Angel and Kevin || Saturday Afternoon
Apr. 29th, 2018 05:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWhat do a plucky twenty-six year old and an ageless, former CIA agent/spy talk about? Food, of course.
There were some good things about the future, Kevin considered, sitting contentedly up to his chin in the mansion's roomy back porch patio hot tub. Jean had claimed that the multiple array of jets were an important part of aqua-therapy for some treatments, but he didn't buy it. Everyone liked a good measure, although he suspected that in a building full of people, at least a few had figured out alternate uses for the jets. For his own purposes, he had Elvin Jones' first rolling drum beats setting up Coltrane's My Favorite Things coming off his phone, a spectacular Veal Marsala from de Classe in his stomach that Warren had unknowingly paid for, and a bottle of Artesa's Reserve Cab sauv, especially to be savored because the former patriarch had been one of his assets in Franco's Spain fifty years ago.
There was a shuffle at the back door, as if someone was struggling with the doorknob, and it popped open a moment later, Angel humming along to the music playing in her earbuds as she backed outside, her arms full of goodies -- a box of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, a package of Hershey chocolate bars, a bottle of water and a small bottle of milk, and a coffee cup. How she had opened the door without telekinesis or a third arm was anyone's guess. She nudged the door lightly with her foot until it closed, then turned to head for the nearby table. She grinned when she saw Kevin. "Hey! You mind?" She tilted her head at the table, asking if she could intrude on his solitude.
"Not unless you start throwing those marshmallows at me." He said, barely moving from his contemplative repose in the hot tub.
"I would never waste perfectly good marshmallows." Angel was insulted by the very thought of it. She deposited her stuff on the table and began organizing. "That would be a tragedy. You like s'mores?"
"Too sweet for me. Also, it clashes with the wine." Kevin tipped back his glass to punctuate his statement.
"True. I've never had a good experience with alcohol and s'mores." Angel dug a small metal stick out of her pocket and speared a marshmallow on it, holding out her hand. A small blue fire flickered to life in her palm, and she began roasting her marshmallow.
"Well, that's one way to do it, I suppose." Kevin shrugged. "I find it funny that a cracker that was invented because white bread was too 'indulgent' for the faithful is now mostly used as a vehicle for chocolate and marshmallows."
"Nah, there are a lot of uses for graham crackers," Angel said, turning the the stick so the marshmallow was evenly broiled. "I had a friend who would crush them up and turn the crumbs into pie crust. It was great."
"Haute cuisine from the 70s. A craze, wait for it, started by the makers of graham crackers because of declining sales. My wife use to make that lemon custard pie with the graham crust. It was tasty, cynical marketing ploy aside."
"Lemon and graham cracker." Angel tilted her head curiously, considering that. "I"d try it. Sounds yummy. My friend made this chocolate... thing. I don't remember what went into it, but I wish I could. It was good."
"I'm not much of an... anything in the kitchen, to be honest. I know a couple of Korean staples and how to get the coffee and breakfast on and that's about it."
"I can make the basic stuff, but nothing fancy like what my friend did. I'd give the recipe to someone who won't set the kitchen on fire." She stopped, examining her marshmallow before deciding it was cooked enough to make her s'more.
"Which friend of yours is this? Are they at the mansion?"
"Not anymore." Angel assembled her mushy, sticky sandwich. "Lost her. M-Day, ya know." She smiled sadly.
"Nasty business that was. I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah." Angel took a large bite out of her s'mores sandwich, chewing thoughtfully and looking out into the backyard. "You know how it goes. Miss 'em, but life goes on."
"When you get to be my age, you have no idea how less comforting that statement becomes." He said, slipping down so his nose was just barely avoid the waterline in order to soak in the heat.
"Considering how many I've almost died in my short life, I'm going to keep taking comfort in it." Angel shrugged, holding up her s'more as if to salute Kevin.
There were some good things about the future, Kevin considered, sitting contentedly up to his chin in the mansion's roomy back porch patio hot tub. Jean had claimed that the multiple array of jets were an important part of aqua-therapy for some treatments, but he didn't buy it. Everyone liked a good measure, although he suspected that in a building full of people, at least a few had figured out alternate uses for the jets. For his own purposes, he had Elvin Jones' first rolling drum beats setting up Coltrane's My Favorite Things coming off his phone, a spectacular Veal Marsala from de Classe in his stomach that Warren had unknowingly paid for, and a bottle of Artesa's Reserve Cab sauv, especially to be savored because the former patriarch had been one of his assets in Franco's Spain fifty years ago.
There was a shuffle at the back door, as if someone was struggling with the doorknob, and it popped open a moment later, Angel humming along to the music playing in her earbuds as she backed outside, her arms full of goodies -- a box of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, a package of Hershey chocolate bars, a bottle of water and a small bottle of milk, and a coffee cup. How she had opened the door without telekinesis or a third arm was anyone's guess. She nudged the door lightly with her foot until it closed, then turned to head for the nearby table. She grinned when she saw Kevin. "Hey! You mind?" She tilted her head at the table, asking if she could intrude on his solitude.
"Not unless you start throwing those marshmallows at me." He said, barely moving from his contemplative repose in the hot tub.
"I would never waste perfectly good marshmallows." Angel was insulted by the very thought of it. She deposited her stuff on the table and began organizing. "That would be a tragedy. You like s'mores?"
"Too sweet for me. Also, it clashes with the wine." Kevin tipped back his glass to punctuate his statement.
"True. I've never had a good experience with alcohol and s'mores." Angel dug a small metal stick out of her pocket and speared a marshmallow on it, holding out her hand. A small blue fire flickered to life in her palm, and she began roasting her marshmallow.
"Well, that's one way to do it, I suppose." Kevin shrugged. "I find it funny that a cracker that was invented because white bread was too 'indulgent' for the faithful is now mostly used as a vehicle for chocolate and marshmallows."
"Nah, there are a lot of uses for graham crackers," Angel said, turning the the stick so the marshmallow was evenly broiled. "I had a friend who would crush them up and turn the crumbs into pie crust. It was great."
"Haute cuisine from the 70s. A craze, wait for it, started by the makers of graham crackers because of declining sales. My wife use to make that lemon custard pie with the graham crust. It was tasty, cynical marketing ploy aside."
"Lemon and graham cracker." Angel tilted her head curiously, considering that. "I"d try it. Sounds yummy. My friend made this chocolate... thing. I don't remember what went into it, but I wish I could. It was good."
"I'm not much of an... anything in the kitchen, to be honest. I know a couple of Korean staples and how to get the coffee and breakfast on and that's about it."
"I can make the basic stuff, but nothing fancy like what my friend did. I'd give the recipe to someone who won't set the kitchen on fire." She stopped, examining her marshmallow before deciding it was cooked enough to make her s'more.
"Which friend of yours is this? Are they at the mansion?"
"Not anymore." Angel assembled her mushy, sticky sandwich. "Lost her. M-Day, ya know." She smiled sadly.
"Nasty business that was. I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yeah." Angel took a large bite out of her s'mores sandwich, chewing thoughtfully and looking out into the backyard. "You know how it goes. Miss 'em, but life goes on."
"When you get to be my age, you have no idea how less comforting that statement becomes." He said, slipping down so his nose was just barely avoid the waterline in order to soak in the heat.
"Considering how many I've almost died in my short life, I'm going to keep taking comfort in it." Angel shrugged, holding up her s'more as if to salute Kevin.
