Box of Occurences |
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PLOT ♠ SUES ♠ LINKS ♠ RULES ♠ CLAIMS STAFF ALANDREE ♠ SKAZKA |
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| Ladies' Incapabilities | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 23 2009, 08:43 PM (117 Views) | |
| skazka | Sep 23 2009, 08:43 PM Post #1 |
Major Arcana
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Little black flakes of soot now littered the floor. This is why your mama never wanted you to learn how to cook, dear. Because if you know how to cook, people expect you to do it. Like knowing how to ride a horse, or properly embalm a corpse. The irritating old chestnut of how Clarice's parents had met was the stuff of family legend, but it was infinitely preferable to slave over a hot stove than to lavish careful attention on a stranger's corpse moldering away right before your eyes. But enough of that gruesome business. She whisked burnt bits of crust off the tabletop with a pass of the hand, and busied herself with tying on an apron. This middling time in the evening, there was little interest in pie-buying; fortunate for the shift she took, but less fortunate for poor Ned. Mr. Walker, not Ned. He had to have a real name, didn't he? Something Ned was short for? Never mind Ned. That kind of interest, you just had to shake off. Shake. Yes. No one came in to buy pie for dinner, or even anything else they had on offer. Maybe some nice family types would come in earlier in the day, pick one up for the overworked lady of the house, but no one went out for pie, obviously, and that meant... double duty. Just stay back in the kitchen, and bustle out and look eager and professional whenever someone shows up. Listen for the little bell. Now you're not allowed to handle the money, God forbid, being a woman and all. Hmph. Maybe that bum Jernigan might show his face for the first time in a while. The ever-so-sensitive writer. |
   The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Sep 23 2009, 09:17 PM Post #2 |
what the hand dare seize the fire?
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Tripping a lot more than usual. It was like a nervous habit. Intentionally getting in the way of your own shoelace, or various inanimate objects minding their own business being inanimate. Pernicious fool! An unconscious effort to cause himself pain. A very nitpicking part of his personality. Mavis had cleared out long before he'd gotten home. And the first ghastly thing he'd thought was that it would be nice to sleep in a bed again. Instead of on a couch. Or the floor. Never mind any girlfriend of his leaving, one he'd been with for seven odd years. Just another page in the book. The rising action for bigger things. The last time this had happened, he'd cried. Hadn't cried again since. Not really. But what mattered now was where he'd left the mop. Shouldering the door open, the back door, that is, with an odd chill in the air from the alley beyond, he pulled on the light switch, illuminating what dank quarters were his, yours all evening long! and passing by the hook where one would normally place his hat. He passed through into the kitchen. Ready for the sink. That lady. From the Trap party. "Uh...Hiya. Slow night?" He eyed the little burnt pie, lower lip jutting out a tad. Not something he'd want to eat. Or see anyone else eat. But it quickly mutated into something just short of a smile. As if it were painful to even attempt anything more genuine. |
     G R A P H I C // R E Q U E S T S | |
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| skazka | Sep 25 2009, 01:23 PM Post #3 |
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Major Arcana
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Hmph. Late again, off on a binge. She'd taken a look at that artistic adult publication of his and thought very little of it, though it was probably a mercy the names were unfamiliar. How red her face'd be if she had to serve a nice Sunday brunch to some sweaty-palmed creep with a thing for fur coats and leather boots. Unhealthy, it was. Smile big. So wide, without flashing teeth, that she could feel her lipstick cracking waxily. Probably shouldn't wear it around. This was a classy establishment, a nice one, and Lord knows they didn't want to attract the wrong sort to their... pie selling operation. The kind who might recognize her from part-time employment elsewhere. Anyone gives you any trouble, you shout. Enough about that. "Evening, Mr. Jernigan." An apologetic twist of a brow and a wry spreading of the hands. "Well, there haven't been too many customers yet. But I've got a good feeling. How's the missus?" |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Sep 25 2009, 03:23 PM Post #4 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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"If you say so..." He drew his arms across himself, a faithful self-embrace, perhaps to symbolize the absence of such a Missus. "Yeah uh...We're not uh...We never were really..." A little shrug, and he searched for his own apron. Had people really thought they were married? It might have caused a laugh were he ever again to be in a better mood. Would that happen? Fumbling with the strings, a stranger in his own skin. "Ned here?" He had to assume that he was. Ship captain and all. "I didn't know he let other people make his pies..." Which was a bit of a stretch. On busy days, how could he not benefit from a few extra hands? But he seemed rather more possessive over his pies than he was over, say, his own moral fibre. And damn, he forgot this here lady's name. Nor did he quite remember who she was with at the Trap. |
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G R A P H I C // R E Q U E S T S | |
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| skazka | Sep 26 2009, 02:35 PM Post #5 |
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Major Arcana
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She made a thoughtful sound through pursed lips, sounding a little like her maiden aunt Eulalie. Blinking a little before returning to her usual cheer. “That's all right then. How was your day?” Where was Nedders, come to think of it? "Oh." She took a step back, recoiling in some stupid kind of posed, doll-like alarm. Acting. "Oh, goodness. I only thought... it couldn't hurt, could it? Guess I'll stick to serving." Shit, oh now she'd blown it. Well and blown it. Wonderful work, Clarice. Not only did you singe that poor pie pretty badly, but now you'll lose your job, because you dared to try your hand at the mystical arcane arts of piemaking. Arcane arts, that sounded good. Maybe she'd do seances. That might turn out better than trying to be a domestic goddess for total strangers' sake. Boring. She hastened to fix her apron, turning in a flutter of skirts to display the half-done bow to her coworker here. “C'n you get me tied?” |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Sep 29 2009, 05:04 PM Post #6 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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Her skirt hit Gert in the leg, which led him abruptly back to earth, teetering on the balls of his feet (He'd been wondering about the throats again. If he had one for each eye). "Uh...yeah." A general blanket reply for anything she might have said. The full sum of it leaked back into his brain as he untied the apron strings to begin a knot anew. He pulled a bit too much like a horseman on the reigns, but was an expert in bow-tying. "It'll be fine. You were just trying to help. Ned won't get in too much of a lather." It sounded a whole lot bigger of a deal than it ought to be. They were pies. This was the kind of place old ladies and grieving aunts came to drown their sorrows in apple slices and flaky crust. Or strapping pie-makers with their bushman eyebrows. |
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| Lena | Sep 29 2009, 08:05 PM Post #7 |
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Ned was not extremely fond of leaving the shop to another. Yes, it was a serious and somewhat unpleasant situation that demanded a serious and somewhat unpleasant reason. Fortunately, he had one: Digby. The dog had been somewhat odd lately and had been barking for two hours (just before he was to leave for work, naturally) before the landlord announced that dogs were not allowed. It took three more hours and several uneasy attempts at getting Digby out without actually touching him before he could come to the Pie Hole. With Digby in tow and on leash, Ned felt odd walking through the front entrance not only because it wasn't the back (he didn't want people to see the dog in the kitchen) but because the very first thing he noticed was an odd smell. It was a smell he had never before smelled in his own pie shop: burned pie. It was an assault on the nostrils and he already felt uncomfortable. He grimaced and Digby, smelling something wrong as well, whimpered. Who worked afternoons? Not Gert. . Or was he? He knew the girl . . Clarice, was in, but she was a waitress, not a proper cook. No one cooked in the Pie Hole save Ned. . It was practically written in blood on the clean counters and spelled out in the cherry pie juices that flowed from the moment the pie hit the oven until the final, perfect bite. Alive Again fruit was always the best. . . Or so he had heard. He had tried using normal fruit, in the beginning. It had been good, sure, but not quite as good as when the fruit had seen the Divine first. Or whatever fruit saw when it rotted. Ned didn't tend to push any sort of belief to anyone, especially himself, and even when it came to Alive Agains, he didn't tend to push. "Hello?" he called as he grabbed his manly apron from it's safe spot on a high decorative counter in the corner. He was the only one who was quite tall enough to reach it, so it was always there. His plain, white hip apron. It felt homey, something he needed when his shop smelled like badly prepared pie. He hadn't had to unlock the front. Someone was here. . . What if it was the frightening man from the alley? He swore under his breath, something that might have rhymed with scram or, perhaps, bit. Either way, it was not a nice word and Ned wondered, though it was a futile wonder, if he had a knife big enough to protect himself. . . . He didn't. Quickly, he undid Digby's leash and trusted the retriever to stay put. Digby, satisfied that he was no longer held by the leash in Ned's hand, sat down and began to wag his tail somewhat happily. If only Ned could feel as pleasant. |
   Ned Walker: No, you cannot be his Chuck Jolene Dumoi: Coming soon to a gentleman's club near you Ral Dunn: We'd say his full name, but we don't have that much time dreeda ftw! | |
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| skazka | Oct 15 2009, 09:14 PM Post #8 |
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Major Arcana
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Ugh, ugh, ugh. Now things would really fall apart, and to think it was all because of some misguided effort to be helpful. Prove to Ned and company that she really wasn't just some Ford-marriage floozy, that she had Good Intentions and would make a smashing little housewife some day, if given the chance. She twisted a bit, to present Allen with better access to her waist and associated posterior. Not as rude as it sounded, though if she did say so it was a neat little waist... and not a bad posterior, either. When Ned entered, or threatened to enter, she did jump about a foot. Clarice very nearly used some language that would make her grandmother's hair curl, repressing it into a rather mouse-ish squeak. "Mr. Walker! Oh! You're back." |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Oct 15 2009, 11:29 PM Post #9 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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This was a bit of a last check. The Final Test. Come on, Gert, muster every possible dirty intention. Pulling a touch too close that was probably good from one employee to another, he tied with what dexterity he possessed. With some anger. Whereupon he would typically zone off into other actualities, he made certain effort to concentrate on her. A singular moment to assert himself as a man. Dominate. Strength. Power. Sex. Male! And...nothing. No cataclysmic thrill. No rising heart beat. Fag in difinitude. He felt the fabric slip against itself with a bit of an itch in the tooth, and released her abruptly, not without a little help from her shrieking. He pulled his hands back immediately, nearly elbowing a jar of flour off the counter. Caught red-handed without even having to pull up her skirt. Though it was evident her fright was from Ned's arrival, rather than any dawning of impending perverted pressing. With a small throat clearing, he took care not to brush her as he emerged to greet their esteemed ringleader. "Hiya, Ned. Where you been?" A caterpillar smile, reserved for just this sort of occasion. |
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| Lena | Oct 16 2009, 11:03 PM Post #10 |
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Mr. Ned Walker had the two in his view just in time to see Gert's odd smile. Well, it wasn't quite as odd anymore considering the fact that he saw it every day, but it was a bit strange. Gert and Clarice. That did not explain the fact that his kitchen still smelled like burnt pie. That was not good. Not 'swell.' Not at all what life was supposed to be like. No. He did not approve. "Who made pie?" he asked, ignoring pleasant and polite greetings only for the sake of pie. "It smells like burnt pie." Walking past the two of them to the oven, he opened it and sniffed inside. This was why he didn't like leaving the shop. Things like this happened. Horrible, horrible things. He did not quite feel like explaining his situation but instead pointed to Gert and motioned to the front. "If you hear the bell ring and there's not a dog in the dining area, I want to know immediately." Among all his worries, Digby running off was not to be one of them. Then, to Clarice, "I want to know who made pie." By now, he had begun to prepare flour for new crusts. "And where the atrocity is." Didn't have the time to look on his own. He wanted it out of the shop. |
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Ned Walker: No, you cannot be his Chuck Jolene Dumoi: Coming soon to a gentleman's club near you Ral Dunn: We'd say his full name, but we don't have that much time dreeda ftw! | |
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| skazka | Oct 17 2009, 07:50 PM Post #11 |
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Major Arcana
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She quailed a bit, blood going to water and knees going to jelly and all that, boys and girls. Even though Ned wasn't precisely livid with rage, and-- well, Jernigan being a little bad with the bow-tying wasn't his fault. Or any clumsy attempt at a come-on. 'Come on up and read my poetry' seemed more likely to come out of him. After much deliberation. "Mr. Walker, I'm really sorry." Now that her apron was on proper-- not an ugly print-- she tried to make with the bustling, to put plates in order and ready herself for the duties of a waitress. Looking nice, without a hair out of place, despite her near-wail. "It's in the garbage already, I hadn't thought..." |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Oct 17 2009, 08:19 PM Post #12 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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A bit of a flustered running of a hand under the hat through his hair. "...Yessir." Said in the same tone he'd used about ten years ago to an expectant father in uniform. But Ned didn't make him want to hit things. Not even a little. So he floated around the corner and kept an eye on the dog, who seemed like he'd not be going anywhere even if the opportunity did arise. "Say, uh..." His voice echoed through the empty shop. "You never really uh...mentioned us not being...I mean she didn't know..." He articulated to the ceiling, hand gesturing as well. Maybe to the dog. Ned sounded quite disproportionately angry. And he felt guilty for all things untoward aimed at Clarice, even had they not been acted out. |
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| Lena | Oct 17 2009, 09:43 PM Post #13 |
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Ned began beating the muck out of a batch of dough. "Good. Take the garbage out. I do not want that God-awful thing in my shop," he said, not looking at either one. Lightening this tone from the somewhat dark and heavy, he added, "And please do not make another pie in my kitchen. I don't need to know who made it, but whoever did is never stepping foot towards my oven without me there ever again. Am I clear?" Beating, beating, rolling. Pie crusts and a tin that looked like it was about to fall apart. "I'm going into the supply room." Putting a glove on one hand and not the other, he went into the room that had been dubbed 'The Forbidden Realm' to his employees. Not because he kept some sort of tied-up female in there, but because that was where he kept the fruit. All of the fruit save the small selection that sat in the baskets in the corner of the kitchen was in the forbidden room. Of course, the difference was that the fruit in the basket was fresh and new whilst the fruit in the forbidden room was dead to the core. He had incinerated most of them to make sure mold did not reside on it. He came out with a perfectly normal-looking basket of cherries. "I sort-of assumed you both would know what to do based on your cooking abilities," he told Gert upon his return. There needed to be a scent to combat the horrible smell of failure and cherry was known to be his most fragrant pie, so he would go with cherry. |
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Ned Walker: No, you cannot be his Chuck Jolene Dumoi: Coming soon to a gentleman's club near you Ral Dunn: We'd say his full name, but we don't have that much time dreeda ftw! | |
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| skazka | Oct 20 2009, 08:20 PM Post #14 |
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Major Arcana
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It felt like being six years old again and caught trying on your kid cousin's suits and ties. It felt like being twelve years old and turned over the parental knee for the first time in all perceivable memory, probably centuries, for sneaking in and fiddling around with the corpses. Worst of all that this was Ned, Ned Walker, who was not of a kindly disposition but certainly even keel. It was a bit like being savaged by a friendly goldfish. She stood stock-straight, mouth slightly agape, and tried to figure out the best possible way to salvage the situation. "All right, sir, I can manage that." Silly me, thinking I could manage a bit more than waiting tables and smacking the hands of roving guests. Not that they got roving guests. Wrong kind of restaurant, wrong kind of town. Clarice utilized a special kind of grace of motion and managed to place herself in the vicinity of the dustbin without too much dawdling. What these hands had come to. |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Oct 21 2009, 06:37 PM Post #15 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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Gert resigned to hoist himself onto the front counter, swinging his legs, feeling one shoe come slightly loose. Watching the dog, the hypnotic rhythm of its panting, incessant tail-wagging. Occasionally squinting out the door for a customer. Though not thinking to jump down to promote the Pie Hole's reputability. Oh Johnny, there's a queer on the counter. Catching only rising and falling tones, tilting his head back a bit, the better to hear them. "Was that a comment on my cooking?" He said flaccidly to Digby. Yes Gert, resort to the animal to have such heart-to-hearts. |
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| Lena | Oct 23 2009, 11:05 PM Post #16 |
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Ned pounded. "Yes, Jernigan," he said at a higher decible than he normally used. "It was, actually." His voice was clearly warning: 'Never, ever cause me this much unhappiness again. It is not pleasant and I do not like it.' He had better hearing these days than he really should've. Him and Digby alike. Deciding that dead fruit and dog hair were the least of his problems, he whistled. "Bring Digby in the back, please." Better not having to trust Gert right now. He didn't particularly feel like trusting either one of the. He didn't want to think Clarice did it. He liked her. Maybe she was a bit. . . Well, female. But he liked her. Gert, he liked, but he could forgive Gert. Gert was forgivable. The girl? Not as much. No not-quite-brotherly companionship between him and Clarice. No Fluffsicle. He was glad to be rid of that damn cat. It knew a secret and he hated being around secret-keepers, always the chance of a spill. The cat was just too damn cute besides. He had to use his gloved hand to work with the fruit and it got trying after a while, but he was somewhat used to the casual toss into the pie tin and over the crust. A bit of this, a bit of that. You couldn't make pie flashy. Pie was simple and swell. Didn't need that. |
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Ned Walker: No, you cannot be his Chuck Jolene Dumoi: Coming soon to a gentleman's club near you Ral Dunn: We'd say his full name, but we don't have that much time dreeda ftw! | |
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| skazka | Oct 26 2009, 07:38 PM Post #17 |
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Major Arcana
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"Uh, I'm real sorry," she said, though not quite loud enough to have declared it. Just pile it on really thick, Clar, that makes everything better. Letting him know you're not just a painted lady but a babbling idiot as well. Maybe... yeah, that'd work. Quick! Foist. Foist as best you can. "But Allen said it'd be all right before." The lid rattled, and along with an unpleasant but not pungent waft of kitchen refuse (it wasn't as if they were working with meat or anything much) there was the sour off-note of burned flour and... peaches? Cherries? What a loss. Ruining those hands with menial labor, to the utmost pride and pleasure of Mama Cobb. Like she hadn't before. Rounding with the thing and heading for the alley, she tried to make sure there wasn't too much rattling or collision with objects in the way. Not able to remove her eyes from the floor. Low, Clarice, very. |
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The Corinthian | Herbert West | Clarice | |
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| Alandree | Oct 27 2009, 06:51 PM Post #18 |
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what the hand dare seize the fire?
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Gert nearly elbowed over a canister of sugar, catching it with the opposing hand just in time. Swearing perplexedly. There were three things here that were just not quite right. He slid off the counter rather more abruptly than anticipated, hissing at the sudden pain wracked through the legs, and wheeled round it to grab the dog's leash. "Daddy is a driven man." Really, the dog shouldn't be in the kitchen, but he brought it there for the sake of impending clarification. "Holy Hell. You telling your employees my name or what, Ned?" It was that, or she was as much of a goddamn stalker as Andrew was. Why couldn't Clarice have broken into his apartment? The sex would have been a whole lot easier. He thought measuredly about taking the fall, after all. Weighing it carefully in each hypothetical hand, letting go of the leash. Really, he'd thought his reassurance would have done them both well, but perhaps he'd really underestimated Ned. Cruelty can hide like that, especially when the wheel is manoeuvred by a perfectionist. He could relate. "She wanted to help." |
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