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

[prodigal_miser]

Onto the cloud pine, and to the house. The microwave fascinates but perplexes him - he has no idea how to use it to do anything. In contrast, the stove, oven, and fridge all make perfect sense and he deems them usable, with the caveat that he doesn't know Fahrenheit and the temperatures are incomprehensible. He'll avoid using the oven until he knows it better.

"Anything specific you'd like, or should I just figure it out myself?"

[dark_light]

"Surprise me. All the ingredient are fair game as long as we don't get below half a cup of any herbs, or a whole bag for the ones we have in those little burlap bags."

[prodigal_miser]

He grins. "Alright. No allergies or anything of the sort, yes? I can just do anything that comes to mind?"

[dark_light]

"Yup! I mean, if it's food and not dish soap."

[prodigal_miser]

"Darn," he deadpans. "There goes my plan to make my specialty; dish soap delight."

[dark_light]

"I doubt it lives up to its name."

[prodigal_miser]

"Well now you'll never know, will you?"

[dark_light]

"I will languish in ignorance for ever and always."

[prodigal_miser]

"What an utterly unfortunate fate. You brought it on yourself, you know."

[dark_light]

"It is my own fault. I will eternally regret it."

[prodigal_miser]

"Indeed you will. You shouldn't have doubted the edibility of dish soap."

[dark_light]

"I don't know where I went wrong. It's lemon-scented, you'd think I'd clue in."

[prodigal_miser]

"I thought you were smarter than that, certainly. Not to worry. The next time a magic user from another plane arrives in order to find a flower and meets you by sheer luck and circumstance, then agrees to cook - you know to trust if he or she feeds you dish soap. Especially if it's lemon-scented."

[dark_light]

"I should write this down," says Isabella gravely; she actually produces and opens her notebook, though her pen only mimes writing and doesn't touch the page. "So I don't forget."

[prodigal_miser]

"Good, good. It's important, you know."

He's smiling by this point. He can't help it, this is funny.

[dark_light]

"It is. I've been missing out on the most delightful of foods. It's right there in the name and everything."

[prodigal_miser]

"Yes, and I certainly wouldn't name something incorrectly. All of my food names are named so because that's what they are."

[dark_light]

"So what are you going to make me instead of dish soap delight?"

[prodigal_miser]

"I'm not sure yet! I'll have to investigate your pantry. Something that doesn't involve the oven, in case I misinterpret the temperature levels and burn something to a horrific, blackened husk. Besides, I thought you wanted a surprise?"

[dark_light]

"I can look up the freezing and boiling points of water in Fahrenheit if that helps. And I didn't specify when during the process I wanted to be surprised, but I can clear off while you cook if you like."

[prodigal_miser]

He snickers. "Nah, do whatever you prefer. It's just fun to tease you, sometimes. It might help, but I'll experiment later, when I'm not cooking for the people that are kind enough to house me. I heard from somewhere that pyromania was bad."

[dark_light]

At that, Isabella bursts into helpless, doubled-over laughter.

[prodigal_miser]

He join her in laughing, while he goes rummaging for appropriately dinner-like items.

"The entire dish soap conversation, not even a giggle, but I make a joke about pyromania," says Adarin affectionately. "And that's what finally makes you laugh."

[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.