Breakfast was, in LJ's opinion, the best meal of the day.
Everyone would emerge from their respective rooms, sleepy-eyed and wearing varying degrees of clothing (Theodore once came out naked, but Linc smacked him on the head roughly and sent him back before LJ could get a good look). Sucre would lean back in his chair and eat blackberries or an apple, eyes closed contently. Michael drank coffee and read the Spanish newspaper, which he understood because he actually payed attention in high school. C-Note watched the morning news and stayed out of everyone else's way. Tweener skipped breakfast and headed straight for the beach. Lincoln was usually the last out of bed.
But the best thing, LJ thought, was the food. Each morning went one of two ways.
Either T-Bag, or Teddy, as the rapist had told LJ to call him, would cook, making flapjacks or something he called "Deep South Hash", a combination of ham, potatoes, eggs, peppers, and various spices. He also sang while he cooked, and to everyone's general surprise, he had a good voice. Johnny Cash filled their kitchen along with the comforting smell of Alabama. When he was done cooking, Theodore would make plates for both of them and then sit down, drawling, "Now ain't that just tha most scrumptcious thing ya've eva' eaten?" LJ would agree heartily while shovelling in food, and the murderer would respond by grinning and ruffling the boy's hair delightedly.
If Teddy was too slow, Abruzzi would claim the kitchen and start cooking up all sorts of fancy things. When questioned, he only said that he was brought up in a very proper Italian family. Theodore would wander in just as a plate of steaming, five star food was placed in front of LJ, and then the mobster would start into his stories. He talked about his life as a member of the Sicilian Mafia, some of the people he'd met and things he'd done, but mostly he educated LJ on proper etiquette, with Michael occaisonally stepping in to comment. And very, very rarely, he let LJ watch when he made food, teaching him the steps with almost fatherly guidance.
Despite all his father's warnings, the mobster and murderer were starting to grow on LJ.
Of course, at this point, either Lincoln would stomp in and make himself a bowl of cereal, and the conversation would abruptly stop, or T-Bag would feel a hand tighten on his neck, threateningly telling him to taste his own food before he served it to LJ, for fear of poison.
Eventually, everyone would crowd into the kitchen, making coffee and eating and sitting on the counters and laughing and trying to forget what waited just outside their door.
Yeah, breakfast was definitely the best.
Lunch was an affair, to say the least. It usually went a little sonething like this.
Someone would wander into the kitchen to make something for themselves, and anyone else in the house would call out, "Can you make me some too?" Grudgingly, the person in the kitchen would agree, but soon people would start pouring in, saying "Do it this way" or "I like it like this". Eventually, someone would get fed up and say "I'll just do it myself."
Before you knew it, everyone was in the kitchen, making ten different things, shoving and fighting for counter space and demanding to know who had the butter last. And then, suddenly, silence would fall, in that glorious golden moment where everyone's attention is captivated with eating.
That is, until someone, (usually T-Bag) commented, "This tastes like shit in a hole." To which Lj would reply,
"You've eaten shit in a hole?"
Sucre will butt in with, "Hey, if you don't like my cooking, papi, don't eat."
And now everyone is trading bowls and trying each other's food and making rude comments that no one really means because it's fun. Finally, everyone settles down. The last one in the kitchen has to clean up, that's the rule, and usually it's Lincoln, because he always forgets and he's a slow eater. He slams the dishes around and growls to himself until Michael leans around the doorway and asks if he wants any help, knowing he does.
T-Bag and C-Note would make loud comments from the living room about how the women were in the kitchen now, and Lincoln will throw a fork at them, and it's almost like they're a real family, if only for a little while.
Dinner was solemn, because the master of the house demanded it so. Everyone took turns setting the table and cleaning up after, but other than that, unless they were asked for, everyone stayed out of Abruzzi's way. He insisted that they all eat dinner like a proper house would. The mobster would roll up his sleeves and push back his hair and make something delicious that tasted like it came straight out of Italy. Abruzzi made them say grace, Abruzzi kept their elbows off the table, and Abruzzi kept the conversation civil.
Once, in the beginning, when Tweener burped loudly after eating, Abruzzi kicked him hard in the groin, stood up, and threw him out of the room by the collar roughly. Everyone stayed at the table until the others were done. Everyone drank either water or wine at dinner. These were the rules, and they were followed.
Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. The three times of day when they stopped being convicts and killers and criminals and were just roommates, friends, family even. Because although breakfast was cheery, lunch was hectic, and dinner was proper, a shadow waited for them just outside the walls.
But for now, they were safe in the comfort of each other.
part of cramped quarters :3
Author's Chapter Notes:
I dont know what this is, but its something. Slash for this series coming soon :3 enjoy!
Chapter End Notes:
herpaderp, dont mind me, im just writing random crackfics for my own twisted enjoyment XD dont expect any reviews on this because there was no slash but i hope you liked C: