his source code.

Birthdays, though . . . "I'll figure something out. And now I guess I'm going to have to get serious about a costume, hmm? Round up Nico and Em, see if they want to go theme-like or something."

And from there, yes, it's eating (sausages first, for optimal grease ingestion) and chatting and maybe some kissing until it's time for Molly to head elsewhere - Chuck has the day off, and nowhere to go for it. He likes days like this, free to do with as he pleases, for the most part.