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Second Floor Common Room - Sunday Morning

After debating if it was a waffle morning or a pancake morning, Meg decided to go to the common room and make breakfast. It was totally a pancake morning (don't ask how she came to that decision). And the food fairy or whoever puts the food in the fridge had put fresh blueberries in there. So it was a blueberry pancake morning. Complete with toast, bacon and whipped cream (to put on the pancakes afterwards, duh).

Meg was having fun seeing if she could flip the pancakes without using a spatula. So far only one landed on the floor.

[Oooooopen]

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There was still...a heck of a lot of glitter to be cleaned up. Not wanting to run the vacuum cleaner late at night, Turtle had attempted to get as much off her bed as possible before sleeping, but even that didn't prevent it from practically seeping into her hair. Not even a shower (she even repeated after lather and rinse) seemed to get the slight traces of pink glitter out of her hair. She'd gotten up early to do more cleaning, but then she noticed the undeniable smell of breakfast down the hall and decided that she needed a break and needed it bad.

She didn't look too happy when she shuffled in. She looked like she'd been spending the morning and a good chunk of the day yesterday battling glitter, and the glitter had a slight advantage on her.

"Morning, Meg," she muttered. "What's for breakfast?"

Edited 2008-02-17 17:58 (UTC)

"Blueberry pancakes," Meg said cheerfully. Even more cheerfully than usual. "Feel free to help yourself."

"Oooooh." There wasn't much enthusiasm in the expression of approval, but there was still more than could probably be expected with how Turtle was feeling at the moment. "Nice..." Blueberry pancakes definitely did seem to be a slight bit of light shining through all the pink glitter and she wearily helped herself as Meg offered. "Thanks..."

"Something wrong?" Meg asked. Still cheerfully.

There was an indistinctive, but decidedly miserable grumble-mutter in response as Turtle piled whipped cream...lots of whipped cream...onto her pancakes.

"You've got glitter in your hair," Meg said. "Did you know?"

Oh, she was feeling evil today.

"Oh, really?" Turtle's voice oozed with sarcasm. Her pancakes needed more whipped cream, and she wrinkled her nose as she continued piling it on. "I hadn't noticed."

"It looks good on you," Meg said, trying not to laugh. "Pink is definitely your color."

"Oh, shove it, Meg," Turtle muttered, glowering at her pancakes and trying to decide if she had enough whipped cream. Apparently, the small mountain wasn't enough because she added just a weeeeee tiny bit more. "You know how I feel about pink. Everyone knows how I feel about pink, and it's come back to haunt me...I just wish I understood why. I never do anything to hurt anyone around here, but then people still have to go around and do mean things like glitter my bedroom or cut off my braid or tear apart my store..."

And that lead into a full-on sulk, the kind that focused on her pancakes like, after all that preparation, she suddenly discovered that she didn't have the stomach for food anymore.

Aww, now Meg felt kind of bad. "It wasn't that mean."

"Wasn't that--!" Turtle boggled at Meg like she'd grown a second head. "Have you seen my room?"

"Um...yeah..." Meg said, biting her lower lip. "I kinda have."

"Then you totally kno--" Turtle stopped herself short, blinking. "...Wait, what? When?"

The only person she'd really talked to since the discovery was Jim, and she'd been cleaning with the door closed...

Meg put a hand over her eyes so she didn't have to look at Turtle and took a deep breath. "I did it. I glittered your room."

Sometimes being incapable of lying sucked.

Turtle stared. After a moment, she remembered to blink, but then it went back to staring just a bit more.

And then she closed her eyes and took in a very, very, very deep breath. "...What?" It was not a happy what. Not at all.

"I was, um, kinda of mad about the whole dance thing so I glittered your room," Meg said. "I still don't think it was that mean. I mean, cutting off your braid is mean but glittering your room is just a friendly prank."

Meg refused to be a part of anything that was mean. Pranks are not mean. You could pull pranks and still be a nice girl.

Turtle looked at Meg for a good, long, hard moment as she explained, and an even longer one afterwards, like the anger inside was just simmering until finally, she spoke, and demanded, "Okay, seriously, Meg. That's the crappiest cover story I've ever heard. Who are you protecting?"

"I'm not covering for anybody! I did it!" Meg insisted.

Turtle was looking highly unconvinced. "Yeah, right. Next you'll be telling me that Mother Theresa eats babies and was best friends with Hitler. You're not doing this person any favors, you know, by lying for them. I'll find out eventually..."

Meg pouted. "I did so do it."

"...Because of the whole pink thing with homecoming?" Turtle asked, skeptically. If she remembered correctly, she wasn't the only one against it. It was all quite democratic, after all.

"Well, a little because of that," Meg said. "But also because it was funny. Kind of?"

Oh who was she kidding, she wouldn't have believed she did it either.

"So not funny," Turtle muttered, stabbing a fork into her pancakes. "People around here have absolutely no respect for other people's property. I have never, ever messed with anyone's stuff before, but, for some reason, it's like there's a big ol' sign somewhere that says, 'Hey! It's been a few weeks; time for someone to be a total jerkface and mess with Turtle's stuff!'"

"I am not a jerkface," she said with a frown. Turtle was the jerkface.

"I didn't say you were!" Turtle sighed, heavily. "I said the person who did it," and, in turn, really must have worked Meg up good to get her to stick to her story like that, "is."

Meg let out a frustrated groan. "You're never going to believe me, are you?"

"Nope." Shaking her head, Turtle shoveled into her mouth a forkful of whipped cream with a touch of pancake. "So you might as well give it up and tell me who put you up to this. I promise, I won't tell them that you gave them away." She chewed. Once. Twice. "It was Annette, wasn't it? I bet it was Annette."

It was usually Annette. Probably all pissy at her for digging her about the whole Dick Breakup thing.

Meg put her head on the counter and banged her head once. "I'll never tell, Turtle. I'm not a tattler."

She should really go into a life of crime. Nobody would suspect a thing.

Sighing heavily, Turtle, none-the-less, nodded. "That's fine," she muttered. "I get that. That's respectable. Solidarity and all that. I will find out, though." She shook her fork dramatically. "I will. Just you wait...I'll just have you know, though, that protecting a criminal is just as bad an offense as being the criminal yourself, Meg."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Meg said, waving her hand. She still hadn't taken her head off the counter.

Having said her piece and leaving a silence for Meg's last chance at redemption to dish over the name of the culprit, Turtle sighed and dug into her pancakes again. "Thanks for the breakfast, Meg," she offered congenially, idly, "it's really good."

"You're welcome," she said. Meg did like being the good girl but, dammit, it was kind of insulting when people didn't think she was capable of doing anything wicked.

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Second Floor Common Room - Sunday Morning

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