kitchen_maid | Keep Meg & Amy From Cooking Party

Keep Meg & Amy From Cooking Party

There are streamers over the door and glitter is flung generously (if randomly) about over countertops. (To be on the safe side, the girls have used edible glitter, like that on the cookies they handed out as invitations.)

There are large signs posted above the stoves and ovens with picture of Meg and Amy and the words "NOT ALLOWED" in large and bright red letters below them.

It can only mean one thing.

There's a party in the kitchen, and someone has got to keep these girls from cooking.

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Mal had received the...kinda sorta edible invite.

And promptly feared.

But he is Mal! Spitting in the face of fear! Or glittering the face of fear, as spit is not good in a kitchen.

Wow, Mal is cracked in my head right now. Say hi to Amy, Mal.

"Hi, Amy," Mal says, very obediantly. "Any damage yet?"

"I don't think so. Hello, Mal, it's lovely to see you. Apron?"

The apron is pretty and floral. In the way a certain celebrated bonnet was pretty and floral.

Mal, looking at the full length and rather effeminate apron, pulls his mouth taut and loops it over his head before tying it around his back.

"I'll prolly take this off if I actually start to cook somethin' you know."

Amy blinks.

"Oh, you should cook something," she says, "or else Meg and I might try again and that could be a disaster. But why would you take the apron off? They're for cooking, you know."

Half a shrug, with, "If you're cookin' somethin' you know, you shouldn't need one."

AKA Mal doesn't care if he gets cooking oil on his clothing.

"Perhaps," says Amy, a little uncertainly.

She's from a world where most people who work in kitchens don't have but one set of clothes.

"How have you been, Captain Reynolds?"

"Fair well, fair well. Gettin' used to the whole havin' a wife bit. Ridin' Tequila, keepin' busy."

Something flickers through Mal's brain at the mention of his horse.

"How's Caspian? I haven't talked to him for a spell."

Amy's smile grows very bright. "He's doing well, for the most part. Busy with the stables, of course. Spending a lot of time with Lucy, who seems to make him very happy, and fussing at me in a big brother sort of way."

The exasperation that accompanies that last comment is purely and quite clearly in jest.

And then a bit of a frown.

"There's a witch, from his world, who has arrived recently, but I don't think she's actually done anything to anyone here. It's more . . . wary watchfulness right now."

"Any kind o' description o' this one I should know?"

Care to elaborate so that I can keep an eye at her when I find her?

"The White Witch," says Amy, pronouncing the capitals very carefully. "There's something very odd about the color white here, it seems. I haven't seen her, and I've promised not to go anywhere near her, and the last I heard she was in the infirmary. She's from well before Caspian's time, I think."

She's not quite right about that, but then, Amy hasn't read the books.

"Good to know then."

White Witch = yet another person Mal has to watch out for now.

"But we ain't here to discuss unsavory folk. Time to cook somethin'."

And off goes the apron.

"Excellent," says Amy, and the bright grin is back. "We've gotten as many ingredients as we can think of."

And Amy and Meg can think of a dizzying array of ingredients.

"But if you need anything, let me know, and I'll get it from Bar for you."

"Fantastic. Xiexie, Amy."

Mal walks over to the refrigerator, pulling out a steak to prepare.

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Keep Meg & Amy From Cooking Party

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