[private]

[subversion]

It's been a few hours. No, the tea didn't help; he's nervous, twitchy, can't keep still. Obviously the thing to do is wall himself up in a kitchen and cook with ridiculous amounts of onions.

[[OOC: private to stripesandheels. Adult content further down.]]

Comments

[stripesandheels]

[She makes it back, mostly intact- no. Who is she kidding? One thigh high has come off her garter belt, and rolled down. Her dress is rumpled, her hair is a mess. She ignores him, as she comes into the room, and drifts to the cupboard to get a glass down for water.

Higher than a fucking kite, would be the expression.]

[subversion]

Possibly. [peering at her.] Don't look like that.

[stripesandheels]

It'd make sense.

[Valiantly chipper.]

Making a tv show about himself in a backwater world is exactly the kind of thing he'd do. Then, he snatches up the smart ones and puts them in a fish bowl, waiting for them to guess that he's real, and the reason behind it all.

[subversion]

Well, now we've guessed. [rapping on the work surface, sounding detached.] We're on to you, Q. Let us out now.

[Nothing happens.]

You look like I just poured that - [indicating the bowl of egg] - over your head. You didn't get it.

[stripesandheels]

No, I do. A month too late, or whatever, but it's my problem, not yours. Keep cooking, it's never going to get done at this rate.

[subversion]

I'm not sure I even want it now.

[Leaning into a lower cupboard, he puts a wok on to heat.]

I would have loved to work in stellar cartography. Between you and me. But they would have bumped me upstairs to command, I suppose.

[stripesandheels]

You could have torrid affairs with dozens of alien women- you'd be a better Kirk-Spock hybrid than a Picard.

[subversion]

You've been reading too much fanfiction.

[Half-smiling, then wrinkling his nose as he pours oil into the wok.]

[stripesandheels]

There's this one room-

[She even smiles.]

[subversion]

Full of torrid alien women? I shall have to find it.

[He manages to sound as unimpressed with the prospect as he feels.]

[stripesandheels]

Full of fanfiction of us. Light slash L, positional asphyxia. Light slash Mello, crossdressing, rimming.

[subversion]

[The wok's in his hand, and clatters down onto the stand as he drops it. Oil splashes; he pulls back. It's only spit. The horror on his face is far worse.]

[stripesandheels]

Woah! Be careful! Christ, Light.

[She hops off the counter, and scampers out of his way, so he can get at the sink without being in her new imaginary radius.]

[subversion]

It's not bad.

[It really is only the tiniest stinging splash; he pulls his hand up and licks at the spot, before emptying the peas and prawns in and stirring like mad.]

But you aren't serious. You're making that up to trick me. I mean, me and Ryuuzaki? You just wanted to see my jaw drop.

[stripesandheels]

It's so true. The truest thing I've ever told you. Finish that, and pack it in a bowl, we can take it there, have a picnic and read them to each other. It's so funny- some of it is even well written!

[subversion]

[He's stirring far harder than he necessarily needs to. There's a strained pause.]

... you're on.

H-ow many of these have you read?