fandomtownies | Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (February 3)

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (February 3)

The soundtrack that accompanied the opening of the shop's front door this morning, when a certain dulcet-toned and pleasant employee arrived for her shift ~~and promptly beat the narrative to a whimpering pulp for being sarcastic about her~~, was a fascinating mix of keys rattling, muttering, swearing, a boot kicking at the foot of the door, attempted scratching, and POP sounds inevitably followed by more swearing.

Katchoo was in just a fantastic mood today, and really probably shouldn't be in the shop at all.

Hopefully the Under Quarantine Due to Chocolate sign in the window would keep people away, and in the meantime there was Clocky, rolling around on the floor pushing a can of Lysol and making irritated noises at her.

[OOC: Shop and post open (at your own risk!), warning for extra SP today. I tried to send the OCD to the comic shop for me but it laughed and told me I was on my own.]

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"Quarantine?" Arthur asked on his way in, because such signs clearly didn't apply to him, "Now what did you do to yourself?"

Katchoo looked up from scratching at a particularly itchy spot on her arm and gave him a baleful look. "I didn't do anything. I'm breaking out in frikkin' chocolate. How the hell does that happen?"

Arthur blinked at said look. "Fandom," he said, with a shrug. "Probably some kind of magic thing." He left the particulars to Merlin, thanks much.

"I know that, dumbass," Katchoo groused. Way to steal some of her gratuitous-bitching thunder there.

"Careful," she added over Clocky's beeping; the little clock had gone rolling up toward Arthur pushing the Lysol can and acting, pardon the pun, alarmed. "If that thing had opposable thumbs you'd be disinfected and pine fresh right now."

"I am perfectly clean," Arthur said, rolling his eyes and shooting the clock a look. "I bathed last week, for god's sakes."

Katchoo gaped at him for precisely three and one third eyeblinks. Oh, right, medieval. She blamed the Blackberry for making her forget. (Last week? aslk;jdfla;s.)

"Nah, I think Clocky's worried you might catch the chocolate," she explained instead.

"I already fended off the chocolate during class yesterday," Arthur said, one eyebrow raising, but he left it at that. "But thank you for your concern... Clocky."

Clocky let out a whistle that almost sounded like it ended in an indignant huff of have it your way, spun, and wheeled off, rolling the Lysol can.

"Suit yourself," Katchoo muttered, although she was still keeping her distance. "What've you got against chocolate anyway?"

She had her reasons, and boy, did she ever resent that.

"I haven't got anything against it, I just don't see why it has to be deified," Arthur grumped, finding his perch without much fear for her condition. It was still at a fair distance, after all.

Another sore materialized on the side of Katchoo's neck with an audible pop, and she sighed. "It's fallin' off the pedestal for me now, believe me. So, I see someone didn't break himself playing around on the rocks yesterday."

Another roll of his eyes. "Please," he said, "I've climbed castle walls in full armor, the Rocky Bits in a light tunic is nothing."

Oh, shut up. It was the most blatant confession she'd ever made that she gave a crap.

"Everybody's gotta be a showoff," Katchoo replied. Mild taunt, token complaint, and affectionate teasing all in one? Multitasking statements for the win.

"I only show off to help others learn," Arthur said, brushing that off kindly, and fixed his eyes on her arm. "It doesn't look like the plague," he offered.

Of course, if it did, he imagined the school would've carted her off by now.

"So frikkin' generous." Katchoo glared at the offending itchy patch and tugged her sleeve down, taking care to button the cuff back around her wrist.

"No, but if it puts me off brownies for life, I might have to be pissed."

"Again," Arthur said, "You need to lay off this deification of chocolate. I got a burger after class. It was very satisfying. How are you feeling?"

"Brownies, Arthur. Brownies. Do you have no soul?" Okay, the offended look was mostly feigned. And now she wanted a burger. "Pretty damn great right up until the candy rash of doom showed up, actually."

"It's hardly meat, is it?"

Arthur had his priorities straight, honestly.

"Sorry I didn't catch your radio last night, too busy with other things."

"I'm crushed." Katchoo put a hand to her forehead and . . . rolled her eyes. "Really."

Dropping that, she leaned against the cash register and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see any notes about anything else. Everything all right?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her right on back. "The squirrels and I have an understanding."

"You browbeat the furry little bastards into submission, didn't you?" Katchoo would not at all be surprised if the answer was yes. She'd be disappointed if it wasn't, truth to tell.

"We simply had a very fruitful discussion about their conduct and the things expected of them following payment of their fees," Arthur said, tapping a finger against the desk. "Radio would be better off staying out of our private lives."

"You browbeat 'em into submission," Katchoo reiterated, smirking for a moment before the smirk dissolved into a more genuine smile. "Only you, Pendragon."

Arthur flicked at something on the desk. "You make it sound so mercenary," he said, shrugging. "They know what they'll get if they report on the right bits."

"They know what they'll get," Katchoo echoed. "Now who's making it sound mercenary? Nothin' wrong with that sometimes, anyway."

Arthur's eyes? Rolling once more. "Perhaps it'd be of some use to you if you got into a friendly arrangement with the squirrels yourself," he said.

Katchoo probably still had an acorn-sized bruise on her arm somewhere under the chocolate spots. "Think it might be a little late for that now. Much as they looooooooooooooooove me."

Arthur shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "Well, I'm not reporting on anything on Fridays," he offered, "For whatever value that has to you."

"I don't care one way or the other," Katchoo answered, "but for Francine's sake . . . thanks."

"It's not like any of it belongs in there," he said, leaning against the counter. "So... how are things on... your end." HE WAS TRYING TO BE NICE. OKAY.

AND IT WASN'T EVEN ALL THAT FREAKY ANY MORE WHEN HE TRIED.

. . . which was freaky if she thought about it.

"Things?" To say it was a face-splitting grin would be accurate, considering how infrequently Katchoo grinned that way; her face actually splitting from the abnormal stress might be an actual concern. "Things are frikkin' amazing. 'cept for the itching."

Yeah. Gee, wonder how she got that.

... Yes, that bit was a little worrisome, which spoke from the way Arthur sort of tilted his head and pursed his lips. Disturbing.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, finally. "Well, barring the itching, obviously."

"Something's gotta keep me cranky," Katchoo pointed out, grinning and scratching at her neck at the same time. "Otherwise you'll be chucking me in the looney bin."

"I was starting to think about it," Arthur admitted, idly. "Still. Didn't quite see this one coming a year ago, did we?"

"I'd've laughed in your face a year ago if you tried to tell me it was going to happen," Katchoo told him. So optimistic.

"Mmm. But at least you'd be able to eat chocolate." Bastard.

"Jackass." It was said lovingly. Or something.

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Strokes of Genius, Wednesday (February 3)

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