bakerstreet | did you check the fridge

did you check the fridge

NOTES ON THE FRIDGE

You're sharing a space: a home, an office, a Batcave, whatever. But you're busy and your schedules don't quite match up -- but you have plenty of note paper! Time to leave a note (or two)!

instructions:

- comment with your character name & canon in the subject line + if you just want one-on-one interactions (1:1) or you're open to anything (ota)

- in your top level leave a starter note - a shopping list, a reminder, just a comment, whatever you'd like

- others reply to this note!

- you can "edit" notes by copy/pasting them and striking out words, adding doodles, writing over/under, or just add another note!

- if the commenter is ota, jump in on other people's threads! maybe you're all sharing the space as a group or team! please don't jump into threads if they're marked 1:1!

- do you sign the note or leave it anonymous? do you recognize the handwriting?

- have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ Baker's chocolate? The unsweetened kind? Wow. Wow!

They no longer have the kind of relationship where Bella can use a ♥ to indicate gratitude, but she has to acknowledge the gesture somehow. She draws a smiley face next to "shampoo" instead.

Bars, though?

Sometime later a paper -- a page torn neatly from a notebook -- is put up on the fridge. ]

+---+ | | | | | | ========= _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

[ He'd let her bake for him. Them. The two of them. But it sets a bad precedent to mindlessly entertain her every whim.

Which a game of hangman could count as, as well. Hap doesn't respond to it until the next morning, late, having decided she's the one with something to lose if this is an attempt to insult him. ]

E

_ _ E _ E _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ E _ _ _ _ _

[ When was the last time he played this game? He genuinely can't remember. There must be dozens of apps dedicated to it now, loaded to bursting with ads. ]

T

T _ E _ E _ _ _ _ T _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ T T _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ E _ _ T _ _

H, R, I

T H E R E I _ _ _ T H I _ _ _ _ _ _ _ R _ _ _ _ _ T T H I _ _ I _ _ _ _ _ E _ I T _ _

Edited 2025-05-25 14:08 (UTC)

S, N, G

[ He fills in "is nothing" and "or" himself even though O isn't among his guessed letters. ]

[ Cheating! ]

T H E R E I S N O T H I N G G _ _ _ O R _ _ _ _ _ T T H I N _ I N G _ _ _ E _ I T S _ bonus points for naming the source

THERE IS NOTHING EITHER GOOD OR BAD BUT THINKING MAKES IT SO

[ It's a quote he likes. A little pandering, but getting to it was fun.

On the morning he solves it, her soap arrives. He leaves the box open for her on the counter. Honey and rosemary shampoo bars and eucalyptus for body. Hap still has reservations about it. She could make do with the same soap as the subjects but they don't share a daily space with him. He uses natural soaps himself, kinder on the skin and to the senses. ]

[ No bonus points! She wonders if he knows the source. Initially she picked it because accusing him outright of being paranoid -- thinking some things bad -- would be tacky. Well, tacky and inaccurate, since she is often thinking about killing him.

But sitting around with nothing else to do she remembered the original context: it's the scene where Hamlet says Denmark's a prison. I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

Well played game, anyway, so she draws a star by the solution.

The soap feels like such a generous gesture, a concession she had to do so little to get, that she's almost suspicious.

A note on the counter where he left the soap: ]

I owe you one. Thank you. -B

[ Hap knows the source broadly. Shakespeare. The exact context, he coulsnt recall. In a moment of frustration, going around in circles collating the keyword "blue" across interview transcripts, he takes a breather by searching the quote's context.

He finds it sharp and charming. He reminds himself she's dangerous.

Nonetheless, the B on her note coaxes a smile out of him.

Who else would it be? ]

You don't

[ She does. ]

[ It's a sweet answer that absolutely aggravates her. Hap definitely wants to be generous, a gentleman. Bella believes that. Exhibit A: the soap. But he can turn generosity into grievance so damn fast your head would spin -- exhibit B: the way his whole demeanour towards her changed at the hangar when he clocked that she'd considered running. How's she supposed to interpret the sincerity of two words on a note?

Trying to exist in some kind of quantum uncertainty state where she both believes that he won't ever call this in as a debt, and believes that he'll call it in when he feels justified to use it against her, is exhausting to even contemplate. She makes the active decision to believe him, and takes the note back to her room to prove it later.

That probably undercuts the idea that she believes him. Oh well.

A few days later she puts up on the fridge: ]

STIR FRY? Soy sauce Garlic Ginger Fish sauce Sesame oil Siracha

[ It was a fun diversion but Hap doesn't exactly feel himself missing it when it's over. At this point, he's still aware of her every hour of the day when his nose isn't in his work. He'll catch a sound — a footfall, the scrape of a chair, the bathroom door closing — and then her sounds are all he'll hear for the next couple of hours.

He wouldn't say it outright bothers him but maybe it looks like it does, and that's why instead of interrupting him she communicates with him at his convenience. That definitely doesn't bother him. ]

Rice or noodles?

[ Later, "noodles" is circled.

Her logic behind the notes, insofar as there's conscious thought behind it, is threefold. Staying in Hap's good graces is important to her -- he's not wrong there -- and keeping out of his way is the easiest way to avoid trouble. Add to that that both of them are keeping odd hours: some days Hap gets sucked into his work, only emerging late at night; some days Bella naps for hours and gets up just to eat dinner before Hap locks her room again. (She thinks the numb feeling that precedes these days is boredom.) It's easier to handle some things this way than hope their paths cross.

Those are practicalities. The things she needs the notes for. What she likes them for is that they feel -- normal. Like the two of them really are just housemates. The last time she lived with anyone for an extended period was undergrad, and she and the two other girls splitting rent on off-campus housing had left sticky notes all over the place, claiming food in the fridge, reminding each other about utility bills, scolding whoever used the last of the toilet paper and didn't replace it. Normal stuff.

She misses normal stuff. She'll take a facsimile of it, if that's all she can get. ]

[ There's just enough time to add her requests into his monthly grocery order. Hap will have to make the meal, if her intent is to share it. Not unlike how he makes the coffee each morning. They haven't built up the trust yet for her to cook for him, though Hap would be surprised if she wanted to. She's doing as well as can be expected and no better. ]

Dinner next week?

[ Hm. She wants to reply, but -- tone is difficult to achieve over text.

Later that day, while Hap is at work in the dining room, comes the sound of footsteps and a knock on the wall. ]

Hap?

[ Bella stands politely at the edge of the room, not crossing the boundary between kitchen and workspace. She's barefoot, wearing her blouse and slacks; the fabric of both has started to look subtly duller from weeks of being hand washed with hand soap. In one hand she's holding the Dinner next week? note. ]

[ Hap is knee deep in wires when she speaks up. She's walking softly today; he's barely noticed her. Hunched over his work, he flashes a grimace as he straightens. His eyes flick to the paper and then to her face. ]

Yes?

[ She gives him a wry smile. ]

Hi. Sorry. [ Waving the note: ] The answer is yes, but I have no idea what day it is. You'll have to give it to me in "days from now."

[ He smiles apologetically. It's not as if Hap had a calendar up that he took down. Instead, he hasn't thought about getting one for her benefit — because it wouldn't be to her benefit. It's not a kindness to give her the tools to quantify precisely how much of her life he's stolen thus far. ]

Four.

It's a date.

[ Her weight shifts like she's about to turn and leave, but she hesitates, glancing over the table. ]

Could I ask what ... How's it going? [ The mess of wires. ] I probably wouldn't have the background to know what you're making.

[ His back has been sore for a while, he's just been ignoring it. Staying the course. Shifting has called it vividly to the forefront of his mind, so a break isn't a terrible idea. He reclines in his chair, stretching his neck. ]

It's a different application of the ear. The device you helped me market. [ And a lot more than that. ] But this would be geared towards EEG readings. Brain activity.

Electro...? Not cardiogram, that'd be the heart.

Electroencephalogram. [ he offers, then checks his watch. The early evening hour takes him aback. Hap pulls his glasses off and sets them down, then pushes out from the desk. ]

You like tea?

Electroencephalogram, [ she repeats, snapping her fingers. ] It was right on the tip of my tongue.

Herbal or black?

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cw: depression?; captivity

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