Box Lunch [Michelle]

After a tough day of sprinting around town and doing errands (a.k.a work), Toris was ready to go back home, make some dinner, and relax a bit. He walked towards his apartment building, the sky a deep orange-red, signaling the onslaught of evening on the town. People were strolling along, talking on phones or to friends, heading back to their houses. Cars passed by now and then. It was a pleasant, calm end to the day. As it should be.

He went into the apartment lobby and was about to press the lift’s button when he stopped to contemplate. He lived on the 4th floor, and there were stairs. Shouldn’t he get some exercise and take the stairs instead? Just this once? Nodding sensibly to himself, he withdrew his finger and started the trudge up, humming a tuneless melody. Then he began thinking about the day, how he had had to pick up his boss’s lunch and take a picture of the restaurant’s new menu at the same time, how he acted as an impromptu editor since the current editor was on leave, how his boss accused him of putting salt into his coffee…

Toris sighed. Being a photographer was certainly a versatile job, wasn’t it? You had a lackey, a maid, a jack-of-all-trades all in one. He got off the stairwell and walked to his apartment door, fumbling in his coat pocket for his keys. However when he shoved the key into the keyhole, the door wouldn’t open. Toris frowned and looked up at the room number. Yep, it was the right one. Then how come the keys didn’t work…? He jiggled the key a bit more.

Suddenly, the door was wretched open in front of a bewildered Lithuanian, who soon turned a tomato-hue red. I got off on the wrong floor!

Michelle smiled. She looked out the window to a reddish sky. Being from an island nation Michelle knew that meant good weather up ahead. After the storm they needed some good weather. It was indeed the end of a great day. Over the course of the day Michelle had met many new and friendly faces, all of them living in her building.
"What are the odds?" she thinks out loud. But her peaceful sky watching was interrupted by her growling stomach. She sighed. No matter how great day it was Michelle always had to go home and do her least favorite activity: Making dinner.

She got up and fed her fish, ignoring the voice saying 'Thanks~' in the back of her mind, then headed to the apron drawer. Michelle put on her favorite sea green apron over her light blue sundress. She took a deep breath and opened the fridge looking for some tuna, which was not there. That meant Michelle had to cook something that wasn't fish, that's a huge problem. She took out ingredients to something else she thought she knew how to make. It was spaghetti with cherry tomatoes, basil, and garlic. She started boiling water and chopping the basil. Truth be told she had no clue what she was doing.

Michelle's horrible cooking process was interrupted when she heard someone trying to open the door. She left the kitchen area, waving away the small amount of smoke that accompanies whatever she cooks that isn't fish. She opened the door to find someone trying to enter her apartment that she didn't know.
"...Can I help you?" she asked him between coughs.

With an awkward blush on his cheeks, Toris stared at the young lady in front of him, smelling a whiff of the acrid aroma of smoke. Had she been in the process of cooking, perhaps? He rushed to explain himself. “A-Ah, um, good evening! I’m very sorry to have disturbed your, ah, cooking. I accidently got off on the wrong floor, you see. My room is just coincidentally exactly above yours, so I mistook it for my own…”

An idea came to him that was purely out of character. He considered helping the girl make her dinner, as it was obvious (sorry, Miss!) that whatever was happening in the kitchen wasn’t supposed to be happening. Besides, she was still young, still in school by the looks of it, so Toris wouldn’t feel all that uncomfortable, right? Besides, he could kill two, no, three birds with one stone: meet someone new in his apartment, help the girl, and prevent a potential fire.

Toris smiled warmly. Why wasn’t it this easy when he met people his own age? “I’ve just had a thought, Miss. Would you like me to help you with your meal? I can cook fairly well, though it’s nothing to write home about…I’m Toris Laurinaitis. Very pleased to meet you.”

Michelle smiled "My name's Michelle, Michelle Veronique. Come in, come in! I would love your help, that is as long as it's no burden you." She, by now, had completely forgotten the whole 'wrong room' thing and was just happy to meet someone new in the building. Though she was actually the new one in the building to him as far as she knew. "So, how long have you been in the building?" She asked as she turned and skipped back into the room, motioning for him to follow her.

When she entered the kitchen she put out the fire and turned to him. "What can you cook?" she asked him. Michelle hoped she didn't come off as to demanding but she wanted to know what type of cuisine she would be attempting to make and or ruin tonight.

Toris slowly followed Michelle inside her apartment, relieved that she was amiable and didn’t seem to think it strange for someone she just met to be in her room, especially with his bold and forward (for him) invitation. Not that he was anything but perfectly safe. In fact, he didn’t think it was in him to hurt anyone on purpose. He observed the tidy, well-kept area and mentally approved. Most young people he knew just let their living spaces grow wild on their on. “Ah, well, I’ve been here for about a year now. It’s a very pleasant place. How long have you been staying here, Miss Veronique?”

He watched the girl quench the small lick of flames that were flickering along the stove and bit his lip, nose twitching at the smell of burnt…what was that…tomatoes? And definitely garlic, yes. He could also see stray sticks of spaghetti lying in a pot. There was also still some residue ash on the appliances. Instinctively, he offered, “Miss Veronique, there’s ah, some ash in your kitchen. Do you have a cloth? I’ll clean it up and then we can start with your dinner. And…I can cook my own country’s food the best, I think, but I can also do some Italian, English, and French cuisine, although I’m not sure whether it will turn out well or not…May I see your fridge and pantry?” He had a feeling that he might be making either pasta or something French, judging by Michelle’s accent.

"I've been here about a month. I still haven't adapted though." Michelle was still getting used to the building. Most days she still wakes up and wonders why she isn't hearing the ocean or the seagulls and instead is hearing cars and car horns. It takes her about a minute to realize she's in the city of London. "I hope I'm not being too intrusive, but what do you do for a living?" People in this city have a wider variety of jobs than back home. She was interested to see how her neighbor earns his money. Maybe he was an astronaut! That would be awesome!

"I'll clean up after myself, the pantry and fridge are over there." She points over to said objects and starts cleaning up the charred remains of what would have been her dinner. "Where is your country by the way?" Michelle was intrigued now. She loved meeting these people from all over the world. She always liked listening to tales of the world from her birthfather. This apartment building was just her place to live.

Toris nodded knowingly, a close friend with culture shock. It had taken him quite a bit of time getting used to so much rain so often and the various background noise of a capital city. He’d grown up in a small and cold little town, so there hadn’t been all the ruckus that a city had back there.

“O-oh, my job? I work as a photographer for the local newspaper, nothing all that grand, you see. And I’m a housekeeper-for-hire here in this very apartment. You can see the poster on the bulletin boards, eheh.” Even though he was, to tell the truth, pretty good at cleaning, he still felt slightly embarrassed when talking about his second job to new people. It just wasn’t something that you’d expect from a photographer.

After receiving permission to poke around Michelle’s storage, Toris got to work, spotting eggs, different vegetables, and some fruit, bread, a bit of meat, milk, several condiments, and many other little parts of a potential meal. As he was thinking about dish possibilities, he said, “I come from Lithuania. It’s, um, near Russia, next to the Baltic Sea. Poland is quite close to it, yes, I believe we share a border. It’s quite chilly there, and it snows a lot. Where do you hail from, Miss Veronique? France perhaps? Oh, and also, I think we might be able to try again with spaghetti…maybe Bolognese?” He was sure that that was relatively easy to cook, but he had to be careful and keep his gloves on. Speaking of gloves, he wondered whether he looked queer wearing them indoors.

The girl smiles "That's awesome! What kind of pictures do you take?" Some photographers only take pictures of something specific. Like nature or statues or people. That would be cool! "Yes, I've seen that poster in the lobby." Her room was quite clean, however, but she might need help with future cooking.

"Lithuania…hmm...Oh, you mean Lituanie. I'm from Seychelles, which is off of Africa. It's an island. It's quite warm there." Michelle smiled while remembering her island home. The girl wasn't quite used to speaking English all the time so she still messes up from time to time in that aspect. "Spaghetti sounds amazing! But...what is Bolognese?" Michelle doesn't know many things from outside her island.

“Hmm? I just take pictures of whatever my boss wants to take, really. I’ve done sports games, nature shots, animals, plants, people, places…yes, pretty much anything you find in a newspaper, I have to deal with. But I enjoy my work, even if it is kind of tiring.” Rolling up his dress shirt sleeves and taking off his gloves, he washed his hands. Then, he put on some water to boil and got out the dry spaghetti.

Toris talked as he measured the amount of sticks out of the packet and waited for the steam to rise from the pot. “Oh, the Seychelles! That’s very unique, you know.” He chuckled ruefully. “I’ve only ever heard of the Seychelles once on the news. It’s a small group of islands, correct? How interesting, Miss Veronique…as for Bolognese, it’s just a meat-based sauce from Italy. It’s a quite popular choice for first-time cooks.” He turned and smiled at her, and then he briskly assembled a few tomatoes, pork, onions, milk, cheese and some carrots.

Clapping his hands, he said, “Alright, Miss Veronique, would you please dice up the vegetables? I’ll get the pan going and then we can sauté them.”

"Thank you! It's nice to know that some people outside of the area know of it." She smiled. It's a statistic that 99% of people go through their life without even hearing of the nation. It's nice to hear that it's not a place on the map that no one knows of like Malta or something of the kind. "The food sounds good too!"

Michelle nods her head at the man and grabs the cutting board and the veggies. She washes both and starts cutting the carrots. "You can call me Michelle, you know, we're friends now."

He watched her chop up the vegetables, approved, and chose a pan and lit the electric stove. Pouring a bit of olive oil on, Toris left the power on moderately high. “Yes, thank you. I used to look at world maps sometimes, and little groups of islands always fascinated me by their interesting names,” Her next words, spoken so casually, startled him a bit. She trusted him that much already to call them friends? It was probably because she was still young.

“W-Why, I appreciate that you feel that comfortable around me. Thank you. And, alright…M-Michelle. Michelle. Mmm, yes, feel free to call me Toris, as well, or anything you like. Ok, now once we’re done with these veggies, we should mince up some of the pork. Here, I’ll do that after you finish with the cutting board and then you can watch over the spaghetti. So, what brings you to lovely England, Miss…Michelle?”

"That's very nice. I know some people who couldn't care less about the world around them and would rather keep their mind on their own country." It was true. Michelle's heard some people say Scandinavia is a country its self due to not caring that much.*

"Oh, I came here for many reasons." the girl said as she raised the cutting board piled with cut up veggies. "One being that my godfather works for the aquarium near here. He wanted me to help him with my father's…studies... What about you? Lituanie is quite a long way from London." She smiled. She doesn't really like to talk about her late father, but she sucked it up and waited eagerly for Toris' story. Michelle has always had a soft spot for stories from around the world.

((*I'm from America. enough said))