Owner	Pose
Scott Summers	Having just left a meeting that has caused a firm line to Scott's lips, he enters the kitchen, on a clear mission. He fishes out roasted turkey, bread, and various other parts of what will eventually become the turkey sandwich he'd had in mind, creating an even little row of ingredients: each thing may not have a specific order, but nothing will be left out or forgotten. He pauses, though, in his sandwich-making, noticing the dishwasher, and quietly begins to unload it, putting clean things away, hardly having to extend to the upper cabinets due to his height. He doesn't complain: he just does it, like many things. He can eat when the work is done.
Lorna Dane	Dinner had come and gone, and the hour grew late enough that the students had finished the chores in kitchen clean up duty. The downstairs was now quiet of the flood of mouths that needed to be fed. Most of the student body was occupied in the rec room or their own rooms elsewhere. The teachers and staff more or less having already gone off to their various duties. The kitchen was finally, blessedly quiet. Which is why Lorna crept down the stairs and into the room, blurrily searching out food with a groping hand, the other pressed to her pounding temple. She wore a pair of sweatpants, plain over sized T-shirt, the band logo long since washed away, and a pair of socks. Her hair was a tangle of green, and there was the remains of yesterdays makeup on her face. She shuffled over toward the fridge, finding the area occupied by Scott and she stopped, yawned, and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her palm. "Hey," She stifled another yawn. "There any leftovers in the fridge?"
Scott Summers	"There looked to be some pizza, but whoever put it there failed to put a date on it," Scott says, as he puts a few plates up into the cabinet with a 'clink' of the dinnerware. Yes, there was judgement in his tone. Scott has a peeve about things in the fridge with no names or dates on them. He turns his head towards her, taking in her low-energy, snuffling state. "I'll make a second turkey sandwich if you'd like to sit, though, Lorna," Scott says. There's no pressure in the comment: he'll do it, and doesn't mind one way or another about it if she declined it for questionable pizza.
Lorna Dane	Lorna made a groaning sound at the back of her throat, part whimper, and pushed her hair back from her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and she bit her lower lip. "That pizza sounds terrible. I'll pass.." She mumbled, making a face, her lips twisting and her nose wrinkling faintly. She cracked her gaze open to look at Scott as he offered to make her a sandwich and a ghost of a smile bloomed to life on her lips. "Please? I think that sounds perfect. I really don't feel like breaking out the packets of ramen we have kicking around here. I don't know how old those are... and I'll have flash backs to grad school if I do."
Scott Summers	Scott finishes putting the silverware away, though he does it more quietly than he otherwise normally would: a subtle empathy for her apparent headache, whatever the cause. He closes the dishwasher, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and goes back to the sandwiches. He puts the bread in to toast, and works on the contents. "I don't eat those either. They taste too much of cardboard to me," Scott agrees. He pauses in the sandwich makings - though if she has her eyes shut she might not see-to get a kettle going, and brings out a little tray of tea selections. He comes over and puts it near her, without a word to pick from, and returns to the sandwiches, his back to her. He's dressed simply: just a comfortable long-sleeved shirt, snug jeans, new looking white sneakers.
Lorna Dane	Lorna blinked owlishly at the tea selection, her gaze slow to lift up from the tray and back to Scott and back. Her lips curved into a firmer smile, and she picked one, a mint, and made to rip it open. A soft thank you following as she edged toward the cabinet and plucked one of the many mugs down into her grip. She stuck it into the cup, and paused to lean against the counter top. "Before everything with... well, my parentage and what not.. it was all I could afford at the end of the month with my TA position in my Master's program." Her voice was still soft, and she closed her eyes again as she exhaled a soft breath. "Ugh.. I'm gonna have to take some pain killers for this headache. It's terrible."
Scott Summers	Scott doesn't smile back, but that's not really his way, most of the time: it doesn't mean he is being unpleasant. The man just hasn't opened up to her. He isn't prying about her problem, in that same manner. "There should be a small box of first aid under the sink near the fire extinguishers," Scott says. He knows it's there, he put it there, but things sometimes wander off. Since she didn't sit down per his suggestion, he's going to assume she wants to take care of herself. "Do you want mustard on yours? I was going to slice avocado and tomato."
Lorna Dane	Lorna continued to lean against the countertop, half aware of the world around her. Mostly that Scott was being very nice in making her food, and she was waiting patiently for the water to boil. The mug she'd pulled down with teabag resting in it, remained clutched in between both of her hands and she seemed to be more intent on falling back asleep rather than standing upright as she was. "Yes.. Uhm... both is good. Yes." She blinked repeatedly, tilting her head back up from the faint slump. "Never go drinking with Rogue Scott. Just.. it was a bad idea. I regret everything."
Scott Summers	Scott twists his knife smoothly around the avocado, removing the pit and peel, starting to slice it. He considers Lorna from the side of his eye for a long moment, then continues to slice. The tomato follows while she recommends the stance about Rogue. "Mmmmhm," Scott agrees verbally, a brief smile showing on the outside of his lips, though she will likely miss it due to her state and suffering. Scott stacks the items on the sandwiches, rinses his hands, and fetches the medicine for her. The water is boiling anyway in the high-tech pot, and he sets pills down next to her mug, extending the kettle across to fill the mug as well. He doesn't add anything: but there may be a comfort to it. He isn't pressuring conversation, and it can be relaxing to just /be/.
Lorna Dane	Lorna exhaled a soft, piteous breath as she tilted her head back and let the base of her skull rest against the cabinet behind her. She listened more than saw Scott moving around the kitchen, the soft scrape of the knife against the avocado, and the crisp sound of the toasted bread as Scott piled on the various fixings. As he dug out the meds from the first aid kit, she cracked her eyes open and reached for the pills with a flash of a grateful look. "I'm trying to decide if it would've been dumber to go drinking with Logan or my brother on a scale of bad life choices." She drawled, and knocked back the pills, dry. It the water was simply too hot with the freshly made tea steeping away and she wasn't about to tempt fate in touching that just yet.
Scott Summers	"Which one makes sure you get home safe, even if you end up extremely drunk?" Scott asks, in his ultra-practical way. Scott's focus is, of course, placed in that area. "Or can do something if your drunken self decides to lift a car for fun?" he adds, with a rueful little smile. "I suspect I'd be very dangerous at that level of drunk, so it is best for me to keep self control. Which does not mean I'm not jealous of those that can enjoy it." But it's also not entirely his thing. The sandwiches are placed on plates off the cutting board, and side-pickles are sliced once and added. "Your .... Dinner? Lunch? All of the above?" Scott offers.
Lorna Dane	Lorna shrugged once, and her gaze fell to the steam rising off the mug of hot tea beside her on the counter top. "Okay. Fair... point." She murmured, her eyes narrowing faintly in consideration. "For my health Rogue was likely a good option." She reached up to push her hair back as her gaze swung back to Scott, catching sight of the little smile that came to life in his expression. "I don't think I could lift a car if I was well and truly drunk... and I'm not inclined to try it. Considering what booze does to one's brain and well.. what the electromagnetic spectrum does.." She wrinkled her nose and picked up her tea cup as Scott set the food down in front of her and she made a sound at the back of her throat. "I feel spoiled. Thank you. And yes.. all of the above. First thing I've dared to try to eat all day besides guzzling down water and orange juice."
Scott Summers	"You're welcome," Scott answers evenly. "If you want to take it back to your room, I won't be offended; I intended to take mine to get some reading done," he says, gracefully offering her the out to escape to where it's less noisy and busy without feeling obligated to entertain him. Scott sets his sandwich aside, and puts the used dishes and items into the dishwasher, cleaning up after himself: leaving the place nicer than he found it. He also puts the medicine box away again, and then crosses to her to attempt to gently touch the back of her hand, a small gesture of support.
Lorna Dane	Lorna smiled gently as she finally ventured to blow gently on her tea, taking a hesitant sip so as to not scald her tongue. She exhaled a breath over it, and inhaled the soft minty scent. "More mission reports I take it? Or grading papers?" She arched a brow as she glanced side long at Scott, and as he cleaned up, she paused to slowly pick up her own plate with her other hand. "I should eat and lie down again. I know they say that running is supposed to make you feel better faster, but I am not risk that with this headache." She paused as Scott's hand brushed against the back of her hand. Her gaze flickered upward, and a faint hint of pink colored at the corners of her cheeks. Something that even a few days ago wouldn't have happened.. But Rogue's teasing words haunted her, and she couldn't quite get the idea out of her head. Scott wasn't that bad to look at, after all. "Thanks for the food, and tea.. and aspirin." She mumbled, and smiled again, turning to head up to her room.