Supreme Court Swag! [RP for Alan Shore]

[zippyknowsbest]

[for alan_shore]
[Takes place after Day One of the Great Reshelving, yet to be written]The teakettle was screaming, it was a toss-up as to whether the stuff in the oven or the stuff on the stove would burn first, the apartment looked like a laundry basket and a bookbin had waged a messy and casualty-heavy war, her cellphone was ringing, and Alan Shore was at

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[alan_shore]

Alan was performing a balancing act of his own, juggling an armload of (brightly wrapped--he might have been hopeless at cooking and scornful of small talk, but by God, the things he could do with wrapping paper and a bit of tape) gifts and a slightly-smaller-than-life cardboard cutout of John Roberts.

"Zippy," he greeted, smile cheerful, cheeks still rosy from the cold. "I'd offer to come back in ten minutes, but as you can see..."

[zippyknowsbest]

Zippy blinked-- gifts were somewhat expected, given the season, given Alan's own words of having picked up "trinkets"-- John Roberts was... not.

"I-- yes. I do see. Come inside. Do you want me to take the Chief Justice there off your hands?"

[alan_shore]

He shuffled inside, catching, as he did so, a whiff of something sweet and buttery and enticing. It was almost enough to make him regret the little tango of baked goods promised and revoked they'd been dancing.

"I'd rather you took these, actually," he said, indicating the packages with a jerk of his chin. "There's something very satisfying about keeping John Roberts in a headlock."

[zippyknowsbest]

"Far be it from me to begrudge you your.... kicks, then," Zippy said, and took the armful of wrapped items. She stepped back inside, stepped over Fat Louie as a matter of course, and made her way to the table to set down the presents.

"Don't trip on the cat, he likes to sabotage the unwary. I hope you're not allergic. Are you assuming I'm going to keep Roberts, incidentally, or were you just wanting to show him off?"

[alan_shore]

"He's all yours," Alan said, clumsily sidestepping the cat. "Provided you want him, of course. Personally, I think he'd make a fine hat stand. Or dartboard."

He drew Roberts out from under his arm--gripping, like an aunt setting upon a hapless nephew at a family reunion, the cardboard jurist in both hands--and gazed admiringly at the ill-suppressed smirk, the faintly elven ears, the nick in the chin. "I'd have brought you Scalia, but truth be told I've grown rather fond of the old curmudgeon."

[zippyknowsbest]

"Cat toy, perhaps," Zippy answered with a note of satisfaction, bending down to scoop Fat Louie up and scratch behind his ears. She chose not to address Alan's fondness for Scalia.

"How about it, Lou? You wanna claw up the justice? Express your opinion of his politics with feline fury? Let's put you in the bedroom so you don't shed on Alan, somehow I doubt he'd take it as the symbol of affection you mean it as, you sloppy bastard."

Louie was exiled to the bedroom with the hidden laundry, and Zippy returned. "Forgive me, I talk to my cats in the absence of more intelligent conversation. They beat out Rachel by a fair margin. Ha. Don't tell her I said that. So-- sit, sit! Be welcome, make yourself comfy. Can I open my gifts now?"

[alan_shore]

"The absence of intelligent conversation has driven me to much worse, I can assure you." Idly wondering whether he'd breached some protocol of human-feline interaction by neglecting to pet or coo over or otherwise pay tribute to the cat, Alan propped Chief Justice Roberts against a convenient tower of books and took a seat.

"Already?" He arched his eyebrows in mock surprise. "But I only just got here, Zippy. Wouldn't you first like to savor the gift of my company?"

[zippyknowsbest]

"I can multi-task," Zippy said earnestly. "I can enjoy your company and open gifts at the same time. I'm very talented."

Something beeped in the kitchen-- thankfully not the smoke alarm, just the timer. "A broch, the pie--"

Zippy hurried back into the kitchen, gifts temporarily forgotten in favor of the pecan angel pie. Oh, yes, and the teapot was still steaming. "Alan, do you want tea with your pie?"

[alan_shore]

"I wouldn't object to it," Alan called after her, twisting in his chair for a better view of the pie's arrival.

Then that all but vestigial conscience of his piped up, and he was forced to add, "Do you need any help?"

[zippyknowsbest]

"No," Zippy answered, firmly. "I don't allow the non-certified into my kitchen, thanks."

The pecan pie was deftly removed from the oven, with the aid of oven mitts of course, and Zippy set it on the stovetop to cool. Tea next-- she pulled out the tray of various teabags and tins from a cupboard, then brought it over to Alan.

"Pick, there's too many for me to try and list you the flavors," she smiled, and turned her attention to the first of wrapped packages again.

[alan_shore]

"Oh my." There was something undeniably impressive--even to a lifelong coffee drinker--about the vast array of flavors on display. Of course it would all taste the same, more or less, but one had to applaud the effort.

"Cinnamon plum," Alan said decisively, after several moments of intense scrutiny. He plucked the appropriate teabag from the tray.

[zippyknowsbest]

Thankfully, Zippy was not privy to any contemplation on tea tasting more-or-less the same-- she would have felt the need to pontificate, at length, on the vast differences in taste between Darjeeling and Egyptian Licorice, or even Alan's chosen cinnamon plum.

What she did say was, "Good choice," with a smile, and snagged the teabag from his hand, moving back into the kitchen. She preferred to make tea loose, but in bags would do for today.

A cup of chai for herself, Alan's tea in another mug, and two pieces of piping-hot pie quickly plated. "Mmmm, pie à la mode, or not? It's vanilla bean."

[alan_shore]

And Alan would have listened politely, nodding when inappropriate and pondering the appeal of the phrase “Egyptian Licorice”-perhaps it lay in the long “i” sound that twined through each word like a river.

“A la mode,” he instructed without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m in a celebratory mood.”

[zippyknowsbest]

"Oh? And what particular conquest or triumph are we celebrating?" Zippy said as she dished generous helpings of ice cream onto both their plates. Pie, tea mugs, the sugar bowl, and a pint carton of creamer from the fridge were all loaded onto a tray and brought back over to the coffee table and to Alan.

"There, partake. Pie's hot, don't burn yourself. Same goes for the tea," Zippy said, plopping down on the couch as well. And reaching again for the first present-- the thermos, unbeknownst to her.

She held it up and shook it.

[alan_shore]

"Why, that of imagination over intelligence," Alan said, taking up his fork and breaking off the tip of his slice. This he crowned with a rapidly melting blob of ice cream before hastening it to his mouth.

It was too hot, of course, and Alan was obliged to puff out his cheeks and inhale sharply through his nose in an attempt at some after-the-fact cooling. When, finally, the molten morsel had seared its way down his throat, he forced a weak smile. "I'll let you know how it was when my taste buds emerge from hiding. Go ahead and open it." He tipped his head in the direction of the gift.

[zippyknowsbest]

"Oh yes, your marriage," Zippy said with a finger-snap. "Mazel tov, et cetera. How is that going for you, anyhow?"

She smirked a bit at Alan's facial contortions but managed not to say I told you so. Besides, there was a gift to open.

The paper was quickly ripped off and tossed to the floor-- the cats would probably love it as a toy-- and Zippy was holding a silvery, Supreme-Court-embossed thermos. She turned it over in her hands, chuckling.

"Practical! I can take a ridiculous amount of tea in this thing to work with me. Were you thinking of that, Alan, or were you more influenced by the remarkable phallic quality of this thing?"