Chapter Text
Saturday, 6:30am
INT. JEB'S SISTER'S APARTMENT - MORNING
Jeb wakes up on the couch as the first light of sunrise hits his face. He braces himself for the inevitable wave of poppy morning music, of toiletries flying at him, of blenders juicing ingredients he doesn't recognize.
It doesn't happen. Why isn't it happening?
Oh. Right. Thanks, Avery.
This is Jeb's second morning waking up in this apartment, without feeling like the place is out to get him. It's quiet. It's still. It's... very nearly nice.
Well. The morning is his. What now?
INT. JEB'S SISTER'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Jeb goes through the cabinets and fridge, cobbling together ingredients to make some kind of breakfast. A couple of eggs. Some bread on the verge of going stale. The aforementioned juice ingredients.
Right. No magic kitchen means no magic kitchen restock.
He starts heating a pan, pops the bread in the toaster. While he waits, he starts scribbling out a grocery list. He'll need breakfast for the week, obviously. And grits, one of the few things he can semi-reliably prepare. And he did say he'd cook for Carl tonight.
On another sheet of paper, he tries to remember his Momma's chicken recipe; maybe that can make up for the lackluster meal at last night's gala.
Lord, that was only last night. Less than twelve hours ago, he was breaking a guy's nose, and now he's scrambling eggs in the polo he used as a sleep shirt.
Despite his coworkers' words of encouragement, he's not sure how anyone can get used to the whiplash.
INT. JEB'S SISTER'S APARTMENT - A FEW MINUTES LATER
Jeb paces around the apartment, balancing his plate of plain toast and scrambled eggs. Mill- Misty hasn't been here in a while, but the space is still pretty unmistakably hers -- The purple-pink color palette, the pricey yet non-descript art hanging in place of photographs -- Like the apartment is a branding exercise more than a living space.
At least she has a nice stereo. Jeb flips on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER
~ Goooood morning, all you early risers out there. You're listening to 70's at 7 on W-CNT. Hoo-whee, after the week I've had, I'm saying 'thank god it's the weekend, thank god for good music, and THANK GOD I'm a country boy. This is John Denver for ya'. ~
"THANK GOD, I'M A COUNTRY BOY" BY JOHN DENVER PLAYS OVER...
JEB'S BIG CHORES MONTAGE
-- Jeb washes and dries his dishes by hand, then struggles to recall which of Misty's many, many cabinets he got them from.
-- Jeb takes a shower. For once, Misty's dozens of beauty products aren't automatically flying at him. He still uses her shampoo. It smells nice.
-- Jeb goes to get dressed, only to realize that all he has clean is one polo/khaki set. Hmm... Now that he's worn clothes that fit properly, he doesn't really want to spend the day in these...
-- He goes to put in a load of laundry (another thing the apartment is no longer automatically doing for him). Polo, polo, khakis, polo... He finds his new work outfit in the hamper, and assesses the damage. It's sooty and bloodied from, you know, getting blowed up.
He takes a closer look at a stain on the sleeve, where his arm was cut. Through the middle of the dark brown splotch, he sees where a tear has been mended. He runs his thumb across the stitches. Huh. That's nice.
He shakes out his pants to inspect the damage there. As he does, a slip of paper flutters out of the pocket:
"It would be a shame if you're new outfit got ruined immediately. This is the best cleaner in the city, they should be able to fix it up. CAT SCRATCH CLEANER & ALTERATIONS."
Good to know. He probably only would have made things worse, trying to get the stains out himself. He folds up his work outfit and sets it aside, making note to check out the cleaners later.
-- He starts the washer, then begrudgingly puts on the remaining polo and khakis. They are simultaneously snug and loose in all the wrong places. Yeah, he really doesn't want to do this anymore.
-- He pops down the block to a shitty souvenir shop on the corner. (One of the few things he's learned about the city: there's a shitty souvenir shop on every corner.) He keeps his bare arms crossed for warmth -- Somehow, a winter jacket didn't make its way onto his New Job Wardrobe Checklist. He gets a corny New York tourist sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants.
-- Back in his apartment, he changes into his tourist garb, and unceremoniously tosses the polo into his hamper. Okay. Still a little short in the sleeves and legs, but marginally better. He braids his rat tail, laces up his boots, and heads back out the door.
-- Back on the street, he finds his way to the grocery store. He only makes a few wrong turns, and is only almost hit by a couple of taxis.
-- Jeb buys groceries, with the prep and budgeting skills of a college kid left to their own devices for the first time. How many chickens does he need to feed two people? Probably... Five?
-- Arms strapped with grocery bags, he feels his stomach grumble. Shoot. He stocked up o everything else, but nothing he can make himself for lunch.
He buys a street hot dog, struggling not to drop all his bags while wrangling his money and condiments.
He takes a bite. Hm. Not bad. It wasn't grilled fresh at a church cookout, but it hits the spot.
END MONTAGE
INT. JEB'S SISTER'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - 3:00PM
Finally, Jeb shifts the heavy grocery bags from his arms onto the counter and takes a deep exhale. It's not like he's never done these errands and chores before, but he hasn't really had to do them since moving here, not with the apartment handling everything for him. Even these few simple tasks feel like an uphill battle in a city he still doesn't understand.
But over the exhaustion, he feels something else. A wave of... satisfaction. Accomplishment. He didn't do much, but he did it himself. He figured it out.
And then he looks back to the counter, and his momentary burst of achievement is interrupted. Right. He's still got things to figure out. Firstly: How do you fry a chicken?