endsthegame (
endsthegame) wrote in
fandomhighdorms2011-02-08 05:48 pm
Entry tags:
Second Floor Common Room, Tuesday Afternoon
To say that Ender was Not Amused when he came home from classes to find all of Karla's books (as well as his copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare, his books by Nietzsche and Kant and other philosophers, and any number of biology texts) reduced to romantic drivel would be a severe understatement. His laptop was not a credible alternative because he was still trying to come up with a good way to deal with Jane, and so the only option left to Ender was to head into the common room, and at least hope there were some good documentaries on.
"Oh, you have to be kidding me," he said, when the 111th channel also turned out to be playing... something by Jane Austen? No, even that was too much to hope.
This was not his week.
[[ open! ]]
"Oh, you have to be kidding me," he said, when the 111th channel also turned out to be playing... something by Jane Austen? No, even that was too much to hope.
This was not his week.
[[ open! ]]

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She pulled out several pounds of butter and a pint of heavy cream. Because creaming the butter was a phrase she'd run into several times.
The fact that one usually did it into sugar, not flour, was beyond her. As was the actual definition of the phrase.
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So saying she dumped the pint of cream into the flour and began mashing the butter up. It was a good thing those cupfuls had been so heaping, as flour dust went everywhere.
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... Maybe he should become one just to save the world from Karla's cooking.
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...You know, when the books were working again.
"I'm creaming the butter into flour," Karla explained. "Honestly, it's in almost every cookie recipe I know."
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Ender pinched the bridge of his nose, and thought back to the handful of recipe books he'd seen the inside of. "That means you stir the butter in until it gets creamy," he said, after a moment.
They were swiftly approaching the edges of his expertise on the subject.
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She sounded like she knew what she was talking about. That was the terrifying part.
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They had officially hit the edge of his knowledge about cooking.
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The recipe they didn't have, of course.