20187/=Dinner

=Dinner
Date of Scene:	05 March 2025
Location:	Main Kitchen
Synopsis:	Hank busts out his culinary skills to make Betsy some British street-food.
Cast of Characters:	Henry McCoy, Betsy Braddock

---

Henry McCoy has posed:
Hank, who had crawled out from his lab, bathed, blow-dried, styled, brushed, shaved, and otherwise cleaned himself up to the highest standard he was capable of, was pulling a three-limbed stunt in the kitchen. Oversized nitrile gloves filched from Medical protected his hands and a foot as was making ... something. Probably had something to do with the terracotta planter, upside-down with its bottom sawed off and an intense heat source placed inside. He was possessed by an Impulsive Gesture, you see, and when the Impulsive arrived, one was obliged to follow it where it led.

Traditionally this led to things like slagged expensive grills by variously-colored ignition sources or fire alarms screaming throughout the Mansion or treacherous footing being flash frozen to the hazards of passerby but not today. Today he was cooking and he'd placed a message to see if the Mansion's resident psionic ninja was interested in sharing a meal with him.

For entirely different reasons, though, he missed Robert something _fierce_. Being the bouncy Beast wasn't nearly as much fun without his popsicle sidekick.

Since British food was nothing to traditionally wtite home about - unless you liked depressing letters - he was capitalizing on the English Isle's history and making some Indian chow. He just hoped he was doing it right.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy did, of course, get the invitation, and was a bit curious as to what Hank had in mind. Not that she was going to read his mind and spoil the surprise. Certainly, she /could/... but that would be cheating. And where's the fun in that?

So she meandered down to the kitchen, smelling the telltale aromas of Indian spices and smiling a bit, "Is that curry I smell, Henry?" Her smile grows a bit as she glances curiously towards the blue-furred mutant.

She decided to wear a purple silk shirt with obsidian butterflies flying along the fabric, the wings glimmering in the light of the kitchen as she moved with her preternatural grace. She also wore a matching pair of slacks, her hair styled rather well as she seemed to take her time getting ready for the evening, even if she carried herself as somewhat casual about the dinner.

Henry McCoy has posed:
Hank gave her a dazzling smile. "A keen olfactory deduction indeed! This is, unless I am committing war crimes against cuisine, going to be chicken tikka masala. With naan. Do you prefer your nssn straight up or garlic?" he asked pleasantly. "You are dazzling tonight. Alison might be jealous." he said, and then mentally winced.

Stupid joke, Henry!

"And by that I mean that you are entirely dazzling to my eye and I am going to stop talking now." he said. "May I pour you a drink?" he asked, smiling once again. "Since I was going for traditional Londoner street food, I took the liberty of laying in a supply of lager."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy laughs softly, "Why thank you Henry." She grins at the joke, moving over towards Henry, though not too close as she makes sure not to get too close to get in the way of the cooking. And Henry does pick up the subtle vibe that's the only reason she doesn't get too close.

Not that there should be any doubts about that, as she continues, "And I always love a good chicken tikka masala. Always with garlic, though, the more the merrier. And not just because you never know when vampires might crash the party. Dracula might decide to make some more mutant brides or something again, after all..." She winks at Henry with that.

Henry McCoy has posed:
Hank, were his hands and foot not full of cooking debris and mess, would have learned in for a kiss. Instead, he just thought one at her with an amused look. "Lager's in the fridge." he said as he proceeded to crush a startling amount of garlic to introduce to the naan before it went into his improvised tandoor oven.

"I'm glad you decided to accept my invitation. Between my work and your own business, it's too rare that we get to spend much time together, let alone across a dinner table." he told her. "And that's unfortunate and I resolved to hie myself hence out from my dungeon and emerge into the light of society." he said with an amused look. "It would be churlish of me to force a lady to depend on delivery or having to fend for herself. Not when there's a solution waiting..." he said.

"If Vlad Tepesh did decide to invade out home, I would A) blame Jubilation and B) promptly escort him to Ororo's loft. She's the one he was obsessed with the last time, if I recall correctly."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy snorts, "He'd have to get in line, I'm sure. I think just about everyone /is/ obsessed with her, for good reason I might add." She grins cheerfully and moves to the fridge, taking a pair of lagers out and moving towards the table.

"And yes, it's been a bit busy with the club. The one thing about the impending end of the world as we know it, people want to get out more and release pressure." She shakes her head a bit, sighing a little, "Can't blame them either... it's something big enough even I'm not sure what we can do about it, exactly."

Henry McCoy has posed:
"Way above my pay grade." he said with a shrug. Then he took off his fouled gloves, tossing them into the trash, then peeled the one off his foot before cramming it back into his never-to-be-sufficiently-damned loafers. "And I understand your less-dangerous sibling has decided to join us filthy colonials for a spell?" he asked, making conversation as he grabbed one of the lagers and took a pull straight from the bottle. "My, that's tasty." he commented as he looked at the label. "I do need to remember that the rest of the world does, in fact, brew excellent beers. Product of my upbringing, lamentably." he said as he put the lager aside to get the garlic-encrusted naan into the tandoor to cook. "Shouldn't be too long now." he said, eyeing the oven.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy chuckles, "Well, more that he's going to be going around Gotham City to handle the family business over there. So that should be... interesting. But I think he'll be around the school as well." She hmms, "It's good to have him out here, certainly. Though I'm not quite sure how he feels about the new look." She makes a bit of a face at that, as /she/ is still not sure how she feels about her current look.

At least body dysmorphia is something that she and Henry have in common, that's for certain.

Henry McCoy has posed:
Not the time, Henry. Despite feeling quite firmly that what was done by the Hand and their sorcerers could be undone with the proper application of science. With a capital S and a few exclamation points.

"Table that particular bugbear for another time?" he asked softly, then swore under his breath in Hindi as he had to go rescue his chicken before it got tempted to dehydrate beyond an acceptable point. Luckily the tandoor made quick work of the naan and things were starting to come together nicely.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Betsy chuckles, "Probably for the best. At some point I might need to go to Otherworld and see what I can do about getting what the Hand done reversed. Since their sorcery did it... perhaps similar magic might be able to undo it." She smiles faintly, and nods towards Henry, moving over to the table, making sure everything was set at the table properly while Henry rescued the chicken from a horrible scorched fate.

Henry McCoy has posed:
His meal rescued, he plated up the chicken tikka masala and some naan to go with it, then presented it for her consideration. And consumption. Once she was served, he took care of himself. "Enjoy. I hope it suits." he said simply, and then dug in.