[centre][color=00aeef][h1][i][b]Arthur Seymour[/b][/i][/h1][/color]
[@AnnieTimeNow][@Aquanthe][@HecateProxy][@KimmiNinja][@Utrax][@CyanideSweetie][@wolverbells][/centre]

[color=gray]Arthur had barely begun preparing food when he noticed others starting to arrive.  A couple of them went to the vending machines, apparently foregoing a cooked or more substantial breakfast, while a woman he didn't recognise from the day before was standing near the corner, with no apparent motivation to approach closer.  His first instinct was to wave to her and call her over but he thought better of it, considering how anxious most people would feel in their situation.  He himself, after all, was heavily suppressing his own feelings of fear by being active and making observations on their surroundings on the facility; as if it would help should the facility managers proved to be less than trustworthy.

Another woman, the one he remembered identifying herself as Eliza the previous day, was the first to actually enter the kitchen proper with a declarative statement regarding her cooking skills but an offer to aid in setting up.  This gave Arthur an idea and he stopped what he was doing, hurrying back to the fridge and unloading a lot more of the food stuffs from before and returning to his preparatory area.

[color=00aeef]"That'd be helpful, thank you.  I'll make a large batch then - it's good to start the day with a proper breakfast.  At least, that's what we do in Britain."[/color]  He smiled back at Eliza and hurried his actions, shoving bacon and sausages under the grill in bulk and slicing the rest of the food at speed.  While not a great chef he had lived alone ever since he turned eighteen and had gotten used to making food for himself as well as hosting dinner parties for friends and colleagues.

Bailey busted into the kitchen with a dark look on his face, heading straight for the fridge and ignoring everyone else, grabbing an apple and making himself a coffee before his expression relaxed a little.  He apologised for his actions, explaining his withdrawal symptoms, Arthur raising an eyebrow in question but saying nothing, turning his focus back to chopping so that he didn't cut himself by not looking.

[color=00aeef]"I think I saw some dishes in that cupboard.  Not that one, the one to your left.  That's it.  Can you pop them in the oven to heat up a little?"[/color] He was directing with nods of his head, hands busy loading up saucepans with mushrooms, beans, bread and oil and plum tomatoes while intermittently turning the food over as they began to fry.  Turning away for a second he grabbed a manual cafetiere and filled it with some ground coffee and boiling water, returning to tend to the food, and then filling a pot of tea up as well.

He was in his element, rushing about and occasionally requesting assistance from anyone nearby to fetch things, as if preparing a breakfast for multiple party goers who had crashed at his house the night before and were still recovering.  Soon the food was ready and he began to divvy it up into various warm serving dishes and ferrying them out to the cafeteria before taking his own seat and rubbing his hands.

[color=00aeef]"Food for anyone who wants it, I feel like we've got a day ahead of us and it's good to be prepped."[/color][/color]