FIFTY-SEVEN souls » a futile attempt to cook

[martelandmany]

[ Sometime this evening, the distinct smell of burnt baking wafts out the kitchen windows of house 8 (which is wide open to vent, because good lord do blackened cupcakes smell). Martel's emerging from the house with a tray of gross black objects, looking slightly dejected but somehow determined

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[catus_carnival]

[Sneaking around...until Tao smells those abominations cupcakes.]

[martelandmany]

[Which she's really trying to bury, she's so so sorry. D:]

[catus_carnival]

[YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM HER NOSE MARTEL. Pouncing over. TO CATCH YOU IN THE ACT.]

[martelandmany]

[She looks up, slightly sheepishly.] May I help you?

[catus_carnival]

[Pointing to the 'cupcakes'.]

What're those, meow?

[martelandmany]

Proof that a biohazard can be crafted from household ingredients.

[catus_carnival]

"Bye-oh-hah-zurd"?

[martelandmany]

...Poison, essentially.

[catus_carnival]

But why does the food taste like poison?

[martelandmany]

That would be because I can't cook.

[catus_carnival]

Why?

[dealing with Tao is dealing like a kid. a catgirl...kid.]

[martelandmany]

[She's starting to figure that out.] Well... The scientists decided that would be a fitting skill to take from me, as repayment for doing me a favor.

[catus_carnival]

The Meowlnosso did that? That's awful, meow!

[martelandmany]

Actually, I count myself lucky. I've seen friends come back having lost much worse things than the ability to cook.

[catus_carnival]

But that's still bad, meow! The Meowlnosso are awful people!