fandomhighdorms | 2nd Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

So as it turned out, Dolf had not, in fact, spotted the gremlin in the storage room at Turtle & Canary. What had happened was that the gremlin had spotted Dolf and embedded its tiny teeth neatly into Dolf's ankle about two seconds before he finished closing up the shop.

The Swede had not cared about the wound on his ankles. Bah! Ankles. He had cooking to do!

And so lo and behold, the Swede - with a charming beard made of cotton taped to his face - was in the first common room kitchen he could find. "HUNGRY?!" he shouted at his audience (which at the moment consisted mostly of chairs) "MAKE MEATBALLS!"

He yanked open the fridge with way too much violence, and began throwing food haphazardly at the counter. While shouting in... not Swenglish, exactly. Dunglish. Whatever. He didn't care. He was SWEDISH. "MELK!" He practically hurled the pack of milk against the back wall, then threw a bowl after it.

Fandom better be prepared for dinner tonight.

[[ so dolf now thinks he's Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time guy. open common room is open. ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"YOU!" the Swede shouted, coming perilously close to shoving a package of ground meat in Sov's face. He rambled something mostly indecipherable (because it was a combination of Dutch, made-up Swedish and English) and ended it in, "DINNER?!"

That was a question, Sov.

Edited 2011-03-27 13:32 (UTC)

Taking a step back to avoid the meat, Sov then shifted nervously from one foot to the other, contemplating escape. But it sounded like a question had been asked, so Sov tried to be polite and said: "Yes, please."

"TODAY, MEATBALLS," the Swede declared. "YOU, SIT!"

He growled. Hard.

It sounded like an order, and Sov felt it was safer to obey. They sat down.

"What's meatballs?" they asked in an attempt at conversation.

The Swede waved the meat around. "MEAT!" he shouted, smashing it down on the counter, and tenderizing it with his fists.

And then his head. Twice. Just for good measure. Let's hope that doesn't leave a dent in the counter.

"Oh." Sov didn't have any further questions on that. "Please, don't hurt yourself."

"I AM NOT HURTING MYSELF," the Swede announced, throwing the meat into the bowl without much regard for where any of it really went up. "THIS IS REGULAR SWEDISH COOKING!"

He squirted milk into the bowl without paying attention, then jerked away from the counter so abruptly it sent milk flinging in Sov's general direction.

Great. They wiped milk off their face. Sov was starting to lose their patience. "What's Swedish? And why does it involve punching stuff?"

The Swede did not care for Sov's impatience. Sov's impatience could stay there and sit there until they were DONE WITH THE MEATBALLS.

"I AM SWEDISH," he therefor proclaimed, throwing more ingredients into the bowl with abandon before attacking them with his hands.

And roaring.

"You still haven't answered my second question." Sov crossed their arms. It might be pointless, but someone should make a point of... whatever.

The Swede picked up the bowl and slammed it down in front of Sov. "NO TALKING!" he yelled. "MAKE BALLS!"

Sov almost jumped off the chair. "Ok, if you say so..."

"NOW!"

With that, the Swede turned back around and yanked open the fridge to procur mayonnaise.

"Don't break the door," Sov said, against better judgement, while getting to their feet. This should be a good time to escape.

He yanked out the mayonnaise and turned around. "SIT DOWN!" he barked. "ROLL! IT IS TIME FOR PRE-DINNER SNACK!"

He twisted the top off the mayonnaise and plunged in a spoon.

Sov sat down again. "Mayonnaise?" they guessed. Yes, they had learnt to appreciate that while here.

The Swede took a big spoonful and stuffed it in his mouth, snacking noisily. "IS GOOD FOR YOU!"

Sov made a disgusted face. There was no excuse for... making noises like that. Really, no.

He took another spoonful of mayo, then shoved it at Sov. "EAT PRE-DINNER SNACK," he commanded, "THEN ROLL."

Sov kept their mouth shut like a stubborn child. There were limits, after all.

So the Swede reached over and attempted to smack them over the head.

Sov tried to duck, but failed.

"Hey!"

They glared at the Swede.

"PRE-DINNER SNACK!"

You'd better do as he says, Sov.

Unfortunately, Sov had no intention of eating mayonnaise out of the jar with a spoon this Swede had used previously. Not that they were picky, but there were limits.

"No!"

They got to their feet and tried to smack the Swede back.