Eight Crazy Nights 3: Revenge and Fringe
for 
giandujakiss: Revenge - Nolan and Emily, BFFs! And/or, having finished with Emily's Revenge, go on the road doing long cons on the 1%. Either one, or both!
“You owe me, Ems,” Nolan wheedled.
“I haven’t killed you yet,” Emily said, with what passed for fondness in her. “That counts.”
Nolan waved that off. “You promised you’d do Dangerous Liaisons with me. Well, you didn’t say no, which is almost the same thing.”
“I was breaking into a vault at the time! I couldn’t object without triggering the alarm. And I am not going to compete with you on seducing an innocent.”
Nolan snorted. “Hate to lose, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, which was all he’d really wanted anyway: one of her inconvenient truths.
That, and her agreement to his backup plan. “If you’re not going to fulfil my fondest wish, then at least let me pick the target this time.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You still want to make a sex tape with a closeted Republican, don’t you?”
“Easy, yes, but so satisfying. C’mon, Ems, it’s been nearly six months since we did one I chose, and we are kind of rolling in the dough right now, even by my standards.” It was amazing what some people would pay for wine allegedly from Thomas Jefferson’s cellars, even though the real stuff would have to have been vinegar for half a century.
Emily sighed, her oh fine, let Nolan have his little games sigh (so much nicer than the now I have to damage you sigh, even when that one wasn’t directed at Nolan). “Your face is well-known at this point. You can’t just expect to waltz into some Heritage Foundation briefing and pick up a Congressman.”
“Oh, now that sounds like a dare.” As for the recognizability, well, he’d pick a dumb one.
“I assume you have a role for me to play in this little fantasy,” she said, acknowledging his victory.
“I’d say beard, but that’s so trite. How about… manager?”
“You want me to be your madam,” she said, with just the right raise of her eyebrow.
“I love how you get me as a person.” As a matter of fact, Emily had been running him for years. And she liked it, and he liked that she liked it. It was a virtuous circle, albeit without the virtue.
“Fine,” she said. “But this time, try not to get your face on national television.”
“Fair enough,” Nolan said, suppressing his commentary about how no one was going to be looking at his face in deference to Emily’s delicate sensibilities. No one knew better than he did how unwise it was to piss her off.
No one alive, anyway.
... and
for
kass: Fringe, the Bishop family (any definition thereof), waffles
“You might not want to go in there,” Peter said, holding his hand up before Olivia entered the lab. “Walter has discovered molecular gastronomy.”
“Excuse me?” Olivia asked, because although she read the case files very carefully, this was not a term that she recognized.
Peter closed his eyes in his typical Walter-related near-wince. “It’s a thing where you make food take forms that it doesn’t take in nature. Avocado foam. Rice krispies mousse. Frozen lollipops made out of octopus.”
“Also known as culinary physics!” Walter called out. “Peter, I need your help with the anti-griddle!”
“For cooling and freezing,” Peter explained over his shoulder.
“Should I be worried?” Olivia asked Astrid, who had a towel thrown over her shoulder and was carrying a carton of eggs.
“I don’t think so,” she said, though her tone was not entirely certain. “All the ingredients certainly start out edible. On the other hand, Walter might be able to build a working weapon out of them just as easily. And any time he plays with the liquid nitrogen concerns me.”
“Careful application of hydrocolloids!” Walter called out. “That is the secret!”
“I suppose it would be,” Olivia said. This didn’t seem to be a situation that called for a high level of vigilance, though Astrid’s caution was far from unwarranted.
She went to catch up on paperwork, resolving not to interfere unless or until someone gave greater signs of distress.
Much later, Walter tapped on the doorway of the tiny office where she’d secreted her computer. “Olivia! You are invited to a demonstration of techno-emotional cuisine.”
“You know,” Peter said consideringly as Walter handed around plates and napkins, “people pay hundreds of dollars for this kind of experience from experimental chefs.”
Gene mooed, which was a kind of commentary as expressive in its way as Astrid’s skepticism.
“Maple syrup waffles,” Walter said, using tongs to put one on each plate, “with waffle syrup.” He poured a thick substance that looked more like raw honey than syrup on top of each waffle.
“I know those words,” Peter said. “It’s the order that’s confusing me.”
“And caviarized fruit,” Walter continued unfazed. The things he scooped out of the bowl looked like gumballs, though in more natural colors.
They looked at each other, shrugged, and picked up their forks.
“Oh my God,” Astrid said after her first bite. “This waffle is made of maple syrup!”
“Yes, I just said that,” Walter remonstrated. “Discovering the proper gelling agent required significant experimentation.”
“And the syrup is made of waffles,” Olivia said, just to confirm what her tastebuds were telling her. It was … eye-opening. The tastes were, somehow, exactly the same, but the textures were completely different. The waffles were (had been?) excellent, too, cooked to just the right point where crispness met sweetness-and the crispness was in the taste. It was like slipping into another world, but without the usual terror and disaster.
“Would you like some eggs?” Walter asked, clearly excited and a little nervous.
“That depends,” Peter said. “What did you do to them?” They leaned in, all interested in the answer.
“They’ve been infused with bacon.”
“Sign me up,” Peter said immediately.
“Walter,” Olivia said, “this is … amazing.” Somehow the shock of the taste made her think about what waffles were, what she expected and what she liked. Maybe paying hundreds of dollars was still extreme, but she understood why people might do it. She scooped up a red sphere and got the taste of fresh strawberry with the consistency of jello, another confusing but also delightful surprise.
“Actually, it really is,” Peter agreed. Walter beamed at them as he served the eggs.
“I should tell you about the tests we ran last night,” Astrid said. “But this is-”
“Food deserves attention,” Walter said. “I always pay attention. But the rest of you, you need a reminder.”
“And what a way to get it,” Peter said, but not meanly, and then he too was too focused on his plate to talk.
Olivia ate her waffles, and her syrup, and thought how the Fringe team was just like this: never exactly what it seemed, and always able to teach her new things about the world.
And when Walter brought out the coffee cubes, she didn’t hesitate to take three.
... I may actually finish on time this year!
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.
giandujakiss: Revenge - Nolan and Emily, BFFs! And/or, having finished with Emily's Revenge, go on the road doing long cons on the 1%. Either one, or both!
“You owe me, Ems,” Nolan wheedled.
“I haven’t killed you yet,” Emily said, with what passed for fondness in her. “That counts.”
Nolan waved that off. “You promised you’d do Dangerous Liaisons with me. Well, you didn’t say no, which is almost the same thing.”
“I was breaking into a vault at the time! I couldn’t object without triggering the alarm. And I am not going to compete with you on seducing an innocent.”
Nolan snorted. “Hate to lose, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, which was all he’d really wanted anyway: one of her inconvenient truths.
That, and her agreement to his backup plan. “If you’re not going to fulfil my fondest wish, then at least let me pick the target this time.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You still want to make a sex tape with a closeted Republican, don’t you?”
“Easy, yes, but so satisfying. C’mon, Ems, it’s been nearly six months since we did one I chose, and we are kind of rolling in the dough right now, even by my standards.” It was amazing what some people would pay for wine allegedly from Thomas Jefferson’s cellars, even though the real stuff would have to have been vinegar for half a century.
Emily sighed, her oh fine, let Nolan have his little games sigh (so much nicer than the now I have to damage you sigh, even when that one wasn’t directed at Nolan). “Your face is well-known at this point. You can’t just expect to waltz into some Heritage Foundation briefing and pick up a Congressman.”
“Oh, now that sounds like a dare.” As for the recognizability, well, he’d pick a dumb one.
“I assume you have a role for me to play in this little fantasy,” she said, acknowledging his victory.
“I’d say beard, but that’s so trite. How about… manager?”
“You want me to be your madam,” she said, with just the right raise of her eyebrow.
“I love how you get me as a person.” As a matter of fact, Emily had been running him for years. And she liked it, and he liked that she liked it. It was a virtuous circle, albeit without the virtue.
“Fine,” she said. “But this time, try not to get your face on national television.”
“Fair enough,” Nolan said, suppressing his commentary about how no one was going to be looking at his face in deference to Emily’s delicate sensibilities. No one knew better than he did how unwise it was to piss her off.
No one alive, anyway.
... and
for
kass: Fringe, the Bishop family (any definition thereof), waffles
“You might not want to go in there,” Peter said, holding his hand up before Olivia entered the lab. “Walter has discovered molecular gastronomy.”
“Excuse me?” Olivia asked, because although she read the case files very carefully, this was not a term that she recognized.
Peter closed his eyes in his typical Walter-related near-wince. “It’s a thing where you make food take forms that it doesn’t take in nature. Avocado foam. Rice krispies mousse. Frozen lollipops made out of octopus.”
“Also known as culinary physics!” Walter called out. “Peter, I need your help with the anti-griddle!”
“For cooling and freezing,” Peter explained over his shoulder.
“Should I be worried?” Olivia asked Astrid, who had a towel thrown over her shoulder and was carrying a carton of eggs.
“I don’t think so,” she said, though her tone was not entirely certain. “All the ingredients certainly start out edible. On the other hand, Walter might be able to build a working weapon out of them just as easily. And any time he plays with the liquid nitrogen concerns me.”
“Careful application of hydrocolloids!” Walter called out. “That is the secret!”
“I suppose it would be,” Olivia said. This didn’t seem to be a situation that called for a high level of vigilance, though Astrid’s caution was far from unwarranted.
She went to catch up on paperwork, resolving not to interfere unless or until someone gave greater signs of distress.
Much later, Walter tapped on the doorway of the tiny office where she’d secreted her computer. “Olivia! You are invited to a demonstration of techno-emotional cuisine.”
“You know,” Peter said consideringly as Walter handed around plates and napkins, “people pay hundreds of dollars for this kind of experience from experimental chefs.”
Gene mooed, which was a kind of commentary as expressive in its way as Astrid’s skepticism.
“Maple syrup waffles,” Walter said, using tongs to put one on each plate, “with waffle syrup.” He poured a thick substance that looked more like raw honey than syrup on top of each waffle.
“I know those words,” Peter said. “It’s the order that’s confusing me.”
“And caviarized fruit,” Walter continued unfazed. The things he scooped out of the bowl looked like gumballs, though in more natural colors.
They looked at each other, shrugged, and picked up their forks.
“Oh my God,” Astrid said after her first bite. “This waffle is made of maple syrup!”
“Yes, I just said that,” Walter remonstrated. “Discovering the proper gelling agent required significant experimentation.”
“And the syrup is made of waffles,” Olivia said, just to confirm what her tastebuds were telling her. It was … eye-opening. The tastes were, somehow, exactly the same, but the textures were completely different. The waffles were (had been?) excellent, too, cooked to just the right point where crispness met sweetness-and the crispness was in the taste. It was like slipping into another world, but without the usual terror and disaster.
“Would you like some eggs?” Walter asked, clearly excited and a little nervous.
“That depends,” Peter said. “What did you do to them?” They leaned in, all interested in the answer.
“They’ve been infused with bacon.”
“Sign me up,” Peter said immediately.
“Walter,” Olivia said, “this is … amazing.” Somehow the shock of the taste made her think about what waffles were, what she expected and what she liked. Maybe paying hundreds of dollars was still extreme, but she understood why people might do it. She scooped up a red sphere and got the taste of fresh strawberry with the consistency of jello, another confusing but also delightful surprise.
“Actually, it really is,” Peter agreed. Walter beamed at them as he served the eggs.
“I should tell you about the tests we ran last night,” Astrid said. “But this is-”
“Food deserves attention,” Walter said. “I always pay attention. But the rest of you, you need a reminder.”
“And what a way to get it,” Peter said, but not meanly, and then he too was too focused on his plate to talk.
Olivia ate her waffles, and her syrup, and thought how the Fringe team was just like this: never exactly what it seemed, and always able to teach her new things about the world.
And when Walter brought out the coffee cubes, she didn’t hesitate to take three.
... I may actually finish on time this year!
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.