sadfreezingbrit_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-23 08:37 pm
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-07-23 08:37 pm
one attempt at one-eyed brunch [21/??? artefacts collected]
[ It's been almost a week since ex-mafia!Philip had a very unfortunate event run-in with still-mafia!Dean. The result? His previous Wonderland lives are still intact, but he's down one eye and his arm isn't doing so well either. And that's the understatement of the day.
So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.
Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.
To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling.Ridiculous Fashionable sunglasses. Shattered glass.
...Shattered glass? ]
Jesus, not again.
[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.
And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.
To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]
So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.
Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.
To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling.
...Shattered glass? ]
Jesus, not again.
[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.
And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.
To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]
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[ EGGS. ARE. SERIOUS. BUSINESS. And Philip will not have this debate again. ]
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Uh, okay. Don't have a British hissy fit or anything; I was just saying. I've never seen anyone add that much to eggs before.
[Why no, she's not snickering at all. How dare you.]
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Peppers. And onions. That's two extra ingredients. Two. No mushrooms, sausages, bacon, cheese, tomatoes...
[ He'll just keep cooking while rattling off a large and partially horrifying list of things that can allegedly be added to scrambled eggs. Short of pot roast Santana wasn't even too far off. ]
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[Maybe. It may taste awful, and then she will have to throw them in his face. (Possibly not literally, at least?)]
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...and of course spam, spam, spam and spam.
{Don't forget about the spam now. }
[ Almost done now. ]
Could you hand me another plate, please?
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[Grumble grumble here's your damn plate grumble.]
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[ Voila~! He scoops up two small serving of the scrambled pepper eggs and slides one plate over to Santana.
Fishing for a fork he carefully makes his way over to the table and sits down. ]
...Are you going to risk it or do you want me to try first and see if I have a seizure?
[ There's still a hint of bitterness in the question, but it's clearly overshadowed by
spam, spam, spaaaaaaam, LOVELY SPAAAAAAMgood humour.Cooking is SO MUCH FUN, it even lifts the mood above where Santana's teasing can reach. At least temporarily.
...And managing his first one-armed, one-eyed breakfast might have something to do with it as well. ]
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It's only super polite to let you try it first. [She's not all that worried, really, but hey. She lives to make lives difficult.
Plus, she is enjoying the rest of her coffee.]
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Hm. Well. He'd try to make polite conversation, but to be honest he's a little out of ideas on what to ask a teenager, let alone Santana without getting one of her... er, well, let's call them trademark responses.
So he will just sit here and enjoy his poison-free food, every once in a while glancing to check if Santana's given the dish a try yet. ]
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Especially the bell peppers, Dean.What, is my consumption of them not enough?I'm not going to offer to blow you in thanks or something. [Nom nom. See? More eating.]
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...Well.
Thanks to that other comment he is now choking on his food.
The narration hopes you are happy, Santana.
He just wanted to make sure you liked your breakfast.
But now you probably killed him.
Good job.
Nice work.
Really. ]
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He is coughing now.
Well.
That's marginally better.
Give him just a moment.
To compose himself.
Aaaaand.... ]
3/3
Philip will quickly mumble that- ]
I was just asking...
[ -before moving on to sip coffee. ]
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And this is why I still talk to you.
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Right.
[ He stands up and puts the dishes away to wherever it is Wonderland cleaning works its magic. ]
Anyway. See you around I suppose.
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About who?
[ when spoken out loud. ]
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Is there someone around here worth gossiping about? I mean, you seem a little interested now.
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All right. Then I'll leave you to that and you can tell me how it went next time.
[ Surprisingly the amount of increasingly sharp pain in his head and shoulder is not directly proportional to the amount of patience he can spare for people. ]
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