fandomtownies | Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 9)

Current Music: Brandi Carlile - Before it Breaks

Entry tags:

Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 9)

Katchoo hadn't ventured out of her room in close to a week now, although it felt like a lot longer than that. She was sugary and cinnamony already by the time she was fiddling with her key in the lock of the store's front door --

And a lot more so once the latest tidal wave of door-related cookies had abated, leaving her knee-deep in colored sugar, icing, and ginger snaps, with the faint tinkling sound of the entry bell wafting away over it all.

Katchoo sighed, slogged her way into the shop, and slouched behind the counter with her headphones in and some new music she'd acquired blaring. Yes. It was something not Griffin Silver. Be shocked.

[OOC: Open, but SP may be of the epic variety today, just as a warning.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Arthur opened the door with his rather good mood (which was going to vacate him sometime this afternoon, but even serendipity hadn't predicted it come this early) still in place, and promptly got smacked in the face by an avalanche of cookies. "What in the name of--"

"That's what I said," Katchoo informed him from somewhere behind a pile of sugar cookies on the counter. Her version of the truncated exclamation had been much more profanity-ridden, but the gist was the same. "You wanna avoid the onslaught, don't open any doors today."

Beat, then: "At least, far as I can tell, the cookies are in their right mind."

Arthur liked to stay as close to medieval as he could manage with his cursing, although words like 'fuckery' had sneaked in for exactly these circumstances (and still managed to sound pointedly British enough that he could manage them without sounding like an idiot).

He struggled his way through the cookie-avalanche. "I'm starting to think that somewhere on the island Zack might not be." Zack: King of randomly appearing cookies. "My God, it's like someone upended a bakery in here."

"Here, and every other frikkin' place that's got hinges and a latch. Least I know I won't starve today." Katchoo bit the top off a candy-cane shaped cookie with an emphatic crunch. "You oughta try the door to the storage closet. Went in there an hour ago for register tape and got those rolled-up ones with the chocolate inside."

"Yes, I think I'll pass on that," he said, flashing her a genuinely fake smile, and shoved another pile of cookies out of the way. "Two matters. First of all, I'm pleased to hear from Francine the weekend was otherwise uneventful. Second of all, I need you to tell me about those boots you were ordering last week."

There was a danger inherent in doing anything on Arthur's radio day.

Katchoo sighed. "You really are a pain sometimes, Pendragon, you know that?"

That had been a cordial eyeroll. You were just looking at it from the wrong angle if you thought otherwise. She stuck one foot out from behind the counter to reveal a singularly beat-up sneaker with the upper peeling back from the sole and a piece of pretzel shaped cookie wedged into the laces somehow. Stupid doors.

"I can't go the rest of the winter in these, you know. Thought I might as well get something I can really kick people in. Harley boots are good for that." She had the feeling he wouldn't be deterred by that sidebar for long. "How's Merlin doing? From the look of it your Saturday night was about as fun as mine."

"Thought it was something about the motorcycle," he said, idly, mostly distracted by her latter question anyway. "...I had to restrain him to the bed." No, no fun at all. Seriously. "To get him to stop yammering and go to sleep. He still talked for over an hour."

Just to make sure she didn't get the same misconception as Francine did.

"Might've had something to do with that," Katchoo allowed. "Gotta look good while you're on there anyway. But the kicking part's useful."

One eyebrow twitched. "Yeah, I'd make fun of you for that but I don't think you enjoyed it. Not that I've ruled out the possibility of you being into that sort of thing, but . . ."

Arthur rolled his eyes straight on back at her. "So," he said, loudly changing the subject, "There is specific wardrobe required for motorcycling, is there?"

"Not required. 'cept the helmet. There's laws about that." Katchoo gave him an assessing glance; she didn't think he'd have a problem with the concept of helmets in the abstract, at least. (Heh. Abstract.) "It gets windy though, so a leather jacket's usually a good idea, and I don't mean that fancy-ass long one you got, as much as it's got style."

. . . yeah, the one that she'd last seen covering Francine when . . . yeah.

"Oh, I've got plenty of leather jackets, don't you worry." Which is to say Arthur had about twenty dead deer in leather clothes just on him when they'd arrived here, and unlike Merlin's wardrobe that amount had not decreased. "All right then. Maybe the weekend?"

"I don't worry about you," Katchoo retorted in almost-good humor. "Assuming people aren't frikkin' out of their goddamn minds again this weekend, and we can get hold of a bike? Yeah. You're on."

"Oh, you do," he said, airily, "But I'll let you keep your masculine pride by denying it. Saturday it is, then. There must be a rental somewhere."

"You would know about pride." Katchoo shook a cookie at him. "I'll look a place up, then."

Maybe she'd get him a pink helmet. Yeah.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (December 9)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject