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

[lystoxiquebise]

I hope blood isn't one of the ingredients for your potion...

[idiotregenerate]

[Sean's got his finger in his mouth as he turns. Just to get rid of the blood. He removes it, glances at it, then wipes it on his shirt. The counter looks like a warzone.]

Evening, Lily...

[lystoxiquebise]

Sean.

[Shoves some stuff over so she can sit on a safe spot of the counter.]

Now, what are you trying to accomplish with this?

[idiotregenerate]

Something that could loosely be termed a Sunday dinner, in an ideal world...

[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.]

[change_just_is]

[Apparently the smell of cooking intrigued him, although it could also easily be the smell of something burning if his cooking really does leave something to be desired for. He peeks his head in the door just in time to hear Sean say "Ow!"]

What's going on in here?

[idiotregenerate]

[Probably an undercurrent of burning to the smell. Sean spins, looking vaguely guilty, then seems to realise that he shouldn't actually be.]

Supposedly, cooking.

[change_just_is]

[He laughs and steps into the room]

That looks like the kind of cooking I did when I first got here.

[idiotregenerate]

You'd think I'd have learnt by now, but apparently not. Don, right?

[cant_getoveryou]

*coming back home to a disaster area; looking around*

I give Chii full permission to punch you for this mess.

[idiotregenerate]

Nice to see you too. I do intend to clean it once I've produced something edible.

[cant_getoveryou]

Are you sure you want to give it another go...? *skeptical*

[idiotregenerate]

[Just a flicker of hesitation.]

Even I can't be this incompetent. This bloody well will turn into food sooner or later.