Sunday, April 26th 1953

[idiotregenerate]

[It's Sunday. It's evening.

After one too many Sunday evenings apparently getting to him, Sean is attempting to cook something that might resemble Sunday dinner.]

Ow!

[He sounds offended that the implements are turning against him, for that matter, as well. Sean's cooking has always left something to be desired.]

Comments

[wing_leader]

Are you trying to burn the place down?

-=GRUMP GRUMP GRUMP.=-

[idiotregenerate]

I haven't even started with the hob yet.

[Blatant lies. There's a pan on it already.]

Having a good day, Kohl?

[wing_leader]

-=Are there flames shooting out from the top of the pan?=-

I was until I found out you're violating several building codes. -=Maybe not, but he could have been!=-

[idiotregenerate]

[Not yet. Sean was paying attention to it.]

Do building codes exist in 1950s zombie-infested Russia?

[Dryly. Sean's on the wind-up, apparently.]

[wing_leader]

If there is, there's no copies for the tenants.

[idiotregenerate]

Or if there are, they're in Russian. I am trying not to destroy any property here.

[wing_leader]

The best laid plans usually go up in smoke. What are you attempting to make? -=wrinkles his nose.=-

[idiotregenerate]

Something approximating Sunday dinner.

[Pause. Then realisation makes his eyes go wide.]

Shit!

[And a lunge at the pan as he realises that is, indeed, a smell of burning.]

[wing_leader]

-=Grins=-

Stews are usually safer. Especially with the mystery meats they give us.

[idiotregenerate]

I was hoping to make an effort for one Sunday.

[Sean frowns into the pan as he attempts to scrape at the bottom of the pan, holding it off the heat for a moment.]

Probably need to learn from that one. Damn it.

[wing_leader]

Add some oil and keep stirring. -=He goes for the vegetable oil to put into the pan.=-