fandomtownies | The Park, afternoon to evening

Hannibal really did enjoy his adopted country (it had immense opportunities for someone like him), and he would also accept any excuse for a party.

So, here they were. He'd set up a decent, industrial-sized grill on the lawn, arranged for an insane number of picnic blankets (mostly red, white, blue, or some combination thereof), and even bribed one of the local magical types to ensure that the weather would be perfect. And he had, of course, been cooking for days; all that was left was grilling the last-minute things.

Jono had agreed to handle the fireworks later, but for now there was mostly mingling and food.

There were several dips: tomatillo salsa verde, french onion, and a bagna cauda, with both traditional and less common vegetables for dipping, along with homemade potato and tortilla chips.

There were any number of salads: crispy potato with chiles, celery, and peanuts, tomato, onion, and roasted lemon, cabbage and jicama, potato with grilled kale, and raw beet and cucumber.

Then there were the non-salad side dishes: flatbread with fava beans, cucumbers, and burrata, salted and spiced melon, "tater tots" with spicy mayonnaise, and of course grilled corn (with miso butter).

On the grill were burgers with a high-quality meat blend, veggie burgers, the best hot dogs available (with a number of interesting toppings available, and ribs.

To go with all of this were mint tea, watermelon basil iced tea, iced hibiscus sweet tea, watermelon sangria, and a keg of Baltimore Pale Ale.

And if the main dishes weren't enough, there were of course desserts. Sorbet in grapefruit cups, strawberry rhubarb pie, roasted pears with espresso mascarpone cream, and s'mores cupcakes.

This was Hannibal. There was no such thing as going overboard with food.

[OOC: Open post! Come and party!]

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"Accordin' to my GCal, it's currently the second Tuesday of next week, but I may have to move it back to the eleventeenth of never," Hardison said.

Look, he had an image to maintain.

Eliot let out a long suffering sigh. "Then I'm just going to have to keep sneaking them into your food."

Image or no, Eliot was determined to keep Hardison around and kicking as long as possible.

Just as long as Eliot knew that feeling was entire mutual.

"...Why?" he asked, glaring at Eliot. "Where'd you sneak 'em in this time?"

"You really can't tell?"

"...Yo, if you turned this bun into some kinda gluten-free cauliflower thing, we are gettin' a divorce," Hardison declared.

"Gluten-free's a load of crap unless you're actually gluten intolerant," Eliot pointed out. "Which you ain't."

How much was Hardison amused by that being the part of his statement that annoyed Eliot the most? So much.

"That's what I'm sayin'!"

"Well good!"

Honestly, Eliot was torn between gloating that Hardison went for gluten-free bun before veggieburger for what he'd made healthy about the whole thing, or just never telling him and taking advantage of his inability to tell the difference to keep sneaking veggies into Hardison's diet.

"Man, you're ridiculous," Hardison said, shaking his head. "You gonna make me another burger or what? Maybe this time I'll guess it."

Orrr...did Hardison know and was just pretending to be ignorant so he could keep eating them and not have to admit it?

THESE TWO.

What? Their communication skills were awesome. Obviously.

"I bet Hannibal's got some dill havarti tucked away somewhere. . . ."

That was definitely a word someone, somewhere, might have used. Possibly.

Hardison scowled. "Better'n bleu cheese crumbles," he muttered.

Which was his way of asking that Eliot use that cheese instead.

"Bleu cheese is delicious. You're just a heathen."

"It's mold."

"It's edible mold."

"Only by the barest of margins!"

"There's plenty of margin. Sometimes mold is your friend."

"Yeah, that was one time. Pencillin. An' you know what? Ain't nobody likes to eat that as a salad toppin'!"

Hardison would not be moved on this point.

"Two times," Eliot countered. "Penicillin and cheese. You want me to get Whitmark out here to sing you his mold song again?"

Hell, Eliot could probably sing at least part of it right now.

"I could die a happy man if I never had to listen to Whitmark's mold song ever again," Hardison declared. "You know it's got, like, a hundred thousand hits on Youtube, right?"

"Why the hell would I know something like that?"

"Oh, like you don't check up on all the kids we've helped over the years," Hardison scoffed. He certainly did and he was pretty sure Eliot was a lot more thorough about it.

"Not," Eliot said, "in YouTube."

"Well, if you ever wanna know what's got more hits, his mold song or your whiskey one, let me know," Hardison said with a teasing grin. "I'll get you up-to-the-minute stats."

"It better be the mold one. I still ain't resolved that fatwa."

"Is there anyway it can be resolved without them gettin' their hands on you?"

Detective Hardison was on the case!

...From several thousand miles away because he was no idiot.

Re: Mingle!

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