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 Posted: Sun Jul 03, 2016 11:56 am
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welcome, chefs.You know the rules. One round, three mystery ingredients. If your dish doesn't cut it, you'll be chopped.
Let's meet our contestants...
First, Delivery Man, by AMItotic! This guy's ready and raring to go: check out those awesome shoes. After him is Coffeeshop by Silverah, already got her game face on and some rockin' boots. Bringing his own charcoal grill is the... what else... Grillmaster by cibarium! And coming in on the rear is the Patisserie by chiickadee. Sorry, you can't bring your pre-baked cupcakes on the show, even as a bribe! I'll take it, though. Thanks, thanks.
When I say "go" you're going to open your basket of mystery ingredients. In this basket will be three items which you must use in your dish! You can use a lot, you can use a little, it's up to you but you've gotta use them all. You've got two weeks to come up with something delicious and nutritious for our judges to enjoy, so use them wisely.
Ok. One... two... go! |
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 12:27 pm
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[ Grillmaster, Coffeeshop ]
***
He could do nothing but breathe. And he did so, quietly. He dared not to break the hush of the room as he stared across the heavy, oak desk that belonged to his beloved mentor. A man he knew was his father, though he'd never seen him before this moment. Not as the man he was now.
His palms were sweaty. They were so damn sweaty. It burned the shredded skin of his hands, old injuries still healing; he'd only taken the bandages off yesterday. The salt in his sweat made them sting. He kept them open to the air and face-down, fingers splayed. He licked his lips, whole body tense. His hands, by his sides, visibly shook. His knuckles were bruised.
A woman entered the room. A woman his father had called for, before this awful silence. She leaned forward and he whispered something he could not hear, directly into her ear. She nodded, once, sharply. Then left. Adrian had no idea what she looked like, other than a blurry brown-haired whoosh of movement, in and out. His eyes had never left his father's profile. The air between them was stale, dust glittered and danced in the light from the window.
"It's... I'm-" His voice cracked. He wasn't ready. He couldn't do it. The air had escaped his lungs, his ears rang and he knew they would be burning bright red. Still, he choked out the name. His name. "Adrian."
His father's eyes narrowed, and he reminded his son of a hawk- focused on its prey, preparing for the kill. He leaned forward, and- suddenly- his brows raised and his mouth went slack.
"Adrienne?" He cried, in awe. The realization had hit him very visibly. He'd let his accent slip and his voice was thick and Irish. He'd said a name that was as foreign to him as his past was. The pronunciation was like a slap to the face. Adrian moved to get up but his father firmly interrupted the motion. "Wait! No-- I--- I'm sorry."
Adrian's eyes snapped to his father's, he'd never heard the man utter those words to anyone other than his mother. He'd never thought those words would ever be directed at him. His father's next words left him stunned.
"Adrian." He said, firmly. "Adrian. My son... I didn't think you'd ever come back--- I... I love you- you, who you are. I'm sorry for what I said before, I was-- I was ignorant, stubborn... I know that now. You've always been my son, I was just... too blind to see that before."
***
She was wearing a dress her mother had picked out for her that stopped at the middle of her pale, freckled thigh. Her friend Mary had done her make-up slowly and with a careful determination. The heels she wore were old, and had been stuffed far back in her closet- as out of sight as they could have possibly been. Still, her mother had found them.
"Adrienne? Are you almost ready?" Her mother's voice sounded from the hall, muffled by the molded wood that was her bedroom door. She stared at herself in the mirror and frowned at the stranger that blinked back at her. Her stomach churned. She wanted to rip off her dress. She wanted to tear out her hair. She wanted to throw her heels through the window and then climb out after them. She wanted to run away. Far, far away. She wanted to be him. But, she couldn't be. Impossible, her mind chanted to her- over and over and over again. She hated the curve of her hips and the softness of her flesh, the feminine bat of her eye and her cupid's bow lips. She'd never be able to run away from her body. Never.
Just embrace it dear, embrace feminism and all of it's beauty!
That's what her mother had said to her. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She could hear the click of her mother's heels as she moved closer to her daughter's bedroom. The door knob turned, stopped. Adrienne had longed it long before her mother had even thought to come check on her daughter.
"Adrienne." Her mother chided, muffled by the obstacle between them.
The ginger-haired female sniffed and rubbed at her nose. She looked, one last time, at herself in the mirror. Long, red hair. Emerald colored eyes. Thick, plucked brows.
A stranger with her face.
She moved towards the door, unlocked it. Her mother's face was bright and happy as soon as her eyes landed on her perfect offspring.
"Adrienne! Darling, you look beautiful! Those heels actually make you look tall, I knew they'd look good with that dress!"
Adrienne shoved past her mother, down the hall. She was clumsy in her heels. They made her feet hurt. Her throat was dry, and her teeth gnashed together dangerously within her mouth. Still, she descended the stairs.
Her whole family was there, the majority of them as red-headed as she. Though, of course, the in-laws had saw to adding some blonds and brunettes in the mix. Their brood was a large one. Dangerously so, when drinking.
"Adrienne!" They all cried, with a few other words in the mix. She looked stolidly at the steps before her. She moved, quickly, to the kitchen. Her mouth was dry. She needed a drink. She needed-
her father blocked her path. He was smiling, too. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was smiling and happy and-
"Are you okay, pumpkin?"
The old nickname sent another torrential downpour of horrible feelings through her.
"Cheer up, it's your birthday." He said. "Everyone's come here to see you, on your day." He pinned something to her chest as he leaned in and spoke. She didn't see it at first. She didn't want to see it, because she could guess at what it was. Anger, hate, humiliation, disgust, sadness... they all formed a monster in her gut. She shoved her father away. She had seen the pin. A bright pink, bow-drenched thing that displayed the words BIRTHDAY GIRL proudly.
But she wasn't proud. She wasn't.
Her father was on the ground. She'd shoved him too hard and she was stronger than she looked. She ripped off the pin and her dress tore but she didn't care. She threw it at her father.
"I'M NOT A ******** GIRL, DAD!"
The whole room went silent. It went silent because they all knew it. They all knew and they pretended not to. Still, as soon as the words had left her lips, she felt... regret. She hadn't meant to announce such a thing in front of a crowded room of people. She could feel their judgement burning her back. She didn't turn to look at the rest of her family. She vaulted over her father and ran out the back, discarding the heels as she went. She ran until she couldn't run anymore.
***
The meat sizzled on the grill. Adrian smiled at it as he gave it another flip. It was nearly perfect... just a few more minutes on this side... the chef grunted, then added another seasoning to the browned burger. He wiped the sweat from his brow then quickly sanitized. The heat of the afternoon beat down on him. He added the buns, face-down, next to the circles of meat. His father approached him and stood over his shoulder, smiling at his son's effort.
"Think we'll win?" He asked.
They were both wearing aprons. Adrian's fit snug against his wide chest and proclaimed the words Here's The Beef! for all to read. His father's was a PETA knock-off, and in this case the acronym stood for People Eating Tasty Animals. Adrian's mother had guffawed when she'd passed it onto her husband. It had even earned a chuckle from Adrian. There wasn't a single vegetarian in their family. Even so, for the sake of the contest, Adrian had grilled up a couple portobello burgers on the side.
"Of course we're gonna ********' win." Adrian said, gruffly. Testosterone had transformed his voice into a deep murmur. A voice he had dreamed of as a child. He'd also very fervently dreamed of having his very own facial hair to cover his otherwise somewhat too round face. His beard was, perhaps, his most prized possession. He'd even gone out of his way to comb it for the occasion. "And when I say we, I mean me- because we both know you're not doin' s**t."
His father chuckled. "I've gotta look good for the ladies, son."
Adrian rolled his eyes. He bunned the burgers and added his special sauce, as well as the other ingredients. Cajun grilled onions, lightly spiced tomato chutney, and a nice helping of melty swiss. His dish was complete. Adrian grinned over at his father, lips barely visible behind his bushel of facial hair.
"I--- what the ******** snatched the bit of paper his father had been unfolding. "Where the hell did you get this, don't just look at it!"
His father was flabbergasted. "It fell out of your pocket, so I-"
He stopped when Adrian shoved the entire college ruled sheet into his mouth and swallowed, dry.
"It's the recipe to my secret sauce." He said, patting his stomach as the square of paper began its journey toward his gullet. "Can't let anyone else find it."
His father's brows were raised, obviously amused at his son's antics. "Oh."
Adrian grinned.
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 9:10 pm
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evening! ; v;/ here's a thing.
i'd like to be considered for Grillmaster - Delivery Boy - Patisserie!
my entry ties in with Kitsune Mistress Nyoko's, so there's that!
He’d taken four days off for this, and the kitchen was sure to notice his absence in the meantime. Until the dawn of the final day, Rowan had been occupying himself with last-minute preparations and double, even triple-checks. He’d preregistered the both of them two months ago, and their badges were ready and waiting; he was more or less ready for this convention, although one look at the costume laid out on his bed made a little bit of doubt worm its way into his self-assurance.
How exactly had he let her talk him into this again?
Sure, their interests more or less aligned, and he was as much of a fan of Pacific Rim as she was, but...cosplay was a little out of his element, admittedly enough. And yet, here he was, ineffectually trying to hide behind his partner in a skintight pilot suit that had been riding up his everything for the past hour or so. Rowan wasn’t exactly excellent at crowds, but he could tolerate them--having Shizuka around helped, sure, although he still didn’t think that all the pictures being taken were strictly necessary. Part of the cosplay contest’s prejudging, he’d been told--another thing he’d found himself stumbling into, guided by his friend’s encouraging nudges and well-placed comments.
Well, who’d have thought the near-silent chef from the corner deli would wind up wearing the homemade lovechild of spandex and thermoplastic in front of what honestly looked like a ‘couple hundred people? Clearly Shizuka, of course. He’d been easier to convince than he’d have thought he’d be, per se, and he entirely blamed the barista that had gotten him into this (admittedly fairly entertaining) mess.
He brushed a few loose strands of his hair out of his face with a quiet huff, glancing over at Shizuka in the moments before they were instructed to strike a pose. With a little shuffling, they more or less managed to pose as a team--Rowan wasn’t quite as used to this sort of thing as she was, but he tried all the same, even though he was pretty sure it would take him about a year to dislodge this suit from his--
Oh, hold on. What was that judge doing--? The table wasn’t more than ten feet away, but the way Glasses over there leaned over made it impossible to hear whatever was being said; his eyebrows shot up nonetheless, and he ‘accidentally’ nudged her in the ribs with his elbow in an effort to direct her attention to what he hoped wasn’t a problem.
--
Shizuka was quick to give him some form of reassurance, and he did his best to take at least some of his focus off of the judges while they were being put through their paces like this. If she thought it was okay, then--well, he’d just have to move on for the time being, regardless of his own opinion on the matter. They didn’t have the time to linger on whatever was going on behind the judges’ table, anyway; the pair was already being ushered off the stage as the lights dimmed, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves behind the scenes in the waiting room. Rowan wasn’t sure that they had all that long to wait until the next portion of the contest began; if that garbled announcement was anything to go by, they either had...ten or--seven minutes to go until the first group went out? The murmur of the crowd waiting in the event hall made it damn impossible to tell, but either way, he had no intention of wasting a second if he could help it. They weren’t first, thankfully enough; that position had gone to a trio of Warcraft cosplayers, and Rowan didn’t envy them that. Being number one on the chopping block for anything was already nerve-wracking enough, but this? Parading around something you’ve poured all that time and effort into while you’re being judged for it was terrifying. At least if somebody didn’t like a sandwich he’d made at the deli, they couldn’t glare at him for it or anything of the sort--being on stage put him in an entirely different environment.
Pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, he pulled a well-creased sheet of paper from his bag, unfolding it with extra care and taking a moment to smooth it out on his thigh. This was the script for their skit, and if anything happened to it before they did one last run-through--
Hell, that wasn’t a good thought. Rowan was fairly confident in the fact that his own building anxiety would probably punch him square in the nose in that event, and he wasn’t keen on having that broken yet again.
The script was passed back and forth between careful hands, Rowan periodically casting furtive glances toward the other cosplayers as they were each in turn called onto the stage. Their turn would be up before they knew it, knowing his luck, and he’d much prefer not to be taken off-guard.
“Hey, is that your script?”
He looked up to meet the eyes of a member of con staff, judging by the decals on their badge and the shirt they were wearing--fidgeting uncomfortably in place, he cleared his throat, carding a hand through his hair one last time.
“Yeah--yeah, we’re just...givin’ it another look.” His tiny smile was wan, but his beard did much to mask the expression--the staffer did a much better job with her own expression, and he cursed internally a few times before she spoke again.
“Just so you know, you can’t have that out on stage, and you guys are going on in two minutes. So just...find somewhere safe to put it in the meantime, okay?”
Hell.
That had been the perfect comment to tip his nerves into overdrive, as simple as it had been--he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes darting from the script to Shizuka and back to the staffer. He had somewhere safe to put this. It was fine, he kept telling himself, it would be fine--
--his brain apparently had other plans, as he noted with some degree of internal screaming while he watched himself crumple the script up and shove it into his mouth.
Lovely. Just--just lovely.
The staffer looked on in a mix of horror and concern, confusion quickly coming to the party as well--Rowan had absolutely nothing to say for himself, and he wasn’t even going to try.
“Uh-- Um. Good--good luck out there, I--guess?”
As she scurried away as fast as she could politely manage, he slowly reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed tight.
God, paper tasted like s**t. He shouldn’t have wrote the whole thing in pen, but life wasn’t terribly forgiving. Their number was called, and with a deep breath, he stepped out onto the stage after her, lightly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as they went.
--
Bad decisions? Order up.
He’d totally blanked on whatever he was supposed to say in response to her previous line, and he stood completely still for a full second before he seemed to reboot--the first thing he focused on was that tattoo Shizuka had gotten, just barely visible through the cutaway on her sleeve, and everything clicked all at once.
“But--we made it through our first drop, yeah?” To his credit, he didn’t sound anywhere near as blatantly panicked as he actually was. He’d already started fidgeting with the zipper on the front of his suit, and though he could see how perplexed she was, his hare-brained scheme had already been put in motion. There was no stopping it now, even if he could’ve. “And I know you went ahead and got yours done, so I took the liberty of following your example--”
With that, he tugs aside both the suit and part of the tank top underneath, revealing the mirror image of Shizuka’s own ink, still haloed in not-yet-healed red. They’d gotten close, although it certainly hadn’t been easy--Rowan himself was a little hard to properly get to know, but the barista had pulled that off with flying colors. When she’d mentioned wanting to get a tattoo of the very symbol that had brought them together, he’d been all for it; while his own placement was a little more subtle than hers, he’d felt it was a good spot for it all the same. The drop he was referring to was none other than this very con--while it wasn’t quite as intense as a kaiju battle, he had to admit that it was way more stressful than he’d thought. Rowan had intended to show her after this, but--it was a little late for that now, wasn’t it?
He pointed to a tiny skull underneath the main design, flashing her what he really hoped came off as a confident grin. There’s a wolf whistle from the audience, and he guessed that he’d succeeded in that respect.
“That one’s for our first kill! I’m gonna have to go back for more, so why not start it early? We’ve got a lot more ahead of us.”
Letting his tank top slide back into place, he leaned back, resting one hand on his hip and raising an eyebrow at her. The lights dimmed suddenly, and Rowan thought that was their cue--he relaxed, reaching up to smear a hand down his face with a quiet sigh.
“But--actually, though? Past few months have been great. Got me to do all sorts of things I wasn’t even considerin’, and really? Thanks for that. So I figured--hell, why not? You got yours squared away, and if we’re gonna be keepin’ this up how I’d like to, I wanted to...do somethin’ to show you that you’re not the only one invested in this. We’re partners, yeah?” He’d moved a little off to the side while the assembled crowd talked among themselves, and now that the spotlight was both literally and figuratively off them, he could feel so much tension sliding off of him like a lead weight. He lightly punched her arm a ways below the tattoo, a much more genuine smile making an appearance on his face. “Got each other’s backs, so we can kick some--”
And then the lights came back on, and he realized that most everybody in the front few rows had heard the entirety of his confession.
His face went red instantly.
--
“Uh-- Surprise…?”
‘Oh my god’ was about the only phrase running through his head--but on the plus side, they could maybe laugh about this later after a few bottles of vodka and some binge-watched seasons of Transformers--?
...yeah, he was going to need a drink after this.
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Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2016 9:26 pm
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I'd like to be considered for Coffeeshop & Patisserie!
Note: This entry ties into Zaikt's entry. Our entries and characters were developed together!
It had taken months of work. Admittedly, most of those months had been spent befriending Rowan and slowly convincing him that maybe trying out cosplaying would be fun. And then there had been the time spent deciding cosplays, figuring out the designs for their pilot suits, and working out background information to flesh out their coming skit.
The actual cosplay making part?
Against Shizuka's better judgment, that had been thrown together a month before the convention in a caffeine-fueled craze. Waiting so long to start actually making it had been a terrible idea, but she’d managed to get the work done and everything fit and she’d made damn sure it wasn’t going to fall apart in the middle of the con.
It was worth it, though. Sure, there were people who mistook her for a Mako Mori cosplayer, but that mostly happened when Rowan wasn’t immediately at her side posing for photos with her. There’d been tons of compliments, and after the first gross fedora wearing basement dweller with an obvious case of “yellow fever” was intimidated right off by her shorter bodyguard, she’d had surprisingly few attempting to bother her after that.
They probably thought she was dating him. She wasn’t, but hey, the assumption worked to her advantage so she hadn’t really been actively discouraging it.
But all of that had led them to here - up on the main stage, striking their best pilot pose and smiling out at the crowd while cameras flashed in their eyes. She felt Rowan nudging her side in an attempt to draw her attention, and she took a moment to sling an arm around his shoulders, laughing and throwing off what she hoped looked like a victory pose.
A little easy camaraderie between Jaeger Pilots to distract from her figuring out what had caught his attention, and then shooting a glance of her own towards the judges. And sure enough, one of them had leaned in to whisper to one of the others. Their expressions were entirely neutral, and it was impossible to tell if they were talking s**t or paying a compliment despite them being barely ten feet away. Either way, she squeezed Rowan’s shoulder, doing her best to silently communicate that he shouldn’t worry about it for now.
After all, they still had their skit to do now that their initial walk-on was done for the craftsmanship portion of the contest.
--
There was a certain low level of nerves that just came with an event like this. Shizuka was more accustomed to it, but she could see how it was affecting Rowan. It was just obvious enough that she gave his shoulder another quick squeeze as they sat backstage, watching him dig out the script from his bag. No doubt he wanted to read it over one last time before their skit.
She’d written it herself, and it had been fairly easy for her to memorize because of that. Not that she doubted her friend’s ability to memorize it - but she didn’t underestimate the possibility of him completely blanking under a bout of stage fright.
Hopefully the time between the skits ahead of them and their own would be enough to settle his nerves.
But of course, it wasn't to be. One of the staffers had to confront him about it and remind him that he could have the script on stage with him. It was just the right thing to trigger his growing nerves, and rather than returning it to his bag she watched in shock as he instead shoved it into his mouth, pinched his nose, and swallowed it down. It was like watching their impending doom roll up in slow motion.
Finally they were motioned on stage, and she gave Rowan what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she walked back into the bright lights with him at her side.
They managed to get through the first couple lines well enough, but the next line didn’t come as easily.
It was like everything just screeched to a grinding halt. She could see the growing panic on Rowan’s face, and she did her best to encourage him to say something - anything - without breaking character.
As it turned out, it was a rather poor decision. His panic had built and it seemed like all he could do now was make bad decisions.
--
There was a growing sense of terror as the silence stretched on, and Shizuka was less and less worried about winning the competition and more worried about how this would affect her friend. And then all at once, like someone had flipped a switch, he was speaking again.
It wasn’t what she’d written, but he kept in character - although he was unzipping his suit and now it was her turn to start screaming internally. She had no idea what he was doing, and she seriously hoped he wasn’t going to just strip down completely. Was this what a nervous breakdown looked like?
Her thoughts were going a mile a minute right up until she spotted the tattoo on his chest - freshly done and still red around the edges. Oh.
It was all she could do to keep a straight face as he explained it to the audience, never breaking character until finally the lights dimmed. And then he continued speaking to her, and oh god the microphones were still on.
Somewhere along the line, he’d made the assumption she’d already gotten her tattoo done. And at some point he’d gotten his done - and while she was touched he’d done it, she was a little disappointed she hadn’t been there for it. But also internally screaming because the audience was hearing all of this and her attempts to subtly signal to him to save it for backstage were going completely over his head.
And finally, finally, she could take no more. Character was broken. The nail was in the coffin. It had to be said.
“Oh my god, Rowan. Mine’s makeup. I was going to get the real thing done after the con!”
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Posted: Thu Jul 14, 2016 1:48 pm
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Patisserie
(Yeah, idek. My brain is weird.)
As far as Jerr was concerned, this was both the best and absolute worst Halloween ever. The air was cool, crisp and smelled like apples and baking spices. The sky was mostly clear, the moon full and the clouds held just the right amount of spoopiness. His friends were all here and they were going to party like there was no tomorrow.
Unfortunately, the sky was mostly clear, the moon was full and he was in a house full of undercover monsters, most of whom had all the common sense of a gods-be-damned rock. The Smiths, the elder of which was employed by the blood bank, had brought refreshments. Which was great. Except those refreshments had come from the damned blood bank. Which, Jerr was pretty sure, wouldn’t look kindly upon such theft. He’d disposed of the plastic bags quietly enough and really, water it down a little and it could pass muster as doctored juice. Just fun Halloween times!
And he could have dealt with the Smiths’ little slip up if the Reynolds weren’t busy working themselves up. Werewolves were always so… sensitive. Containing a sigh, Jerr just hoped that the few humans he’d invited to the party not only wouldn’t see anything upsetting, but would actually survive the night. And that had been before the police had arrived to chastise them about the noise and stayed to mill about and shoot suspicious looks at the elder Reynolds. Even as Jerr watched, he could see one of the cops lean forward towards and other and say something. Incredible that in a house full of folks with amazing hearing, not one word of that little aside managed to get heard. It made the naiad’s skin dry and flake from the stress of it all.
---------------------
“Aw, c’mon now!” the Reynolds patriach was shouting good-naturedly, seemingly oblivious to the two law enforcement officials who kept staring. “It’s Halloween, nothin’ wrong with a bit of a howl! Gets the blood movin’!”
The burly, bearded and exceptionally hairy fellow only stopped talking when the faint scent of drying fish reached his nose. Glancing up, he could see young Jerr looking pale and worried. Poor little fish boy, he thought. It’s the stress of hosting a party. Well, and maybe the stress of having the po-po arrive. Let the cops stare, he thought while smiling over at Jerr and giving a reassuring little wave. All was well! Reynolds was busy telling stories, the Sasquatch were doing their best not to loom and the vampires and ghouls were very politely taking their refreshments on in the backyard where no one could be disturbed. The werewolf was actually supremely amused that the few pure humans who’d arrived had, one and all, found a reason to leave the party the longer the police stuck around. Luna bless a guilty conscience! Even the police looked bored and ready to leave to harass someone else.
At least, until Senile Smith wandered back inside, cup of blood half-drained with a rather unmistakable smear around his mouth. And thanks to horror movies and their ultra realistic effects, he looked exactly like what he was. A damn fool vampire. Reynolds could see Jerr come to the same conclusion as they both converged on the vampire, getting to his side mere moments before one of the cops.
Forcing a heartiness he didn’t feel, Jerr took and cup and swirled it around, laughing as he tried to figure out how to get rid of it.
“That man all right?” the cop didn’t sound antagonistic. More concerned. “Someone out there beating on an old man? What’s the glop he’s drinking anyway?”
Thinking quickly, Jerr took the cup and swallowed the contents down in one gulp, promising himself a nice, soothing day at the beach as a self-apology for drinking blood. Then, grinning and very aware of his blood-stache, he tossed the cup into a trashcan and assumed a nonchalance he didn’t feel in the slightest.
“Oh, it’s just a jello-mixer with a little added Kero and food coloring,” he said almost manically, hoping Reynolds would have the brains to back him up and help deflect. Fortunately, the werewolf caught on quick.
“Yeah, my wife made is special for the kids. Let’s ‘em feel like real monsters on Halloween. It’s a good distraction when they don’t understand that it ain’t safe for kids to trick or treat anymore.”
Jerr could have kissed Reynolds for that. He could see the police relaxing. This was just a big, harmless party of weirdos. Jerr could live with that. More importantly, the police would live. Everyone would live. Secrets would stay safe.
------------------------
The police allowed themselves to be walked to the door by Jerr and Reynolds. They were almost gone. They’d managed to remain hidden in plain sight. Joy! Happiness! The small Smiths and Reynolds ran into the house, chasing each other gleefully. No harm in that. The two tiniest of those clans had paused near the door, looking up at the policemen before toddling closer and tugging insistantly on trouser legs.
“Are those your Hal’ween costumes? Wanna see ours?”
Before either adult could stop them, the two turned into a wolf pup and man-child-bat-thing respectively before turning back and running off again. Because, as far as they were concerned, the only people at the party were beings just like them. Only bigger.
Jerr sighed as Reynolds got to the door and shut it quickly. The night had been going so well. Leave it to the tiny and innocent to out them all.
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Posted: Fri Jul 15, 2016 11:07 pm
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(Patisserie)
From the moment she'd taken the pan out of the oven, Acacia had known something terrible was going to happen. It was a ridiculous thing to pin on a cupcake, she knew that logically, but logic did nothing to stop the sudden spike of pure dread that came with the sight of the one noticeably different cake. There were a million reasons why it might have come out darker than the rest of the batch, of course. She was always doing so many things at once that she might have mixed something new into the batter and forgotten about it, it could have gotten a little burnt somehow, or maybe she could be imagining it and it would be just the same as the rest once it was cooled.
She'd gone and come back, set about frosting the cupcakes, and had been nearly done entirely by the time she finally let herself accept what she already knew. The dark cupcake was a bad omen. They didn't happen often and it had been years since the last time it had, but she'd seen them at work before. There'd been one that summer she'd lost her voice and no one had known whether she'd get it back, and the weekend before her high school sweetheart had called off their engagement and disappeared out of her life entirely, and- The bell at the bakery door chimed, startling her out of her thoughts.
"I'll be right there, just a moment!" The omen was in her hands, frosted with a cheery pink. She couldn't sell it. She couldn't just throw it away. She didn't know what to do.
"It's only me!" She blinked again at the sound of her brother's voice, then with a little sigh, turned to head out to the front counter. He was already around it, heading back to meet her, when she came through the doorway. And really, he had to stop doing that. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, but paused uncertainly as his eyes dropped to her hands, his smile brightening. "Hey, is that for me?"
"No!" Okay, that was a little too fierce. She gave him a quick smile, trying to cover her unease. "You've already gone over your limit for free sweets. Don't think I don't know why you're always visiting me, Mikael." She cast a quick glance over the counter, then moved for a small display case, lifting the glass to settle the cupcake within. It'd be safely out of reach there for now. "This one's too pretty for you besides."
"Aw, come on, 'Cacia." The man put his hands over his heart, playing at being wounded by her words, and grinned again when she only rolled her eyes at him in amusement. "You know that's only half the reason I visit ya so much."
"Just hoping there'll be some criminal with a sweet tooth to fight off, aren't you?" She shook her head, laughing, but found it hard to keep up when that cupcake caught her eye again. Oh God, was that it? Was someone going to try to rob her? A fight? The last thing their family needed was Mikael in another fight. "Just don't go scaring off my customers, alright?"
As if on queue, the bell chimed again, announcing the entrance of a teenaged girl. Acacia raised an eyebrow at Mikael, who lifted his hands in quick surrender. No scaring off customers. Smiling again, she turned to the customer, leaning against the counter. "How can I help you, sweetie?"
"Umm," the girl's eyes wandered over the displays, lingering over the cookies before falling at last on the cupcake up top. "One of those, please?" Acacia was just glad she hadn't asked for that one specifically. Should have just thrown it away, forget the consequences.
"Sure thing. That'll be-" This time it was a ring from the back that caught her attention. The phone. "Shoot. Mikael, will you get the cupcake for her? I'll be right back." Giving both an apologetic smile, she darted back to answer it, grabbing a notepad as she went in case it was an order. She was mentally preparing for her spiel with the phone customer, laying out prices and fanning herself with the pad to fend off the heat, when she heard the clink of glass. For a second, she didn't pay it any mind, but then her head turned to the cupcakes still laid out where she'd left them. She didn't even have to count to know what was wrong with the picture.
"Please hold for a minute." How many times had she asked someone to wait today even? She shrugged off the thought, dropped the phone, and ran for the front. The scene was just as she'd expected. The glass display empty, the cupcake in her brother's hands, the girl reaching out to take it. She panicked. "Not that one!" She snatched it away from her brother without thinking, skittered back a step to keep him from taking it back.
The logical course of action from here would have been to tell Mikael that it was only for display and put it back in the case. Apologize to the girl for the confusion, get her a nice, non-potentially-evil snack, move on. The panicked option, apparently, was to take a huge bite out of it instead. If anyone was going to suffer the consequences of the demon cupcake, it would be her. It was delicious. It was terrifyingly delicious, but then she'd eaten the last of it and the damage was done.
Mikael and the girl were staring at her as if she'd grown another head. She wiped a bit of frosting from the corner of her mouth, managed a smile. "Sorry, that one was- That one was mine. I'll just go get yours now." She turned towards the doorway, but her brother caught her elbow before she was all the way through and leaned in to whisper, expression concerned.
"Hey, woah, what was that about? That wasn't like a...I don't know, a poisonous cupcake or something, was it?" He obviously hadn't really thought the idea through before he'd said it, because the concern on his face cranked up to eleven as soon as he did. "Oh my God, are you making poison cake now? Do I need to take you to the hospital? When I find whoever got you into killing people with sweets I'm gonna-"
"Mikael! Don't be ridiculous!" She cast a glance back towards the teenager and was relieved that she apparently hadn't overheard the whispers. She'd count that as a small blessing. "I just wanted that one, I told you." Tugging her arm away, she reached in for a cupcake and returned to finally complete the transaction. The girl left as soon as she had it in her hands, clearly still startled, and Acacia could only hope she hadn't been the one to scare off a good customer.
The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully, though she jumped at every loud noise and her brother lingered around the store much longer than usual. She'd been so sure something bad was going to come, and soon, surely, because nothing good could come from scarfing down a bad sign. But time kept passing, and everything kept going normally, and she was beginning to relax into the idea that she really had imagined it all. Cupcakes as bad omens. Really. Maybe she was just as quick to jump to crazy conclusions as her brother always had been.
The call came so early the next morning that it might as well have still been night, jolting her awake. For a moment, as her cell phone buzzed away by her pillow, she contemplated just rolling over and checking the message at a more decent time. There was still a bit of responsibility in her, though, despite the haze of sleepiness, and she picked it up to at least see who it had been. Mikael? What was he even doing up? Groaning, she sat up and hit the button to answer. Her brother was already talking by the time she got it up to her ear.
"Oh hey, you finally picked up, thank God. Listen, I'm on the way to the bakery now, you doing alright?" Acacia blinked blearily, thought about that, and then lowered the phone to look at the time again. Hours too early for her to head to work. Slowly, she pulled it back up.
"I'm still half-asleep, so-" she answered finally, still trying to make sense of the call.
"Aw man, yeah, I guess you didn't even get to sleep much, did you? Jack said it's been going a while. You should've called me. Or dad at least, you know?"
"Mikael," Acacia started, slowly, sleepiness giving way to that same complete and utter dread she'd felt the moment she'd opened the oven the day before. "Mikael, what's going on at the bakery?"
There was a long pause and then a curse. Numbly, she listened as he explained the fire that had gone up sometime in the night, the fire truck and police his friend had seen there and reported to him, and all she could think about was that cupcake, pretty as a picture with its pink frosting in its glass case. Had it caused this mess? Or was it just supposed to be a warning? It wasn't much use if it was the latter, because she wasn't sure how dark colored cupcake equated to burning bakery unless- Well actually, maybe she could see that, in a distantly connected way.
If she was supposed to read signs in her cooking, why couldn't it have been sprinkles falling into the shapes of words. Something she could make sense of and then prevent. Groaning, she leaned forward and reached up with a free hand to rub her temple. This was ridiculous. This was all so ridiculous.
"I'm on my way."
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