tragic_mask | (no subject)

(no subject)

Melpomene slept deeply without dreaming, and only woke up when the light between the curtains fell across her eyes.

It was a nice way to wake up. So now, as she opens her eyes, she stirs only slightly, and then settles back into a comfortable position.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It takes a brave country, or a very courteous one, to have a leaf as their symbol," he says thoughtfully. "I do like maples, though. The syrup, the candy. The... furniture."

"Furniture made of maple syrup," she says slowly, as if contemplating. "Could get interesting."

"Well, if you live in one of those ice hotels," he says. "You could lick your furniture if you get hungry. And it would smell nice--or would it have any scent at all, in that cold?"

"You'd probably know better..." she says. "I do know that if I tried to sit on it in normal temperatures, I'd slowly but surely sink to ground level, surrounded by a tasty but shapeless puddle of maple syrup."

"...I wouldn't mind you covered in maple syrup," he grins. "Not in that alien-queen outfit, though. That would get messy."

"Messy is half the fun," she says, with her eyebrow raised. "If not more."

"On hardwood floors, or outdoors," he says after a moment. "Not on carpeting. But it could be arranged, if you want..."

She laughs. "I'll think about it."

"I think the good people at our hotel would be very upset with us if we tried it here. I have to admit, though, the more I think about it, the more I'm tempted."

"I feel I should be more incensed than I am," she says, with a supressed grin.

"The only question is whether they would sell proper souvenir Canadian maple syrup in the gift shop at the Falls," he says with a chuckle. "I suspect the answer is yes."

"Would it have to be the souvenir kind?" she asks, eyebrows quirking. "Does that change the experience?"

"Not particularly," he says. "It's just a nice touch. We could have taken some of those syrup packages from the restaurant."

"I feel like we would have needed quite a few... to make a chair, I mean."

"If only you had one of those giant handbags that elderly women carry," he says, "we could've collected enough. We missed a golden opportunity."

"So to speak," she says wryly.

"We could also use gelatin," he says, "though that isn't specifically Canadian. It would probably hold the shape of furniture better, without being frozen... until we try to use it, at least."

"That could end disastrously..."

"Use the kind with fruit in it, for greater structural support?" he suggests. "Unless it would only weaken it. I'm not really a gelatin architect."

"Well, damnit. We need to call the experts in on this one. Can't go around making half-assed gelatin furniture, you know."

"If you're going to do something, it's best to do it right. I can't even imagine the disaster that might ensue if you failed at the gelatin furniture."

Though he does try to imagine, for a moment.

"I don't know if I'm up to the challenge," she says.

"What we need," he says, thoughtful, "are Swedes. They build the ice furniture. They've got experience making furniture from liquids of varying solidity. They would know, and they would give such detailed little plans for them."

"But clearly you'll have to make do with what you have... Viz., one Mediterranean girl."

"Then you shall play the lyre while I fail to find the Allen wrench," he says with a smile. "And eventually, we shall give up, get drunk on mead, and throw the gelatin at each other. In a playful way, of course."