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 Posted: Mon Mar 09, 2009 8:19 pm
Page Log.
I. Page one roleplay log.
II. [C] A Valentine's day assignment. [Cabbage]
III. [PRP] An Ice cream afternoon - Shiraz and Emi.
IV. [C] A night out on the tiles.
V. [C] Good morning Cabbage. Wait, what!
VI. [C] Coffee and Chopin- a not so perfect mix.
VII. [C] Birds in the sky.
VIII. [C] Burnt pancakes.
IX. [PRP] Open microphone cappuccino - Delilah and Emi.
X. [PRP] Cabbage clothes shopping - Risa and Emi.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
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Posted: Tue Mar 10, 2009 5:47 pm
14th of Feburary, 2009. A Valentine's day assignment.
It was February the fourteenth when the wintery cold of the outside world thawed the top floor newspaper department. Despite the chilly air clinging to the windows, the day had started well for a select few, the receptionist had arrived to a huge bunch of roses on her desk, the editor had a carefully wrapped box of chocolates, and even the grouchy photographer had a red envelope placed on her workspace. The air buzzed with excitement, the usual banter of Gaian antics had been replaced with talk of dinners, flustered females, and men discussing where to take their various dates to for the evening. It was certainly NOT something Emiko Pallone was well versed in.
Sea blue eyes set themselves on the window, it was a grey day, certainly a day where an umbrella would be needed to hop down the side street back home, and gosh, all Emi wanted to do was go home. In front of her sat her worst nightmare, an assignment to go and interview a happy couple regarding their one hundredth wedding anniversary. The subject was actively alien to the middle aged furry, but as a serious journalist it was apparently something her readers wanted to read, even more so after her rant about Valentine’s Day she had featured a few days prior. Now, THAT, had been a serious piece of journalism – clearly, it was not her fault that half her audience were old age pensioners who did not understand her morals on the life of a singleton.
“Cheer up misery,” Perched over the desk, the curved receptionist towered over Emi's ideals.
“Hm? Oh, Klia, it's you,”
“Who else would it be, cupid?” The busty receptionist queried, placing a heart shaped piece of paper squarely down onto the desk. Yet another Klia idea gone wrong, the bright green paper mashed horribly with the mauve lettering scribbled on the back, but it was the thought that counted, correct?
“You know I can’t, I have to go see Mr and Mrs Rook tomorrow morning at eight!” Pushing her creaking chair further into the desk, Emi was quick to glance at the offering, dissolving slowly into the fabric. Perhaps if she slid back far enough Klia would forget about this silly speed dating outing, just maybe if she managed to hide far beneath the desk she could avoid this silly holiday in its entirety. She had serious work to do, about sheep crossing paddocks, juveniles stealing one penny sweets from the local store and the dangers of electric lawnmowers: usually Annette took the love stories for her own column, this topic was not her forte. Yet, strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, the humanoid deemed Annette was infatuated with her mobile phone today, and not to mention the shiny stone on her finger that had appeared overnight.
“Yes, and this is until eleven, eleven Emi, eleven! Losing an hour of sleep is not going to kill you!” Exasperated the receptionist, placing her hands on her hips as she started to give up the chase, it was days like today that the receptionist questioned whether her input into her best friend’s life was truly as valid as she’d like to think it was.
“An hours sleep is the difference between a good column, and a bad one,”
“Next month then, no excuses,” The fussy editor had started to do the rounds of the newsprint department once more, although why he felt the need to glower down at his employees today of all days was questionable. His slick engine was moving at a snail’s pace, whether he threw glares in various directions or not.
The clock on the windowsill swung its pendulum from left to right, perfectly matched by the clack of high heels as Klia finally gave in, bouncing the seven steps over to the other side of the room to pick up a ringing telephone. The silence spoke volumes, seconds flying out into the cloudy skyline as the clock struck half past two, and the moment the wooden bird struck out of hiding to say hello so did the rain, pattering on the glass like hale.
Yet, the cheerful smiles of both Mr and Mrs Rook didn’t change on Emi’s desk despite the weather. They were the perfect family, two point five children, a dog, a house in the countryside and a marriage that was immaculate. Putting a journalist face on, the furry scribbled a moustache on Mrs Rook's face, and a set of whiskers on Mr Rooks.
There, now she could think of questions for tomorrow.
---
The smiling faces didn't change, no matter how many scribbles Emi placed around them. Mrs Rook now sported not only a moustache, but a beard plus a highly fashionable fish on her head, while her husband’s poor face had been obliterated with a much large nose, black lipstick, even more whiskers, and the piéce de résistance of a headband of girly stars. Both stared at the sodden journalist, waiting pleasantly to hear her introduction tomorrow.
Emi had been right earlier, having stayed on an extra twenty minutes at work hadn't worked to her favour, inherently the problem was that she had not brought an umbrella, and by the time she met the outside the world, the cleverer people who had brought umbrellas had long since gone. So, having been soaked to the skin, the furry presently fumbled around in the bathroom for a towel. Upon finding one, coffee was her next resort, that bittersweet liquid that she could curl up around. Soon enough, the roar of the kettle boiling was heard over the pitter patter of Toby moving from the sofa to the kitchen.
“Evening boy,” Emi whispered, twirling on the spot as she grabbed a mug from the sink, plopping two heaped spoonful’s of coffee powder into her percolator. A few seconds later, the kettle boiled over, and both a mug, the percolator plus a few biscuits found themselves placed side to side with Mr and Mrs Rook. On one side, a traditional happy family covered in biro, on the other the guilty pleasure of cinnamon and raisin biscuits. Emiko knew exactly which one she’d pick.
Sliding back into the sofa, mocha fingers clutched onto the biscuit, snaffling the biscuit into her mouth before she chose to spoke again.
“You wouldn’t believe in this silly valentine’s day, would you Tobe?” She started, pausing between each word to chew, and thoughtfully stare at the dog before her.
“Mum always said it was silly,” With a further comment, the old dog dragged himself up onto the sofa. He couldn’t care less what she was saying, as long as he got one of those biscuits from her plate.
“Klia wants to take me on speed dating? Me, me of all people! And Annette, she should have taken this article,” One rant over, the next poor subject of her objections tonight would be Annette.
“Just because she’s now engaged, she doesn’t have time tomorrow morning,” Leaning forwards, Emi pushed the handle down on the coffee contraption, pouring the dark liquid into her mug.
“Oh, yes, sorry, here,” Passing a biscuit to the attentive listener beside her, Emiko’s rant ended with a sip of her beverage. Oh, if there was a coffee god out there, he/she needed praising for the wonders that could be found at the bottom of this bittersweet liquid.
Coffee, the new wonderdrug.
...To be continued.
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Posted: Thu Mar 12, 2009 6:42 am
An Ice Cream afternoon.
The night had drawn to a fine close when the final full stop had been stamped into the laptop. Collapsing back into the comfort of her wooden armchair, Emi breathed a sigh of relief: thank Gambino himself today was over, she’d made it somehow. The clock steadily ticked off the seconds to midnight as the furry closed her tired eyes, the light of the laptop shining in the darkness of the silent flat.
In front of the sleeping journalist lay her complete article, and beside that a picture of the two smiling children from earlier, the young panda tucking happily into her fudge cake.General interests article Only a few weeks after Valentine’s Day, what did you do on the date made to celebrate all that cupid bought to Gaia? Well, the latest research into family development was released yesterday suggested that there was a thirty percent increase in the amount of people who spent this precious day with family. Certainly, the local children’s attractions claimed it was a “roaring business day”.
On that note, our feature this week lead me to a busy Ice cream parlour on the edge of Barton town, which does the most delicious fudge cake I have ever tasted. There I met a Miss Ebony, and her sister, a young panda girl named Shiraz, who were out for the afternoon together. Between them, they have another two siblings, Lua and Sinny, and live with their uncle and Mother. While they may have a more uncommon family setup, Shiraz’s Uncle Bailey is reported to take both her, and Ebony out often to various places, the favourites being the “roller rink”, and the pool, so much so Shiraz reported that the “Pool was fun.”
They may not go out together as a family often due to “differ'nt interests”, but they still all eat together, which is a rare family tradition according to the recent research. Speaking fondly of each other, while these sisters may not have been biologically related, they shared a bond which was a pleasure to watch.
The only thing they didn’t share was young Shiraz’ interests in her sweet tooth, which perhaps was a good revelation, as Shiraz certainly seemed to love her mouthfuls of chocolate fudge cake!
Please continue to send in your letters, and stories, and we’ll publish the best sent in every week.
Emiko Pallone.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2009 3:47 pm
12th of March, 2009. A night out on the tiles.
It was a quiet Wednesday evening, where all through the streets, quite a few creatures were stirring to the sound of the after-work beat. In the middle of it all, a reputable hotel opened its smoky oak doors to a lengthy queue, ladies (and men) doted the cold night air with five pound notes stuck in their sticky fingertips, ready to make a night of the events ahead. Now, whilst most people in the line bustled with excitement, three parties from the back stood the odd pairing of Klia and Emi. One, clad in the tightest thing she could have found clung to the others furry brown arm, half in an attempt to make herself look sociable, and on the other side of the coin, had she have let go: Emi would have enthusiastically ran off in the other direction.
Klia’s vision of the speed dating had been met with much resistance, but finally, this candle had been lighted after four months of waiting. Here they were, ready to meet men, suitable bachelors she had convinced, ‘single’ men looking for company she had to press (although what Klia meant by ‘company’ was an entirely separate matter), and she did NOT expect Emi to come out of the experience with any more than a few phone numbers. Needless to say, the furry wasn’t quite as sure about the ordeal as the receptionist was, but after many a push she’d finally agreed to give it a try: what was the worst that could happen?
The room set out for the event was the circular dining room, complete with a set of tables rounding into a semi-circular position around the outside the room, most placed strategically in front of the large bay windows. Should a lack of subject be found on the tip of the tongue, there were the not-so-pleasant white buildings outside, or even the wildlife that crawled the streets at nine pm. It had been a nice idea by the organisers, although whether it worked in practice was rather subjective. A pink, fluffy woman stood on a table beside the bar, and with a wave of her magic wand the evening was set alight.
Women were to sit at the tables, and the men would circulate around the room in five minute intervals. There was to be a break half way, and if any individuals wanted to speak further to their chosen dates from the evening, phone numbers would be sent out by the end of the week.
“Here, Dutch luck,” With a wink, Klia pushed a shot glass into the shorter journalists face, before waddling over to her seat. That was the only thing Emi felt grateful about tonight, paws meant she hadn’t even had to touch the extensive high-heels collection of her best friend. Leaning forwards, she perched on the nearest chair, slugging the shot back into her mouth. Yes, it was vile, but as her vision blurred slightly, it helped aid the first gentleman.
A Mr Entwistle sat before her, his huge body spilling around the small chair specifications. He looked a bit like a bull in a china shop, skin full of acne, and with a slobbering mouth to put, he introduced himself to the four foot lady in front of him. He was a car salesman, with his flirting technique as bad as his vending one to boot, throwing the acquisitions of his large salary, six bedroom house with maids, and the latest specifications of his Ford Fiesta at her. If Emi had wanted to speak, not that she wished to, he wouldn’t have let her. Luckily, after five minutes, the bell rang, and the next circulated around to her table.
The next was a smart businessman, who upon first glance, appeared to almost be a feasible match. Pulling her back up straight, Emi bashfully extended a hand towards the man, which he dutifully accepted, even pausing to place a kiss on his date’s palm before he dared to sit down in front of the journalist. A prince in shining armour, the conversation started slowly, a few compliments were passed between the pair, although had Emi not been so naive in love she would have picked up the signals from a mile away.
“What do you like to do in your spare time?” White teeth questioned. It was his new nickname: his teeth were sparkling white, and perfectly straight.
“I read,” A short response, but one of notation from the furry nether the less.
“Oh, I love active sports. Ever been on a bungee jump? You know, camping,” He’d lost her the moment he mentioned jumping off a six hundred feet cliff, ears tucking back neatly behind her hairline once more. Why, the mere thought of somebody throwing themselves off a cliff sent a shiver down her spine.
Fortunately, after another exactly one minute, twenty six seconds Mr Crazy camping man had to stop in his description of free-flight and moved on to the right.
The next was a petite man, who told her blankly, she did not meet his “specifications”. He would not expand on this comment, and rather, set out towards the bar. He was charming, clearly.
Fourth up was a seventeen year old, who’d been dragged along by his Mother.
“Goin’ ‘lone would have been ‘baressing for ‘er, besides, aren’t you a bit far gone?” He then progressed in the same direction as the third: towards the bar.
Glancing over to view the progress of her friend, she was surprised to find Mr Three sitting in front of the receptionist, eyes staring directly at her chest. A long sigh left her lips, pushing her arms forward on either side of the table. Oh, why, oh why, did she ever agree to this?
Unfortunately, the rest of the evening followed the sunrise in the same path. An accountant (too maths crazy), a clubber (too loud), a gay man (who had come to decide whether he was really gay, which he’d decided he was, so although perfectly friendly he was off for reasons of being the wrong sex), a surfer (too relaxed), an elitist geek (who was determined that NO game was superior to Counterstike 1.6, and was there to preach this face) and finally a twenty year old who decided she was pretty, but too old for him. (Is thirty seven really THAT old?)
After four hours, Klia was smattered on cheap champagne, and the prison sentence was finally up. Gathering up her friend, as she struggled to make contact with the outside world, waving her arms franticly at number three (who stood there practically drooling at the receptionist), the pair left the building and climbed into a taxi.
“Was’t that fun?” Klia slurred as Emi gave directions to the taxi driver.
“No.”
The rest of the journey was bathed in silence, the wailing voices of the radio being the only distraction.
“It's raining men
Hallejulah
It's raining men
Amen”
“Amen,” Emi swore sarcastically.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 5:42 pm
13th of March, 2009. Good morning Cabbage. Wait, WHAT!
The morning after had never been a pretty sight, black eyes, sore throats and memories of the night before laid burnt into many a Gaian’s memory. The idea had been a good concept, but not even Emi could escape from the calamity of the night prior. The evidence of her binging laid like a battlefield all over the living room floor, an empty bottle of cider lay like a shot solider by the coffee table, accompanied by his shot rifle, loaded with gooey caramel, sat half eaten beside the box of tissues. The sounds of battle could be overheard on the radio, wails of loving power ballads with the wrong tones assaulting the wounded sergeant’s furry ears.
It was a Thursday, luckily, which meant no work. It was a good thing really, for Emi woke up to not only a high pitched screamer ‘singing’ about her addiction to love, but also a stonking headache. The sort of headache that rattled around your skull, and penetrated deep into your nervous system: the very sort of headache that only a severe shot of powerful painkillers could cure. Her eyes stung, her limbs felt like a weight of bricks, and somebody was now yelling at her: today was not a good day.
“All by myself,
Don't wanna be,
All by myself,
Anymore,
All by myself,
Don’t wanna live all by myself
Anymore.”
Lethargically grabbing the nearest cushion, Emi’s fingers clasped tightly around the material, before sluggishly throwing it at the radio.
“Take that!” She shouted at the appliance in vain.
Unfortunately, the radio kept singing, moving onto the next chorus. Groaning, the middle aged woman pulled the nearest cushion over her ears, pushing her furred nose into the arm of the sofa where it was dark. Sweet darkness didn’t sooth the headache, but it stopped her from remembering her childish mistake of leaving the curtains open. The journalist was actually no stranger to this state, Klia had dragged her out more times than she could remember, and over the past fifteen years her sofa had seen more organised mornings than the present. Now, the perfect morning after was closed curtains, a cold coffee left out somewhere appropriate, and silence – sweet silence, preferably with a packet of aspirin to hand. In her frantic rush to get one and a half litres of cider down herself, she’d forgotten these facts.
To make matters worse, the doorbell was now ringing: not once, but twice in frantic succession.
“Please go away,” She whispered, the ringing penetrating her skull like a needle with each high pitched squeal of the bell. Yet, it was not stopping, the ringing was becoming more frequent, almost agitated in tone, if a doorbell could merit enough vocalisations to sound agitated that was.
Emi was certainly hesitant to leave her spot, stumbling out of the comforts of the sofa, blundering blindly towards the door. Her head pounded between her ears, her tail stuck itself vertically backwards behind her, but at least she was standing, tottering towards the door as if she’d learnt to walk yesterday. Slamming the door wide open, she stood there in her underwear, bleary eyes glancing from left to right. In her mind, she was going to yell at this intruder, tell him/her that she did not know what time it was in the morning, but would she refrain from ever ringing the doorbell that hard again...Except, there was no one to speak of.
Well, apart from the next door neighbour. She was a student, a mathematician apparently, who had moved in recently. Not that Emi really ever knew much about her neighbours, the flat next door was a rented property, and thus she ended up with a new neighbour almost every six months.
“Looks like someone definitely painted the town red last night.” The steam punk girl winked, vanishing behind the right hand door.
Now, there before the furry stood the strangest sight she’d seen in a while. On top of her usual newspaper was a green, leafy cabbage, a rather large one at that. To make this picture even stranger, tucked between the leaves was a note, which even with her morning-after eyesight Emi could make out each letter.
“Workaholic, the roses are sweeter outside the office.
P.s You don’t need to be alone anymore.”
Wait, what? She reread it once, twice, and then a third but it still didn’t sink in. Pulling the slip of card out from between the leaves, she flipped it over, reading the address on the back. Strangely, both the cabbage and the address seemed familiar, but considering she was presently standing on her doorstep in her underwear, examining a cabbage, she did what all logical people would do.
Closing the door behind her, the cabbage stayed put on the doorstep.
A mere ten seconds later, Emi had not only put on the kettle, but starring at the bleak skyline outside, her jigsaw of a memory started to put together the pieces.
Something about a panda, what had her name been? Shiraz, that was it! Her sister had told her she was born from a genetically engineered cabbage, it had been a leafy cabbage if she recalled her notes correctly. A big, green, leafy cabbage. Now, who had read that article? Well, many a Barton. Who had read it first?
Suddenly, her eyes widened, miraculously now awake. Behind her rapid footsteps the kettle boiled, behind her barrage of expletives, Toby raised his head.
“KLIA!” Emi yelled in frustration, slamming the door behind her.
Placing young Edwin down upon the coffee table, Edwin and Emi, for the first time in their lives, were nose to leaf.
Oh fudge, she was not ready for a child. Her colleagues had assured her that having a child was the most wonderful thing in the world, it brought them so much joy, but she was by no means anything like them. She read books, she worked, she ate, and then she went to sleep: life was mundane, but enjoyable. Did she have the room for a child? Did she have the finance for a child?
Running a furred hand through her locks, blue eyes met that of her old friend.
“Toby?”
Lifting his old muzzle, the dog tilted his head to one side.
“I’m going to kill Klia next time I get my hands on her,”
In mutual agreement, Toby stretched out over the sofa, back paws stretching over the warm spot Emi had created a moment ago.
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Posted: Tue Mar 17, 2009 5:55 pm
15th of March, 2009. Chopin, and coffee- a not so perfect mix.
It was an early Sunday morning when Emi struggled up six flights of steps with not only her usual laptop, but also a large cabbage. Considering that cabbage’s did not move by them at all, Emi had come to the judgement that the cabbage did not need a babysitter, but it did need company. That company meant today had turned into ‘bring your cabbage to work’ day, whether or not official procedure would allow it. Certainly, now she had hauled the rose cabbage up six flights of stairs, across the office floor, and positioned it carefully in the center of her desk: Edwin was not moving, company procedure or no company procedure.
After a whole twenty four hours with the vegetable, Emi had procured the best procedure to deal with her best friend, and had arrived two hours early to exact the details of her plan. Now the cabbage was safely on the desk, she marched right up to the receptionist’s empty desk, placing a note above her telephone.
“Klia,
We need to have words, namely regarding the vegetable you placed on my doorstep twenty four hours ago. I am not impressed.”
Fully happy, had the journalist have discussed this properly with the receptionist, she would most certainly have declined the offer to become a parent. But yet, with the vegetable in front of her, with its sweet petal smell, her mind had driven along another path entirely... The only problem was the simple fact of ‘looking after’ a child, Emi was by no means maternal, and a day’s worth of planning had founded this as her main argument with Klia. She would tell her friend that she was not ready to become a parent, even at the tender age of thirty seven, she did not have the maturity and she would demand the address to return the cabbage. Or, even better, she would have Klia drive her there and return it herself.
Arms crossed securely over her chest, the clock on the wall ticked by the seconds, which turned into minutes and finally into an hour. In that time, Emi had drunk her first, second, third, and was currently making her way through her fourth cup of coffee when the receptionist entered the thick door.
“Good morning all!” She yelled cheerfully, ignoring the glares of death from the opposite end of the room.
“Morning Fuzzy, I got another date with the short man, isn’t that great?” Stepping over the various bundled up parcels of newsprint, Klia perched over the journalist’s desk, large chest hitting the cabbage in the process.
“Oooh, so that’s how it smells. Good morning Baby,” She coo’ed, carefully patting Edwin’s green leaves.
“Klia, take it back,” Emi demanded.
“Don’t you smell so very, very sweet. Aunty Klia will have to buy you clothes, yes she will, yes she will,” The receptionist continued to baby the vegetable, rummaging in her tiny bag. It was one of those miracle bags women carried around, one so small that you had to wonder how they fitted in so many items.
“Klia, we’re taking it back in our lunch break,” The furry repeated, standing up to prove her standing on the matter.
“We can’t, oh, did you know Emi? I read yesterday that when women get pregnant, they put headphones over the bump,” Fishing in her giant fishpond bag, the busty receptionist produced a pair of headphones, and an old tape player.
“Aha, here it is, baby, baby, baby...I know it’s a tape player, but it was all Larry had at the second hand shop, but I found some tapes with some classical music in the attic...” Speaking rapidly, and without a second to pause, Klia soon affixed the headphones over either side of the cabbage’s leaves, pressing the huge play button on the player.
The strained notes of Chopin’s revolution echoed around the empty office.
“What do you mean we can’t?” The furry snapped.
“I don’t have the address. Now, isn’t that pretty? That, baby, would be Chopin, yes, repeat after me, CHOP-IN. I’ll find you some dance music later,”
“It’s SHO-PAN, ‘sh’ rather then a ‘ch’,” Emi started her lesson in phonetics, running a hand through her long hair. “Let me get this right, you don’t have the address for where you got this cabbage?”
“Correct, ‘tomato’, ‘tamato’, ” Klia corresponded, arranging the leaves around the headphones.
“Telephone number?” Things were getting desperate now.
“I was drunk, you expect me to remember things like that?” The entire office was listening in now, both Annette, the boss and various others turning their swivel chairs around to watch the early morning argument. It was the most drama they’d had in a year, apart from that student writer running out in tears after an argument with the grammar-happy editor over the Queen’s commas.
“Yes, I bloody well do Klia,” An audible gasp rung out in the office, Emiko Pallone swearing, this really was good. Where was the popcorn when you needed it?
“Now, now, plus, the woman on the end of the phone said we couldn’t take it back,” Fishing in the black hole of her bag again, Klia pulled out her lip-gloss, casually perting her lips to apply the finishing product.
“W-well, I’m sure if we explained it was a misunderstanding...” Emi whispered, a desperate tone held deep on the end of her stuttering.
“Em, you won’t be alone anymore,” Leaning over the desk, Klia’s huge blue eyes met that of her best friend, reaching out to scratch one furry ear. She knew that would work, it was the new guardian’s weak spot.
“You’re not getting any younger Emi, I’ll help you, I promise,”
The track changed on the battered tape player, the heavy beated fantasia crackling through the headphones.
“I can't say no, can I?” Exhaling a long, exasperated sigh, Emi took a large gulp of her black coffee. It had two shots of expresso in it, and boy, did she need that right now.
Perhaps the thought of looking after a child wasn’t quite as ridiculous as she first thought.
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Posted: Tue Mar 24, 2009 6:10 pm
17th of March, 2009. Birds in the sky.
It was the day of Saint Patrick’s Day when the urge to go out and purchase various silly green hats had hit the receptionist. The weather was dreadful, Emi was in a foul mood, but it was March the sixteenth, and no matter how much resistance the furry put up, both Emi and the cabbage were buckled up in the back of Klia’s small ‘city’ car. She was by no means going to go ALONE to buy the green props, why, it had been in her plan to force the caramel brown furry to pay at the desk while she siddled off to get the finer gifts for the party. However, what had not been in her plan was Edwin, and certainly not the journalists insistence in visiting a children’s toy shop whilst she did a search warrant for all things green.
Standing in front of the garish shop, to the right stood the party boutique, and to the left the brightly coloured signs of Mothercare. This was where the pair of them would split.
“Now, you go ahead and get what you need,” Emi jauntily grinned at her friend. Oh, this was the first parameter of her pay back. She only wanted to go into this store for research! Yes, that was it, research. The cabbage was still being returned she had proclaimed to her work colleagues. She would not be made a fool of yet, the cabbage would go back to where it belonged.
“Why are you going in here again?” Klia questioned with a raised eyebrow, bending down to adjust the headphones wrapped neatly around the giant cabbage.
“Research, and anyway, I can’t say I’ve left it alone, there’s a child in there,” Emi proudly proclaimed.
“Right. Now, baby, baby, make sure Mummy gets you a football. I feel a baby boy on the way!” Fishing her lip-gloss out from her black hole of a handbag, Klia applied the clear liquid for the fourth time she she’d entered the shopping center. One could never put on too much gloss: after all, she had to look her best for the dashing MALE cashier. Hitching her ridiculously tight skirt up her hips by an inch, the receptionist proudly strode towards the brazen shop: oh yes, she was going to buy hats, and a bit of male attention as well if she could grab it. A lady had to garter all she could at her age!
“Boy, eah?” Emi muttered, pushing the wheelchair through the automatic doors. Deciding the moment she arrived that carrying Edwin was a safety hazard, Klia had proposed a pushchair, and Emi had suggested a wheelchair. Considering they were hard-pressed to find a pushchair large enough for the vegetable, Edwin now sat upon a children’s wheelchair.
The ‘little’ shop she’d entered was well known around Barton, four stories high, and just as wide- it was huge, almost a skyscraper compared to the sparse shops spread around its shadow. On the first floor, Mother’s and Father’s alike squandered around, some with children in hand, others with pushchairs, and some waddled around in their late months of pregnancy. A couple of children ran around, one with a wooden aeroplane in their hands, a little girl chasing after the pilot, arms outstretched to the sun, and with a grin the size of the moon plastered on her face.
Emi went pale, her legs went to jelly. Oh fudge, she needed a coffee. Not just any coffee but a double espresso coffee, wait, scrap that, four shots.
“Good afternoon! Oh, is that your new baby?” A jauntily coloured shop assistant had already grabbed both the journalist and the rose, just as those furry paws were about to turn ninety degrees. Bending down in front of the cabbage, the young girl pressed a smile as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, waving cheerfully at the vegetable.
“If you’d like the newborn bits, they’re on the third floor. First floor is toys, second is furniture, third is our newborn floor, fourth is clothing and fifth is a crèche.” She explained, thrusting a leaflet on top of the cabbage.
“If you need any help, my name is Emily. Our recent offers are all around the store, and it’s a beautiful cabbage,” She carried on, complimenting the sweet smelling vegetable fluently. It was her job after all.
Now, had the furry been allowed to bolt out of the store, she would have: happily in fact. Apart from the fact she now had Klia to the right of her, and Emily to the front. That was it, she would back out now, claim that they were taking the cabbage back RIGHT at this very second, and she would return home to her empty flat with a cup of coffee. Preferably a dark coffee, with two shots, and no sugar. Yes, that would suit her perfectly.
Despite this, her feet sang another story, stepping right into the thicket of children’s toys. A huge rocking chair sat to her right, white saddle whispering stories of a princess’ dream, riding into the sunset on those wooden joints. Back and forth, back and forth, they would ride, going on forever and the more- or, at least a friendly voice yelled at them for tea. Or, perhaps it was a boy, and the old friend of model car lay on the floor, yelling for its owner to pulse the beat of life through its wheels. How it longed for somebody to rev the engines, to push its plastic wheels over the tabletop, around the sofa, and all for the drive of its life.
Emi’s eyes were swift to glance around the counters, before finding something that really tickled her fancy. At the end of the row, with a large red clearance stamp on the front, sat a set of three birds. The first was huge, sitting at his full height of two and a half foot, a big graceful penguin with a belly full of darkening clouds. Beside him lapsed his partner, a brighter day just over a foot high, and finally a tiny snowflake penguin perched on the daytime’s head. Gingerly, the guardian kneeled beside the wheelchair, flicking over the price tag of the third. She would have whistled at the original price, at a whopping one hundred pounds for the set, they were expensive, but clearance had hit the grubby birds hard, and at a rounded twenty six pounds: they were perfect.
Towering over the four foot journalist, Klia had four bags full to the brim of merchandise to her name.
“Whatcha found?” Emi almost jumped out of her skin, she was in the middle of contemplating pricing, and this was not a time to yell at her!
“It was a old man behind the counter, can you believe that? What ARE they hiring these days,” She shifted, dropping her bags to the floor to inspect the birds.
“Would you not be better with a football, ‘ya know, something kids would like?” Klia queried.
“I like them,” Emi whispered, digging in her bag for her purse. “And they’re cheap,” It was now a sales pitch.
“I suppose,” Klia rolled her vowels around her mouth like bubblegum, picking up the largest bird to inspect its stitched eyes. “They need a wash, and this one could do with a spot of stitching,” Turning the bird over in her hands, she plucked at its dark blue tail.
“Easily done, now, look after the cabbage,”
Klia adjusted the headphones once again, watching the woman stroll off with a look of amusement pitched on her face.
“OI! EMI! We’re off to get some booze after this!” She yelled in response.
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2009 6:36 am
24th of March, 2009. Burnt pancakes.
For a week, it had been quiet, a serene silence that had seemed almost un-natural. Despite the loud buzz Edwin could have caused, the week had passed surprisingly sedately: the milk had been delivered on time, work had been written, the next door neighbour had taken part in scandalous activities against the wall, and most importantly the flat had been receptionist free for whole three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes and eight seconds.
Needless to say, it had been bliss for the vegetable, journalist and dog alike.
The kitchen table, most surprisingly, was suddenly full of activity. Flour, eggs, butter and milk were strewed out over the tabletop, sitting side by side with a thick recipe book. The pages were turned over, and there on the paper sat a thin, perfect, sweet pancake complete with a slice of bitter lemon: the perfect concoction, almost as exquisite as a mug of coffee. That absolute creamy milk which cut through the bitterness of a bean, or the classical combination of sharp lemon splitting the sugar in half on your tongue- while both were simple, it is always the simplest flavours that cause the mouth to water, eah?
Except, only one of those two made it to the plate that afternoon, and after thirty years of experience dealing with the delicacy of the coffee bean, it most certainly was not the coffee that had failed.
“Eggs,” Emi announced to Toby.
The journalist had decided one morning that with the introduction of cabbage, she ought to learn how to cook one simple dish: pancakes. While her grand audience of two were silent, Emi raised a fork in triumph to the old dog, who was situated on the living room rug beside the cabbage, ready to run tail between his legs from the fire alarm. Both were sunbathing, and odds were neither could care less about this abuse of ingredients. Oh yes, Toby KNEW to stay away from this venture.
In went the eggs, splinters of shells littering the plastic bowel.
“Flour!” The recipe, although doomed to fail, had already demolished around the journalist the moment she added flour to the unbeaten eggs. Of course, when one does not strain such an ingredient through a sieve, the flour went everywhere. Brown fur was now white, but yet, the journalist was still smiling.
This was cooking!
The radio was on in the background, the dark mellowing voice of a cello straining over the newspaper piles. While not quite to her usual tastes, the furry had felt the need to show Edwin the etiquette of life, and if that meant sacrificing Paul Barton’s enlightening book discussion: then so be it, she was a mother now!
“Mix!” Emi shouted over the shriek of a high pitched violin.
So, twenty minutes later, after a real bout of gusto, the mix was splattered all over the kitchen, furry, and the carpet. The small amount that had remained in the bowel was Emi’s pride and joy: a sloppy mix full of egg shells. However, she’d done it! The useless Emiko Pallone had created a pancake mix, and for that she was proud. Getting it to cook would be step two, but she’d discuss that when she reached it.
Placing her hands upon her hips, Emi’s huge tail swished in excitement... That was until the front door crashed open with a large bang.
“OH! WILL YOU GET THAT BLOOMIN’ DOOR FIXED?” An all too familiar voice bellowed, kicking her high heels off at the door.
“Good afternoon baby! Aunty Klia brought you a present, yes she did, yes she did!” With three strides, the receptionist towered over the messy furry, wrinkling her pink nose at the sight.
“When did you start to cook? Oh, everybody knows when you make pancakes, you buy the ready packed mix,”
Stab one hit Emi in the shoulder.
“You have egg shells in there, “
Stab two blew its way into her leg.
“You’ve used too much milk,”
The third hit the furry straight in the heart. That was her precious creation!
“It’ll work,” Emi muttered, defiantly weaving her arms over her chest.
“Yes, yes, of course it will,” Waving her hand around in the air, the receptionist navigated her way through the maze of newspapers, jumping onto the sofa. Diving into her black hole of a handbag, Klia produced her lipstick, parting her beautifully rounded lips to apply her make up. Even slouched in a sofa, a lady must have poise.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The journalist spoke between gritted teeth. It had been one thing to dump the cabbage upon her a few weeks ago, another entirely to now critique her cooking. She had done a good job, yes, a fantastic job: Delia Smith would be proud.
“Annette and I were talking,” Klia started, half way through stretching the red stick over her bottom lip.
“Aha,” Oh, here it started. Placing herself in front of the oven, Emi poured a spoonful of her mix into a buttered pan. It was a stressful release to watch the mixture bubble, spreading around the pan.
“You know how the boss re-decorated recently? Well, he had a few spare tins of paint, and I’ve been working on getting them all week,” The receptionist beamed, leaning forwards over the placid dog to carefully pat one of Edwin’s vast leaves.
“What did you decide for a name?”
“Edwin,” Emi strained, where exactly was this leading?
“Couldn’t you have gone for something more manly? You know, like Ted!” It was rather amusing fact that despite the bickering, both knew neither could cope without the other. It was an unwritten law that had been set in stone from the first handshake.
“I like it,” The journalist whispered her latest sales pitch.
“Fine, well, we’re going to set up your nursery!” Klia announced.
At that very moment, the fire alarm bounced off the walls of the flat. The pancake had burnt to a crisp.
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2009 6:58 am
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2009 7:00 am
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