picknicking

[dark_light]

There's something unutterably pleasant about landing in a bit of woods in the middle of Nowhere, Manitoba, removing a sandwich and an apple from her backpack and having a picnic before she's ready to move on. She could eat in midair, but it makes it too likely that she'll drop something and find it unrecoverable.

Path's on her knee, and her cloudpine is propped up against the tree next to her.

Comments

[dark_light]

"It's partially accumulated humor from the dish soap conversation," defends Path, from where he is perched atop the fridge. (Isabella is too busy laughing to say it.)

[prodigal_miser]

"That helps! Note to self - for Isabella, laughter's contained until it reaches a critical mass, where it explodes into uncontrollable, helpless laughter. I'll remember, don't worry."

Rummage rummage - oh look! Food items. He shall use these mystical things to make dinner.

[dark_light]

"To what," giggles Isabella, "possible use could you mean to put this information?"

[prodigal_miser]

"Nefarious purposes, of course. Like making you laugh more," he says, trying to sound vaguely villainous. It's really not convincing in the slightest. "Bwuahaha."

Neither was the laugh.

Food preparations begin! Hurray!

[dark_light]

"You'll never get away with this!" says Isabella, shaking her fist.

[prodigal_miser]

"My dear Isabella, I already have."

Food preparations continue. It's all very exciting.

[dark_light]

Hee hee hee.

Isabella sprawls in a chair. "It is warm today and the stove isn't gonna help, and if you don't have stove or oven related plans for that potato I have to reevaluate how similar our species can possibly be, potatoes are no good raw. You gonna be bothered about it if I get naked?"

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin sporfles.

He takes a minute to recover, and coughs. Someone is now blushing, and it's certainly not Isabella. "Um. I-If you really want to, I won't argue against it, but I will become very, very interested in these potatoes."

[dark_light]

"If you want to look at me that is fine, I have roughly the same opinion on that as I do about, say, admiring my hair, if my hair were interesting enough to admire. Nudity is not a thing of consequence for a witch. If you expect me to be horrifying to behold and that's why the potatoes will be preferable in comparison, I think I'll just put an ice cube on my neck or something, though."

[prodigal_miser]

"No! No, no, I'm sure you're lovely to look at, it's fine, I'm just - it's um - complicated and... Look! Potatoes!" he displays then to her. They are, indeed, potatoes.

[dark_light]

"I haven't even taken anything off yet," she points out. "But those sure are potatoes." She opens the freezer and grabs an ice cube and puts it on her neck. Path swoops down to fan her with his wings.

[prodigal_miser]

There's a couple of awkward half-sentences that start and go nowhere, until finally he manages, "If you um - are uncomfortable otherwise, I will not flee from the house in embarrassment or - or something. I will be fine."

[dark_light]

"You reaaaally don't sound fine about it, so, I can skip it. I'm not going to collapse of heatstroke or anything."

[prodigal_miser]

"I am worried about the safety of the potatoes. Their continued health means a lot to me," he says. "That's all. Really."

He is a hilariously terrible liar.

[dark_light]

"I'm enthralled by this ice cube. Forget I said anything," sighs Isabella.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin winces. "Er. Sorry. I hope I didn't insult you, or - something?"

[dark_light]

"It is... rumored impossible, in practice just ludicrously difficult, to insult a witch," shrugs Isabella. "I am not insulted."

[prodigal_miser]

"Good. Had to make sure," he says, smiling a bit.

Cooking, cooking, slice, slice, slice, turn on stove, more food preparations, curiously investigate array of availably spices and pick out ones that seem appropriate.

[dark_light]

Path goes on fanning his witch. She sprawls and supervises and ices her neck.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin's jacket comes off, and his hair goes up into a ponytail due to heat. Then, back to cooking. He can indeed cook! He seems to be making a stir-fry of some kind. It smells delicious.

[dark_light]

"That smells delicious," reports Isabella.

[prodigal_miser]

He grins. "Thank you! I try. I'm proud that I haven't burned anything down when working with foreign technology."

Soon enough, it's done. The stir-fry finds its new home is now on three plates, and one of those is offered to Isabella.

[dark_light]

She sends Path to tell Metis that there's food, and starts in on her own plate. "Tastes good, too."

Halfway through (when Path has returned from this errand), she says:

"When are you planning to separate? If you're still planning to."

[prodigal_miser]

Compliments earn her another smile from Adarin. "It's not dish-soap delight, but I did my best," he teases, getting started on his own food.

Happy eating, nom nom. Vern gets some, too, because she is his daemon and that seems like the appropriate thing to do in this situation.

Vern makes a sad sound when Isabella brings up separating. It earns her a soothing pet. Adarin replies, "I'm not sure. We... Still need to, but honestly I'm not much looking forward to it, now. It's nice to have her just around."

[dark_light]

"She'll still be around after," Path points out. "Separation isn't like intercision."