Faolan has adjusted well enough to working here in the kitchen on dinner shift. He comes from a time and place when, although there had been kitchen staff at places like White Hill, when he'd been traveling half the time he'd had to cook for himself (and scavenge and hunt for himself at that as well). He could have been ornery and refused to come to work, but the truth is that he needs routine, and it's something to take his mind off of... Well, everything. It's part of the reason he was married to his job back at home -- even if they are very different positions, the principle is still the same. Keep your head down. Work hard. Focus on the task at hand.
Having a supervisor is new for him as well. It doesn't rankle quite as much as having a Warden assigned to him, but the effect is still the same, and as such, he's still more than a little bit difficult and stand-offish about the whole thing.
As such, he raises an eyebrow at Steve's question (and his knife), replying, "Are you sure you're allowed to trust me with that, as an Inmate?"
((ooc: sorry for the delay, this weekend was crazy busy!))
Steve certainly can't blame anyone for not coming into work; he'd certainly skipped it enough when he'd been an inmate, for so many reasons, that he doesn't choose to call someone out on it now. He might check on someone if they've been gone a few days, but that's different. And Faolan hasn't needed that, anyway. He's been a reliable worker since he started, if maybe a little unimpressed by, you know. The whole situation.
Who can blame him?
Steve shrugs; it feels a little like his conversation with Ellie when he says, "I say what I'm allowed to do, and I figure the actually relevant question is, should I trust you with it as a person? Which, I mean, you've had plenty of chances to do me in before and haven't. I'm just gonna make sure you give it back when you're done, because it belongs in the kitchen."
Faolan knows he could continue this conversation and question him further on the matter. How it makes little to no sense trusting an assassin with a blade, how he could palm any number of instruments in here and he doubts Steve would truly be able to keep an eye on all of them. But the truth of the matter is that Faolan's heart isn't in it. The bickering or, frankly, acting out in any shape or form.
There's a persistent tired grief that has plagued him ever since he arrived here on the Barge that he hasn't managed to shake yet. As if he is in mourning for... Well. His own life, at that. There's too much to touch on there, though, and therefore he's doing his best not to think about any of it at all.
After a long moment, Faolan holds out a hand to Steve for the knife, sighing.
"Trust me when I say that I'm far better with a blade than I ever will be with anything resembling baking," he tells him. Is there a hint of humor in his words and manner there? Blink and you might miss it.
Steve is definitely familiar with the crushing fatigue that comes from being an inmate. He thinks he can see some of it in the line of Faolan's shoulders, but of course he can't be sure. He doesn't know the man well. The most he can do, he thinks, is try not to add to it, if that's what it is.
He offers Faolan a grin and hands over the knife without hesitation, handle first. "Then you're on chopping duty until further notice. I admit, I'm definitely better - or at least, more practiced - with the baking, so that works out."
He makes sure the other man is set up with all the vegetables that will need chopping, then gets himself over to where he's set up the ingredients to get started on the dough. "I guess I've always been better with just using my hands." Or at least mote comfortable. "Much to my knuckles' complaint."
It's not Steve's fault that he doesn't know Faolan well yet. Faolan is still new to the Barge, and beyond that, he's not the most sociable of people, even when he's not going through a crisis. Which, as it turns out, dying (or, in Faolan's case, ending one's life) only to find yourself brought back to life in a place like this -- that certainly qualifies as a crisis if ever there was one. It may not be nearly as obvious to those around him (especially those who don't know him well like Steve) but Faolan has been Struggling, and every little bit of normalcy, like a routine and a job, however ill-suiting, is helping him hold on by a string.
Thus, he ignores much of the other man's fussing over setting up his workstation in favor of just being allowed this much. He's just setting himself to work with the chopping when he realizes that -- yes, Steve is looking for conversation. Normally there would be others here to help buffer this, but since it's just the two of them...
He glances up across at the other man, mindful of his fingers.
"I'm no baker, but if your knuckles are hurting then it sounds as if you're going a little too hard on that bread," he quips, understanding that Steve had meant his hands were his weapon of choice, as blades are Faolan's own.
Steve had indeed meant as his weapon of choice, but he chuckles softly at the comeback. "That's a fair point. But there isn't a whole lot else to punch around here, so maybe I do take it out on the bread a little."
That much is true, too - Steve's always found it more than a little frustrating that he can't just punch a problem to fix it around here. It would certainly make things a hell of a lot simpler.
And he is looking for conversation, though far be it from him to make someone uncomfortable while at their job. He just hasn't gotten a chance to know Faolan well, and maybe that's intentional on the other's part, but maybe it's not. He's not always the most tactful, though he tries to be mindful of whether the other wants him to just shut up and back the hell off.
He hasn't quite gotten that vibe just yet, though, so he ventures on: "I didn't know a thing about baking until I got here. It's actually more relaxing than I would've thought. Although anything repetitive can be relaxing."
Including cutting vegetables... or punching a bag.
Faolan doesn't mind the chopping. It is somewhat soothing. And he is somewhat used to being talked at, although doing the talking back takes a little bit more effort on his part. He isn't exactly what one would describe as an easy conversationalist, at the best of times. Still, he does his best to make an effort when he needs to, as he does now, for Steve's sake.
"I'm sure there's plenty around for you to punch, and plenty who would have earned it for that matter, but I suppose it's for the best that you know where to focus your aggressions," Faolan returns.
He flashes the other man the quirk of a smile to indicate that he is only being facetious before continuing, "What did you do to relax before baking, then?"
"Not as much as I'd like," Steve admits, sounding just a little rueful. "Punching solves a lot fewer things here than out in the rest of the universe."
It would be nice if things were simpler, but it's the Barge. Nothing is simple. He's learned that.
He doesn't have to consider the question long before he admits, "Not much, really. I'm not actually very good at relaxing," he laughs, self-deprecating. "I mostly just get restless and rougher around the edges than usual, if I have to sit on my hands too long. What about you?"
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no subject
Having a supervisor is new for him as well. It doesn't rankle quite as much as having a Warden assigned to him, but the effect is still the same, and as such, he's still more than a little bit difficult and stand-offish about the whole thing.
As such, he raises an eyebrow at Steve's question (and his knife), replying, "Are you sure you're allowed to trust me with that, as an Inmate?"
((ooc: sorry for the delay, this weekend was crazy busy!))
no subject
Who can blame him?
Steve shrugs; it feels a little like his conversation with Ellie when he says, "I say what I'm allowed to do, and I figure the actually relevant question is, should I trust you with it as a person? Which, I mean, you've had plenty of chances to do me in before and haven't. I'm just gonna make sure you give it back when you're done, because it belongs in the kitchen."
[ooc: Noooo worries, I feel you!]
no subject
There's a persistent tired grief that has plagued him ever since he arrived here on the Barge that he hasn't managed to shake yet. As if he is in mourning for... Well. His own life, at that. There's too much to touch on there, though, and therefore he's doing his best not to think about any of it at all.
After a long moment, Faolan holds out a hand to Steve for the knife, sighing.
"Trust me when I say that I'm far better with a blade than I ever will be with anything resembling baking," he tells him. Is there a hint of humor in his words and manner there? Blink and you might miss it.
no subject
He offers Faolan a grin and hands over the knife without hesitation, handle first. "Then you're on chopping duty until further notice. I admit, I'm definitely better - or at least, more practiced - with the baking, so that works out."
He makes sure the other man is set up with all the vegetables that will need chopping, then gets himself over to where he's set up the ingredients to get started on the dough. "I guess I've always been better with just using my hands." Or at least mote comfortable. "Much to my knuckles' complaint."
no subject
Thus, he ignores much of the other man's fussing over setting up his workstation in favor of just being allowed this much. He's just setting himself to work with the chopping when he realizes that -- yes, Steve is looking for conversation. Normally there would be others here to help buffer this, but since it's just the two of them...
He glances up across at the other man, mindful of his fingers.
"I'm no baker, but if your knuckles are hurting then it sounds as if you're going a little too hard on that bread," he quips, understanding that Steve had meant his hands were his weapon of choice, as blades are Faolan's own.
no subject
That much is true, too - Steve's always found it more than a little frustrating that he can't just punch a problem to fix it around here. It would certainly make things a hell of a lot simpler.
And he is looking for conversation, though far be it from him to make someone uncomfortable while at their job. He just hasn't gotten a chance to know Faolan well, and maybe that's intentional on the other's part, but maybe it's not. He's not always the most tactful, though he tries to be mindful of whether the other wants him to just shut up and back the hell off.
He hasn't quite gotten that vibe just yet, though, so he ventures on: "I didn't know a thing about baking until I got here. It's actually more relaxing than I would've thought. Although anything repetitive can be relaxing."
Including cutting vegetables... or punching a bag.
no subject
"I'm sure there's plenty around for you to punch, and plenty who would have earned it for that matter, but I suppose it's for the best that you know where to focus your aggressions," Faolan returns.
He flashes the other man the quirk of a smile to indicate that he is only being facetious before continuing, "What did you do to relax before baking, then?"
no subject
It would be nice if things were simpler, but it's the Barge. Nothing is simple. He's learned that.
He doesn't have to consider the question long before he admits, "Not much, really. I'm not actually very good at relaxing," he laughs, self-deprecating. "I mostly just get restless and rougher around the edges than usual, if I have to sit on my hands too long. What about you?"