Cafeteria - Brotherhood Headquarters - Staten Island

The cafeteria hasn't undergone a lot of work since it served as a high school cafeteria, perhaps unfortunately. Long picnic table-style tables are set up in row upon row, providing more than ample seating room here. The walls are cement brick, painted in an institutional off-white that looks dingy even when freshly painted.

There's a small alcove next to the door, where the food is dispensed, a doorless opening on either end. Your standard metal and glass counter and display area runs the full length of the area, plastic trays available next to the 'in' doorway. Hot food is only served within mealtime windows, but a sandwich and salad bar are available around the clock. Drinks of all sorts can be dug out of the refrigerator units beside the door 'out'. Behind the counter, two large doorways open onto the cooking area, off-limits to anyone not employed specifically for preparing food.

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Meeting up with the other Brotherhood members around most parts of the compound might be a little hit or miss but the cafeteria is one place that brings everyone together. Unless it's Meatloaf Monday, that is. The dinner crowd is settling in which means a fair few of the benches are occupied. Somehow Pietro has managed to procure himself a space though, near one corner of the room where he sits alone with his tray of food -- a tray that's piled so high one might think he's expecting another person or two to come along to help him eat it all. For now, however, he seems unconcerned with his loner status, content to munch away on the club sandwich he holds in one hand.

The "Employees Only" door which leads to the back kitchen opens to reveal Fox backing slowly out of the room. He's holding a toolbox with a plate of sandwiches sitting on top as he chats a bit with one of the lunch ladies. Fox looks around and points to one of the soda fridges, eliciting a nod from the woman. He walks over and sits down his items before looking into the filter. He nods and waves over to the woman. It should be an easy fix. This fridge is just in need of a good cleaning. Luckilly, Fox is able to fix such a problem with great ease. He nods and decides he'll take care of it a little later. There are a bunch of people trying to get sodas and Fox is kind of hungry. He grabs a water and turns to head toward one of the seating area, noticing Pietro and heading toward his table.

Pietro is a little caught up with his food -- oh, sweet food! -- to notice Fox right away. It's not until he manages to catch a hint of that accented voice that he glances up with casual interest, watching the ordeal with the fridge as he sips away at one of a couple bottles of orange juice sitting around his tray. As it becomes clear he's going to have a visitor he gives a little up-nod in greeting. Despite the number of people scattered about the room there's ample space for Fox to sit. "Heya. Long time no see, Koala Boy," he says with a slight grin.

Fox chuckles a bit as he takes a seat. Dropping his toolbox under the table and sitting down his sandwiches. He smirks at Pietro. Fox really needs to think of an appropriate nickname for the kid...Other than 'Scrawny Brat' because that didn't turn out so well last time. He decides on a simple "What's up, Speedo?" He cracks a wide grin, thinking himself so clever for thinking up such a brilliant nickname. He takes a large bite of his sandwich, which consists of white bread and some foul-smelling brown paste, before brandishing it at the boy and talking with his 'round here." He gestures a bit around the room.

"Ugh. Don't call me that." Pietro shudders a bit at the new nickname. But at least this one doesn't inspire him to punch Fox. Not immediately, anyway. Time will tell. Pleasantries out of the way, he tucks into his sandwich again -- he's actually plowing through it with surprising speed. Well, perhaps it's not so surprising considering who doing the eating. "... What the hell is that?" That comes when 'brown paste' sandwich catches his attention. He sits up a little straighter and finishes off his last bite as he peers suspiciously at the odd filling.

He grins broadly again at Pietro's reaction to the new nickname...which Fox will be sure to use as frequently as possible for the rest of their relationship. He takes another bite of his sandwich. "This? It's vegemite, mate. National food o' me homeland, it is." He again brandishes his sandwich at Pietro. "Mighty, good. An' fillin', too." He nods. A bit of the paste falling out and splattering on the table. "Made o' beer yeast." He smirks before adding "National drink of me homeland."

Oh, Pietro is in for a long, annoying ride if Fox does in fact keep that up. For now, though, the boy's attention is still clinging to that ominous brown stuff. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing," he says mildly as he finds the sandwich waved at him. "Beer I can understand. It's the yeast bit that I'm not really seein' as appetizing." He makes a bit of a face, eyeing that vegemite stuff suspiciously as he reaches for his juice again. "What's it taste like? If it's like a beer sandwich maybe I can get on board after all."

Fox ponders for a moment. "Well, it's kind of bitter? And I guess...Salty? Malty? Tastes kind o' beefy, I guess." He shrugs. It kind of looks like dark brown oil mixed with peanut butter. "It's really good with cheese. But uh...Bastards took vegemite singles off the market a while back." He frowns. "And aren't you a bit yo...Um...Not old enough to be snoggin' a tinny?" He asks incredulously. He's pretty sure he already asked him this before, but he likes to play the 'good role model'...when it annoys the other person.

"Okay, so it's 'bitter', 'salty', 'malty' and 'beefy'. I gotta say, I really don't know about this stuff, man." Pietro seems content to stick with his... well, his 'everything /but/ vegemite'. Is that salisbury steak buried underneath the rest of the junk? Who knows. He blinks in confusion at the incredulous question; his expression is that of one who is pretty sure he should be insulted but isn't quite sure of why yet. "Old enough to be what-ing a what?"

Fox eyes the mountain of food Pietro is eating. Is that a giant flatworm covered in cheese? He frowns and looks up to Pietro again. "Hmm?" He really needed to find a 'Say it in Australian' book to hand out to everyone he met. "A Tinny?" He shakes his head. "A tinny's a coldie...a piss...A beer?" He chuckles "I'm not gonna' have ta teach a class on the Australian language, do I?" He can picture it now. A bunch of drunk people yelling at each other in slang. Could be useful in combat situations...Like when they used Navajo during World War II...except allot less effective.

Pietro just stares blankly back at Fox as he keeps whipping out the slang synonyms, that is until he reaches the familiar 'beer' again. "Why didn't you just fuckin' say it, man?" He gives a bark of laughter, sounding genuinely amused more than exasperated. "At this rate you might just haveta do that so we can understand you around here." Nevermind that he's not always so easy to comprehend when he's speaking a mile a minute, but he figures that most people around here have adapted to that. And after all this confusion he's pretty much forgotten he was asked anything.

Fox chuckles a bit and finishes his first sandwich, eating at a significantly slower pace than Pietro. "Say, Ive been readin' up a bit and speakin' with a few folks 'round the compound. Mentioned an 'active combat' role." He pokes at his second sandwich. "Who'd I go about speakin' with to get an...Interview for that position?" Do they interview for such things? He didn't apparently need to interview to fix that one freezer in the back kitchen...Although That lunch lady kind of freaked Fox out. She had too much beard on her many chins.

"You can talk to me," Pietro answers, stabbing at a bit of salad on his plate. "But I ain't the interviewin' type." He downs a few more bites -- this may be a dramatic pause... or perhaps he's (still) just especially hungry. "In case you haven't heard yet, Marrow's the Combat Marshall but I'm her Lieutenant. So you can go through either one of us. Just be prepared for a helluva lot of training, sparring... All that stuff. Shit's not easy out there, so you've gotta show us you're on your game."

Fox nods, listening to Pietro. "Right, so either one of the two of you then?" He takes a swig of his water. "I'll up me trainin' a bit." He nods again, though he's been training for at least a half hour every day. He might as well start working a bit harder now that he knows where the secret tunnels are. "'Fore I joined here I kind of slacked off in my trainin' and such...No reason to do any of it, I guess." He shrugs. "But now? Guess I've got a reason now." He smiles.

"Good. We should spar sometime soon too. Though I guess you kinda got a head start on that already, didn't you?" Seeing as he's already faced off against Pietro, albeit very briefly. The young man flashes a smirk to that, glancing briefly away from Fox to take in the rest of the room from their table near the corner. There are still a fair number of people about, their dinner plates in various states of emptiness. "Seems like you're adjustin' pretty well, anyway. How long've you been here, anyway?"

Fox smirks at Pietro. "A sparring match eh? Sounds good to me." He chuckles "An' you surprised me last time, we'll see how well you fare against me when I'm prepped for a fight." He flashes a wide grin, puffing out his chest. He cocks his head slighlty and also checks out the room quickly. "Yeah, guess I have. 'ts got a homesy feel to it. I was in the military for a bit, ya know. Just happy to have everything I need within walking distance again." He scratches his chest idly. "I think I've been here...'bout a week now I guess?" He counts off the days. "Six? Six days."

"Don't go gettin' cocky," Pietro warns, fixing Fox with those silver eyes of his though that smirk is still on his face. He just can't let the new guy think he has any chance. "Homesy? Sure, I guess," he says of the place, throwing another glance about as he polishes off the rest of his salad. "Sorta. 'S got somethin', anyway. That's for sure." Despite his bluster there might be just a hint of fondness for the place somewhere in his tone. "Glad you're gettin' used to the place... So what military? What'd you do, I mean?"

Fox chuckles. "Oh we'll see." He flashes Pietro a defiant eye, but it's a friendly defiance...Whatever that means. He cleans out one of his ears with a pinky...because he's just that classy. "Oh? I was in the RAIC...Er, that's the Royal Australian Infantry Corps." He flicks his finger toward the ground. "Uh, I was in active combat for a bit there." He looks at Pietro, frowning. "But I ended up retiring. Didn't like the direction the Oz military was going...So I kind of...left."

Friendly or not, Pietro recognizes that defiance and meets it with a look of (somewhat friendly) challenge of his own. He lets it ride, though, as the conversation moves on. "Wow. Helluva name there," he says of the RAIC. "... But you've got active combat experience -- good. that'll come in handy." It's all too obvious that he's curious as to the 'retiring' and 'leaving' portion of the story but for the time being he's not being blunt about asking. Well, not too blunt, anyway. "Huh. Yeah, you had to do what you had to do I guess, eh?" There's just enough pointedness to that to suggest that he's interested in hearing more.

Fox nods. "Yeah, it's kind of a long...complicated story." Well it's not that long, but Fox isn't really in the mood to talk about it right now. It tends to get him all worked up and angry. He grabs ahold of his dogtags subconsciously and his eyes go dark for a moment. He shakes his head as if coming out of a trance. "I...Er..." He blinks. "Sorry, guess I'm a bit tired. I should probably go get some rest, eh?" He smiles and stretches a bit, standing up. He picks up his plate and nods to Pietro. "See ya around, then?"

"Right, no worries." Though his curiosity might not be sated Pietro knows 'long and complicated' well enough that he doesn't push for now. Besides, going into Fox's 'complicated' might very well lead to questions about his own and that's something that he really doesn't want to touch. His eyes move to the dogtags as the man grabs hold of them and he quirks a pale brow. "Sure, man. No worries. 'S probably all that vege-crap you're stuffin' yourself with, y'know." Nevermind that said 'vege-crap' is what the Aussie has probably been stuffing himself with all his life, of course. "Hit me up for trainin' shit sometime, eh?"

Fox smirks at Pietro. "Ah, it's tastier than it looks, struth." He nods, grabbing his toolbox and plate. "And I'll come huntin' you down for trainin' soon enough, Speedo." Fox grins once more, turns toward the garbage cans, and calls out a quick "Night, mate" to Pietro as he wanders off. He passes the fridge he was supposed to clean and stops, frowning. Even though it would take him only a few seconds to clean it out, Fox decides he'll do it tomorrow. He needs to sleep now, and it'll give him an excuse to get up early enough to grab some breakfast in the morning.

Pietro winces again at the nickname. "Whatever. Fuckin' Crocodile Dundee..." He rolls his eyes though that might be lost on Fox since he's already turning away. "Yeah, night, man," he offers with a little wave of his fork. He still has a bit to get through on his tray, though with the rate he's going it shouldn't take him long before he's off and on his way too.

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