A Noise in the Cellar

Posted on Tue Feb 28th, 2023 @ 11:43 by Rebecca McMillen & Reagan D'Angelo & Cameron Johnston

Chapter: Prologue: Dawn of Avalon
Location: Avalon Institute
Timeline: The day after "Having the Talk"
7252 words - 14.5 OF Standard Post Measure

Rebecca couldn't sleep much longer. Seven AM, give or take a few, and she was awake. She put her slippers on, standing and making herself a morning cup of tea, and halfway through that cup she remembered she had a promise to keep. She found some clothes that fit in the guest quarters, nothing fashionable but it was slighly more comfortable than the oversized pajamas. She crept through the halls, trying not to wake anyone else up on her trek back to the cellar. She wasn't there to raid the alcohol store, though the casual observer might make that assumption.

She was there to have a chat, and to fulfill a promise. "Hey, so ummm, listen. I really appreciate the help the other night." she started talking, out loud, to herself it would seem... "I brought you some crackers, but I have to ask you to not stay here when folks wake up. I know I know, it sounds so rude to ask you to all to leave after helping me, but.. it's not safe here for you all."

==

One of the many byproducts of Cam's mutation was an inability to sustain sleep beyond a couple of hours unless he'd been in active engagement for any length of time. Pushed to his limits, his body primed by enough electrical charge to permit extensive speed trials, and he invariably crashed for at least double that time with very little chance of being able to rouse him. On any normal day, under normal conditions, however, his natural processes just chugged along at a pace that invariably lead to chronic insomnia. At least, it would have counted as such had he actually required the sleep he was missing out on.

As such, he had learned to occupy himself in the wee small hours in ways that caused minimal disruption. Recently, it had been time spent in the hangar going over Nessie's schematics, and more predictably, it was a great time to just lose himself in personal projects down in the automotive workshops. There came a time every morning, however, somewhere around 5am on the cusp of the emergence of the first early arrivals, where his primary port of call was the kitchens. The annoyance of a certain chef had caused some reconsideration initially but, ultimately, Cameron had been left with the stark reality that if he didn't eat a certain amount at certain times, he got very wobbly. He tried to keep the fridge in the garage stocked but omelettes required eggs, and cheese, and spring onion. And bacon, if you could find where the cranky Frenchman had hidden it.

The mutant had long since learned not to attempt to cook in the kitchen itself, but raiding the pantry and carrying his haul through empty corridors to the teacher's lounge was worth the risk. He was later this morning than he'd ever been before, caught up in the inner workings of a Camaro and left completely without a concept of time. The castle was stirring and he'd dodged the breakfast crew by mere minutes, only to be left sneaking through the hallways in little bursts of speed that were about all the tomatoes would tolerate. He had nearly succeeded, mere metres from the staircase that would lead up to darker passageways and a clear path all the way through to the lounge, when the incessant whistling of a familiar nemesis stopped him in his tracks.

He had the entire kitchen to himself! Why was Beaumont upstairs!

Retreat took the form of a panicked retracing of steps, thwarted by the distraction of having to retrieve several mushrooms that didn't like the change in pace, and Cameron rounded the corner with just enough forethought to stop sharp before he barrelled directly into sympathetic reinforcements. Potentially.

You could never tell with Reagan.

"Breakfast. Head wibbles. Gaston on the warpath." The staccato of his explanation for the armful of ingredients, and ridiculous sense of urgency, was immediately followed by a frantic hustle towards a nearby door. "Cellar looks good!" There was no need to involve his best friend, but it wouldn't have been a surprise at this point that it had come to this.

Reagan's morning routine was far more regimented than Cameron's had ever been. She ate with the others, she always worked out either before (if she got up early enough) or after breakfast with some time for food to settle. Some days, she did both, treating the former like a warmup. Today was one of the busier days where she'd been up early, head wrestling with thoughts or concerns. The photo framed by her bed taunted her after yet another iffy phone call with the person sharing a smile and an embrace with her in said photo the night before. So Reagan did the adult thing, laying the frame on the table and leaving for a jog around the loch at daybreak.

Cameron's sudden appearance caught her completely off guard, hands busily redoing the ponytail she had her hair up in and mind on one goal and one goal only, lots of good, hot food. Her brow knitted at him in confusion, eyes scanning all the items, but his words gave her at least some context and she sighed. "Alright, alright. But you're making me one too!" Her words came in a hushed tone, and rather than risk the door giving them away, Reagan slipped her hand under his bicep and led them into and through the door itself, food items and all. Of all the staff in the school, Cameron was the most practiced with her phasing abilities, just as she was with his speed, and so she saw now issues with this course of action. She stopped with him just inside, eyes squinting in the low light, and her ear pressed toward the door to listen for Beaumont's passing. It was about then that she heard... something else. Her eyebrow raised, directed at Cameron first and foremost.

==

Through it all, Rebecca was kneeling on the ground, with a trio of black furred rats nibbling crackers out of her hand. "Look, I really appreciate it, but I made a promise." ... "Yeah, I know, you guys did nothing wrong, but this isn't my call." ... "Oh yeah, that's going to be nice, throw that at me. Look, I really, really appreciate what you all did for me. That's why I'm giving your this heads up."

It sounded like Rebecca was talking to herself, going a bit crazy. She put the crackers in a pile on the ground for the three rodents. "Okay okay, finish up and then you have to go."

==

Cameron liked to pride himself on being a fairly unflappable kind of guy. Nothing much scared him, beyond the usual dramatics of life as social pariah, (except for spiders but he didn't admit to that and was genuinely of the opinion that he fooled everyone in that regard.) Adrenaline was a natural part of his life, likely a pivotal aspect of his powers, and the current ongoing battle with a very grumpy French chef had enough capacity on its own to accelerate his heartbeat beyond even his normal threshold. That was more excitement though, Cameron didn't really think the guy would begrudge a genuine need for protein and Valjean seemed more or less happier somehow to have something to complain about. The speedster certainly wasn't scared of the older man. Occasionally intimidated perhaps. But not scared.

Voices in the dark, however, in unexpected places... They were in a school of mutants, several of which made hide-and-seek look easy, but those intent on creeping around didn't tend to hold conversations with themselves in gloomy cellars. Cam, his arms still loaded, glanced sideways to catch Reagan's glance and then shifted his eyes to consider the steps downwards, without moving an inch of the rest of his body. "Do you think it's one of his clones," he hissed, referencing the chef's mutation.

"Doubt it, unless he's looking for a vintage wine to cook breakfast with... never made anything that fancy since I've known him." She spoke quietly, eyeing Cameron with nothing but amusement. His little... rivalry? with the chef was an endless source of entertainment for her, and had she been in a different mood, she might have worked with Beaumont to tease Cameron in this particular instance. But her stomach had motivated her and she was committed to getting an omelet out of all of this. Heck, if she was smart, she could get two. She was second only to mutants like Cameron in the metabolism department, and that, coupled with her constant exercise, rarely left the woman truly full for long.

Holding a finger to her lips in the universal gesture for 'quiet', Reagan took the lead on descending the stairs. Nice and quiet herself, even hunched slightly as if she were trying to be genuinely sneaky. If it was one of the students goofing off, she'd take delight in scaring them before sorting everything out. If it was faculty? Same, honestly. She had half a mind to consider the possibility that it was not one but two people down here. A secret affair? Some of the more hormonal students in their late teens? Whoever it was, they were talking to someone, words becoming clearer as she approached.

As they descended into the cellar, the conversation became easier to hear. It was a woman's voice, and a definite sound of squeaking. Oh god were there mice in the institute? As the scene came into view, the woman in question was someone unknown, a new person dressed in whatever the guest quarters would provide. She was kneeling on the ground in front of a small (and rapidly diminishing) pile of crackers, being tended to by a trio of large black furred rats.

"Now, when you're done, you gotta go. It's no safe for you if you stay here. That, and I promised I'd ask you all to head out." the blonde woman mentioned, to the rats. There was something moving behind her. Was that a snake? No, no it wasn't a snake. It was a tail. A thin, gently furred, lengthy whisp of a tail. A mouse tail. She had a mouse tail. And she was talking to the rats.

At the very least, life around the castle could never be accused of staying boring for long. And, for mutants like Reagan and Cameron, who had been at the school longer than most and who embraced their own peculiarities by dedicating themselves to helping others with theirs, the shock of the woman's appearance and subsequent associates probably wasn't as profound as the simple fact of her existence. Cameron certainly didn't recognise her, and he'd made a point of trying to remember Claire's little memo regarding new staff. "Uh," he started, clearing his throat. When it came to first impressions, he was hardly one to speak; he was inches away from dropping a pound of bacon on his foot, after all. "Hello?"

Reagan found herself speechless, even compared to Cameron who at least managed a single word. Surprised, to be sure, maybe even disappointed she didn't get to spook someone misbehaving, but discovering a woman she'd never seen before talking to rats? Not on her bingo card for things she thought she'd find down here, or ever really. Her eyes briefly took in the tail, swishing back and forth, and then she had to consciously force herself to look at the woman's features and not at the little pack of furry friends she had with her. "So... new around here then?" Please say yes. Reagan didn't want to consider that this woman had lived covertly in the dark spaces under the castle for years now. She was still getting used to William's odd origins. This might just top that if it was true.

The "sudden" appearance of two new people gave Rebecca a start. "Eee! Oh, oh bl.. you scared the hell out of me!" she paused to catch her breath. "Yes, yes I'm new around here. Arrived last night, met Claire, had a chat and tea." she stood up, dusting her knees off as she stood. A pause to look down at the trio. "Okay, remember, out."

She then turned her attention back to the others. "Sorry about that. I promised Claire I'd ask them to leave. They helped me get into the building so, only fair they get a snack for their hard work." she took a step or two away from the rats. "My name's Rebecca, I'm pretty sure I'm the newest girl here. It's nice to meet you." and she held out her hand to the pair, before stopping, "Oh, your hands are a little full there, sorry. Do you need a hand with that?"

"No, no." Glancing down at his load, Cam shook his head. "No, it's...no."

An elbow to the side bumped him past the scratch to his vinyl.

"This will be breakfast eventually." A furtive look to the side remembered the chef for a moment, but since Valjean wasn't busting down the door, Cameron felt safe in assuming that the crisis had been averted. "If Claire's welcomed you in and given you free reign, you want to come upstairs and join us." He grinned suddenly, finding his normal rhythm. "I make a mean omelette."

"She gave me tea and a bath, best welcome I've had in a while." the blond ratspeaker said with a smile. "And that's a welcome offer if ever I heard one. Lead the way." Rebecca replied, "I don't really know my way around yet. All I got up here..." tapped her head, "...is from here to Claire's to the guest room." Full introductions would come later, over food, she figured. These two were checking in on what, to them, must have sounded like a haunting.

"I'd hate to impose, but is there a chance one of them mean omelettes could be tomatoes and cheese?" she asked, a tinge of uncertainty in her inquiry. Best case scenario, it was just two folks on the way to an early morning breakfast. Worst case, she broke up a breakfast date.

Being there to jab Cameron's side helped compose Reagan as much as the big, loveable oaf next to her. This whole situation was odd, even more so than she might have expected after being here for a few years with all the unique gifts of her students and fellow faculty. That sense of normalcy in just teasing Cameron and falling into a conversation about omelettes helped push things back to a nice comfort zone. "I'm Reagan, this is Cameron." A smile accompanied those words, a good reset on introductions that was less 'wtf?' and more casual. It was a start.

"Yeah, like he said, if Claire gave you the all-clear... not the first time she's brought someone in and not told us. Tomatoes and cheese is doable, right Cam? More of the other stuff for the rest of us. And I am starving after that run, so no holding back." It was then that she offered to help Cameron carry a few things, plucking some frozen bacon and a few vegetables out of his arms for safekeeping. "You were going to cook in the teacher's lounge again, weren't you?"

Rebecca took a few steps closer to offer her own two hands to assist in carrying supplies. "Reagan, Cameron. Nice to meet you both. And, I appreciate the offer. Sorry I'm, I'm going to be saying that a lot." she offered with a smile. Her thin tail swished behind her as she walked, far more relaxed than before. "Lead the way."

There was something oddly disconcerting about the sudden appearance of Cameron's head, phased entirely through the door thanks to an absolute trust in Reagan's powers. His shoulders partially followed as the mutant strained to look both ways up and down the corridor and then nonchalantly sauntered through the buttery resistance to emerge on the other side, sans half his previous load. "I got distracted," he admitted, the start of an explanation to Reagan's question. "And now it's too late to use the kitchen, the staff's already there. Besides," he added, leading the way towards the staircase, "I thought some of the others might show up and want breakfast." It accounted for why he had two cartons of eggs, at least. It also hinted at a much deeper undercurrent, one that made better sense of the speedster's rather extreme measures.

In the absence of knowing what to say, Cameron almost always chose to act instead.

Watching them walk through the doorway was a trip. Rebecca watched the pair, and the food and sundries, slid through the door as though it were already open to them, or at least it offered them no resistance. The newest addition to the Institute grounds hesitantly reached forward to confirm that, indeed, the door was a physical solid object that existed to her. Cool to the touch, considering where it was that was to be expected. Rebecca's solution to the door problem was a bit more mundane, in that she had to open it and then pass through. Slipping through the door, quiet as a mouse, she closed the doorway behind her in a manner that betrayed exactly how many rooms she had snuck out of in her life: Turn the knob, pull the door closed, THEN let the knob slowly turn closed. A contender for 'Oldest Trick in the Book', no doubt.

Cameron's trek to the stairs was joined by the third member of the band. "I suppose getting to meet some more people over breakfast would be better than meeting them in the cellar." she offered with a chuckle. "I take it we're not supposed to use the kitchen?" Rebecca asked, probing a bit for what was, and was not, permitted on Institute grounds.

"Ever the altruist, Dash." Reagan teased, hopping a bit on her good foot to simply open the door and walk out after Cameron did his peeking. She was pretty confident either they were clear, or she could just push all blame on to Cameron and feign innocence for a bit of entertainment. "We can use it, just not at peak hours like this. And likely not with the quantity of supplies Cameron here's procured for our endeavors." Off toward the lounge she headed, walking casually, if dragging that foot a bit and trying her best to hide it.

"Okay, that was really wicked." Rebecca remarked in a hush. At the explanation as to why the primary kitchen was being avoided, Rebecca gave a nod. "No no that makes sense." she examined the extensive bounty the pair had hauled off. Plus, Rebecca was pretty sure the kitchen staff wouldn't want a rat in there. If she noticed Reagan's injury, she didn't bring attention to it. Maybe to avoid exactly that: Bringing attention to it.

"Our chef is exemplary," Cameron assured, heaping on the praise as a means of greasing all future wheels, "But despite being a mutant himself, I'm not sure he's fully come to grips with the complexities of feeding a whole heap of us. Especially us growing lads." Even though he could have easily outpaced them, Cam had developed a tendency to let other people lead the way when there was no imminent danger to plunge headfirst into, and he frowned as his vantage outed Reagan's hesitancy. Had they been alone, he would have said something. In present company, all he did was place himself directly behind her as they ascended the stairs so that if she stumbled, she at least had someone to take down with her.

And through it all, Rebecca followed. Quiet as a church mouse, she never thought to question the marching order. She was just too focused on following, and not making too much noise. "I can imagine. So many different people, so many different diets, hard to balance all of them without essentially making everyone's meals catered. Allergies, preferences, and that's not even factoring anyone's special needs." Rebecca commented in support of the kitchen staff, still minding her volume. While she was sneaking around, she actually walked on the tippy-toes of her slippers, like something from a silly cartoon. Seemed to work, though.

Reagan slipped into the teacher's lounge like she had a thousand times before in her time here so far, sweeping in and holding the door open and steady for her companion's to enter. "Do you consider quantity a special need? I can burn through quite a few calories if I'm using my abilities, but I don't think anyone on the premises has Cameron beat for sheer need of volume. And he gets to keep that lovely figure." She teased the man, poking him in the ribs with frozen bacon on his way by. Once the pair had properly entered, tails and all, she closed the door and joined them in the kitchenette to lay the ingredients out on the counter and begin scouring cabinets for dishware and utensils. "Looks like you get two assistant chefs today, Dash. Don't worry, we won't tell Beaumont."

"I do, actually. If someone needs twice as much as the next, that needs consideration. Me? I can make it off scraps if I need to if I'm clever." she offered, sneaking in with the offered door, "Thank you." she remembered her manners. She noticed the bacon jab and giggled. These two were very familiar with each other. Maybe a couple? Though they didn't ask her to leave, so...

She nodded in the affirmative when the notion of two assistants chefs. She moved to Reagan's side, letting them and Cameron stay adjacent. "We won't tell a soul. I ain't no r... I know what happens to snitches."

"I've offered to pay," Cam lamented, dragging out a bowl and several utensils from their hidey hole at the back of one of the higher cupboards. They all technically had their own space, but compiling his own little omelette creation kit saved valuable time when he was trying to cook in the same hurry that had caused his appetite in the first place.

As most who knew the man would attest, Cameron wasn't a greedy guy. He rarely placed himself first in anything and, where possible, if a sacrifice was necessary then he made sure he got to the front of the line. (Quite literally sometimes, he did have an unfair advantage, after all.) He did his best to manage his protein needs without interfering with internal stocktaking but the same elephant in the room that was the cause of Reagan's slight limp had also cost the mutant several days of properly regulated bio-signs. An over-abundance of electrical intake had left him stuck in overdrive for several hours after the altercation at the station and the subsequent systems crash had seen him pass out on the couch in the subterranean hangar space without any possibility of someone being able to rouse him. Cam's cat-naps were legendary but, for the first time since the school's inception, Claire had been forced to call down the doctor to make sure he was actually going to wake up. Replenishing that kind of calorie depletion was going to take a while to stabilise.

With everything laid out, Cameron started the process of cracking two dozen eggs into a large bowl that had already proven capable of holding the end result. "I'll probably just try going into town for breakfast again, see if I can break the bank that way." He'd tried it once before and ultimately declared it a little too pricey. A sudden interest in trying again seemed overly spontaneous.

"Not sure even Claire has the money to keep that habit going. Though I wouldn't mind trying out a massive breakfast run with you some time. Sure the town's economy really appreciates the effort if nothing else, eh?" Reagan let Cameron get to work and isolated the tomatoes on a cutting board, getting to work with a nice knife to start dicing them up. "So what did Claire bring you on for, Becca? Teacher or staff?"

Her question felt innocent enough, most of the woman's attentions on the tomatoes and not elsewhere at that exact moment. Ever so carefully, she found herself leaning against Cameron's side, taking some weight off her ankle that wasn't so much in pain as... on fire and playing an inaudible bass line to some random song with its throbbing.

"We haven't discussed that yet, but... I'd love to help teach the art program. I studied it extensively in college, well... when I could make it to my classes. I took a bunch of extra courses through the University of Phoenix, some fancy school in America where you could get your classes through the computer. Working on my credentials still, hard for folks like us to get their paperwork."

She reached over to the next pile of ingredients, and found a good enough knife for the job to start cutting them. "I'm eager to start, always loved art. Not just painting, but can't expect the kids to chisel stone day one." She was silent for a moment, "My sisters used to make me paint their nails, and even that couldn't make me hate art."

She offered the pair a smile, before turning her attention to her cutting. "What about you two?"

The slightest increase in pressure against one arm had taken Cameron a moment to register, which was the only real indication that his nervous system was still trying to find its equilibrium again. A glance down at the ground snuck a peek at the foot Reagan was deftly avoiding putting any weight on and he frowned, a very pronounced exaggeration, before directing his furrowed brow at the injured blonde. He was going to have to have a very stern talk to her about getting herself hurt and how much it wasn't permitted.

Then he glanced across at Rebecca and grinned at her question.

"They toss me down to the garages," he explained, finishing up the last egg and then rummaging for a fork to begin whisking. Reagan's insistence that a whisk would do a better job had thus far fallen on deaf, stubborn ears. "Let me feel useful while they get on with the real stuff."

Rebecca listened to his reply, "Good with cars, are you? Handy with tools and he's using a fork in his eggs." She pointed out with a giggle. "Look, I get it, I'm a guest. So I'll trust in the system." She paused in her chopping, her amused smirk fade slightly, "Truth is Claire and I haven't discussed it yet, my part in all this. Right now I'm just the critter that snuck in through the cellar cause she asked a local rat pack for directions in. For all I know, I'll be keeping the place clear through diplomacy." The though didn't sit well with her but she managed a smirk at the thought. "I'd like to sit with her once all... all this is over. She's got enough in her plate without having to worry about my place in it all."

"And what about you?" Rebecca turned her attention to Reagan. She hadn't noticed her discomfort yet, but the mousey blonde was distracted by conversation, sharp things, musings of the future, and food.

"I just lead the cheerleading squad." Reagan deadpanned, happily absorbed in leaning on Cameron for some comfort all its own, foot aside, and chopping away at all the things they'd need. Tomatoes, peppers, onion... veggie delight while the tall one next to her worked eggs and bacon. "I teach biology to a classroom full of mutants, some of them very much pubescent. It means I get asked a lot of questions, some of them awkward, but always challenging. I love every second of it."

Her eyes briefly turned to Rebecca then, giving a telling little smile. "Hard woman to pin down sometimes, isn't she? But you can trust her, she'll find you some nice, fulfilling work to do around here, promise. She's one of the good ones, our Duchess."

"Biology, oof. I can't imagine... ok I can imagine, and good on you for helping them. " Rebecca started, "Cheerleader.. heh. I'd LOVE to see our sports team." She giggled.

"And yeah I.. I'm finding that out. Both that she's good people, and I can trust her." Time for the elephant in the room. "I trust her enough to have shown her my talent, my gift." A pause. "It's... different. I don't just *talk* to mice."

"Just like I don't just annoy Frenchmen, though it's definitely become a talent I didn't realise I had," Cam quipped, interjecting as a means to dispel the obvious anticipation that either of them would have a problem with another mutant's ability. Some could be confronting but Cameron couldn't recall a time where he'd held the mutant themselves responsible for anything other than their choices.

"What might one even call that, I wonder?" She quipped at Cameron, finding a good pan to get started on the bacon with as well as handing him one for the eggs. All the plant matter was in neat little piles to one side, waiting to be added at each individual's preferences, now they just need to cook the darn things. "Talk to mice, have a tail. What else do you do, If I can ask, Becca?"

She thought for a moment. Claire trusted them to work and teach here. So they could be trusted. Plus, she figured she needed people in her corner. "I.. i can make myself tiny. Tiny like a mouse. Four, maybe five centimeters."

"If you want to see it, I'll show you. Just... promise me you won't like, i don't know, snatch me up or something."

That got a half-surprised look from Reagan, before she gave Cameron a glance and then waved her free hand at the counter top. "Sure, I'd like to see that, if it's not imposing or anything. Don't want to put you on display or anything, your powers, your body, your choice, yeah? That sounds... handy though. Another solution to our usual B&E methods." A light tease, or at least the smile and tone came across that way.

Cameron held his hands up. "Always up for more allies in the war against French oppression." He glanced across at Rebecca though. "I just hope you've figured out how to take your clothes with you." It was a touchy subject since his own powers still tended to shred his wardrobe to pieces. "If not, we in the B & E Gang are known for our discretion. Not a word shall we utter."

"I appreciate it, but, have to start to trust people." Rebecca started, "And, already showed a few people, and showed Claire. So, sooner or later everyone's going to know, so..." she took a breath, and then turned and hopped up to sit on the edge of the kitchen island, making sure to leave plenty of room between her and any knives or errant food. Once she had hopped up onto the island, that's when it started. Like most things, it started slow. Hardly anything was noticed, until Rebecca was visibly shorter.

Soon enough the height started to almost melt off of her, as she dwindled smaller and smaller and smaller. Half her original height, then half again, then half again. She was soon the size of a doll, and took to now standing on the surface of the kitchen island rather then just sitting down. Smaller, and smaller... until it stopped at a mere five centimeters in height. Perfectly proportioned, perfectly fine. Just incredibly tiny.

"So this, and asking the rats for directions, is actually how I got into the institute." she offered up to the looming forms of Cameron and Reagan, her voice the most adorable little squeak. She had to crane her neck back a bit to look them both in the eye, as it were. "So, while we're on the topic of talents, mind if I ask what you can do?" probably something she should have asked before she became pocket sized.

Growing up, Cameron could recall a time where his sister had been utterly obsessed with The Borrowers and entirely determined to find where they were living in the family home. It struck him now that the comparisons were rather quaint. He'd always thought Arrietty was a pretty name. He jerked his head in Reagan's directly. "Ask her first, it's more exciting."

Rebecca had indeed seemed to have figured out how to remain clothed during her decent down into the world of the miniscule. She turned her attention to Reagan, "Alright then, ladies first it seems?"

Reagan looked between the pair of them, holding up her hands in surrender as she was volunteered to go next. No arguments, at least. "Showed us yours, only fair, right? That's uh... quite the gift, by the way. And she even manages to stay decent, Cameron. Can't say the same for your poor denim, huh?" Taking a deep breath, Reagan flexed her fingers a few times, little sparks jumping between her fingertips in quick arcs. She set her eyes on a good target, like a jar of cookies behind a few other jars on the counter and nodded. "Aha, good analogy too."

Reaching out, Reagan's hand began to fade from sight, like a printer low on ink, and passed through the forward pair of jars and the glass of the cookie jar, before she pulled it back nice and slow with a pair of said cookies in her fingers. Her hand was whole again, opaque and human, and she settled one of the treats down next to Rebecca on the counter before offering the other up to Cameron's mouth directly. "I will take full responsibility if anyone asks. Some here are very picky about their sweets rations."

"Thank you." Her voice was still a high squeak by comparison. "I spent a lot of time practicing outfits. Now it's, well, more of a reflex." she admitted, then walked over to the enormous cookie. "Thanks for the treat, but, I might need a little help with it." Rebecca looked upwards with a giggle. "Mums the word, I know the rules." she opted not to comment about how adorable the two of them were, but instead was content to just tear off a chunk of the offered treat. She looked at it briefly. A treat for a job well done. Such a good girl.

She shook her head quickly. No no, they didn't think of her like that. With a renewed faith, she started to nibble on her literal handful of cookie. "Thank you again." she said skyward. "I'm... gonna enjoy it like this for a bit. More to go around."

"I keep trying to tell her that the egg and bacon heist would go so much smoother with her in tow but something something not antagonising staff members something something." The lingering traces of cookie crumbs on the side of his mouth didn't lend Cameron a great deal of authority, nor did his choice to screw up his nose and poke out his tongue at his partial-accomplice. "Perfectly happy to reap the benefits, I notice." There was a lingering sense of pride, however, a very natural admiration because Cameron genuinely believed that his friend was an exceptional talent. Tied up in it was a gratitude for what she brought out in him, an unexpected symbiosis that had seen him push his own limits well beyond previous thresholds with Reagan's help. All of that might have been far more obvious had he remembered he was supposed to offer a demonstration of his own. Cookies were distracting.

Reagan reached for a hand towel and dared to dab at Cameron's lips to wipe away the crumbs, a scrunch-nosed smile given briefly. "I'm the diplomatic one, what can I say? I escape blame and get to eat for it. You just have to work on your puppy dog eyes, speedy. Always seems to work for me." She gave his arm a playful pinch after putting the towel down, going back to helping get a pan ready to cook the meats in. "Your turn then, big guy. Show our new friend what you're capable of, but take it easy, yeah? After the train station..." She trailed, waving a spatula at him a few times. He knew enough to finish her statement, and she wouldn't rob him of the dignity of saying it all out loud in front of Rebecca.

Having finished her pre-breakfast handful of cookie, Rebecca dusted her hands off and made her way back over to the edge of the counter, "Hold that thought." she squeaked skyward as she moved. With each step, more of her surrendered height returned to her, leaving the world of mice behind, and approaching the world of man again. She made good time, not wanting to be actually walking all over the island. This is where they prepared food, after all.

Dangling her feet off the edge of the counter, Rebecca returned to the height of a child, then hopped off to land on the floor at something approaching her normal, previous scale. Standing tall and upright, she shook out a little and then turned back to the pair. "Sorry, I didn't want to ruin my apatite." she said with a smile, plucking up the cookie that was so previously massive to her.

As much as she'd tried to downplay it, Reagan had touched upon a decent reason for Cameron's procrastination. He was well and truly past the worst of the repercussions but patches of healing skin and the occasional extreme dip in concentration made indulgence in activating his powers a little unattractive as a prospect currently. There was also the point that, in a room the size of the teacher's lounge, practical application was highly limited. "I run fast," he summarised as a gross understatement, pouring the first round of eggy mixture into the preheated pan. "Which is a bit hard to do indoors, and the last time I tried to speed up the egg whisking, someone complained about wearing half the mixture in her hair." It had been a very messy attempt, raw egg didn't really like to cooperate at high speeds. "Next time we're in an open space, I'll show you my sure-fire method for putting holes in my socks though."

And that seemed to be enough of a demonstration and explanation for Rebecca. "Yeah, if we could avoid wearing breakfast." she agreed, "And, no pressure. Like she said, don't feel like you're on display." she gave Cameron a nod.

Reagan found herself leaning her temple against Cameron's arm as he spoke on the matter, very fresh memories of what they'd both endured causing her protective and apologetic feelings to flare up. "At least it wasn't gum or anything sticky. I did have to wash it three of four times to really get all the bits and oils out though." She smiled at the now full-sized Rebecca as she sat back up, finding a butter knife to take a square and lay it in the preheating pan, the pleasant sizzling and hissing hitting the air. "Boy goes through shoes and socks like crazy. If you end up as his secret Santa come Holidays, better off getting him a nice scarf or mittens maybe."

"Yes, by all means, dress me up like I'm 5." There was a solemnness to Cameron's tone that nearly passed as sincerity, but the thwap of a tea towel refused to let him get away with it. Turning back to his pan, the would-be chef flipped the omelette over one more time and then reached up to an overhead cupboard to pull down a plate. With a flop, he landed it, folded it over on top of itself neatly, and then presented it as a peace offering to Rebecca. "Eggs has lived up to its side of the bargain, you'll have to hurry Bacon along. It's easily distracted."

Rebecca accepted the offered plate with all the mock reverence one would reserve for receiving the Nobel Prize. "Mouse'cedonia accepts. Baconopolis will be along shortly." she smiled wide, "Oh but it does look good. I really appreciate it. Never had a proper omelette outside of a restaurant." fork in hand, she cut off a little bit and took the first nibble.

She was in heaven. Either that, or it had been far too long since she had a proper omelette.

"Okay, that is good." she repeated, this time with proof. "I'd say something like 'I got you next time' but I'm rubbish in the kitchen. The only thing I can make is a mess."

"Just you wait, Mister. This year we're convincing Claire to get everyone ugly Christmas sweaters and take a big, happy photo together to hang in her office." She started laying the bacon out in strips in the pan now that the butter was evenly spread and sufficiently liquid, even more fun sizzling filling the air followed by that lovely smell of the powerful breakfast meat. "No rushing the Bacon, it arrives precisely when it means to. Plus it's like the only thing I know how to cook, so I like to make sure I get it right."

As she spoke, her head nodded toward the piles of veggies. "Don't forget to add some color there too. Valjean is great, but we like to think we'd be a good duo in a pinch if he was out, hm?"

"As long as people were in the mood for bacon and eggs," Cameron pointed out. He was somewhat confident of his ability to cook a decent variety of other options but decidedly less confident of Reagan's capacity to assist. It was one of the few cases where the sum total of their individual parts exceeded the potential of the whole.

"No one in their right mind would turn down bacon and eggs." Rebecca commented between nibbles. She thought to what Reagan said, Ugly Sweater party. "Never been to an ugly sweater party. Is the whole point of it to just have everyone have some horrid sweater?" she inquired, "And worst sweater wins or something?"

"Yep!" Reagan smiled bright and wide at Rebecca, answer given with no small amount of enthusiasm. Holidays with her family had always been stuffy affairs, if everyone could be bothered to find the time to get together in the first place, so she had a lot of pent up holiday idea to afflict her friends and colleagues with at Avalon the past few years. All before her inevitable run off to London to make her terrible appeal to her ex for New Year's and failing before she could even make the resolution to try better. It was sort of a hobby at this point. Flipping the first few strips of bacon a few times got everything nice and cooked through, and the crispy strips found their way on to a plate with a paper towel on it to soak excess grease. "Bon appetit, mes cheries!"