“So...we’re stuck out here for a week until some nutjob behind a camera in Mongolia decides we’re no longer a threat?” Alex’s expression spoke of deep-seated skepticism.
“A week at the most,” Angel said smoothly. “Our commander assures as that she’ll be able to soothe Hagalaz’s wounded ego and it’ll be safe for you to return home.”
Alex studied the burned-out trees and the mushy undergrowth of the forest. “So...we just set up camp out here until your boss gives you the all-clear?”
Gabriel ground his teeth. He was starting to tire of the way Alex started every sentence with an interjection. “That’s the idea, yes.”
Alex glanced at his friends. “So...how do we make camp?”
“There’s a cave a few hundred yards into the trees.” Keith pointed. “If you just hole up there, it’ll keep you safe from the elements.”
Kevin studied the terrain for a long moment, expression thoughtful. “What kind of food will we have?”
“Do you have a stash of food in the cave?” Nick added.
Angel arched his eyebrows, cast Gabriel a look.
“Did we bring food?”
“I didn’t,” Gabriel said. He nudged Keith. “Did you?”
Alex’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You bundled us out here in the middle of the night like fugitives and you forgot to pack food? What are we going to eat?”
Tobias tapped his chin thoughtfully. “There are chokecherries that grow locally. Bears like them, but humans can eat them just fine.”
Kevin dragged a hand through his hair. “This is a national park. We can’t exactly hunt here, even if we had brought rifles.”
Keith spread his hands wide to show he was rifle-free.
Tobias sighed. “Well, the rangers won’t question it if one of the gray wolves brings down a deer, will they?”
“You think you can fight off a wolf to bring us a deer carcass?” Kevin asked.
Gabriel remembered, belatedly, that Kevin was the outdoorsy one.
Tobias shook his head. “No. But I bet I can bring down a deer.” And he marched off into the trees.
“What’s he going to do, wrestle one with his bare hands?” Alex demanded.
“Just head for the cave,” Angel said, tone soothing. He cast Kevin a look. “I take it you can prepare a deer for human consumption?”
“If I have a decent hunting knife, sure.” Kevin looked at Keith.
Keith sighed and unstrapped the knife from his belt. “Here. Use it well.”
“Will Tobias be all right out there?” Nick asked.
Angel smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Tobias will be perfectly fine.”
An hour later, Tobias returned with a deer carcass in his arms. He set it at Kevin’s feet and sighed at the blood on his shirt. Kevin knelt and checked the carcass.
“Blood’s warm. This is a fresh kill. Looks like a wolf got at its throat. How are you still alive?”
Tobias’s grin was wicked. “How do you know I wasn’t the wolf?”
(498 words)
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Cooking with Tobias
Cooking with Tobias was always a trip and a half, and the others loved it. It always started out innocuously, because none of them actually needed to eat, but Tobias would go off grid for an hour, and then Gabriel would worry. That would send of a chain reaction of panic across the web, carefully blocked from the Commander, and by the time the rest of the team was searching high and low for their beloved Intelligence officer, he’d be home, swanning into the kitchen loaded with paper bags full of fresh food.
“Dude, why did you buy food?” DJ would ask, but then the Sinatra or Glen Miller would kick up in the kitchen, and the answer made itself apparent.
DJ, Keith, Gabriel, Angel, and Christian would hover in the doorway, curious, drawn by the scents, and watch as Tobias turned the kitchen into an utter disaster. He was everywhere at once, chopping vegetables at the counter, mixing sauces at the island, Lindy-hopping from the microwave to the stove, jitterbugging in the corner, beatings eggs while tapping a swing rhythm with one shoe.
Tobias was by far the most dramatic of the six, and whenever he cooked he was dressed to the nines in black-and-white spats, neat pin-striped slacks, a pristine button-down shirt, a matching waistcoat complete with shiny golden pocketwatch, and cufflinks made from the teeth of his first kill.
He was sentimental like that.
The kitchen always looked like a tornado had hit it, with flour and sauces splashed across every available surface, food spattered in random places where food ought not ordinarily be spattered. Tobias, on the other hand, remained pristine despite his refusal to wear an apron, and he would jive his way through the mess while pots on the stove bubbled and timers buzzed and the oven billowed smoke.
Somehow, by the time the last timer buzzed and the final burner was shut off, the kitchen was perfectly clean again, and a gourmet meal was laid out on the dining table.
Tobias would stand back and watch as the boys swarmed the table, and then he would shift into wolf form and clear the rabbits off the lawn.
(344 words)
“Dude, why did you buy food?” DJ would ask, but then the Sinatra or Glen Miller would kick up in the kitchen, and the answer made itself apparent.
DJ, Keith, Gabriel, Angel, and Christian would hover in the doorway, curious, drawn by the scents, and watch as Tobias turned the kitchen into an utter disaster. He was everywhere at once, chopping vegetables at the counter, mixing sauces at the island, Lindy-hopping from the microwave to the stove, jitterbugging in the corner, beatings eggs while tapping a swing rhythm with one shoe.
Tobias was by far the most dramatic of the six, and whenever he cooked he was dressed to the nines in black-and-white spats, neat pin-striped slacks, a pristine button-down shirt, a matching waistcoat complete with shiny golden pocketwatch, and cufflinks made from the teeth of his first kill.
He was sentimental like that.
The kitchen always looked like a tornado had hit it, with flour and sauces splashed across every available surface, food spattered in random places where food ought not ordinarily be spattered. Tobias, on the other hand, remained pristine despite his refusal to wear an apron, and he would jive his way through the mess while pots on the stove bubbled and timers buzzed and the oven billowed smoke.
Somehow, by the time the last timer buzzed and the final burner was shut off, the kitchen was perfectly clean again, and a gourmet meal was laid out on the dining table.
Tobias would stand back and watch as the boys swarmed the table, and then he would shift into wolf form and clear the rabbits off the lawn.
(344 words)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Hungry After a Job
John sighed and shoved the paper bag back into his jacket. “How the hell can you eat after seeing that?”
Carolyn stepped over the remains of the latest agent who’d come seeking The Carrier and sheathed her knife. She held out one hand, and John fished the paper bag back out of his jacket, handed her the sandwich.
She unwrapped it and bit into it with a low moan of relief.
John winced and turned away. He hunted through the garbage until he found a couple of cardboard boxes he could flatten and throw over what was left of a human being.
Carolyn headed for the mouth of the alley. “C’mon - you have to be back with the instrument rig before soundcheck.”
John trotted to catch up with her. She’d wolfed down the entire sandwich and was licking the vinegar and mustard off her fingers.
“Bob’s not gonna kiss you, you know. You ask for the nastiest stuff on your sandwiches.”
“The boys are going out for sushi after the show, and as I recall, this time the Orphaneers had a back-up plan, so there won’t be any kissing for anyone tonight.” Carolyn tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can and fished in her pockets.
“Did you lose something?” John asked.
“No - there’s an ice cream vendor just up the way. I want dessert.”
“Seriously, how can you eat after a wet job?”
“I don’t eat before as a precaution, obviously - spewing mid-job leaves DNA evidence,” Carolyn said.
John cast her a sidelong glance.
“Think about how long I’ve been a wet worker, John.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say that sometimes they withheld food until I agreed to complete a task.” Carolyn smiled at the ice cream vendor and spoke in smooth, rapid Italian. Gelato was a heaven-send. “Now it’s something of an ingrained pattern - I’m hungry after a job.” She took her first lick of her chocolate treat, and her eyes slid closed. She hummed, pleased. “Sure you don’t want any? My treat.”
“I was an Army Ranger, and sometimes you scare the hell out of me.”
(354 words)
Carolyn stepped over the remains of the latest agent who’d come seeking The Carrier and sheathed her knife. She held out one hand, and John fished the paper bag back out of his jacket, handed her the sandwich.
She unwrapped it and bit into it with a low moan of relief.
John winced and turned away. He hunted through the garbage until he found a couple of cardboard boxes he could flatten and throw over what was left of a human being.
Carolyn headed for the mouth of the alley. “C’mon - you have to be back with the instrument rig before soundcheck.”
John trotted to catch up with her. She’d wolfed down the entire sandwich and was licking the vinegar and mustard off her fingers.
“Bob’s not gonna kiss you, you know. You ask for the nastiest stuff on your sandwiches.”
“The boys are going out for sushi after the show, and as I recall, this time the Orphaneers had a back-up plan, so there won’t be any kissing for anyone tonight.” Carolyn tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can and fished in her pockets.
“Did you lose something?” John asked.
“No - there’s an ice cream vendor just up the way. I want dessert.”
“Seriously, how can you eat after a wet job?”
“I don’t eat before as a precaution, obviously - spewing mid-job leaves DNA evidence,” Carolyn said.
John cast her a sidelong glance.
“Think about how long I’ve been a wet worker, John.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say that sometimes they withheld food until I agreed to complete a task.” Carolyn smiled at the ice cream vendor and spoke in smooth, rapid Italian. Gelato was a heaven-send. “Now it’s something of an ingrained pattern - I’m hungry after a job.” She took her first lick of her chocolate treat, and her eyes slid closed. She hummed, pleased. “Sure you don’t want any? My treat.”
“I was an Army Ranger, and sometimes you scare the hell out of me.”
(354 words)
Got You Good
David grinned devilishly as he placed the pie on the table, the common area for all free food in the bunk house. It was after midnight and the others had long retired to bed. He snickered to himself as he walked away, waiting for the first victim.
Mark and Bryan stumbled out of bed the following morning followed closely by Joe as they groped for the coffee pot that Steve traditionally started in the morning. After the first few sips they were able to pry open their eyes a fraction, blinking at the bright morning light.
"So, breakfast?" Joe asked hopefully.
"I don't even want to think, let alone cook this morning," Bryan grumbled before taking another sip of the strong brew.
"How about pie?" Mark asked, gesturing towards the dessert in the middle of the table.
"Pie works for me," Joe said as he reached for plates and forks. Bryan cut the pie and dished out generous servings for the three of them, pushing the other two plates towards the others.
"Smells like banana pie," Bryan said as they all dug in.
Steve walked in just as the three younger men did a spit-take, gagging as they reached for glasses of water. Steve raised an eyebrow at their expressions, "That's what you get for having pie for breakfast," he said as he passed into the other room. He could still hear them gagging behind him and he cracked a faint grin.
"Where did that come from? It's disgusting!" Bryan asked loudly, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.
"It tastes like someone mixed up salt with sugar in the recipe," Mark added, spitting again into the sink.
"Good morning everyone," David said as he came into the room, his face passive as he looked at the three youngest members of his team; they all still wore expressions of disgust.
"Do you know where this pie came from Sir?" Joe asked as he scraped the remainder of his pie into the trash.
"I made it. Don't you like it?" David asked innocently.
"Er," Joe hesitated, not wanting to embarrass David.
"Did you read the recipe right?" Mark finally asked after another long pause.
David's eyes sparkled with merriment as he looked at his men. "I just thought we should celebrate," he said, trying to contain his laughter.
"Celebrate what Boss?" Joe asked, clearly confused.
"Happy April Fools Day," David said and burst out laughing at the dumbfounded expressions on his men's faces.
Mark and Bryan stumbled out of bed the following morning followed closely by Joe as they groped for the coffee pot that Steve traditionally started in the morning. After the first few sips they were able to pry open their eyes a fraction, blinking at the bright morning light.
"So, breakfast?" Joe asked hopefully.
"I don't even want to think, let alone cook this morning," Bryan grumbled before taking another sip of the strong brew.
"How about pie?" Mark asked, gesturing towards the dessert in the middle of the table.
"Pie works for me," Joe said as he reached for plates and forks. Bryan cut the pie and dished out generous servings for the three of them, pushing the other two plates towards the others.
"Smells like banana pie," Bryan said as they all dug in.
Steve walked in just as the three younger men did a spit-take, gagging as they reached for glasses of water. Steve raised an eyebrow at their expressions, "That's what you get for having pie for breakfast," he said as he passed into the other room. He could still hear them gagging behind him and he cracked a faint grin.
"Where did that come from? It's disgusting!" Bryan asked loudly, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.
"It tastes like someone mixed up salt with sugar in the recipe," Mark added, spitting again into the sink.
"Good morning everyone," David said as he came into the room, his face passive as he looked at the three youngest members of his team; they all still wore expressions of disgust.
"Do you know where this pie came from Sir?" Joe asked as he scraped the remainder of his pie into the trash.
"I made it. Don't you like it?" David asked innocently.
"Er," Joe hesitated, not wanting to embarrass David.
"Did you read the recipe right?" Mark finally asked after another long pause.
David's eyes sparkled with merriment as he looked at his men. "I just thought we should celebrate," he said, trying to contain his laughter.
"Celebrate what Boss?" Joe asked, clearly confused.
"Happy April Fools Day," David said and burst out laughing at the dumbfounded expressions on his men's faces.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Dinner
Ariana's eyes sparkled with excitement; tonight was going to go perfect, she just knew it. It had been a year since she and David had started dating, and she was planning something special for the occasion.
Carefully placing the finishing touches on the dessert for the night, Ariana stepped back to admire the effect. A small swirl of sweetened whip cream topped a sweet basil cream panna cotta with a passion fruit gelee; a delicate tuille cookie resting on the very top. Displayed in a martini glass the pale green and the bright orange complimented each other perfectly. Ariana smiled as she checked on the roast lamb in the oven, the scent of rosemary and garlic billowing into the air as she opened the door. It would be ready just as David arrived she decided. Ariana closed the oven door and checked the table to make sure that everything was right before going to get ready. She looked at the table with a critical eye, twitched one of the candles a fraction to the left, and adjusted the napkin at one of the settings. Soft guitar music played in the background.
Ariana was finishing her make-up when she heard the doorbell. She quickly walked down the stairs, pulled open the front door, and froze in wonder. David stood on the doorstep, deliciously handsome in black slacks and a black dress shirt. The only spots of color were his dark green tie and his bright blue eyes. David seemed just as speechless as she was. Ariana was draped in a flowing midnight blue dress; her hair pulled away from her face and tamed into curls.
David held out a single red rose to her. Ariana took the rose and blushed, holding open the door for him. "Happy Anniversary," Ariana said, and kissed him before leading him through to dinner.
(My muse needs a good talking to. I think my big problem is that I don't necessarily recognize when I make an error with misplaced modifiers. Now when I read two sentences side by side, I know which one is wrong. Strange. I can pick out the misplaced modifier, but can't always stop myself from doing it.)
Carefully placing the finishing touches on the dessert for the night, Ariana stepped back to admire the effect. A small swirl of sweetened whip cream topped a sweet basil cream panna cotta with a passion fruit gelee; a delicate tuille cookie resting on the very top. Displayed in a martini glass the pale green and the bright orange complimented each other perfectly. Ariana smiled as she checked on the roast lamb in the oven, the scent of rosemary and garlic billowing into the air as she opened the door. It would be ready just as David arrived she decided. Ariana closed the oven door and checked the table to make sure that everything was right before going to get ready. She looked at the table with a critical eye, twitched one of the candles a fraction to the left, and adjusted the napkin at one of the settings. Soft guitar music played in the background.
Ariana was finishing her make-up when she heard the doorbell. She quickly walked down the stairs, pulled open the front door, and froze in wonder. David stood on the doorstep, deliciously handsome in black slacks and a black dress shirt. The only spots of color were his dark green tie and his bright blue eyes. David seemed just as speechless as she was. Ariana was draped in a flowing midnight blue dress; her hair pulled away from her face and tamed into curls.
David held out a single red rose to her. Ariana took the rose and blushed, holding open the door for him. "Happy Anniversary," Ariana said, and kissed him before leading him through to dinner.
(My muse needs a good talking to. I think my big problem is that I don't necessarily recognize when I make an error with misplaced modifiers. Now when I read two sentences side by side, I know which one is wrong. Strange. I can pick out the misplaced modifier, but can't always stop myself from doing it.)
Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress
Carolyn stood behind the camera next to Shelly and watched the four brothers hover over the stove. In the background, the kitchen staff looked equal parts horrified and amused.
“Whose idea was this again?” Carolyn asked.
Shelley winced when Scott cracked an egg directly into the pan. “Kevin’s. He’s always thinking up creative things for contests.”
Carolyn was of the general opinion that sending the boys out on dates with rabid fans wasn’t going to make up for their sheer lack of dating lives, and once they were old enough they would discover the grand rock’n’roll tradition of one-night stands.
Bob glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, then resumed cooking. Carolyn watched him pour milk into the frying pan and face-palmed. Clay and Bob attempted to get Scott in on their milk plan, whereas Dan, lactose intolerant and frequently mocked for it, was using liberal amounts of Clay’s tabasco sauce.
Dan turned to Shelley. “Hey, is this right?” He hefted the frying pan.
Carolyn would never tell Shelley that she’d been able to cook since she was seven. “No, look - do it like this.” Carolyn guided Dan, through a complicated mix of sign language and charades, to crack the eggs into a bowl, beat them with a fork, and then add the salt and pepper and milk there.
Dan glanced at Shelley for confirmation, who nodded and cast Carolyn a curious look.
“Kevin has good lawyers on retainer, right? Would getting food-poisoned by a boy you idolize constitute intentional infliction of emotional distress, do you think?” Carolyn asked.
Shelley blinked at her, and Carolyn realized that Shelley didn’t know Carolyn like Dianne had.
“I...wouldn’t know,” Shelley said. “Do you think about things like that often?”
“I want to be a lawyer when I grow up.” Carolyn watched Bob and Clay attempt to convince Scott to use milk again, to no avail, and then Shelley cried out.
“Bob! Your eggs are burning!”
All three triplets immediately joined the scramble to rescue Bob’s eggs, but it was too late.
“Milk burns, moron,” Scott said. And then he noticed Dan’s pan full of fluffy scrambled eggs. “When did you do that?”
Dan cast Shelley a look, and more sign language and charades ensued. Dan nudged Bob and said, “Hey, go get the bread rolls out of the oven.”
Bob slunk away, half-hidden behind his hair and blushing furiously.
Carolyn bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Shelley giggled behind her hand.
“I’ll teach those boys to cook yet,” she said.
“Maybe next time we should teach them before they’re set loose on poor, unsuspecting fangirls,” Carolyn agreed.
Shelley arched her eyebrow at the we, but then she nodded and smiled.
(455 words)
“Whose idea was this again?” Carolyn asked.
Shelley winced when Scott cracked an egg directly into the pan. “Kevin’s. He’s always thinking up creative things for contests.”
Carolyn was of the general opinion that sending the boys out on dates with rabid fans wasn’t going to make up for their sheer lack of dating lives, and once they were old enough they would discover the grand rock’n’roll tradition of one-night stands.
Bob glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, then resumed cooking. Carolyn watched him pour milk into the frying pan and face-palmed. Clay and Bob attempted to get Scott in on their milk plan, whereas Dan, lactose intolerant and frequently mocked for it, was using liberal amounts of Clay’s tabasco sauce.
Dan turned to Shelley. “Hey, is this right?” He hefted the frying pan.
Carolyn would never tell Shelley that she’d been able to cook since she was seven. “No, look - do it like this.” Carolyn guided Dan, through a complicated mix of sign language and charades, to crack the eggs into a bowl, beat them with a fork, and then add the salt and pepper and milk there.
Dan glanced at Shelley for confirmation, who nodded and cast Carolyn a curious look.
“Kevin has good lawyers on retainer, right? Would getting food-poisoned by a boy you idolize constitute intentional infliction of emotional distress, do you think?” Carolyn asked.
Shelley blinked at her, and Carolyn realized that Shelley didn’t know Carolyn like Dianne had.
“I...wouldn’t know,” Shelley said. “Do you think about things like that often?”
“I want to be a lawyer when I grow up.” Carolyn watched Bob and Clay attempt to convince Scott to use milk again, to no avail, and then Shelley cried out.
“Bob! Your eggs are burning!”
All three triplets immediately joined the scramble to rescue Bob’s eggs, but it was too late.
“Milk burns, moron,” Scott said. And then he noticed Dan’s pan full of fluffy scrambled eggs. “When did you do that?”
Dan cast Shelley a look, and more sign language and charades ensued. Dan nudged Bob and said, “Hey, go get the bread rolls out of the oven.”
Bob slunk away, half-hidden behind his hair and blushing furiously.
Carolyn bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Shelley giggled behind her hand.
“I’ll teach those boys to cook yet,” she said.
“Maybe next time we should teach them before they’re set loose on poor, unsuspecting fangirls,” Carolyn agreed.
Shelley arched her eyebrow at the we, but then she nodded and smiled.
(455 words)
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sticky Rice
“What are you doing?” Bob lunged at the stove and turned the burner all the way down, but it was too late. Smoke billowed from beneath the lid on the pan.
Clay flung the window open and hung his head out, coughing.
Bob had one hand over his nose and mouth and was using an oven mitt to fan the smoke away from his face. Once he could see, he tugged the lid off the pan and stared at the charred remains of dinner. He glared over his shoulder at Clay, who was a distinct shade of green, and then he sighed, tossed the pan into the sink.
“Well, that was a bust.”
Clay opened a bottle of water and took a long pull. “I’m really, really sorry. I just thought that if I turned it up, it would cook faster.”
Bob scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed again. “I told you it’d be another ten minutes. Patience is a virtue, idiot.”
“I was hungry,” Clay said. “Ocras a bheith ar dhuine.”
Bob glanced at his watch, then out at the skyline. The sun was low on the horizon. “We won’t make it to the supermarket in time, and that was the last of the meat.”
Clay bit his lip, peered out the window. “If we hoofed it really hard...?”
Bob shook his head.
“Then...we’re gonna have to go into the market?”
Bob nodded. He reached for his wallet and the knife he always carried. Clay blamed that knife on Carolyn.
“What do you think we can get?” Clay asked.
“I pretty much only remember how to order that sticky rice. With the honey and condensed milk.” Bob gestured, and Clay stepped out of the apartment first.
‘Apartment’ was a generous word, given that there was one bed right next to the stove and only a few strategically hung sheets separated the bathroom from the rest of the world.
The old ladies in the village had a sixth sense about when the two of them were out and about - they’d initially been mystified by Bob’s bleached-blond hair - and they were huddled at the bottom of the stairs.
“Same same!” they crowed.
Clay bowed politely to fend them off. “Sa-wat-dee-kraup.”
Bob bowed as well, then tugged firmly on Clay’s elbow. Clay hated when Bob got all assertive like that - he was the younger one.
“C’mon,” Bob said. “Sticky rice it is.”
(407 words; I was mystified by the blond phase, too, but not in a good way)
Clay flung the window open and hung his head out, coughing.
Bob had one hand over his nose and mouth and was using an oven mitt to fan the smoke away from his face. Once he could see, he tugged the lid off the pan and stared at the charred remains of dinner. He glared over his shoulder at Clay, who was a distinct shade of green, and then he sighed, tossed the pan into the sink.
“Well, that was a bust.”
Clay opened a bottle of water and took a long pull. “I’m really, really sorry. I just thought that if I turned it up, it would cook faster.”
Bob scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed again. “I told you it’d be another ten minutes. Patience is a virtue, idiot.”
“I was hungry,” Clay said. “Ocras a bheith ar dhuine.”
Bob glanced at his watch, then out at the skyline. The sun was low on the horizon. “We won’t make it to the supermarket in time, and that was the last of the meat.”
Clay bit his lip, peered out the window. “If we hoofed it really hard...?”
Bob shook his head.
“Then...we’re gonna have to go into the market?”
Bob nodded. He reached for his wallet and the knife he always carried. Clay blamed that knife on Carolyn.
“What do you think we can get?” Clay asked.
“I pretty much only remember how to order that sticky rice. With the honey and condensed milk.” Bob gestured, and Clay stepped out of the apartment first.
‘Apartment’ was a generous word, given that there was one bed right next to the stove and only a few strategically hung sheets separated the bathroom from the rest of the world.
The old ladies in the village had a sixth sense about when the two of them were out and about - they’d initially been mystified by Bob’s bleached-blond hair - and they were huddled at the bottom of the stairs.
“Same same!” they crowed.
Clay bowed politely to fend them off. “Sa-wat-dee-kraup.”
Bob bowed as well, then tugged firmly on Clay’s elbow. Clay hated when Bob got all assertive like that - he was the younger one.
“C’mon,” Bob said. “Sticky rice it is.”
(407 words; I was mystified by the blond phase, too, but not in a good way)
Secret Pleasure
"That one," Steve pointed to his selection, glancing around furtively. The place was packed, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. His military mind kept scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, pinpointing easy exits and strategic points of cover.
The man behind the counter placed Steve's purchase in a plain brown bag and handed it to him, accepting the money Steve gave him. Tucking the brown bag into his jacket pocket, Steve walked out of the shop without his change.
Outside the shop Steve walked quickly down the street, glancing behind himself from time to time, making sure he was not being followed. Steve approached the end of the block and turned north, heading towards a secluded spot along the river. The buildings gradually thinned behind him as he quickened his step in anticipation.
Reaching the river, Steve ducked behind a bush, tucking his long body into the small space. Placing his hand into his jacket pocket, Steve pulled out the brown bag and unwrapped its contents gently. He picked up one of the small objects, examining it for imperfections, scrutinizing it, before picking up the next.
Finally satisfied with his purchase, Steve picked up the first and bit into it. He sighed in ecstasy, reveling in the creamy, intense, raspberry center surrounded by dark chocolate.
Steve settled back against the dark green foliage, enjoying every bite of his chocolate truffles.
The man behind the counter placed Steve's purchase in a plain brown bag and handed it to him, accepting the money Steve gave him. Tucking the brown bag into his jacket pocket, Steve walked out of the shop without his change.
Outside the shop Steve walked quickly down the street, glancing behind himself from time to time, making sure he was not being followed. Steve approached the end of the block and turned north, heading towards a secluded spot along the river. The buildings gradually thinned behind him as he quickened his step in anticipation.
Reaching the river, Steve ducked behind a bush, tucking his long body into the small space. Placing his hand into his jacket pocket, Steve pulled out the brown bag and unwrapped its contents gently. He picked up one of the small objects, examining it for imperfections, scrutinizing it, before picking up the next.
Finally satisfied with his purchase, Steve picked up the first and bit into it. He sighed in ecstasy, reveling in the creamy, intense, raspberry center surrounded by dark chocolate.
Steve settled back against the dark green foliage, enjoying every bite of his chocolate truffles.
The Regular
There was no panacea for a bad day like a glass of cold beer and a few slices of hot pizza.
With the frequency of Mazey's bad days she had become a regular at Joe's, which was populated by men coming off a twelve hour shift at the refinery and a few haggard, anemic looking college students looking for cheap food on the cheaper side of town.
Her usual brew was waiting in her usual seat at the counter where she could both literally and metaphorically turn her back to the world behind her.
She didn't like the way most of the working men eyed her. The girl in her late twenties who moved around the refinery like a ghost. Touching nothing but changing seemingly pointless processes in their jobs.
She took a long swallow of beer and loosed the tortoise shell clip that kept her hair up. The fall of smooth brown that stumbled over her white t-shirt looked more unnatural to her than the ink well black she kept it before landing this respectable job.
Soon the E.P.A would be all over this “respectable” refinery. With the dozens of briefs and studies she'd done in the past year, the hammer was bound to drop soon. Maybe this week.
She smiled, impish, into her cup. Her boss thought that threatening her career was enough to keep her silent, and the hush money sat collecting dust in a separate account. They'd all be fairly surprised to find that not everyone could be bought.
Some people just wanted to fuck with the men who thought they were immune.
Her pizza steaming in front of her, she didn't notice the man sliding into the empty seat to her right. Or the way his eyes read her face, understood the verse hidden there, the strange, blind desire to hurt and heal.
“Can I get you anything?” Joe asked without looking up. He only had two hands but used them with the efficiency of an octopus with fingers.
“Jus' a beer.” His voice carried, like a splash of yellow in a black room.
His hand rested on the counter, a few inches from her elbow. That was the first part of him she fell in love with. Fine fingers, like fleshy bones, delicate the way they drummed on the counter top to a tune that she recognized as older her mother.
“Hows the pizza?” the man asked while Joe was away wrangling beer from a schizophrenic tap.
His face was like cold water that turned to steam indoors, with eyes pale gray as dawn and lips so red they seemed to have just been soundly kissed.
“It's...delicious.”
(448 Words)
First Night Home
Clay staggered into the kitchen. Even though all the clocks in the house said it was two a.m., his body was still convinced it was noon, and lunch time to boot.
He paused in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at the scene before him. Bob was quite literally elbow-deep in a massive tub of ice cream, and Dave’s face was smeared with sherbert, the rainbow kind.
They froze at the same time and looked at him with matching guilty expressions. Then Bob said,
“There’s Rocky Road in the freezer behind the turkey.”
Clay nodded and headed over to the pantry where Shelley’s giant freezer was. He figured it was just bad luck on her part, to marry into a family where all four boys were teenagers at precisely the same time. They couldn’t help it, though - they were growing, and they needed fuel.
Clay plopped down at the table next to Bob and dug into the tub of ice cream. The cool chocolate hit his tongue and he smiled, pleased.
All three triplets froze when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Dad was a nutcase about staying in shape and healthy, and it usually took wheedling and a good dose of Shelley-persuasion before they could eat ice cream at all. Dan reached for the lid for the sherbert, and then Scott stood in the doorway.
His hair stuck up in all directions, and he looked disgruntled. He wagged a finger at Clay. “You’d better not have eaten the Black Forest.”
Clay waved his sticky spoon. “All yours, man.”
Scott grunted and shuffled into the pantry.
The first night home was always the longest.
(278 words)
He paused in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at the scene before him. Bob was quite literally elbow-deep in a massive tub of ice cream, and Dave’s face was smeared with sherbert, the rainbow kind.
They froze at the same time and looked at him with matching guilty expressions. Then Bob said,
“There’s Rocky Road in the freezer behind the turkey.”
Clay nodded and headed over to the pantry where Shelley’s giant freezer was. He figured it was just bad luck on her part, to marry into a family where all four boys were teenagers at precisely the same time. They couldn’t help it, though - they were growing, and they needed fuel.
Clay plopped down at the table next to Bob and dug into the tub of ice cream. The cool chocolate hit his tongue and he smiled, pleased.
All three triplets froze when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Dad was a nutcase about staying in shape and healthy, and it usually took wheedling and a good dose of Shelley-persuasion before they could eat ice cream at all. Dan reached for the lid for the sherbert, and then Scott stood in the doorway.
His hair stuck up in all directions, and he looked disgruntled. He wagged a finger at Clay. “You’d better not have eaten the Black Forest.”
Clay waved his sticky spoon. “All yours, man.”
Scott grunted and shuffled into the pantry.
The first night home was always the longest.
(278 words)
Monday, August 3, 2009
Making a Mess
David looked around the kitchen, surveying the disaster from the door. Every surface was covered in a fine white powder, egg dripped from one counter and there were pots and pans everywhere. Standing in the middle of a pile of flour, David saw Mark and Bryan holding spatulas. Joe was hiding off to one side covered in flour, and Steve stood looking guiltier than the other three put together, smears of chocolate stained his otherwise spotless white t-shirt.
"What's going on in here?" David asked.
All three of the younger agents started to talk at once, trying to explain, trying to diffuse their commanders ire. Steve motioned them to silence, and like the good soldiers that they were, fell silent at the command.
"We got the munchies sir," Steve said, "and then we got a little silly," he finished, looking down.
David stepped into the room, looking around. He ran one hand over a counter, his palm coming away coated in flour. "And what did you make?" David asked.
"Brownies!" Joe piped up. Realizing he had drawn attention to himself as David glanced his way, he clamped one hand over his mouth and backed up a step.
"David stepped over to the oven and opened the door. The scent of warm chocolate drifted out of the opening. David grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the tray of brownies that were just done.
Holding it, he turned to his men, "clean this place up. I want it spotless in thirty minutes. Report when you are finished."
"Yes Sir!" his men snapped off a smart salute and began to clean.
David turned and carried the brownies away.
Joe and the twins whimpered as they watched it go. Steve called them back to work as he started to wipe down the counters.
Within 25 minutes they were finished and cleaned up, and they presented themselves outside of their commanders office. Steve raised his hand and knocked.
"Enter," David called.
Steve opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the younger men. "Finished Sir," Steve reported, saluting.
"Good. Now, come and eat this," David said, gesturing at the pan of brownies and a container of vanilla ice cream.
Joe and the Twins cheered and hurried over, Steve following them. They all sat at the table as David dished up the treat. They all dug in, grinning at the wonderful sensation of the icy treat and the warm chocolate.
"Just remember men," David said, "Next time, let's not make a mess."
"Yes Sir!" they chorused.
"What's going on in here?" David asked.
All three of the younger agents started to talk at once, trying to explain, trying to diffuse their commanders ire. Steve motioned them to silence, and like the good soldiers that they were, fell silent at the command.
"We got the munchies sir," Steve said, "and then we got a little silly," he finished, looking down.
David stepped into the room, looking around. He ran one hand over a counter, his palm coming away coated in flour. "And what did you make?" David asked.
"Brownies!" Joe piped up. Realizing he had drawn attention to himself as David glanced his way, he clamped one hand over his mouth and backed up a step.
"David stepped over to the oven and opened the door. The scent of warm chocolate drifted out of the opening. David grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the tray of brownies that were just done.
Holding it, he turned to his men, "clean this place up. I want it spotless in thirty minutes. Report when you are finished."
"Yes Sir!" his men snapped off a smart salute and began to clean.
David turned and carried the brownies away.
Joe and the twins whimpered as they watched it go. Steve called them back to work as he started to wipe down the counters.
Within 25 minutes they were finished and cleaned up, and they presented themselves outside of their commanders office. Steve raised his hand and knocked.
"Enter," David called.
Steve opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the younger men. "Finished Sir," Steve reported, saluting.
"Good. Now, come and eat this," David said, gesturing at the pan of brownies and a container of vanilla ice cream.
Joe and the Twins cheered and hurried over, Steve following them. They all sat at the table as David dished up the treat. They all dug in, grinning at the wonderful sensation of the icy treat and the warm chocolate.
"Just remember men," David said, "Next time, let's not make a mess."
"Yes Sir!" they chorused.
Project #38
Like most living humans I like absorbing calories. The process of making consuming and acquiring food have preoccupied people for the greater part of our history. So it follows that food has the ability to play a pretty big role in how characters interact with one another.
Your word max. word count is 500, and your mission? Write six scenes with cooking, eating, or even spearing a boar for a feast.
Have at it.
Your word max. word count is 500, and your mission? Write six scenes with cooking, eating, or even spearing a boar for a feast.
Have at it.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Overview #37: Four Seasons
I honestly had no clue what to do with this prompt, since there are six days in a Master & Madness writing week and there are only four seasons. About halfway through, I realized that I'd stumbled onto a pattern and a way to make things come full circle, and a structure emerged. There was some inconsistency as far as style, as Scott and Dave had no dialogue at all, and then Carolyn's final post was almost completely dialogue. Also, the timeline is pretty inconsistent from post to post, too, since Dan's post actually comes after all of the others.
But a structure emerged, and I'm pretty pleased with myself. The arc went from winter to winter, starting with Scott and ending with Carolyn. There was parallelism for Dan and Carolyn. Dan was finishing school in the spring and ready to start a new life; Carolyn was starting school in the fall and starting her new life, too, albeit in a very different way from Dan. Summer was the center and the crux and ran with the identical triplets (I honestly cannot figure out what to call them when they're not with Dan, because between the two of them they're twins, but if I call them twins then Dan, the third triplet, is all left out), in the same season on two ends of the world. I was happy, but not ecstatic about what I managed to do. I know different people have favourite seasons and associate different seasons with different things, and I tried to stay away from too many clichés about warm seasons=happy and cold seasons=sad.
Also, a modly welcome to Awed Awake, who will join us fully when her computer is up and running.
But a structure emerged, and I'm pretty pleased with myself. The arc went from winter to winter, starting with Scott and ending with Carolyn. There was parallelism for Dan and Carolyn. Dan was finishing school in the spring and ready to start a new life; Carolyn was starting school in the fall and starting her new life, too, albeit in a very different way from Dan. Summer was the center and the crux and ran with the identical triplets (I honestly cannot figure out what to call them when they're not with Dan, because between the two of them they're twins, but if I call them twins then Dan, the third triplet, is all left out), in the same season on two ends of the world. I was happy, but not ecstatic about what I managed to do. I know different people have favourite seasons and associate different seasons with different things, and I tried to stay away from too many clichés about warm seasons=happy and cold seasons=sad.
Also, a modly welcome to Awed Awake, who will join us fully when her computer is up and running.
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