(Untitled)

[madewithclove]

Who: Shelley Peterson (PETER'S WIFE) and Ema Sepp (PETER PUMPKIN EATER)
What: Peter and his wife finally meet! And Loren pops my threading cherry.
When: Today, late morning.
Where: The Pentamerone kitchen.
Rating: PG? Can't see how it could get worse than that.

Comments

[sellseashelley]

What an awkward situation. If Shelley were the blushing sort, she might have blushed at realizing that she'd mispronounced Ema's name. She might even have turned red at having a stranger being so touchy-feely with her. With the exception of her girlfriends, and even then only after at least a few weeks of dating, Shelley wasn't a tactile person. The hands on her shoulders, the warm looks... it was unsettling. On some level, Shelley the Tale knew that she knew this girl, that the two of them had known each other, in some way or another, throughout their respective existences. She also knew that Ema wasn't a girl, or hadn't been until now. However, Shelley the woman couldn't quite wrap her mind around everything.

The question remained: what to do? Shelley went for the path of least resistance, and she plucked the spoon from Ema's hand and gave it a sniff. The action had no practical purpose; she could already smell the delicious fumes wafting from the pot on the stove and she doubted the risotto was laced with anything. She hadn't warned Ema about her coming or anything, and certainly someone would notice if a tale wound up drugged in the kitchen. Besides, if there were anything in the food, it would likely be GHB, and Shelley knew that was odorless. Having no proof otherwise, she would simply have to trust it. Shelley licked the rice off the end of the spoon. "Wow," she said, bringing her other hand to her lips. "That's amazing!"

[madewithclove]

Shelley may have been embarrassed, but Ema was busily rocking back and forth on her toes, anxious as to what Shelley thought of her cooking. Once the woman praised it, Ema's eyes bulged wide with happiness and pride. At least she did something right! Something still didn't seem quite right about the aromas wafting about the room. Then she realized her mistake, biting down on her lip as she remembered the pumpkin cookies. She'd seen that Shelley didn't like pumpkins, which made sense, after all, but also didn't want to mess them up by taking them out too soon. Trembling with indecision, she decided to just leave them be and hope that Shelley didn't notice. "Yes! You like!" She exclaimed loudly, retracting the spoon from Shelley's grasp.

Still buzzing around lightly on her toes, Ema started to pull out plates from one of the cabinets. "Shelley work?" She inquired, looking back over her shoulder as she hefted a large serving bowl for the rice. Barely over a hundred-some pounds, Ema wasn't the most muscular. She wasn't as frail as she looked, though, as was evident when she attempted to carry the stacks of dishware and cutlery over to the counter. Ema beamed once more at Shelley. "I make for Answer. Bob too! You help want?"

I suck at tagging on time. D:

[sellseashelley]

The language barrier had reared its ugly head some time ago, but it hadn't roared until just now. Shelley couldn't tell whether Ema was asking her what her job was or asking her to help. Was it both? She decided not to answer unless Ema asked again, more specifically. That case had been difficult, and the last thing Shelley wanted at the moment was to think about more rapists and molesters.

That wasn't going to be easy, considering the present company. As much as Shelley knew the soul embedded in that lithe body had committed horrible crimes against women, its current shell could just as easily become a victim as any other girl. Shelley was, however, somewhat impressed when the tiny girl lifted a towering stack of assorted kitchenware. It was more than she'd expected of her, but she still decided to give Ema a hand. She'd asked. "Here, let me," Shelley said, lifting about two thirds of Ema's teetering stack and deftly depositing it on the counter. She worked out regularly, mainly to keep within the standards of fitness required by the force. It helped.