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xp_logsAfter the Eurovision party, Marie-Ange and JPC relax, chat, and Marie-Ange gives her cousin one little shock.
Marie-Ange stretched out on the couch, slice of "protest cake" on a plate on her lap, and flicked some large pieces of glitter off her arm. "Successful party, yes? No one fought, no one was ill, and Ms Cassidy makes an excellent protest cake." It had chocolate, Marie-Ange was remarkably not picky about cake.
"Mon dieu, that thing was obscenely rich." Jean-Phillipe was sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs in the lounge. "She should bring that every year, even if it is not in protest." Most of the food they had stocked had been of the savory variety, so the cake had definitely filled its niche.
"I am not sure I can finish my slice." Technically her second slice, but who was counting? "At least I had the good sense to say I was not going into the office tomorrow. I intend to have a cake coma, and come back to vacuum up glitter tomorrow. The glitter can wait. It lends atmosphere to the room."
Jean-Phillipe chuckled drily. "I pity whoever has tomorrow morning's Danger Room training session. I am willing to bet money that Garrison makes someone vomit, either from too much food or a hangover." He made sure to never be on the schedule the day after either Eurovision or the Miss Universe contest.
Marie-Ange tipped her fork in her cousin's direction. "If I wanted to give you money, as I am often told, I would just give it to you." She settled into the arm of the couch, and took another bite of cake. "I think overall, a quite excellent showing for my first gay Olympics."
"Your first..." Jean-Phillipe trailed off and looked closely at his cousin, attempting to parse his way through all the implications of what she had just said. He didn't bother asking her to repeat or clarify herself - she might lie for a job, but outside of that she had no reason to prevaricate. So that would mean that...hm, who was she likely to... "I suppose the traditional thing to do is to buy Amanda a toaster then," he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Marie-Ange picked up her phone, tapping out a text. "Do." "we" "need" "A new" "toaster" she read, as she typed, giggling between taps of her fingers to the screen.
Marie-Ange stretched out on the couch, slice of "protest cake" on a plate on her lap, and flicked some large pieces of glitter off her arm. "Successful party, yes? No one fought, no one was ill, and Ms Cassidy makes an excellent protest cake." It had chocolate, Marie-Ange was remarkably not picky about cake.
"Mon dieu, that thing was obscenely rich." Jean-Phillipe was sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs in the lounge. "She should bring that every year, even if it is not in protest." Most of the food they had stocked had been of the savory variety, so the cake had definitely filled its niche.
"I am not sure I can finish my slice." Technically her second slice, but who was counting? "At least I had the good sense to say I was not going into the office tomorrow. I intend to have a cake coma, and come back to vacuum up glitter tomorrow. The glitter can wait. It lends atmosphere to the room."
Jean-Phillipe chuckled drily. "I pity whoever has tomorrow morning's Danger Room training session. I am willing to bet money that Garrison makes someone vomit, either from too much food or a hangover." He made sure to never be on the schedule the day after either Eurovision or the Miss Universe contest.
Marie-Ange tipped her fork in her cousin's direction. "If I wanted to give you money, as I am often told, I would just give it to you." She settled into the arm of the couch, and took another bite of cake. "I think overall, a quite excellent showing for my first gay Olympics."
"Your first..." Jean-Phillipe trailed off and looked closely at his cousin, attempting to parse his way through all the implications of what she had just said. He didn't bother asking her to repeat or clarify herself - she might lie for a job, but outside of that she had no reason to prevaricate. So that would mean that...hm, who was she likely to... "I suppose the traditional thing to do is to buy Amanda a toaster then," he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Marie-Ange picked up her phone, tapping out a text. "Do." "we" "need" "A new" "toaster" she read, as she typed, giggling between taps of her fingers to the screen.
