Altair woke up smelling bacon. He didn’t eat bacon, but damn if it didn’t smell good sometimes, especially when he’d been a bit drunk. Not enough to be hung over, but he definitely wasn’t exactly sober come morning and was still a bit in a haze and just tired. It probably didn’t help that his side still hurt so that when he sat up he swooned a bit. He looked over at the kitchen and saw Kadar in it wearing what was obviously his night clothes and looming over the stove no doubt staring at the pan where the bacon was frying.
He grabbed some clothes from his duffle and dressed under the blankets before rolling off the couch. He felt insanely sore all over from the past few days and sleeping on a couch and everything else that didn’t include the gunshot wound. That wasn’t sore, that just hurt. He grabbed the bottle of Ibuprofen from the coffee table where he’d put it the night before and took five of them before hobbling over to the kitchen bar and sitting.
“Morning,” Kadar said as he flipped the bacon though didn’t look at him.
“Mmm,” Altair agreed still not even awake enough for proper words. “Whr’s Malik?” he asked rubbing his face.
Kadar shot him a look from the stove, “It’s ten in the morning, he’s at work.”
“Oh, riht,” Altair’s head sagged a bit.
“Want some bacon?” Kadar asked after a solid minute of silence with only the sound of bacon to be the go-between. As he asked he fished the strips of pork out of the pan and put them on a paper towel to soak up the grease.
Altair glanced at him from under his fingers, which were still rubbing his face, “I’m Muslim Kadar,” he said in an unamused tone.
“You were drinking last night, Muslims don’t do that either.”
“Technically it depends on your caliph,” Altair grumbled, “I don’t eat pork.”
“More for me then,” he said shoving some bread in the toaster and cracked some eggs into the pan he’d just fried the bacon in. “What did you and Malik do last night?” he asked curiously. Altair didn’t answer and Kadar threw a piece of bread at him, striking him on the temple, “Hey, answer me,” he snapped.
“We went to dinner,” he said and slowly tore the crust off the bread.
Kadar hummed and turned the eggs over making the bacon grease hiss and spit in the pan. “Okay.”
“Do you care?” Altair asked slowly, equally curious why Kadar was asking him. He didn’t really know Kadar, just that he was Malik’s brother and went to Harvard on a nice cushy scholarship.
“Of course I do you prick,” he snapped and threw another piece of bread at him. This time Altair caught it. “I had to deal with Malik when you left and I’ll be damned if I had to go through that a third time,” he actually glared at Altair who looked down under his righteous anger.
“If it makes any difference I didn’t plan it like this,” Altair said and Kadar practically slammed his plateful of breakfast down on the counter opposite him.
“Oh really? What’s your excuse than?” he demanded still glaring.
“I couldn’t get in contact with him,” he said drumming his fingers on the counter feeling like he was meeting someone’s parents and not their younger brother. “And this was the first time since spring I was allowed to leave the country.”
Kadar’s lips made a thin, hard line as he stared at him, obviously thinking and trying to figure him out. Than he sighed and bowed his head, grabbing a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth. “I believe that,” he said in a normal tone, no longer sounding angry, gnawing on the bacon around his words. He picked at his eggs before grumbling to himself, “You know I should hate your guts.”
“Why?” that startled him, “I didn’t do anything to you.”
Re: Altered Flight Pattern (71?)
Altair woke up smelling bacon. He didn’t eat bacon, but damn if it didn’t smell good sometimes, especially when he’d been a bit drunk. Not enough to be hung over, but he definitely wasn’t exactly sober come morning and was still a bit in a haze and just tired. It probably didn’t help that his side still hurt so that when he sat up he swooned a bit. He looked over at the kitchen and saw Kadar in it wearing what was obviously his night clothes and looming over the stove no doubt staring at the pan where the bacon was frying.
He grabbed some clothes from his duffle and dressed under the blankets before rolling off the couch. He felt insanely sore all over from the past few days and sleeping on a couch and everything else that didn’t include the gunshot wound. That wasn’t sore, that just hurt. He grabbed the bottle of Ibuprofen from the coffee table where he’d put it the night before and took five of them before hobbling over to the kitchen bar and sitting.
“Morning,” Kadar said as he flipped the bacon though didn’t look at him.
“Mmm,” Altair agreed still not even awake enough for proper words. “Whr’s Malik?” he asked rubbing his face.
Kadar shot him a look from the stove, “It’s ten in the morning, he’s at work.”
“Oh, riht,” Altair’s head sagged a bit.
“Want some bacon?” Kadar asked after a solid minute of silence with only the sound of bacon to be the go-between. As he asked he fished the strips of pork out of the pan and put them on a paper towel to soak up the grease.
Altair glanced at him from under his fingers, which were still rubbing his face, “I’m Muslim Kadar,” he said in an unamused tone.
“You were drinking last night, Muslims don’t do that either.”
“Technically it depends on your caliph,” Altair grumbled, “I don’t eat pork.”
“More for me then,” he said shoving some bread in the toaster and cracked some eggs into the pan he’d just fried the bacon in. “What did you and Malik do last night?” he asked curiously. Altair didn’t answer and Kadar threw a piece of bread at him, striking him on the temple, “Hey, answer me,” he snapped.
“We went to dinner,” he said and slowly tore the crust off the bread.
Kadar hummed and turned the eggs over making the bacon grease hiss and spit in the pan. “Okay.”
“Do you care?” Altair asked slowly, equally curious why Kadar was asking him. He didn’t really know Kadar, just that he was Malik’s brother and went to Harvard on a nice cushy scholarship.
“Of course I do you prick,” he snapped and threw another piece of bread at him. This time Altair caught it. “I had to deal with Malik when you left and I’ll be damned if I had to go through that a third time,” he actually glared at Altair who looked down under his righteous anger.
“If it makes any difference I didn’t plan it like this,” Altair said and Kadar practically slammed his plateful of breakfast down on the counter opposite him.
“Oh really? What’s your excuse than?” he demanded still glaring.
“I couldn’t get in contact with him,” he said drumming his fingers on the counter feeling like he was meeting someone’s parents and not their younger brother. “And this was the first time since spring I was allowed to leave the country.”
Kadar’s lips made a thin, hard line as he stared at him, obviously thinking and trying to figure him out. Than he sighed and bowed his head, grabbing a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth. “I believe that,” he said in a normal tone, no longer sounding angry, gnawing on the bacon around his words. He picked at his eggs before grumbling to himself, “You know I should hate your guts.”
“Why?” that startled him, “I didn’t do anything to you.”