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]

"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.

[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."