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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday

Katchoo had an insect bite of some sort over her eye today, and didn't look happy about that at all. Least the stupid thing wasn't swollen. Yet. She wasn't exactly optimistic about its chances of staying that way. But when was she ever, about anything?

The radio had ended up on some pop station, and nearly went out the window when she turned it on and got assaulted by insipid boy-band harmonies. Her desperate dial-twisting quest for the classic rock station took way too long.

Oh, look, Katchoo was cranky at work.

Anyone surprised? Really?

[OOC: Say my name, sun shines through the rain, a whole post so OCD-free -- um, I have no excuse for the Bangles earworm this morning. SP again highly likely until late afternoon/evening.]

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Would sammiches make her less cranky? What if they were carried in a bag by a bouncy brunette?

Depended on the bouncy brunette, really. But in this very particular case, bouncy-brunette-buoyed bags of bread-with-stuff-in-it, by God, would make her less cranky.

"Francie! Blow anything up today?"

Francine snorted. "Me? Ino was talking about how she was gonna ask you if you wanted to."

"Depends on what," Katchoo said, eyeing the food. Shh, stomach.

Or who. Hush.

"That's kind of what I was concerned about myself," Francine said, handing over the bag of subs. "You're not allowed to blow up you, Ino, anything alive or anything that would get you arrested." She felt that covered all the bases and was really quite generous, all things considered.

"Well, damn. There go half my ideas." Katchoo was trying to look innocent as she rooted through the bag, but okay, she'd entertained notions of blowing up Chuck Bass. "Been talking about me lately, huh?"

Francine grinned. "What else am I gonna talk about - me? You're the interesting one." She gave a little shrug. "Ino was saying she was getting boring because she hadn't done much since school ended, and I asked her what you're supposed to do to be not boring anymore."

"Please. You're not boring, Francie," Katchoo said vehemently. Yes, let's just tiptoe away from the really interesting things that would be a bad idea for Francine to know about. "Anybody who thinks so is dumb and blind."

"So I'm dumb and blind now too, on top of being boring?" Francine teased her, leaning against the counter. She peered closer, after a second. "Did something bite you?"

"I am going to poke you if you keep saying that," Katchoo told her, holding up one index finger. "Don't make me have to do it."

She scowled. "Stupid cabins. Stupid bugs."

"Ooooh, poking. I am terrified of being poked!" Francine snickered and ...totally missed the dirty as usual. "Huh, I didn't get any bug bites. Maybe they don't like my fabric softener or something."

Oddly, Katchoo hadn't even been trying for the dirty that time. Go figure. She leaned over the counter and sniffed. "Hmm, I dunno. Essence of Procter and Gamble? Think that really does the trick? And here I thought the smoke would keep 'em away."

"Maybe they like the taste of future lung cancer," Francine said dryly. And oh so subtly.

"Oh, not you too," Katchoo griped, but only mildly since it was Francine. "I got that from Worf yesterday."

"Worf? Was lecturing you about smoking? Now there's an image."

Katchoo snickered. "It wasn't really lecturing. Mostly being the most stoically glare-y PSA ever."

"Hmmph," said Francine. "I bet I could out-stoic-y glare him."

Just the thought of that had Katchoo looking intimidated.

Only mildly, but still, there she was with a sandwich held halfway to her mouth and a facial expression that said 'Meep!' in a tiny metaphorical voice.

"It's not a contest!"

"You're right. Much better if we both teamed up to use it on you!"

"Oh, for the *(&@#$ love of *()(#@! god, no!"

Oh, yeah, now the poking was gonna happen.

"Don't make me team up with the grumpy alien, Katchoo. You know I'll do it." She snickered again, then searched the bag for a sandwich of her own. "So I met the person you and Arthur named your little girl after," she added, because now she was just looking to get poked.

And lo, there was indeed poking with the hand that wasn't holding a sandwich. "We do not speak of that, ever, Francie," Katchoo said sweetly.

Francine batted at her hand. "But she was cuuuuuute. She looked just like you." and sounded. "...Little Morgana. Lady Morgana doesn't look like you at all." Lady Morgana, as Merlin had not untruthfully said, didn't look like anyone entirely human.

Katchoo aimed a poke at Francine's shoulder. "Cute. Also impossible. Therefore we do not speak of it. So what's this person who I absolutely never will name a kid after ever like? So I can pretend like I've met people."

"Gorgeous, in this classy, totally impossible way. Really tall and pale, with long dark hair."

"Eh," Katchoo remarked. "Doesn't sound all that impressive."

She did, of course, say this while looking at Francine.

Not that Francine noticed that. "She seemed really nice, from the little I talked to her." Francine ducked her head. "She showed up when Merlin had just got back, and we were kind of... distracted."

Katchoo's expression went just a touch droopy. Francine might not notice that either. Who knew?

"He made it back," she said tonelessly. "Good. I don't have to hunt him down after all."

She'd known that, of course, but what, you wanted her to sound happy about the kind of distraction Francine clearly meant?

She did notice, but had no clue why. ...Mostly. "He has a beard now!" she said, hoping her enthusiasm would cheer Katchoo up.

If the Cartoonist was calling the shots here, she wouldn't have gotten the slightest whiff of a clue for oh, about another few years.

Sadly, Francine's enthusiasm was not, in this case, contagious; Katchoo had had all her 'oooh, beard' flu inoculations. "Yay," she supplied.

The flattest part of the American midwest only wished it could live up to her voice's example.

Yes, well. If the Cartoonist were calling the shots here, she'd be in black and white three quarters of the time and look like Jennifer Connolly despite the fact that Jennifer Connolly has as much resemblance to a woman who struggles with weight and self-image issues as Morgana does.

"It's cute. Kind of hot, even." She couldn't say it was rugged without being struck by lightning, she decided. "Is there something wrong with beards?"

Hey now. Katchoo had no problem with being in black and white three quarters of the time, except for some vague and inexplicable lingering insecurity about how it didn't look good at 100 by 100 pixels, and who knew what that was all about?

"Nah. Nothin'." Katchoo shrugged. "If you're into that sort of thing."

Francine had been spared the really awesome "goatee = frikkin' sheep" rant by virtue of the fact that Freddie Femur wasn't in the picture.

"What. Um." It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it. That wasn't the reason she hadn't asked before. It was that she didn't know how to ask or at all what to do with the answer. But she couldn't blame Katchoo for keeping things from her if she kept giving off the impression that she didn't want to know. "What are you into?"

Someday at some vague point in the future Katchoo might give a monologue to god only knows who about her life with Francine being defined by all the little moments. Things about the sunlight on the curve of her shoulder and the way her hair looked after a shower and all that.

Today Katchoo just opened her mouth, shut it again, and shook her head. "Ask me some other time, Francine. I don't know if I can explain it."

Not without running her off again.

"Okay," Francine said slowly, not hurt, just... stymied, and a little unsure if she'd said the wrong thing. "Do you--" And she had to ask this one, because it was on the list of things that she had been deliberately pretending she didn't notice, because she didn't know what to do with it. "Does it bother you when I talk about boys? I won't, if it does."

Katchoo shrugged, uncomfortable but not wanting to show it. "You're my best friend. You can talk to me about anything." Which wasn't really answering the question there, but . . .

That...didn't feel true -- the second part, not the best friend part -- but Francine wanted it to be enough to say, "Okay" again, without pushing her on it. "Can I talk to you about spicy mustard?"

Katchoo was glad she hadn't pushed; the last time Francine had run out of this store freaked out was still too recent for her liking.

"Sure," she said. "Spicy mustard's fine. Just don't ever bring up that vile yellow goo."

"In that case, do you have the packets over there? All I've got is vile yellow goo."

Katchoo started rifling through the bag again. "Oh, yeah, I keep a bunch of 'em in stock, actually. Right down the paint aisle. You'd be amazed how often a portrait just needs a touch of Grey Poupon."

"That would be kind of a smelly painting. I wouldn't want to be stuck in it."

"Right. Next time I set out to paint a picture of us so we can get stuck in it --" Katchoo tossed a packet of mustard at her -- "I'll keep that in mind."

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday

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