Third Floor Common Room; Monday Morning [05/06].

[howareyanow]

Well. Wayne figured he was getting settled into this new place well enough, though the whole island was pretty strange and a little fruity-loops. Worst of it all, though, was the complete lack of things to do. Wasn't used to not having things to do, not even on Sunday, as his family was never particularleh religious (who's got that kind of money?). But he did get a chance to check out the town; even without the castle, it was pretty surreal, and odd that it was somehow smaller than Letterkenny.

No chores. No planting. No nothing. And then he didn't even have any workshops until Tuesday. Fuck. What was he going to do with all this free time? Didn't much care for that. Free time.

Know what he could do, though? He could make breakfast. And not just some toss some flakes in bowl and hit it with some milk breakfast, but a real hearty farmhouse kinda breakfast. Had a decent kitchen in the common rooms, by the look of it, might as well make good use of it. Good selection of food and produce at the general store, got himself everything he needed for a good helping of eggs and bacon, pork sausage and hash browns, fresh fruit, mix up some batter for pancakes with some real maple syrup...

No French toast, though. French toast was just a waste of time.

Good way to start the week, really, and not a bad way to make an impression by feeding people, either.

Breakfast was on. Come an' get it.

[[ open open open, of course there's plenteh! ]]

Comments

[following_my_fishie]

She would, as always.

"Thank you," Barnabas replied with dignity, "Would you be so kind as to pass me down some bacon? It smells delicious."

Delirium reached the food. And she pounced!

Not literally. She darted in with a fork and very swiftly put a pancake on the plate, added some of everything else on top of it including the fruit, and then dashed away to a table.

Before sneaking back along the wall a second time.

[howareyanow]

Wayne turned his head to watch that pancake attack and the subsequent food acquistion, then turned his head as Delirium went to the table, and then continued to follow ass she went back to the wall, in three distinct sharp moves.

And then right back to Barnabas. He had, fleetingly, thought to ask, but then firmly decided against it. Gave Barnabas a nod, put a good amount of bacon (but let's not go overboard, as much as he would have liked to have given Barnabas pretty much all the bacon) on a plate and set it down in front of him.

[following_my_fishie]

"Thank you," Barnabas said politely when he was handed a plate of the only food he cared about.

He was disgruntled a moment later when Del's next attack added a pancake and some fruit to his plate. He gave her the most betrayed of all possible betrayed looks.

"It's good for you," she said airily, sauntering back to her seat.

Where she rolled the pancake around the other things like a slightly thicker burrito and took a bite.

[howareyanow]

That was, honestly, a little fascinating to watch, from Wayne's perspective.

"I'd say that's pert'near the only dog I've ever seen that'd say no to the idea of more food," he declared. "Unless it was sick. You're not sick, there, are ya, Barnabas?"

Wayne would be very worried and disraught if you were sick, bud.

[following_my_fishie]

Barnabas gave him some serious stinkeye. "No. Unlike some canines, I prefer not to eat things likely to give me wind. Most dogs don't care if they gas people out of a room. I'm expected to excuse myself."

Delirium continued to eat her pancakerito and said, around a mouthful, "It's healthy, Barnabas. You don't let me eat plates of only bacon."

Barnabas huffed. "I would if you cooked it first."

Del looked baffled, "But why?"

[howareyanow]

"Uncooked bacon's just a recipe for salmonella," said Wayne, passing a warning sort of look toward Delirium. "And salmonella'll make you spit from both ends.

"And that's awfully consider of you, Barnabas," he added, attention back to the dog. "Most dogs...fuck, they don't care. They'll crop-dust all damn day, doesn't matter how close the quarters or who's around or if you're at the dinner table. Though you're in kind of a unique position, you know, to just turn around and blame it on people. Plenty of degens'll go blame their own crop-dusting on the dog."

Not him, of course. In the rare occasion where he actually did let go of an inappropriate fart, he owned up to it, like any decent fellow should.

"It only be fair, realleh," he concluded, giving him a nod, "but I appreciate your excellent sense of propriety."