[REG] Cookie For Your Thoughts (Ursula + Janice)

[cibarium]

Janice had been occupying herself with some paperwork when Ursula called - transferring back to Meadowview had turned out to be a bit more of a bureaucratic ordeal than she had expected it to be, especially considering that it was supposed to be a public school. It was extremely irritating. She should not have had to fill out half a dozen forms to ensure she would get back into all of her advanced placement classes; it was making her miss class. She just knew that Franz would be so amused by this example of the counter-productivity of the public educational syste--

The phone ringing was a welcome distraction from her frustration over the small stack of paper spread out over her desk.

Her features drew into a smug grin when she heard Ursula's voice on the other line, but promptly dimmed a bit when she was given the reason why she was being called. No important Negaverse duties for Janice to carry out today; instead she was given an address and asked in a honeyed tone to please pick up some gumdrops and other confectionery paraphernalia on the way there. At least it wasn't another excursion to the mall. Her arms were still sore from the first time.

She had no idea what to expect from the apartment of Gunn Killingworth - but would not have guessed the sight that was soon to greet her, as she politely rapped on the door.  

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As the door flew open and Janice was herded inside, her senses were immediately assaulted first by the pleasant smell of cinnamon and gingerbread, second by the high, stringy voices of Alvin, Simon and Theodore belting carols from the radio, and third by how the tiny apartment was crammed with enough holiday decorations to put a generous layer of Christmas cheer on the interior of a two-story house. There was mistletoe nailed to the top of literally every doorway.

"Ursula," she started, somewhat cautiously. "Does he know you did this?"

It was easy to guess who exactly he was in this context. Janice was attempting to convey a very clear mental image to Ursula by asking this question: it was of the General-King, standing stiffly in the threshold of the door to his apartment, absentmindedly allowing a cigarette to smolder away in one hand as he tried very hard to not have an aneurysm. She could not imagine that man appreciating Ursula's hard work in any other way. She also wasn't aware of to the cushion barrage the small living space had gone under before this, but she were it probably would not have changed her opinion on the matter much.

"The school's forcing me to take a home economics class if I want to graduate with all my honors," she stiffly replied. "So... yes... but it looks as if you have the cooking part of the equation taken care of already."  

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Janice took another disbelieving, cursory glance around past the kitchen doorway into the living room beyond. This was supposed to be a surprise-- really-- was Ursula honestly expecting this change in the look of his living space to be met well? Killingworth struck her as the type who pointedly regarded Christmas as just another day in the year if he didn't outright hate it.

"I think," she responded, "if you used more, it might... draw attention away from everything else." Which was an honest answer. As far as the decorating went it was apparent Ursula had an eye for design... it was the place the eye was trained on that set off the mental alarm bells.

She let her attention be pulled back towards the oven, and said, while leaning over in front of it, "Usually the recipe or instructions tell you how long these things should take, how long have these been in there?" And, tentatively opening the door a crack, "Do you have oven mitts somewhere?"

The radio had switched over to a swing version of Frosty the Snowman, which actually ended up helping the atmosphere a lot more than it hurt it.  

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The reindeer-head oven mitts retrieved, Janice put them on slowly and methodically (really, the action was completely identical to how she handled her gloves as Uranophane), her eyes on Ursula as she gave her response. "That-- hmm... no offense intended, Ursula, but part of cooking is keeping track of time." She smirked a bit, in a manner that one could almost think of as playful. "How would you know when to take them out if you didn't know when you put them in?"

As the reindeer duo ventured valiantly into the fiery chamber of the oven, she continued, "It looks as if there's no harm done, at least... as long as you don't mind them being a little crispy. But that's what the frosting's for."

It was starting to sound like Janice was loosening up a bit, her voice was shifting from its typical tone of beige to actually show a bit of personality. That was promising, at least.

She took it upon herself to locate a spatula as the older woman dealt with the frosting and candy, and was in the process of transferring the gingerbread men from the cookie sheet over to the cooling rack. The careful, dexterous rhythm she had assumed for this literally ground to a halt the moment Ursula's boy rang into the air, however-- the spatula's edge dragged noisily against the metal of the sheet as the girl's knuckles whitened against the handle.

That was sort of telling.

"What," and she forced a laugh, "do you just assume everyone in high school is so eager to pair themselves off?"  

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Janice was not used to this.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She was used to many aspects of it-- the smile that radiated feelings of schadenfreude, the feeling of a trap firmly and beautifully snapping, the smug tone of voice and oh-so-carefully crafted words with perfectly placed emphases. These were all very familiar things to her--

--but it was rare she was ever on the receiving end of these things. Ursula was good. Very good. Underneath everything else about this conversation, Janice couldn't help but develop more respect for the woman, be less surprised she was her Queen.

And despite being so cornered and feeling so very exposed, she was allowing her own smile to stretch into something wicked and Cheshire. They were mirrors of each other in expression and demeanor, as Janice continued her spatula work as if ignoring her mistake had happened even though the knowledge of it was very real and obvious to them both.

There was something particularly exciting about being on this side of a psychological skirmish. It almost made Janice not mind. Almost.

"I have no interest in romance," the girl said, with an easy shrug. "As far as I'm concerned it's just a sugarcoated way of saying 'co-dependency,' which does not appeal to me at all."  

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Dammit, that was supposed to be a red herring to lead Ursula away from the conversation and it had failed at its job spectacularly. Janice should have known better, should have expected her to be able to cut straight past the fluff without any hesitation like that. But she was strangely desperate to not talk about this-- talking about it meant admitting it (admitting what? she chided herself), and Janice was not about to-- consider the possibility-- that she was romantically interested in anyone or even had the capacity to.

After all, she'd been telling herself for weeks that the reason he'd been on her mind so much was because she hated him.

Her mind raced with the possibilities of what she could say next. Responses like and what if there is? or why would you care anyway? would only help the older woman more, and any attempt at outright denying it would be futile.

But-- there was nothing to deny, nothing to hide.

There wasn't.

There wasn't, god damn it.

"Your pestering isn't going to get you anywhere. I don't. Have. Anyone."  

[cibarium]

The yet should not have made her react. It should not have affected her at all, shouldn't have made her spoiled mood sour even more. But it did, and Ursula would see her... flinch a bit, the surgical fingers she usually wielded with such care and finesse only ever-so-slightly faltering around the handle of the spatula before it was freed from her grip.

Ursula was still talking but Janice was trying to tell herself she was not listening, busying her mental efforts with attempts at repairing the damage to the wall she'd built around herself. It was a poor defense; the childish tactic of pointedly avoiding eye contact -- out of sight and out of mind, except not really.

In spite of herself she watched her hands reaching to grab frosting tubes and bits of candy, directing her focus at the vaguely human-shaped edible template she'd been given to work with. If Ursula cared to look over she would note that Janice had taken a tube of white and was starting the careful rendition of a beard, and... was that a toga?

The idle comment did not fall on deaf ears.

"Let me guess," she started darkly, "I'm supposed to ask about what happened next, and then you would use yourself as an example of what I should do."