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

"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."

"It's hard to do anything else with gelatin," she says. "It's just one of those foods that shouts 'I'm playful!'"

"I don't think I'd want to meet surly gelatin."

"Sounds terrifying," she says after thinking about it.

"It would sit there, brooding and menacing. It would mock you, in its unnaturally-colored, fruit-containing way."

"Not a pleasant thought..."

"The women in Minnesota are fond of making jello molds," he says. "My mother would make one to welcome new people to our neighborhood. I was always vaguely suspicious of them, you know."

"As you should be," she said. "My mother never made jello... mostly pound cake, instead."

"Pound cake is respectable. It'll never attack you in a dark alley... though it may whisper behind your back in the parlor. Desserts, it seems, are dangerous."

She laughs. "I'll never have ice cream again."

"I think ice cream is safe," he says. "The Switzerland of desserts. It will distract other, more nefarious desserts long enough for you to eat them safely."

"I don't think I could eat a conscious dessert. Even if it's neutral."

"More for me, then," he grins. "I have it on excellent authority, though, that apple-based pastries are not sentient at all. So you're safe there."

"I will remember that, if I ever begin to really crave dessert." A pause.

"It's really a moot point, though."

"Why?" he asks. "Not planning on going to any church socials with me?"