Cheese challenge -- by pocketmouse
OK, this is weird and random, but I've been in such a busy mood all week. This makes no sense, but it's Turnbull, so I guess that's OK.
“Hey, Fraser, your cheese here’s getting moldy.” Ray picked up the block of funky cheese, and turned to chuck it in the sink.
“Oh, no, it’s supposed to be like that.” Fraser’s words stopped him, and Ray took another look at the cheese, turning it to inspect it from all angles.
“OK, I know you’ll lick anything you’ll find in the street, but isn’t rotten cheese a little disgusting, even for you?”
“Actually, it’s Constable Turnbull’s cheese.”
“Eugh.” Ray set the cheese back down gingerly. “And here I thought he had something up on you in the normal department.” He rose from his crouch and closed the fridge.
“Really, Ray, there’s nothing wrong with blue cheese.” Fraser continued chopping up the carrot and onion, making neat, precise cuts, evenly spaced.
“Fraser, when there’s something blue and fuzzy in my fridge, I throw it out.”
“Oh, Ray, you’re missing out on a veritable cornucopia of culinary delights if you take that point of view.” Ray narrowed his eyes at Fraser’s calm statement.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this. Especially after you got Tony to make that pizza with the dirt, or whatever.” He pointed a finger at Fraser accusingly.
“It was lichen, Ray, not dirt. And Tony has remarkably good taste in -“
“Shut up! I do not want to hear it.” Ray scowled and opened the fridge again, to get away from the amazing Mountie and his dirt, or lichen, or whatever. “What’s this stuff?” He picked up a tupperware container, full of thick, gooey white stuff. Something sloshed around inside it. He put it back down in a hurry.
“That would also be cheese.”
Ray wrinkled his nose. “Turnbull’s cheese? Sure as hell doesn’t look like cheese.”
Fraser shrugged, placed the knife to one side, and reached into a cupboard. “That’s actually all that’s in there - Turnbull’s cheese.”
Ray stared in awe at the open fridge before him. It wasn’t exactly empty. “Cheese? He’s filled an entire fridge with cheese?”
“Two fridges, actually. Apparently, he ran out of room at home.”
Ray felt a certain sense of awe coming over him, mixed with another emotion. It took him a moment to place it, but once he had, he felt a certain comfort in knowing that that emotion was horror. Awe and horror - it seemed very appropriate for a fridge full of cheese. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Yes.” There was a minute pause while Fraser cracked the two eggs on the counter next to him, and disposed of the shells. “Turnbull doesn’t actually have a refrigerator at home.”
Ray slammed the fridge door closed again, still empty-handed. “Not funny, Fraser,” he grumbled. Fraser just looked at him with one raised eyebrow, the lines around his eyes crinkled in that way that meant he sure as hell thought it was funny. “Thatcher wouldn’t really let him get away with that.”
Fraser turned back to the stove. “Inspector Thatcher has, for the most part, given up on trying to make sense of Turnbull’s actions. Most times it seems wiser to -“ he straightened, waving the hand with a knife in a circular motion as he searched for the word. “Go with the flow, and effect damage control as soon as possible. Turnbull can be his own force of nature, at times.”
“Force of nature,” Ray muttered, turning away. “Guy’s got cheese between his ears, that’s what.”
“What was that, Ray?”
Ray spun around. “Uh... I can’t believe Thatcher’s let him fill up the fridge with cheese for …uh, years.”
“Well, three months ago it was celery, and for about four months previous to that it was bread products. Mostly, though, it’s because she has a miniature fridge in her office, so she simply doesn’t have to deal with it.”
Ray blinked, the picture suddenly coming to mind of Thatcher living in her office, too, Turnbull being the only one to go home at night, to his other fridge full of cheese…
“Ray?”
Ray shook his head. “Huh?”
Fraser looked at him, a tad concerned. “I’m sorry, it’s just that for a second you had such a look of horror on your face...”
“It’s nothing, Frase. What about you? You live here, don’t you need food every once in a while?”
Fraser shrugged, stirring the concoction in the pan. “I usually purchase only enough food for the day, so it isn’t a concern.”
“That’s not right, Fraser. You need a place where you can actually put food in the fridge, Fraser, and not have it taken over by cheese.” A magnet with a smiling wheel of cheese stared up at Ray. He stared back at it uneasily.
“I’m perfectly fine with the situation at hand, Ray. And I must say, at least Constable Turnbull keeps the refrigerator in good condition.”
Ray turned and leaned against the fridge. “What are you saying, Fraser? Are you implicating something about my fridge?”
“I’m not trying to insinuate anything, Ray, I’m simply commenting on Turnbull’s cleanliness.”
Ray slouched more aggressively. “Yeah, whatever, Fraser. So long as he doesn’t polish the cheese before he eats it.”
“Oh, Turnbull doesn’t eat the cheese, Ray. He’s vegan.”
Ray stared at him. “You’re kidding me. For the love of god, tell me you’re fucking kidding me.”
Fraser turned from the stove. “Yes, I am.”
Ray rolled his eyes and turned away, giving up. “That’s it. I give up. I’m going back to America, where we actually eat our cheese.”
Just as Ray reached the door, Fraser spoke. “Quiche?”
He paused, then turned back. “Sure. Why the hell not?”
“Hey, Fraser, your cheese here’s getting moldy.” Ray picked up the block of funky cheese, and turned to chuck it in the sink.
“Oh, no, it’s supposed to be like that.” Fraser’s words stopped him, and Ray took another look at the cheese, turning it to inspect it from all angles.
“OK, I know you’ll lick anything you’ll find in the street, but isn’t rotten cheese a little disgusting, even for you?”
“Actually, it’s Constable Turnbull’s cheese.”
“Eugh.” Ray set the cheese back down gingerly. “And here I thought he had something up on you in the normal department.” He rose from his crouch and closed the fridge.
“Really, Ray, there’s nothing wrong with blue cheese.” Fraser continued chopping up the carrot and onion, making neat, precise cuts, evenly spaced.
“Fraser, when there’s something blue and fuzzy in my fridge, I throw it out.”
“Oh, Ray, you’re missing out on a veritable cornucopia of culinary delights if you take that point of view.” Ray narrowed his eyes at Fraser’s calm statement.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this. Especially after you got Tony to make that pizza with the dirt, or whatever.” He pointed a finger at Fraser accusingly.
“It was lichen, Ray, not dirt. And Tony has remarkably good taste in -“
“Shut up! I do not want to hear it.” Ray scowled and opened the fridge again, to get away from the amazing Mountie and his dirt, or lichen, or whatever. “What’s this stuff?” He picked up a tupperware container, full of thick, gooey white stuff. Something sloshed around inside it. He put it back down in a hurry.
“That would also be cheese.”
Ray wrinkled his nose. “Turnbull’s cheese? Sure as hell doesn’t look like cheese.”
Fraser shrugged, placed the knife to one side, and reached into a cupboard. “That’s actually all that’s in there - Turnbull’s cheese.”
Ray stared in awe at the open fridge before him. It wasn’t exactly empty. “Cheese? He’s filled an entire fridge with cheese?”
“Two fridges, actually. Apparently, he ran out of room at home.”
Ray felt a certain sense of awe coming over him, mixed with another emotion. It took him a moment to place it, but once he had, he felt a certain comfort in knowing that that emotion was horror. Awe and horror - it seemed very appropriate for a fridge full of cheese. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Yes.” There was a minute pause while Fraser cracked the two eggs on the counter next to him, and disposed of the shells. “Turnbull doesn’t actually have a refrigerator at home.”
Ray slammed the fridge door closed again, still empty-handed. “Not funny, Fraser,” he grumbled. Fraser just looked at him with one raised eyebrow, the lines around his eyes crinkled in that way that meant he sure as hell thought it was funny. “Thatcher wouldn’t really let him get away with that.”
Fraser turned back to the stove. “Inspector Thatcher has, for the most part, given up on trying to make sense of Turnbull’s actions. Most times it seems wiser to -“ he straightened, waving the hand with a knife in a circular motion as he searched for the word. “Go with the flow, and effect damage control as soon as possible. Turnbull can be his own force of nature, at times.”
“Force of nature,” Ray muttered, turning away. “Guy’s got cheese between his ears, that’s what.”
“What was that, Ray?”
Ray spun around. “Uh... I can’t believe Thatcher’s let him fill up the fridge with cheese for …uh, years.”
“Well, three months ago it was celery, and for about four months previous to that it was bread products. Mostly, though, it’s because she has a miniature fridge in her office, so she simply doesn’t have to deal with it.”
Ray blinked, the picture suddenly coming to mind of Thatcher living in her office, too, Turnbull being the only one to go home at night, to his other fridge full of cheese…
“Ray?”
Ray shook his head. “Huh?”
Fraser looked at him, a tad concerned. “I’m sorry, it’s just that for a second you had such a look of horror on your face...”
“It’s nothing, Frase. What about you? You live here, don’t you need food every once in a while?”
Fraser shrugged, stirring the concoction in the pan. “I usually purchase only enough food for the day, so it isn’t a concern.”
“That’s not right, Fraser. You need a place where you can actually put food in the fridge, Fraser, and not have it taken over by cheese.” A magnet with a smiling wheel of cheese stared up at Ray. He stared back at it uneasily.
“I’m perfectly fine with the situation at hand, Ray. And I must say, at least Constable Turnbull keeps the refrigerator in good condition.”
Ray turned and leaned against the fridge. “What are you saying, Fraser? Are you implicating something about my fridge?”
“I’m not trying to insinuate anything, Ray, I’m simply commenting on Turnbull’s cleanliness.”
Ray slouched more aggressively. “Yeah, whatever, Fraser. So long as he doesn’t polish the cheese before he eats it.”
“Oh, Turnbull doesn’t eat the cheese, Ray. He’s vegan.”
Ray stared at him. “You’re kidding me. For the love of god, tell me you’re fucking kidding me.”
Fraser turned from the stove. “Yes, I am.”
Ray rolled his eyes and turned away, giving up. “That’s it. I give up. I’m going back to America, where we actually eat our cheese.”
Just as Ray reached the door, Fraser spoke. “Quiche?”
He paused, then turned back. “Sure. Why the hell not?”