fridgetothefire | 016 ☣ Some private video messages

[She greets in him rolled-up jeans and a short-sleeved shirt - practically unheard of for her, and it's easy to see why: in addition to the half-healed cuts and scrapes from Silent Hill, twisty, shiny-pink burn scars twine around the skin of her arms and legs. She's also wearing a bright read cape made of something synthetic and heavy, at least six inches too long for her, with a distinct, dark bloodstain in the middle of it.]

Welcome to the cookie lair! Today's evil plot: diabetes for everyone.

[Despite the silliness, there's a little bit of a manic gleam in her eye.]

[The cape is - he raises his eyebrows at that more than at the scars.]

The cape's a little dramatic for you, but you know, whatever, that's fine.

[He brushes past her into the room.]

If we're going to kill people with cookies, can I make a list of first victims?

My cape is great, you're just jealous. It was my father's until I killed him, it's like a trophy I can wear.

[She doesn't say it particularly pompously, all devil-may-care frankness, but she does toss the excess over her shoulder.]

And sure, knock yourself out.

Edited 2013-06-10 02:46 (UTC)

I'm really not jealous. There's blood on it. Have you never heard of dry-cleaning?

[He glances around, looking, honestly, for the sherry.]

Cool. I have ideas. Can we get drunk now?

I like it bloody!

[She laughs, and gets it out of the small, 20s-era ice box - most of the other ingredients are already piled on the countertops - and passes it over.]

So what prompted the pressing need for booze?

That's disgusting. [But you know, you do you, Anya. You do you. He pours a small glass, considers it, pours some more. Can't even.]

People from here mixing with people from home gives me a headache and a need for a worse one. Plus in the last couple of days I disowned my entire past life and now have no idea what the hell I'm doing for the next - ever.

What're we making? Brownies?

Were you happy?

[She's guessing not, because of the whole disowning thing, and also Cassel, but there are other possible reasons, so she asks.]

And yeah, I'm thinking brownies with centimeter-thick fudge based icing.

[She flips through some index cards with handwriten partial recipes on them in neat blue ink, and hands Cassel one for the wet bowl.]

You take this one? I still don't have the dexterity back to crack eggs neatly.

No. I guess not. Probably not. I don't think so. It doesn't matter, though.

[He takes the card, scrutinizes it, and reaches for the eggs.]

Centimeter and a half.

What else matters?

[It sounds a little sociopathic, and it isn't really. It's...humanist, almost utilitarian. Happiness matters, not just hers, or his.]

I agree to to these terms.

Being alive. Which, you might have noticed, we both failed at, so. Other than that, I don't know.

[He cracks an egg pretty viciously into the bowl.]

And now we're functionally immortal, some restrictions apply.

[She mimics the tone of a contest commercial, has a dazed moment of trying to remember where on earth that was from before placing it as a residual memory from bargewell.]

So maybe it's time.

[He glances at her, holding the broken eggshell in his hand for a moment before discarding it. It's probably symbolic of something, but for once he finds he doesn't give a shit.]

Time for what?

Figuring out what we need from the rest of ever to be happy.

Oh. What, you don't think that we're supposed to put on our hero tights and go save the world?

[His warden is an actual superhero. He's a little weirded out.]

[She crackles with laughter.]

Forget tights. This is not a hero's cape.

So what, then? What's the plan?

Well, I like it here. You should maybe start taking notes when we stop off in non-soul-eating worlds, you're kind of getting a free interdimensional sampler platter here.

I like it here too. How do you know I'm not taking notes? I take plenty of notes. That's all I do all the time, is take notes.

So what's the problem?

[She sets a little pot full of chocolate chips in a larger pot of water on the burner to melt them without burning, then pours the extra chocolate into a bowl for grazing purposes and offers him some.]

You disowned a life that made you miserable. Now you've got something better, albeit interspersed with terror, and a chance at better.

[He looks at the chocolate chips suspiciously, then shrugs and takes a handful.]

It's not right to push family away. No matter how shit they are.

Horseshit.

[Cassel that's stupid and she feels stupider for hearing you say it.]

Family is as family does, the same as everything else.

Says you. That's not what I learned.

Even Hitler had a mom, Cassel. Every person who's ever lived had some kind of family. Some people don't deserve loyalty. Some poeple don't deserve anything. 'No matter how shit they are' is a really, really high bar.

Quad erat demonstrandum, you're wrong.

[He rattles the remaining chocolate chips in the palm of his hand, pursing his lips. He's trying to think of a way to explain what he means, but even being forced to tell the truth doesn't help if he has no idea what the truth actually is.]

[Finally he gives up and just repeats himself.]

That's not what I learned, is all.

[Logic doesn't apply to brainwashing, unfortunately.]

Who taught it to you? And why?

[Ulterior motives are kind of his thing. Maybe that'll be an easier way to think about it. She grates some nutmeg over the dry bowl.]

spam ho! that sounds really weird

it does and i don't know what to make of it

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