He barely has a chance to take in the light flooding through the three tall curtained windows -- he can't remember ever seeing sunlight looking like that -- and doesn't get to see exactly what's outside the windows before Beth announces that it's a living room and they've got a couch: he likes that. In fact, on the Bebop, he did most of his sleeping and living on the couch in the ship's living room. The lamps on end tables and the bookcase across the room and the pictures on the walls barely register for him before Beth, who seems almost giddy, leads him through an arch into a...
...kitchen. He's had a few apartments in his time beyond the ones in his parents' homes, but all his apartments have been efficiencies: everything all bundled into one tidy (or not-so-tidy) space. Kitchens have been a cramped proposition at best and while he's sure as hell not renowned for his culinary skills, he does know how to do the basics. But this is... a real kitchen with a stove and a refrigerator and sink and cabinets and even a little table with chrome legs and some sort of manufactured gray material for the top, little abstract designs of curvilinear triangles dancing across it in soft blues and blacks. Tucked into the corner, a high chair waits for a bigger Beth Junior to fill it. This is nothing like Jet's kitchen on the Bebop; it's about twice the size and more... well, the word for it is quaint.
Holding Beth Junior up so she can look around -- she's been quiet in a wide-eyed and wondrous sort of way -- he's almost speechless. He almost doesn't know what to say: this is... great. He speaks to Junior in a low and conspiratorial voice. "You think your mom's going to be brave enough to try my cooking, princess?" He moves her around the room so she can see in her fuzzy three-month-old way exactly what's here. Once they're back at Beth's side he catches her hand in his.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-12-22 01:06 am (UTC)...kitchen. He's had a few apartments in his time beyond the ones in his parents' homes, but all his apartments have been efficiencies: everything all bundled into one tidy (or not-so-tidy) space. Kitchens have been a cramped proposition at best and while he's sure as hell not renowned for his culinary skills, he does know how to do the basics. But this is... a real kitchen with a stove and a refrigerator and sink and cabinets and even a little table with chrome legs and some sort of manufactured gray material for the top, little abstract designs of curvilinear triangles dancing across it in soft blues and blacks. Tucked into the corner, a high chair waits for a bigger Beth Junior to fill it. This is nothing like Jet's kitchen on the Bebop; it's about twice the size and more... well, the word for it is quaint.
Holding Beth Junior up so she can look around -- she's been quiet in a wide-eyed and wondrous sort of way -- he's almost speechless. He almost doesn't know what to say: this is... great. He speaks to Junior in a low and conspiratorial voice. "You think your mom's going to be brave enough to try my cooking, princess?" He moves her around the room so she can see in her fuzzy three-month-old way exactly what's here. Once they're back at Beth's side he catches her hand in his.
"It's... just like a home."
Yeah. Just like one.