Oh look. Open post.
There is a Dr. Hades in the mansion. More specifically, there is a Dr. Hades in the kitchen. And he's cooking. Or, well, baking. Hell, he even has an apron on, though he did at least refrain from wearing one that says anything like "Kiss the Cook."
Anyway. He has just piled warm brownies on a plate and has covered the table in an assortment of fixings, like whipped cream and chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles and cherries and now he's taking off the apron and pulling out a huge tub of vanilla ice cream. A stack of bowls and a pile of spoons sit off to one side, ready in case anyone should want to join him because Someone knows he's got plenty to share out here, and he plops down to start fixing himself a great big, fudgey sundae.
Someone's had a rather long, stressful couple of days at the hospital and has decided that a sugar high sounds like a better way to handle it than getting irrevokably plastered.
Anyway. He has just piled warm brownies on a plate and has covered the table in an assortment of fixings, like whipped cream and chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles and cherries and now he's taking off the apron and pulling out a huge tub of vanilla ice cream. A stack of bowls and a pile of spoons sit off to one side, ready in case anyone should want to join him because Someone knows he's got plenty to share out here, and he plops down to start fixing himself a great big, fudgey sundae.
Someone's had a rather long, stressful couple of days at the hospital and has decided that a sugar high sounds like a better way to handle it than getting irrevokably plastered.