there we sat in the snow.
Where: Joe West. Later outside!
When: After this thread.
Who: Milo, Helga, and two mugs of hot cocoa! With marshmallows!
What: Helga doesn't want to talk to Milo. Clearly, this means he should try to talk to her anyways.
Warnings: ...Depressing. ;;
Hot cocoa made everything better.
That was his experience with it, anyway.
There was nothing a piping hot mug of something warm and sugary couldn't fix, especially on a day as cold as today. Of course he'd spilled quite a bit of chocolate powder on Joe West's kitchen floor while making the stuff, but that was half the fun, really. (And half of that half of fun clung stubbornly to the back of his sweater.) At least he'd managed to make it successfully!
His grandfather was messier at it than he, he argued to himself. They'd spent many a chilly winter's day holed up in the kitchen, chocolate powder coating their fingers and the counters and speckling the rims of their fancy china. And his rapidly melting whipped cream mustache would always rival Thaddeus Thatch's real one, flecked with the drink and the chocolate and moving up and down as he laughed. As they laughed.
Like he'd decided. There was nothing better to cure the winter blues.
With warm thoughts and two steaming cups of hot cocoa--with marshmallows!--in his hands, he'd decided that now was the perfect time to seek Helga out again after their...disagreement. Whatever that was earlier today. Not even Helga Sinclair could turn down hot cocoa, especially not hot cocoa made by a Thatch. He was willing to put money on that.
When: After this thread.
Who: Milo, Helga, and two mugs of hot cocoa! With marshmallows!
What: Helga doesn't want to talk to Milo. Clearly, this means he should try to talk to her anyways.
Warnings: ...Depressing. ;;
Hot cocoa made everything better.
That was his experience with it, anyway.
There was nothing a piping hot mug of something warm and sugary couldn't fix, especially on a day as cold as today. Of course he'd spilled quite a bit of chocolate powder on Joe West's kitchen floor while making the stuff, but that was half the fun, really. (And half of that half of fun clung stubbornly to the back of his sweater.) At least he'd managed to make it successfully!
His grandfather was messier at it than he, he argued to himself. They'd spent many a chilly winter's day holed up in the kitchen, chocolate powder coating their fingers and the counters and speckling the rims of their fancy china. And his rapidly melting whipped cream mustache would always rival Thaddeus Thatch's real one, flecked with the drink and the chocolate and moving up and down as he laughed. As they laughed.
Like he'd decided. There was nothing better to cure the winter blues.
With warm thoughts and two steaming cups of hot cocoa--with marshmallows!--in his hands, he'd decided that now was the perfect time to seek Helga out again after their...disagreement. Whatever that was earlier today. Not even Helga Sinclair could turn down hot cocoa, especially not hot cocoa made by a Thatch. He was willing to put money on that.