Doug, Marie-Ange and Alison. Early this morning.

[x-tarot.livejournal.com]

Today's silly continues apace. Or, well, continued. Something. Doug and Marie-Ange and Alison, a food fight and tricking the devil woman!



Marie-Ange stared miserably at her bread. Margarine. It wasn't real butter, it didn't taste anything like real butter, and she couldn't understand how anyone could get the two confused.

And someone, whose name she would not name, but he had blond hair, an earring and a tendency to swear in Ancient Babylonian when annoyed with his homework, had used the last of the real butter on his -waffles-.

Oh, she could probably go look for more real butter, but that would be a lot like work. Besides, if she didn't butter the toast, she could throw it at Doug.

Except that Marie-Ange's aim in the early morning was poor, and the half-piece of toast went sailing over Doug's head to land in a mug. Alison's mug. ~Oh dear.~

Blinking, Alison looked down at the warm liquid now on her hands. And the table around her mug. And the toast swimming in what remained of her coffee, impudently soaking it up until only dregs remain.

"You killed my coffee," she remarked idly, head slowly tilting to the side. "That was my first coffee. I'd only had a bit of it." She frowned. "I liked that coffee." Pensively, she picked out the now coffee sodden toast out of her mug. Even the dripping was impudent.

"Doug used -all- the real butter." Marie-Ange offered by way of exceeding lame and she knew it excuse. Trying to hold her expression at "I am truly quite sorry." was difficult. Practically impossible. Especially with the plink-plink-plink noises of the coffee dripping from the toast.

Doug's response from the other side of the table was to blink somewhat confusedly. "Wait, how is this _my_ fault?" he asked with his head tilted. "Also, sitting right here, thanks..." he waved ironically at the pair of crazy women.

"You used all the butter." It was entirely his fault. "You and your waffles. It is all your fault." No mention of the fact that she could've gotten up to get more. It was the principle of the thing. Marie-Ange eyed the other half of her toast intently. She could probably manage to throw it at Doug and hit him this time, but if she missed, it would probably end -badly-. Or messily. Or both.

Marie-Ange's analysis of her ability to hit Doug with the other piece of toast failed to take one factor into account, however. The assessing look on her face made it very obvious to Doug what she intended to do, and so the moment her arm tensed to throw the toast, Doug was already ducking down to let it sail over his head.

As it was, however, Marie-Ange did provide a lovely distraction for Alison to take advantage of. And everyone knew that fair had nothing to do at all when it came to a food fight. The coffee droplets left a lovely trail, she thought, watching the sodden bit of toast arch towards Doug in a rather rapid way.

Splat. Doug would have never thought anything actually made the sound 'splat', but that's exactly what the sodden toast hitting his chest sounded like. Splat. Doug stared down at his shirt, frowning. There was a piece of coffee-soaked toast stuck to his chest. This was not cool. Then he glanced up, frowning at The Devil Woman, and then at her apprentice. There was a long moment of silence and tension. "There is toast stuck to my chest," he repeated in an all-too-calm tone of voice.

A purely innocent look greeted him, everything in Alison's posture radiating 'I was drinking the few remains of my coffee, whee' more than anything else. "You do." Tilting her head to the side, she eyed the toast. "Marie-Ange? It seems happy there. I think you might have competition. Hrm."

Marie-Ange frowned, though it held a hint of a bemused smirk, and reached over to peel the toast off Doug's chest. "I? Am -far- prettier than wet toast." She noted. "Though, perhaps not so clingy." The sodden bread went onto a napkin, and was then covered by another napkin, so she did not have to look at it. Wet bread was disgusting. "And Doug? I can see the syrup on your finger. If you try to put that on my nose, I will make you pay."

The question of whether or not Angie really would make him pay, and how, was completely immaterial. Doug had gotten coffee all over his shirt. And Alison had a few splashes from the toast on her shirt, which meant that there was only one person at this table without any sort of food product on them. And that needed to be fixed.

It was easy to bounce a slice of apple off the side of Marie-Ange's head, Alison reflected, taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee as she did so. So very easy. >Made for a wonderful distraction too. And everyone knew there were no sides but your own during a food fight. She certainly wasn't about to stop Doug from evening things up.

"Syrup! On my nose!" Marie-Ange covered her face with her hands, which did nothing to remove the syrup. How Doug managed to dart around her trying to grab at his wrists she did not understand. People should not be able to move like that. The only possible thing she could do was get revenge. On both of them.

They were going to get in so much trouble. If no one else did, Lorna was going to murder them. Or Dani. Or Mr. Marko. Someone.

"Oh dear," Doug said mock-concernedly. "However did that syrup get on your nose?" he asked, lifting a hand to his mouth in a expression of faux shock. "It looks so lonely there. Here..." he said, and dipped his finger in syrup again, streaking it down Marie-Ange's cheek. They were absolutely going to get in trouble, but darn it if they wouldn't have some fun in the meantime.

"Douglas. Aaron. Ramsey." Marie-Ange gave Doug a baleful look, and grabbed at a napkin to wipe the syrup of her cheek. "You are going to pay for that." He was going to be dead. Deader than dead. Deader than Alison's coffee.

Oooh. A show. Maybe if she was really quiet she'd be able to get popcorn and watch. Instead, Alison solemnly picked up her cup, gave the last of her coffee a sad, regretful look - then handed the cup to Marie-Ange.

The women always ended up sticking together, after all.

A cold, businesslike look passed over Marie-Ange's face, though it was probably no secret to Doug, and definitly not to any of the resident telepaths that she was a few seconds from giggling hysterically. There wasn't enough coffee to do much to Doug at all, and dumping it on his lap would be rude. And ruin his pants, and really, those pants definitly did not need to be ruined.

But flicking drops of coffee at him was perfectly acceptable. Doug's dark T-shirt would not be stained by it, and it was funny. Entirely immature, but funny.

And now the women were ganging up on him. This was also entirely unacceptable. Doug frowned down at the coffee droplets hitting him in the chest. He frowned over at Alison, the enabling Devil Woman that she was. And then he frowned at Angie for good measure. A few seconds from giggling or not, she was splashing coffee on him. A quick shift in his seat, and a hand snaked out quickly to tip the coffee cup back towards Marie-Ange, splashing some of it on her shirt. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

This was fun. Alison eyed the table, pondering gravely which type of jam to nudge Marie-Ange's way. And look, there were staws there too. If one decided to get creative, it would make an interesting ranged weapon... The apple jelly was selected, a straw rolled in the red head's direction at the same time, even as Alison decided her plate would make a good shield for herself in case anyone decided to pay attention to her.

This was definitly a setup. She was being prodded to engage in a war of escalation. It was quite obvious.

But now there was coffee on her shirt, and she liked that shirt, and it was only fair to fight coffee with jelly. Marie-Ange wasn't entirely sure what to do with the straw, but a quick swipe of her thumb along the edge of the jelly jar, and then along Doug's ear did wonders for her feeling that things were once again fair.

Staring almost incredulously at Marie-Ange, Doug quickly came to a decision. If something wasn't done, and quickly, the entire kitchen was going to be a shambles in short order. And if Lorna found the kitchen in a shambles, there would be hell to pay. Most likely involving the three of them being detailed to scrub it clean to her satisfaction.

Ignoring her screech of protest, Doug hauled Marie-Ange out of her chair, and, standing up, threw her over his shoulder. Doing his best to disregard the pounding fists on his back, he grinned rakishly at Alison. "If you'll excuse us, boss lady?" he asked with a grin. Not waiting for a reply, he headed for the doorway, whistling merrily.

Snickering to herself, Alison pondered getting more coffee. And then slowly realized she'd just been had.

And had the kitchen to clean by herself, at that. Taking in the damages, she groaned slowly, although the smile was still present. Considering she'd egged on the situation, it was only fair she clean things up.

And before Lorna arrived, preferably, the thought lending a fair bit of urgency to her movements as she got up and headed for the cupboards and the cleaning implements.