Yoska had only a few more screws to go on the new shelves when one of the newer employees came over to talk to him. Yoska startled slightly as she pulled him from his thoughts. The cat that had been watching him work strolled off, leaving him on his own. He smiled at her crookedly and held up a screwdriver wielding hand in a half wave.
"Hello," He said, his voice thickly accented. Where said accent was from was hard to place.
Yoska cleared his throat and stood up, moving to haul one of the newly assembled bookshelves upright. He tried to wiggle each shelf, making sure they were tightly in place. All looked well.
"Where does Donna want this?" He asked, hoping April would know. He didn't want to just leave them here on the floor.
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Bucky ran out of batter and finished up the last pancake, setting it on top of the mountain he'd created. He pulled a plate down from the cabinet and got about four for himself. He went to the pantry to dig around for some cinnamon. When he came out, he found himself looking down at Stark Jr. . James scowled internally, but his face remained the same.
Despite the things that had happened to him over the years, and despite whatever he may think of himself, Bucky hadn't changed much. He was still the same cocky son of a bitch that he was as a teenager, over playing his odds and rushing headlong into danger. Although he would never admit it, he was fairly similar to one Tony Stark. Maybe that was why he hated the man so much. From the moment James saw Stark on a newsreel, behaving with his usual flair, he'd decided that they would never get along. And then Steve died.
The superhero Civil War hit everyone hard, but the death of the first Captain America had all but broken James. He was already lost, confused, trying to find a place in this strange new world, and then one of the few familiar faces he had left, one he still considered his best friend, was shot down like a dog. Bucky hadn't even gotten the nerve up to go talk to him yet, and maybe that was what hurt the most. And to top it all off, despite Rogers's death, Stark was still deadset on enforcing the damn law that killed him. As far as Bucky could see, Tony Stark had killed Captain America.
So of course, at the time, it only seemed reasonable that he killed Tony Stark. Then again, at the time, he hadn't been a very reasonable man. Stark was lucky enough to walk away from their encounter. That was the same day that he guilt tripped James into becoming the new Captain America. It seemed to work out OK: Bucky got a job that kept him busy, Steve eventually came back to life, and Bucky avoided the hell out of Stark whenever he could.
But now, here sat the man's son, who, as far as James knew, was very much like his father. James knew he should withhold judgement until he knew for himself; he owed the kid that much. After what happened to his grandparents... He had to remind himself that that was no one's fault but the Russians'. Still.
"Actually, this is my fourth arm," He said, balancing his plate on one hand as he went over to the table. Losing his left arm was something of an Olympic sport for James. "SHIELD designed it."
Despite the things that had happened to him over the years, and despite whatever he may think of himself, Bucky hadn't changed much. He was still the same cocky son of a bitch that he was as a teenager, over playing his odds and rushing headlong into danger. Although he would never admit it, he was fairly similar to one Tony Stark. Maybe that was why he hated the man so much. From the moment James saw Stark on a newsreel, behaving with his usual flair, he'd decided that they would never get along. And then Steve died.
The superhero Civil War hit everyone hard, but the death of the first Captain America had all but broken James. He was already lost, confused, trying to find a place in this strange new world, and then one of the few familiar faces he had left, one he still considered his best friend, was shot down like a dog. Bucky hadn't even gotten the nerve up to go talk to him yet, and maybe that was what hurt the most. And to top it all off, despite Rogers's death, Stark was still deadset on enforcing the damn law that killed him. As far as Bucky could see, Tony Stark had killed Captain America.
So of course, at the time, it only seemed reasonable that he killed Tony Stark. Then again, at the time, he hadn't been a very reasonable man. Stark was lucky enough to walk away from their encounter. That was the same day that he guilt tripped James into becoming the new Captain America. It seemed to work out OK: Bucky got a job that kept him busy, Steve eventually came back to life, and Bucky avoided the hell out of Stark whenever he could.
But now, here sat the man's son, who, as far as James knew, was very much like his father. James knew he should withhold judgement until he knew for himself; he owed the kid that much. After what happened to his grandparents... He had to remind himself that that was no one's fault but the Russians'. Still.
"Actually, this is my fourth arm," He said, balancing his plate on one hand as he went over to the table. Losing his left arm was something of an Olympic sport for James. "SHIELD designed it."
Made a goodguy gone badguy. Will most likely go goodguy again at some point in the RP.
Name: Kaliq "Kal" Handal
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Powers: Animal shapeshifting, flight, enhanced strength and senses, and alien anatomy.
Kaliq's DNA was spliced with that of an alien species known as Vari. The Vari have the ability to shapeshift into any creature on their planet. That ability was transferred to Kaliq, who can shift into any Earth creature. When at his best, he can shift into 'superforms' of regular animals. A giant, enhanced wolf, an armored elephant, an extra fast cheetah, ect.
Aside from his shapeshifting, Kaliq's anatomy was changed. He grew feathered wings like those of the Vari, with armored plating at their bases. When they sit folded, almost his entire back is protected by the plates. However, when spread, he becomes more vulnerable. Other changes took place as well. His organs shifted to resemble those of the Vari: his heart now sits lower in his abdomen. A shot to the chest wouldn't necessarily be lethal. His ribs grew wider, making the spaces between them less vulnerable and his torso harder. His genitalia became internal, like a reptile, making them harder to damage.
Weakness: His superforms take more energy than normal shapeshifting, so any major injury or malnutrition would hinder him. Aside from that, he's vulnerable to fire, blows to the stomach (where his heart his), and other typical human weaknesses.
Experience: Military training, martial arts training, typical spyguy training
Appearance: At first glance, Kal looks like your average dude. His brown wings fold perfectly into his back, making them easy to hide under clothing. The leathery armor scales that plate the back of them are tough and hard, but mostly flat. Kaliq is of Arab ethnicity. He has medium brown skin, brown eyes, black hair.
Notes: He speaks several languages, Arabic being his native tongue.
History: Born in a small village of Iraq, Kaliq was no stranger to war. When his town was invaded and pillaged by a terrorist organization, The Black Ring, all able bodied men and young boys were forcefully loaded onto trucks and driven into the desert. They were given a choice: join the Ring or die. Kaliq, as a boy barely old enough to understand the wars his people fought, chose to live.
At the age of 9, he became part of an experimental program to create super agents. Him and 5 other young boys had their DNA spliced with that of an alien race's, known as the Vari. The 4 other boys died, leaving Kaliq to be the only success. His anatomy was changed; he was half human, half alien. He was trained by the best men the Black Ring had. He knew weapons inside and out, how to kill a man 27 different ways without touching them, and so on and so forth. When Kaliq was 17, he was sent to the United States to preform an act of terrorism.
However, he was stopped by one of the country's superheroes. Kaliq was taken into custody and probably would have rotted his life away in prison had someone not taken pity on him. As it was, one of the agents that apprehended him took him to the government's T.U.S.A division: Tactical Usage of Superhuman Agents. He didn't see Kaliq as a terrorist, but as a sorely misled and exploited child. At TUSA, they were able to shake the brainwashing propaganda he'd been forcefed for the last decade and a half, and turn him over to their side. As he aged, he became one of their best agents.
However, while on a mission, Kaliq was captured by a villainous crimelord known as Russo, and brainwashed to be used for sinister purposes. So far, all rescue efforts have failed.
Commitment: Can prolly post once or twice a day.
Name: Kaliq "Kal" Handal
Alias: Variant
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Powers: Animal shapeshifting, flight, enhanced strength and senses, and alien anatomy.
Kaliq's DNA was spliced with that of an alien species known as Vari. The Vari have the ability to shapeshift into any creature on their planet. That ability was transferred to Kaliq, who can shift into any Earth creature. When at his best, he can shift into 'superforms' of regular animals. A giant, enhanced wolf, an armored elephant, an extra fast cheetah, ect.
Aside from his shapeshifting, Kaliq's anatomy was changed. He grew feathered wings like those of the Vari, with armored plating at their bases. When they sit folded, almost his entire back is protected by the plates. However, when spread, he becomes more vulnerable. Other changes took place as well. His organs shifted to resemble those of the Vari: his heart now sits lower in his abdomen. A shot to the chest wouldn't necessarily be lethal. His ribs grew wider, making the spaces between them less vulnerable and his torso harder. His genitalia became internal, like a reptile, making them harder to damage.
Weakness: His superforms take more energy than normal shapeshifting, so any major injury or malnutrition would hinder him. Aside from that, he's vulnerable to fire, blows to the stomach (where his heart his), and other typical human weaknesses.
Experience: Military training, martial arts training, typical spyguy training
Appearance: At first glance, Kal looks like your average dude. His brown wings fold perfectly into his back, making them easy to hide under clothing. The leathery armor scales that plate the back of them are tough and hard, but mostly flat. Kaliq is of Arab ethnicity. He has medium brown skin, brown eyes, black hair.
Notes: He speaks several languages, Arabic being his native tongue.
History: Born in a small village of Iraq, Kaliq was no stranger to war. When his town was invaded and pillaged by a terrorist organization, The Black Ring, all able bodied men and young boys were forcefully loaded onto trucks and driven into the desert. They were given a choice: join the Ring or die. Kaliq, as a boy barely old enough to understand the wars his people fought, chose to live.
At the age of 9, he became part of an experimental program to create super agents. Him and 5 other young boys had their DNA spliced with that of an alien race's, known as the Vari. The 4 other boys died, leaving Kaliq to be the only success. His anatomy was changed; he was half human, half alien. He was trained by the best men the Black Ring had. He knew weapons inside and out, how to kill a man 27 different ways without touching them, and so on and so forth. When Kaliq was 17, he was sent to the United States to preform an act of terrorism.
However, he was stopped by one of the country's superheroes. Kaliq was taken into custody and probably would have rotted his life away in prison had someone not taken pity on him. As it was, one of the agents that apprehended him took him to the government's T.U.S.A division: Tactical Usage of Superhuman Agents. He didn't see Kaliq as a terrorist, but as a sorely misled and exploited child. At TUSA, they were able to shake the brainwashing propaganda he'd been forcefed for the last decade and a half, and turn him over to their side. As he aged, he became one of their best agents.
However, while on a mission, Kaliq was captured by a villainous crimelord known as Russo, and brainwashed to be used for sinister purposes. So far, all rescue efforts have failed.
Commitment: Can prolly post once or twice a day.
Sunlight filtered in through the window of Yoska's makeshift bedroom. It was essentially a cleared out storage closet in the back of the bookshop where he worked, but it was a novelty to the young man. For one, he'd never slept inside a day in his life before starting his job here. Before, he had either laid out under the stars, huddled on a stoop or beside a dumpster, or slept in a barn full of animals. Even if the old mattress beneath him laid on the floor, it was softer than all of his past beds combined. The indoor pluming was an interesting change as well. Yoska had to get used to the idea of showering every day.
He got up and went into the small bathroom across the hall. The bookshop must have been a residential building at some point, because the bathroom had a shower and a linen closet. The man pulled off his loose sleep pants, also something he'd never had before, and stepped under the hot spray. Yoska had to admit, this fancy high-life these people had was pleasant. Although, to him, it was hard to think of himself as anything other than a street urchin. A waif that nobody really wanted. After all, that's what he'd been told most of his life.
After getting out of the shower, Yoska combed his wildly curly hair and got himself dressed. His clothes were cheap and ill fitted over his wiry frame. Most of them had come from a Goodwill store, except for those that had been given to him. He didn't mind. It was a lot more than he'd used to have. As he brushed his teeth, the orange cat that shared his home at the bookstore wandered in. She rubbed against his leg and meowed softly, making Yoska smile. After he rinsed his mouth out, he bent down to pet her affectionately, saying good morning in a language that wasn't English.
Yoska then stepped over the cat and went to put his shoes on. He had work to do today, after all. The shop had ordered a few new bookshelves, and they weren't going to put themselves together. He was trailed by the feline as he walked towards the space at the back of the shop, where the new boxes sat. Yoska tore the first one open and discarded the instructions. No matter how many languages the manual was printed in, the young man was unable to read it. It was okay, however, because he could do this by heart. Yoska sat down with his screwdriver and began to assemble the shelves as a few customers strolled in. It wasn't really his thing to go and greet them. They probably wouldn't want to see a dirty Romani boy like him anyway.
He got up and went into the small bathroom across the hall. The bookshop must have been a residential building at some point, because the bathroom had a shower and a linen closet. The man pulled off his loose sleep pants, also something he'd never had before, and stepped under the hot spray. Yoska had to admit, this fancy high-life these people had was pleasant. Although, to him, it was hard to think of himself as anything other than a street urchin. A waif that nobody really wanted. After all, that's what he'd been told most of his life.
After getting out of the shower, Yoska combed his wildly curly hair and got himself dressed. His clothes were cheap and ill fitted over his wiry frame. Most of them had come from a Goodwill store, except for those that had been given to him. He didn't mind. It was a lot more than he'd used to have. As he brushed his teeth, the orange cat that shared his home at the bookstore wandered in. She rubbed against his leg and meowed softly, making Yoska smile. After he rinsed his mouth out, he bent down to pet her affectionately, saying good morning in a language that wasn't English.
Yoska then stepped over the cat and went to put his shoes on. He had work to do today, after all. The shop had ordered a few new bookshelves, and they weren't going to put themselves together. He was trailed by the feline as he walked towards the space at the back of the shop, where the new boxes sat. Yoska tore the first one open and discarded the instructions. No matter how many languages the manual was printed in, the young man was unable to read it. It was okay, however, because he could do this by heart. Yoska sat down with his screwdriver and began to assemble the shelves as a few customers strolled in. It wasn't really his thing to go and greet them. They probably wouldn't want to see a dirty Romani boy like him anyway.
Maybe Yoska could live at the bookshop for now =P
I'm still looking for inspiration. It may be a while :P
As night fell on the city, the sun dipping behind the skyline, the elaborate statue on the base's roof began to quiver. The statue, perched on the edge and looking over with a nasty snarl, depicted a winged creature. A gargoyle. Legend said that gargoyles were used to frighten away bad spirits. Legend also said they were supposed to come alive at night. In most instances, that legend was wrong. However, there were the rare few...
The stone cracked away, revealing flesh underneath. The creature came to life, stretching it's arms and wings upwards with a roar, eyes glowing into the night. Then it dropped into a crouch and peered curiously over the edge of the building as someone walked inside with presents in their arms. Was that Mr. Barnes? Artus would catch up in a bit; right now, he needed to stretch his wings.
The gargoyle leaped over the edge, spreading his leathery wings to catch the wind beneath them. He rose up into the snowy sky, looking down at all the bright lights and holiday wondered. Every year for as long as he could remember, the humans would decorate for the Christmas holiday. Artus loved it. The lights, the singing, the gift giving. He wondered what he would give his new teammates...Maybe he should go meet them first.
After a short flight, he turned around and headed back. The air was getting cold and his wings were forming icicles. He banked down and landed gracefully on the stoop of the base, pushing the door open to embrace the warmth inside. The gargoyle whiffed at the air. Was that pancakes?! He scuttled quickly to the kitchen to investigate. There were a couple new faces there, one whom was drinking the maple syrup straight from the bottle.
"I don't think that's how you-" Artus began, only to be cut off by Mr. Barnes.
"Hey, knock that off! You'll rot your teeth out, kid." Bucky snatched the bottle from the new kid and set it down on the counter. He turned to the boy beside him, who looked all of ten years old, and flipped a stack of pancakes onto a plate for him. Isn't there an age limit for this team? he wondered. "Hi, nice to meet you. Honored, yeah, sure. Call me James. Or Bucky. Whichever." He droned, seemingly uninterested in conversation.
James turned to flip the pancake he was currently cooking, then looked at Artus. The gargoyle was dripping melted snow all over the kitchen floor. The instructor took a deep breath in and let it out. In hindsight, when it came to babysitting, James Barnes probably wasn't the best choice.
"Here," Bucky handed Artus a plate of pancakes. "Go show the new kids how this works."
Artus saluted. "Yes, sir!" He took the plate and escorted the two new recruits to the kitchen table. Artus perched on his haunches in one of the chairs, his tail laid across one of the arms and hanging down. "See, you put the syrup on the pancakes, and sometimes powered sugar too." Artus demonstrated by drowning the pancakes in syrup.
The stone cracked away, revealing flesh underneath. The creature came to life, stretching it's arms and wings upwards with a roar, eyes glowing into the night. Then it dropped into a crouch and peered curiously over the edge of the building as someone walked inside with presents in their arms. Was that Mr. Barnes? Artus would catch up in a bit; right now, he needed to stretch his wings.
The gargoyle leaped over the edge, spreading his leathery wings to catch the wind beneath them. He rose up into the snowy sky, looking down at all the bright lights and holiday wondered. Every year for as long as he could remember, the humans would decorate for the Christmas holiday. Artus loved it. The lights, the singing, the gift giving. He wondered what he would give his new teammates...Maybe he should go meet them first.
After a short flight, he turned around and headed back. The air was getting cold and his wings were forming icicles. He banked down and landed gracefully on the stoop of the base, pushing the door open to embrace the warmth inside. The gargoyle whiffed at the air. Was that pancakes?! He scuttled quickly to the kitchen to investigate. There were a couple new faces there, one whom was drinking the maple syrup straight from the bottle.
"I don't think that's how you-" Artus began, only to be cut off by Mr. Barnes.
"Hey, knock that off! You'll rot your teeth out, kid." Bucky snatched the bottle from the new kid and set it down on the counter. He turned to the boy beside him, who looked all of ten years old, and flipped a stack of pancakes onto a plate for him. Isn't there an age limit for this team? he wondered. "Hi, nice to meet you. Honored, yeah, sure. Call me James. Or Bucky. Whichever." He droned, seemingly uninterested in conversation.
James turned to flip the pancake he was currently cooking, then looked at Artus. The gargoyle was dripping melted snow all over the kitchen floor. The instructor took a deep breath in and let it out. In hindsight, when it came to babysitting, James Barnes probably wasn't the best choice.
"Here," Bucky handed Artus a plate of pancakes. "Go show the new kids how this works."
Artus saluted. "Yes, sir!" He took the plate and escorted the two new recruits to the kitchen table. Artus perched on his haunches in one of the chairs, his tail laid across one of the arms and hanging down. "See, you put the syrup on the pancakes, and sometimes powered sugar too." Artus demonstrated by drowning the pancakes in syrup.
In
(Casual-Advanced) Brace Yourselfs, Winter (break) is Coming
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Do you like superheroes?
http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/72019/posts/ooc?page=1#post-2256531
http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/72019/posts/ooc?page=1#post-2256531
bump
So this is Christmas...
Festive music wafted through the air as snow fell lightly. The sounds of shoes scraping the icy sidewalk filled the atmosphere as people hurried through to cold to get where they were going. One man, however, didn't seem in a hurry at all. He walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, wearing a dark brown, leather coat with a white star on either shoulder. His boots didn't scrape the ground. In fact, he walked in a way that made almost certain of it. Under each arm, he held brightly wrapped boxes.
Bucky didn't have much in the way of friends or family, but what he did have, he held dear. He'd spent most of the day shopping for gifts for the two most important people in his world: Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers. Natasha was pretty easy to shop for; he knew her almost as well as he knew himself. Hell, maybe even a little better. A necklace with a personal message engraved into a heart, a set of festive unmentionables that he had mostly gotten as a joke...mostly, and a handgun that he had modified himself. Jewelry, lingerie, and weapons.
Steve was a harder nut to crack. What do you buy for the man who wants nothing? Cap had told him several times that Bucky didn't need to get him anything this year, but dammit, this was his first real Christmas back in the real world, and he was going to do it right. He didn't really count last year; spending the holiday with the Sub-Mariner wasn't exactly what James would call joyous. Still, he had respected the Captain's wishes for him to not spend too much money and got Steve a goofy holiday sweater. He would wear it; Bucky knew he would.
His boots sloshed through the slush as he approached his temporary living quarters. The headquarters these kids had wasn't the fanciest, but James had definitely lived in worse places. His presents balanced precariously as he freed one hand to open the door. The inside of the base was warm and lit up with Christmas decor. A tiny tree sat on a table off in the corner, tinsel was hung here and there, and some joker had taped a piece of mistletoe above the doorway.
James set his presents down on the table before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. The leather was slightly wet with melted snow. His left arm gleamed in the light as it moved, completely silent and surprisingly natural. If it weren't for the fact that it was obviously made of metal, one may not have noticed that Captain America 2.0 was an amputee. Bucky reached his flesh hand up to rustle the melting snowflakes from his brown hair. He sniffed, his nose slightly red and runny from spending too long out in the cold. The man walked quietly yet casually down to hall and to his own living quarters.
Bucky's room had about as much personality as a rock. The walls were bare and it was almost devoid of decoration. It was clear that this place was not thought of as his home. He stepped out of his boots as soon as he was inside the door and bumped it closed with his socked foot. James pulled off his jeans and replaced them with his much more comfortable sweatpants. Had he any less shame, he probably would have changed into a tank top to complete his 'I don't plan on leaving the house any time soon' look. Instead, he padded back out as he was and headed for the kitchen.
Bucky turned the stove on and set a cast iron skillet down on the eye. While it heated, he went to the pantry and began pulling out pancake ingredients. The box of instant pancake mix that sat on the top shelf went completely ignored. James didn't consider those real pancakes. Just because the rest of the modern world liked their food pre-made didn't mean he had to. It only took a few minutes for him to mix up the batter and start cooking. One had to wonder where a guy that spent most of his growing life on an army base learned to make decent food.
Pancakes quickly began to pile up on the plate he had set to the side. He made far too much for just himself, mostly because he had a feeling that the smell of food would draw the kids from the woodworks. It typically did.
Festive music wafted through the air as snow fell lightly. The sounds of shoes scraping the icy sidewalk filled the atmosphere as people hurried through to cold to get where they were going. One man, however, didn't seem in a hurry at all. He walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, wearing a dark brown, leather coat with a white star on either shoulder. His boots didn't scrape the ground. In fact, he walked in a way that made almost certain of it. Under each arm, he held brightly wrapped boxes.
Bucky didn't have much in the way of friends or family, but what he did have, he held dear. He'd spent most of the day shopping for gifts for the two most important people in his world: Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers. Natasha was pretty easy to shop for; he knew her almost as well as he knew himself. Hell, maybe even a little better. A necklace with a personal message engraved into a heart, a set of festive unmentionables that he had mostly gotten as a joke...mostly, and a handgun that he had modified himself. Jewelry, lingerie, and weapons.
Steve was a harder nut to crack. What do you buy for the man who wants nothing? Cap had told him several times that Bucky didn't need to get him anything this year, but dammit, this was his first real Christmas back in the real world, and he was going to do it right. He didn't really count last year; spending the holiday with the Sub-Mariner wasn't exactly what James would call joyous. Still, he had respected the Captain's wishes for him to not spend too much money and got Steve a goofy holiday sweater. He would wear it; Bucky knew he would.
His boots sloshed through the slush as he approached his temporary living quarters. The headquarters these kids had wasn't the fanciest, but James had definitely lived in worse places. His presents balanced precariously as he freed one hand to open the door. The inside of the base was warm and lit up with Christmas decor. A tiny tree sat on a table off in the corner, tinsel was hung here and there, and some joker had taped a piece of mistletoe above the doorway.
James set his presents down on the table before shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. The leather was slightly wet with melted snow. His left arm gleamed in the light as it moved, completely silent and surprisingly natural. If it weren't for the fact that it was obviously made of metal, one may not have noticed that Captain America 2.0 was an amputee. Bucky reached his flesh hand up to rustle the melting snowflakes from his brown hair. He sniffed, his nose slightly red and runny from spending too long out in the cold. The man walked quietly yet casually down to hall and to his own living quarters.
Bucky's room had about as much personality as a rock. The walls were bare and it was almost devoid of decoration. It was clear that this place was not thought of as his home. He stepped out of his boots as soon as he was inside the door and bumped it closed with his socked foot. James pulled off his jeans and replaced them with his much more comfortable sweatpants. Had he any less shame, he probably would have changed into a tank top to complete his 'I don't plan on leaving the house any time soon' look. Instead, he padded back out as he was and headed for the kitchen.
Bucky turned the stove on and set a cast iron skillet down on the eye. While it heated, he went to the pantry and began pulling out pancake ingredients. The box of instant pancake mix that sat on the top shelf went completely ignored. James didn't consider those real pancakes. Just because the rest of the modern world liked their food pre-made didn't mean he had to. It only took a few minutes for him to mix up the batter and start cooking. One had to wonder where a guy that spent most of his growing life on an army base learned to make decent food.
Pancakes quickly began to pile up on the plate he had set to the side. He made far too much for just himself, mostly because he had a feeling that the smell of food would draw the kids from the woodworks. It typically did.
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