IF I FALL

[REMY LUCIANNE CLARK]

I DREAM OF FALLING
BECAUSE I LONG TO BE CAUGHT

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D E X T E R + R E M Y

Looking back, it certainly hadn't been the best of ideas. One of them should have been able to work that out straight away. In fact, Dexter probably had – only to be over-ridden by the small but noisy girl by his side. One could just pass the blame on to the school for making it even a possibility, but they couldn't have predicted the consequences of what should have been perfectly innocent and not at all dangerous. But, truth was, only one person was responsible for the mess the duo had found themselves in – and that was Remy herself. From the second she had seen the 'cooking class' poster, she had done nothing but badger her long lanky best friend into coming with her. Who cared that they were the clumsiest and most accident prone pair ever to enroll at the University? You had to learn to cook. At least, that had been Remy's argument. She wanted to learn to be self-sufficient, and that meant she would have to master cookery rather than relying on Dexter, take-out or the cafeteria for food. Dex had given in to her pleas in the end, just like he always did. Sometimes Remy even felt a little cruel for dragging the good natured giant into these absurd and often painful adventures.

Dexter was, without room for doubt, Remy's favorite person. It wouldn't be lying to say that Remy liked everyone with a sort of optimistic naivety, but the friendship she had with Dex was on a different level. There was a small squad of guards/companions who followed the little pixie of a girl around to protect her from herself – but only one head hovered (quite literally) above the crowd. Usually Remy had to wear people down to friendship, but Dexter had been willing to spend time with her right from the start. It had been Dexter who had taken care of her after her enrollment at the University while she struggled to deal with the aftermath of breaking communications with her parents. It had been Dexter who had helped her find her job, helped her widen her friendship circles – helped her to remain the happy little girl she stayed to this day. She wouldn't trade in his friendship for anything.

With that final thought, she managed to drag herself back to the present and smiled up at the man currently preoccupied with a saucepan and onions. The kitchen was filled with steam from various pots and pans, the heavy scents of onion and cardamon hung in the humid air. Silence was a thing of the past as sounds of chattering, laughing and clanking pot lids kept the canteen kitchen alive with noise. The hour they'd been cooking thus far had been the best hour of Remy's week. She had laughed so much her sides still hurt and little cheeks were still flushed a rosy red to match her cherry lips. Rather than simple every-day meals, the white-haired old owl of a woman leading the class had set about teaching her students to craft a four course gourmet meal. On the word gourmet Remy had donned an entertained look, and from that moment on had accepted that this would be more of a joke than a useful learning experience. Not that Dexter was bad at cooking – he was braising and simmering and dicing with the best of them. It just so happened that he was hampered with the world's worst chef's assistant. Thus far Remy had burnt, spilt, broken or mislaid everything Dexter had given her to do, meaning that despite Dexter's best efforts they were failing miserably. Remy was having the time of her life.

There was the now familiar ringing alarm from the oven, and Remy skipped over to retrieve whatever had been cooking. Pulling open the door, she demonstrated quite admirably just how stupid she could be if left to her own devices, and reached in with an un-gloved hand for the boiling hot cooking tray.[/center][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

Dexter was used to finding himself in kitchens - after all, he worked as a kitchen hand - and he was used to finding himself in an assortment of troubles sometimes only he could put himself into. And other times, his nature dragged him into trouble. Or Remy. or all three, because once Remy saw that poster, there was no going back. Something had always told him that while he, if careful, could function in a tiny, hectic place, Remy might be a different matter. So he'd said she could go but he wasn't going to go, but she argued. It was like having a tiny little creature following you all the time, asking. Now granted, most people were tiny little creatures, but Remy was a bit different she knew he'd cave eventually, and so he did. And so he found himself in a cafeteria kitchen, cutting onions up while his brown hair brushed the ceiling, even though he was looking down. Kitchens were always small, it seemed. Damn kitchens. What were the built for, little people only? Well, at least Remy seemed to be having fun.

Dexter looked back to the girl, making sure she wasn't going anything stupid. He caught her gaze as she looked up and smiled, then returned to his work. She was alive, for now. Which was good. From the first time he met her, he found himself drawn to her cheerful personality. The fact she didn't give up about things, even if, sometimes, she ought to. She was outgoing but not overly so, well-mannered but smart...however, she, like Dexter was accident prone. Which was perhaps why a busy kitchen was not a good place; Dexter's troubles usually were a comical mix of his size and misfortune, she could just be downright forgetful. However, it was best to make the best of things, and so he worked with what he could, even thought most of what he asked her to prepare ended up mangled in some way. He really was not sure how this was going to become a gourmet meal. A four course meal, yes, but a gourmet one, no. He put the onions in a frying pan, hearing them sizzle, and looked over at their instructor, who was instructing a girl on how to properly prepare her meat. Back to his food. He heard the oven ring, and twisted around to see Remy open the door, then not get oven gloves and...

"REMY!" His deep voice came out as a shout. Knowing full well that she'd probably reach in and take the pot out before turning to see why he's shouted, he put his long legs to use, and covered the small distance, scooping her out of harms way with one arm. Typical. More typical still was the fact Dexter, still holding into Remy, had to dance out of the way of a cart of spices someone was wheeling past (why the whole cart, it had to be questioned; but they weren't the only ones doing badly) and that caused him to hit his head on a pot rack, sending one clanging down. If he hadn't used his other free hand, it would have crushed someone else's head. The person who had nearly avoided a concussion looked up and laughed, taking the pot away. "C'mon, you." Dexter returned to their station, rubbing the back of his head. "What on Earth possessed you to forget oven mitts?!" He asked, grabbing a pair for himself and pulling out the food, which was intact; a minor miracle.

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words| 623
tagged| Remy

[REMY LUCIANNE CLARK]

I DREAM OF FALLING
BECAUSE I LONG TO BE CAUGHT

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D E X T E R + R E M Y

Dexter’s prediction had been entirely right. The little girl almost completely ignored the shout, assuming – with no good reason – that the boy behind her simply wanted her to find another way to cruelly slaughter an innocent vegetable. And further culinary disasters could, surely, be put off until her current target had been saved from any danger of burning. Remy was certain that, whilst she was never going to be a cook, she could at least be proficient at removing things from ovens – and, as such, she acknowledged Dexter’s shout… and continued blindly onwards. And then, just as small hands reached out, a huge arm descended upon her, and the girl gave a cheerful squeak as she was swept off her feet in the least romantic of ways. It was not the first time Remy had been spectacularly yoinked from the jaws of pain by one of Dexter’s long arms, and as such the moment of fear that always came with being grabbed from behind passed quickly, and the slight figure squirmed momentarily before settling into a comfortable position – resting her elbows on the strong forearm. The next few minutes passed for Remy much like a rollercoaster ride, as she swung this way and that like a rag doll whilst Dexter dodged all number of obstacles. It was not, she mused, the most elegant way to travel – but it was certainly fun. And you could see a lot of the world from up here. She waved cheerily to other students as they wondered past with amused expressions, and blew a kiss to the kindly boy who relieved Dexter of his flying cooking pot, and, all in all, was a little disappointed when the experience had to come to an end and she was deposited unceremoniously back onto the ground.

Remy settled back down quickly and set about dicing a tomato as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred – which, for her, it certainly hadn’t. Dexter’s disbelieving comment earnt him a quiet tut from the girl, as she gave him a catish smile. “I didn’t mean to forget, Dexy. That’s why it’s called forgot.” The girl offered pertly, before smiling warmly to the man besides her. “You know what? I think it’d be better if I didn’t ever try to cook again” An uncertain pause. “You didn’t hurt your head on that pan did you?” And for a moment she looked troubled and forlorn – damaging Dexter was something she was highly talented at, and was one of the few things she had never wanted to do. But the melancholy passed quickly enough as Remy dedicated herself to the cutting of vegetables once more, and as always her thoughts wandered. Today she thought deeply about what it would be like to be tall, and how she would be able to reach things in super markets without waiting for the pity of reasonable-sized passers by. She imagined dreamily what it might be like to be tall enough to replace light-bulbs without toppling off a small tower of household furniture. Sure, small might suit her innocent personality, but it could be a chore sometimes – but then, she thought with her usual insight, it must be irritating for Dex to be tall sometimes. Remy was sprung from her thoughts by the realisation that what she was currently dicing was her own finger, and stopped abruptly, popping the finger into her mouth and feeling for a small moment much like a vampire. Things like this happened to her so often that she soldiered on valiantly, swapping the knife to her left hand and pinning down her vegetables with an elbow – looking for all the world like someone to whom sanity meant as much as waffle irons meant to termites.

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[DEXTER NELSON WILLOW]

If Dexter hadn't known better, he'd say both he and Remy were characters for some sort of comedy sitcom. The big guy and the small lady, destined for all sorts of trouble in their lives. Typically, trouble started when Remy didn't look up, and Dexter was forced to scoop her up. She wasn't heavy or anything, not at all; he'd long gotten used to being the one that ended up picking up the heavy things. Size didn't always correlate to strength but to avoid looking like a total wimp when asked to pick up a big box, he'd hit the gym one every so often. Not to say Remy was a big box, but picking up a person was somewhat the same in weight terms. He felt her squirm and make herself comfortable, which only caused him to shake his head as he set about his capers. Typical. Just typical. But then again, she might be thinking the same thing. Just typical to be scooped up.

He put her down, and it seemed she had not learned a thing. Or she was just too used to this. Or both. It exasperated him, but at the same time there was something endearing in her tone and her smile as she told him that was simply what forgot meant. "Well, remember not to forget." He told her matter-of-factly, but his tone was light. It was hard for him to be had at her for too long, or really that mad at all. Sure, he got annoyed at times, but if he'd really gotten to be so, he wouldn't be standing right here. He put the vegetable tray onto a cooling rack, watching her dicing the tomato. It wouldn't matter if he did, anyways. She was talking, and would probably cut herself as soon as he turned his back. "Nah, you can cook...you just need to pay attention. A lot of attention." Or she could cook macaroni and cheese, how hard could that be to do? She hadn't killed herself thus far, and she'd probably been in a kitchen long before he knew her. "I'm fine," He added on. "My skull's made of stern stuff." He got used to head hits ever since seventh grade or so. Of course, there was one embarrassing time where he had to go to school with a band aid plastered to his forehead, but that was the death of his pride more than anything. It was funny how deft he could be in a snowboard practically the size of a large sled, but when he wasn't going fifty miles and hour down a hill on a piece of wood, he was a little more injury prone. What the hell.

He ducked another pot rack and found himself the whisk and some eggs. Time to get cracking. He turned around just in time to see Remy pop a finger into her mouth, and he had a feeling she was not, by any means, taste-testing a tomato. "Remy, how do you do these things?" He asked with a chuckle. If it was bad, he would have been blood on the tomatoes, or cutting board, so he wasn't too worried with that. A cut finger was better than nasty burns by far. It was when she began to use her elbow and her left hand did he resist the urge to groan. He could almost hear the chefs he worked with crying in his head. "Why don't you just get a bandaid?" He asked, somewhat bemused as he took an egg and cracked it. "It might serve you a bit better."


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words| 666 -legasp-
tagged| Remy

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