0.002 | text | filtered to john "kable" tillman (5% filter)

[dashhole]

[Friday morning]
[It's just one message after another with this guy.]

hey tilman

tilman

dude

u kno how 2 make an omlate

omlet?

omlay do fromadge

yo can u show me how 2 do this or not

im hungry

Comments

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Rest your soul comforted in the fact that you're never going to have to deal with whatever's in Heather's pants, friend.]

That's - okay, that's ridiculous. You thought Tillman could show you, and he's not French. And he's about as far from a chick as it's possible to be.

[LOADED. PAUSE.]

You haven't seen his big dumb ass around, have you?

[dashhole]

[WELL GOOD wait]

He's like one a the only people here I wanna talk to, that's why. And Cibo wouldn't know, she didn't even know what alcohol was.

[He picks up the pan by the handle, then gives it a twirl, spinning it around like the handle was an axel. Good weight on this, nice balance. Could probably even be thrown with a degree of accuracy.]

Nope. Figured he's the kinda guy who keeps to hisself. You know. Right?

[He glances at her.] Wait, you haven't either?

[sweetmotherofgod]

[That is not what that pan is for but she is going to ignore his antics. Mostly because that's kinda cool. She shrugs.]

No, but like you said. Keeps to himself. Wouldn't be the first time he's gone off the grid for a little while, either.

[Of course, he's been better about keeping in touch since she pitched a giant fit at him last time, and she's pretty sure Simon gave him the same treatment. She frowns, toys with her wristbands.]

Listen, you want an omelet or not?

[dashhole]

[Setting the pan (none too gently) on the stove, he proceeds to lean on the counter next to it with one elbow, and offer his best winning smile.]

Yes, please.

[It only lasts a second before he's up again.] There's some kinda fancy trick to it, and I never figured it out.

[sweetmotherofgod]

[Yeah it's not that winning. But hey, she appreciates the effort.]

You have to... dig a hole, kinda? Like push the cooked stuff into the middle and let the unset stuff fill the gap. That what you mean?

[Because let's face it, it is entirely possible Heather has been making omelets wrong her whole life.]

[dashhole]

[Yeah, that's news on him. ] ...Okay, didn't know that, but no, that wasn't it.

Everything goes fine until I try to flip it, but then it falls apart. Then it's just a bunch of scrambled eggs.

[You know, when he doesn't make charcoal entirely. He picks up a piece of cheese and pops it in his mouth.] I mean, I eat 'em anyway, but, y'know? Not really what I was going for.