(no subject)
Cheeseburger #14. nom nom nom
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1036
Woah there are a lot of people in this kitchen. And I have a feeling random word generators are going to be my friend in this story.
Merry came slinking through the kitchen door, raised one neatly trimmed, golden brow at the disarray that encompassed the counters and voiced an entirely judgmental , “What are you doing?”
“Cooking,” said Fran, cheerfully giving the mound of slowly browning food in her pan a stir. “It seemed like a good idea,” she continued, ignoring the frown her dish was now receiving and the fact that Sylvia had followed Merry in to mimic her disdain from the doorway. “I mean, we have this lovely little kitchen here and it doesn’t look like it’s been used in ages, so I thought it would be okay if I commandeered it for just a little bit and made everyone a nice treat, at least I hope you’ll think it’s a treat. I noticed they don’t serve comach at the diner.”
“Comach?” Sylvia repeated slowly.
“It’s cockatrice liver.” Fran turned off the stove and slid the pan to a cold burner. “Fried with onions and potatoes and seasoned with powdered stoned beetles. Though, you know, I suppose it is a little funny, I mean flavoring a bird with bits of its own victims? But believe me, It is tasty.”
Merry and Sylvia turned to each other with distasteful looks. “I think I’ll have to take your word on that,” said Merry, as another figure popped up between them.
“What smells like heaven in here?” said Lloyd, elbowing his way into the kitchen.
Just as Fran was looking up to greet him, Florian’s voice carried in from the hall. “Is that comach?”
Lloyd’s entrance was momentarily forgotten as Fran stared, wide-eyed at the theatre manager who was eyeing her pan as if it were filled with gold. “You know comach?”
“I love comach!” said Flo. “I haven’t had it in ages!” He and Al, who quietly followed him in, hurried past her to start clearing the table and fetching plates.
“Well, come have some! I made plenty. Here,” she grabbed a fork, stabbed it through a bit of meat and a chunk of potato, and spun around to thrust it at Lloyd’s lips, “try a bite!”
Lloyd blinked at the fork. “What’s in it?”
“You don’t want to know,” said both Merry and Sylvia, too late because Fran had already popped the bite into his mouth.
It took him a moment to work through it, and Fran wanted to giggle, the way he stood there staring at her, all enraptured. He’d barely swallowed before he had a plate in hand, looking for more.
“You know what?” he said. “I don’t care what’s in it.” He took the spatula from her hand and quickly loaded up his plate. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Someone wants to get in Pinky’s pants,” Sylvia chanted.
Lloyd shot her a scowl as he settled into a chair. “Why? Because I complimented her?”
“For some people it doesn’t take much,” said Merry, with a pointed look at Sylvia.
“I mean it though,” said Lloyd, as Fran leaned past him to fill Flo and Al’s plates and her own. “Not what she said! You act, you sing, you turn cartwheels on the rafters-”
That had Flo choking on his first bite, and Al quickly patted him on the back while he sputtered. “Cartwheels on the where?”
“Not anymore!” said Fran, waving her hands defensively as her cheeks turned a deep pink. “I promise!”
“Six different instruments,” Lloyd continued, gathering up another forkful of food. “And this!”
Still perched in the doorway, Sylvia leaned in to ask Merry, “Should we tell him what’s in it?”
“Not yet,” said Merry.
Fran seated herself next to Lloyd, still blushing ear to ear. “I’m flattered, really!” she said. “But I’m sure there are plenty of things I can’t do. Like, well, um… building things, I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever touched a hammer or a nail in my life. Maybe you can show me some of what you do.”
“Well, sure, if you’ll show me some cooking.”
“Ah, even better,” said Sylvia. “She’ll have to tell him what’s in it.”
“Oh!” said Fran. “And you’ll show me how you make things blow up?”
“No,” said Flo as soon as Lloyd opened his mouth. “No, you won’t.”
“Right,” said Lloyd. “That, uh, might not be such a great idea.”
No one seemed to want to argue with that. For a few minutes only the clinking and scraping of forks against plates filled the room.
“This is just lovely,” said Flo, “having someone using the kitchen again, all of us - most of us,” he amended, with a look at Merry and Sylvia, “eating together in our own quiet little place.”
“Except Gilda,” said Al, “where is she?”
Merry cleared her throat. “Gilda is… visiting the, er, facilities again. Breakfast didn’t much like her.”
“I don’t suspect lunch is going to like anyone either,” Sylvia added.
“Poor Gilda,” said Fran, and the sentiment was echoed around the table with much murmuring and nodding. She turned to peer over her shoulder at the two women lurking by the door. “Maybe next time you could cook us something more to your liking?”
“Hmm,” said Sylvia, eyeing the stove. “I have a few recipes, I suppose.”
Merry turned and cocked a brow at her. “How do those go? Open a bottle of wine and serve?”
“Oh please.” Sylvia flicked a thick mass of pale blue curls over her shoulder dramatically as she rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I could make something better than you could.”
Merry sniffed. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Al grinned. “I’m liking the looks of this competition.”
“Me too,” said Flo. “Look what you’ve started, Fran. The old kitchen’s going to get some use again, assuming we all survive whatever Sylvie decides to make for us,” he added with a smirk.
“You’ll have to live through Pinky’s bugs first,” Sylvia shot back.
Lloyd paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, to look at Fran. “Wait, what’s in this?”
“Bugs.” Fran smiled a very tight smile back at him. “Powdered stoned beetles. That’s what gives it that sort of nutty flavor.”
“Oh,” said Lloyd. He eyed the morsel on his fork for a moment before shrugging and popping it in his mouth.
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1036
Woah there are a lot of people in this kitchen. And I have a feeling random word generators are going to be my friend in this story.
Merry came slinking through the kitchen door, raised one neatly trimmed, golden brow at the disarray that encompassed the counters and voiced an entirely judgmental , “What are you doing?”
“Cooking,” said Fran, cheerfully giving the mound of slowly browning food in her pan a stir. “It seemed like a good idea,” she continued, ignoring the frown her dish was now receiving and the fact that Sylvia had followed Merry in to mimic her disdain from the doorway. “I mean, we have this lovely little kitchen here and it doesn’t look like it’s been used in ages, so I thought it would be okay if I commandeered it for just a little bit and made everyone a nice treat, at least I hope you’ll think it’s a treat. I noticed they don’t serve comach at the diner.”
“Comach?” Sylvia repeated slowly.
“It’s cockatrice liver.” Fran turned off the stove and slid the pan to a cold burner. “Fried with onions and potatoes and seasoned with powdered stoned beetles. Though, you know, I suppose it is a little funny, I mean flavoring a bird with bits of its own victims? But believe me, It is tasty.”
Merry and Sylvia turned to each other with distasteful looks. “I think I’ll have to take your word on that,” said Merry, as another figure popped up between them.
“What smells like heaven in here?” said Lloyd, elbowing his way into the kitchen.
Just as Fran was looking up to greet him, Florian’s voice carried in from the hall. “Is that comach?”
Lloyd’s entrance was momentarily forgotten as Fran stared, wide-eyed at the theatre manager who was eyeing her pan as if it were filled with gold. “You know comach?”
“I love comach!” said Flo. “I haven’t had it in ages!” He and Al, who quietly followed him in, hurried past her to start clearing the table and fetching plates.
“Well, come have some! I made plenty. Here,” she grabbed a fork, stabbed it through a bit of meat and a chunk of potato, and spun around to thrust it at Lloyd’s lips, “try a bite!”
Lloyd blinked at the fork. “What’s in it?”
“You don’t want to know,” said both Merry and Sylvia, too late because Fran had already popped the bite into his mouth.
It took him a moment to work through it, and Fran wanted to giggle, the way he stood there staring at her, all enraptured. He’d barely swallowed before he had a plate in hand, looking for more.
“You know what?” he said. “I don’t care what’s in it.” He took the spatula from her hand and quickly loaded up his plate. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Someone wants to get in Pinky’s pants,” Sylvia chanted.
Lloyd shot her a scowl as he settled into a chair. “Why? Because I complimented her?”
“For some people it doesn’t take much,” said Merry, with a pointed look at Sylvia.
“I mean it though,” said Lloyd, as Fran leaned past him to fill Flo and Al’s plates and her own. “Not what she said! You act, you sing, you turn cartwheels on the rafters-”
That had Flo choking on his first bite, and Al quickly patted him on the back while he sputtered. “Cartwheels on the where?”
“Not anymore!” said Fran, waving her hands defensively as her cheeks turned a deep pink. “I promise!”
“Six different instruments,” Lloyd continued, gathering up another forkful of food. “And this!”
Still perched in the doorway, Sylvia leaned in to ask Merry, “Should we tell him what’s in it?”
“Not yet,” said Merry.
Fran seated herself next to Lloyd, still blushing ear to ear. “I’m flattered, really!” she said. “But I’m sure there are plenty of things I can’t do. Like, well, um… building things, I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever touched a hammer or a nail in my life. Maybe you can show me some of what you do.”
“Well, sure, if you’ll show me some cooking.”
“Ah, even better,” said Sylvia. “She’ll have to tell him what’s in it.”
“Oh!” said Fran. “And you’ll show me how you make things blow up?”
“No,” said Flo as soon as Lloyd opened his mouth. “No, you won’t.”
“Right,” said Lloyd. “That, uh, might not be such a great idea.”
No one seemed to want to argue with that. For a few minutes only the clinking and scraping of forks against plates filled the room.
“This is just lovely,” said Flo, “having someone using the kitchen again, all of us - most of us,” he amended, with a look at Merry and Sylvia, “eating together in our own quiet little place.”
“Except Gilda,” said Al, “where is she?”
Merry cleared her throat. “Gilda is… visiting the, er, facilities again. Breakfast didn’t much like her.”
“I don’t suspect lunch is going to like anyone either,” Sylvia added.
“Poor Gilda,” said Fran, and the sentiment was echoed around the table with much murmuring and nodding. She turned to peer over her shoulder at the two women lurking by the door. “Maybe next time you could cook us something more to your liking?”
“Hmm,” said Sylvia, eyeing the stove. “I have a few recipes, I suppose.”
Merry turned and cocked a brow at her. “How do those go? Open a bottle of wine and serve?”
“Oh please.” Sylvia flicked a thick mass of pale blue curls over her shoulder dramatically as she rolled her eyes. “I’m sure I could make something better than you could.”
Merry sniffed. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Al grinned. “I’m liking the looks of this competition.”
“Me too,” said Flo. “Look what you’ve started, Fran. The old kitchen’s going to get some use again, assuming we all survive whatever Sylvie decides to make for us,” he added with a smirk.
“You’ll have to live through Pinky’s bugs first,” Sylvia shot back.
Lloyd paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, to look at Fran. “Wait, what’s in this?”
“Bugs.” Fran smiled a very tight smile back at him. “Powdered stoned beetles. That’s what gives it that sort of nutty flavor.”
“Oh,” said Lloyd. He eyed the morsel on his fork for a moment before shrugging and popping it in his mouth.