Welcome to the prompt fest! In case you're new to the comm, this is just a day of the week where I give you ten prompts, and you pick one to write a drabble on and post it in the comments
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My cooking will kill uscowards_kissJune 8 2011, 00:13:25 UTC
“I think it's Anders' turn to cook tonight,” Hawke announced, four days into their trek across Sundermount. The mage in question frowned.
“No, I cooked the first night. Then Merrill, then Aveline. Which makes it your turn.”
“What? No. Nonononono. No.” With each consecutive no Hawke shook her head a little harder until she was all but slapping herself in the face with her own hair. “I don't cook. I'm not allowed to - it's in the rule book. My cooking will kill us.” At Anders' raised eyebrow, she rushed to explain. “No, really, it will. It will take on a life of its own, rise out of the cooking pot and murder us all. Death by reanimated rabbit. And we are all far too pretty to die at the hands of zombie food.”
Silence fell over the entire camp as Hawke's companions edged slightly away from her, eyes wide. She crossed her harms in front of her chest with ah huff and glared right back at them.
“Fine,” she conceded with typical bad grace, stomping over to their cooking fire. “Just don't come crying to me when the stew comes after you with a hatchet. I did warn you...”
Prompts: - dogs of war - wait, what? - stagefright
“No, I cooked the first night. Then Merrill, then Aveline. Which makes it your turn.”
“What? No. Nonononono. No.” With each consecutive no Hawke shook her head a little harder until she was all but slapping herself in the face with her own hair. “I don't cook. I'm not allowed to - it's in the rule book. My cooking will kill us.” At Anders' raised eyebrow, she rushed to explain. “No, really, it will. It will take on a life of its own, rise out of the cooking pot and murder us all. Death by reanimated rabbit. And we are all far too pretty to die at the hands of zombie food.”
Silence fell over the entire camp as Hawke's companions edged slightly away from her, eyes wide. She crossed her harms in front of her chest with ah huff and glared right back at them.
“Fine,” she conceded with typical bad grace, stomping over to their cooking fire. “Just don't come crying to me when the stew comes after you with a hatchet. I did warn you...”
Prompts:
- dogs of war
- wait, what?
- stagefright
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