fandomtownies | Strokes of Genius, Thursday (9/17)

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Strokes of Genius, Thursday (9/17)

Katchoo had gone and replaced her radio in time to catch last night's broadcast, and no, it wasn't the report about her that had her cranky (oh, because that was a surprise) today; that part made her laugh, honestly. She'd just love it if the squirrels would stop reporting on the comings and goings of Francine's underwear any time soon. Argh. And Ethics had, as always, been uncomfortable enough without factoring in the fun-filled recurring dreams that had preceded waking up and going to class.

. . . sigh. Drinking tonight -- not in her room, not within squirrel-range -- was going to be such a welcome frikkin' relief.

More clocks today, but in acrylics slapped and jabbed onto the canvas with brushes that'd never be the same again. Their sacrifice made for a jagged, spiky texture that fit Katchoo's mood well, though.

[OOC: And the old black rum's got a hold of me, will I live for an OCD-free day, HEEEEEEEEEEEY, will I -- *ahem*]

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"Baaaaagels," Francine sang as she came through the door. If she paused for a moment when she saw Katchoo, and flushed slightly, it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd had to walk past Dite's shop on her way here, and. Well.

"Fresh hot baaaaaagels," she started up again gamely. "Shipped in today from New Yawwwwk..." No, no they weren't, they were made on the island, but the guy at the God of Biscuits counter had a thick Bronx accent she was now imitating horribly, so that counted, right?

Oooh, hi there, tiny bagpiping leprechauns (not to be confused with tiny blue kilted underwear thieves) dancing a jig on the hilt of that metaphorical knife, how are you?

There were two ways to interpret Francine's cheer right now, one of which was to assume that she was in perky repressive denial about Katchoo's little near-blowup in Ethics earlier, and the other, which was what Katchoo was going with, being that she hadn't noticed.

"Save you the trouble of getting mugged for 'em," she said, slapping a particularly pointy peak of ~~pink~~ ~~puce~~ red paint onto the canvas. Ow. "Smells great, Francie."

All right, universe, that was just frikkin' mean.

"You're not supposed to smell it, you're s'posed to eat it, skinnybutt," Francine said, plopping the bag down on the counter.

Look, Choovanski, you avoided the WTF of WTF's from Francine this morning because she didn't in fact notice; what the hell more do you want from me?

yrs,
the universe
PS Ask her about the porn. Oh right, I didn't make you telepathic. Shut up and eat a bagel, then.

The universe was kind of cranky today too.

How's about not poking at the bagel issue, cranky universe? Is this gonna have to turn into a crankiness throwdown?

Telepathy wasn't the superpower Katchoo would've wanted, anyway. There were Things she just didn't need to know about people. Like porn. Possession of.

"Are you complaining about my butt, Francie?"

What about Lesbian Porn Not Purchased For Her Boyfriend, possession of?

"No. Your butt's--" Great, now she was checking it out. "...fine."

Words. Use your words, Francine. "It's just not big enough for its own zipcode, like mine."

Goooooooooooood question on that point. There might be a half-coherent rant about objectification, or there might be speechlessness. The odds on that second possibility were not high, let's just say, but they did exist.

"I like yours just fine," Katchoo said -- not checking it out as she picked a random bagel out of the bag. She'd had ample opportunity to observe and could probably paint an astounding, if idealized, likeness of it in the dark.

Oh, hey. Asiago cheese. This was the sort of thing that was too fancy for Oscar's Bagels back in L.A. -- wouldn't stop her from eating it, but the vivid reminder was not unlike picking off a scab.

"That's just because you'll be able to live off it for a month when the ice age comes and we have to eat each other to survive." Francine dug out the cream cheese spread.

Katchoo did not say the "Oh, Francine" that she ~~and probably a good chunk of readers~~ wanted to.

"You do realize that doesn't work both ways if you mean it like that . . ."

"...How else would I mean it?"

Katchoo forced a little chuckle. "The kind that doesn't actually involve chewing." Pause. "Swallowing sometimes, though, if you care enough."

"If you swallow and don't chew, you'll cho---"

Do not ask. Do not ask why the god of cheerfully oblivious teenagers chose now to withdraw his protection from Francine Peters.

"OH MY GOD I DID NOT MEAN THAT!"

Because if you do, she might crack and tell you about the porn after all.

"Of course you didn't," Katchoo said, entirely without irony. Well, that part was without irony. This one, on the other hand: "You were talking about Donner Party survival stuff anyway."

Spades of it there.

". . . no way in hell am I wearing a sunbonnet."

"But you'd look so cute in one!" Look, teasing Katchoo might not make her face any less red but at least it put the focus elsewhere. "Maybe one with little pink flowers on it or something."

Yeah, the red-facedness . . . making it a little less easy for Katchoo to just laugh and go along with it the way she usually would.

"I don't do pink, Francie, are you nuts? You, on the other hand, have a thing for it today."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Francine said with a sad, sad attempt at dignity as she reached for a bagel.

Katchoo waved a hand in a vague circular motion, somewhere in the vicinity of Francine's face.

YES, HER FACE. Pervy narrative implication, nobody invited you.

"That not-a-sunburn thing you have going there, honey."

"Maybe I have a sunburn. I wasn't wearing a sunbonnet."

"Pink flowers and frills are more your thing. And it's not shiny enough for a sunburn," Katchoo pointed out.

"Maybe it's a moonburn, then."

"Or maybe you're just being a spaz," Katchoo replied. "A lovable spaz."

Obviously. But it had to be qualified there.

That one, Francine...might allow. "Maybe. Maybe it's spazburn."

"That's what happens when you play with spazmatches." The banter didn't have the usual zip to it today, though, sadly.

"I was trying to light the stove to boil water for spazgetti." She was trying, dammit.

She got a brief laugh for the effort. It wasn't a gold star, but it might suffice. Maybe? Possibly?

"I know better than to joke about the instant stuff with you."

. . . oh. Phrasing. Unintentional but hello there, bitterness, how did you sneak in through the air vents? On the back of a gremlin?

Why were things going awkward and weird again? Why?

Except no, Francine knew exactly why this was awkward and weird for her. What she had no clue about was what was up with Katchoo. Or why what she just said felt like it should hurt when Francine didn't even understand it.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," she admitted in a small voice.

Katchoo glanced away for a moment and shrugged. "I've seen you cook, Francine. You do it 'cause you love it, and you love watching people enjoy your work afterward." Why had this gone all serious-metaphor? Stupid somber mood. A crooked, halfhearted smile twitched at one corner of her mouth. "TV dinners are like, I dunno, blasphemy."

"I don't know. Sometimes I like cookie dough from a tube."

...Francine, no. No. It didn't work for Buffy and it won't work for you. Step AWAY from the metaphor!

See Katchoo veering away from that metaphor with a practically audible if metaphorical (different metaphor!) screeching of tires?

"Well, everybody deserves some instant gratification."

"I guess." See Francine not take that metaphor to the some things are worth waiting for place because to do that she'd have to a) know what they were really talking about and b) acknowledge that she was.

Katchoo picked thoughtfully at the crust of a bagel. "Besides, squeezing the tube is fun."

"It is! There's something about--"

Congratulations, Choovanski. You actually made a sexual innuendo that, given the previous conversation, Francine Peters got, even if it was on time-delay.

Mmm, spazburn.

"I kind of thought you weren't into tubes." Don't ask where that came from, unless it was the spark of annoyance at being clueless again, combined with...well. Everything.

Please excuse Katchoo, she'll just be over here sputtering for a minute at the realization that Francine caught onto that one.

When she finally got her voice back (for the record, it had scurried off and hidden behind the rubber cement on the shelves) she replied, "Mostly because of what they tend to be attached to."

Yep. Metaphor gone off the rails now.

Cookie dough metaphors never work well.

Yeeah, that got a headtilt from Francine. "See, now I'm picturing a guy walking around with a tube of cookie dough, you know..."

"Ew, Francine. I didn't need to picture that!"

"You said it, not me!"

"Teach me to open my big damn mouth . . ."

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Strokes of Genius, Thursday (9/17)

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