Keep Meg & Amy From Cooking Party

[kitchen_maid]

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.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

No, it's assisting. Doesn't say anywhere we're not allowed to let you assist.

[balletrat]

*Meg shakes her head, giggling.*

Does part of being a Watcher involve lawyering?

[stilljustandrew]

Sometimes, but mostly that's just part of being a geek.

[balletrat]

I learn something new from you every day, *Meg says, with an attempt at serene.*

[stilljustandrew]

See, I knew there was a reason you kept me around.

*He finishes chopping, and takes a deep breath.*

Okay, now the tough part.

Onions.

[balletrat]

- isn't that my line?

- and handkerchiefs are one thing I do have at the ready, *she adds, helpfully.*

[stilljustandrew]

What I really need are protective goggles, *he says wistfully.*

[balletrat]

. . . protective goggles not having been invented in my time, I can't help with that, *Meg says, apologetically.*

- I could steal Bran's sunglasses?

[stilljustandrew]

No, those don't work. *He sighs.* Oh well. Nothing for it --

*And there, sitting on the counter, is a pair of goggles. Ordinary swim goggles.*

*Andrew grabs them, and beams.*

[balletrat]

Bar is listening, clearly, *Meg says, with a giggle.*

- which is actually sort of creepy. Er, Bar, I love you! Really!

[stilljustandrew]

*Andrew looks absolutely ridiculous with those on.*

*But his eyes are protected from the onion vapors as he starts dicing them, and that's the important thing.*

[balletrat]

*A beat.*

- I really wish I had a camera, *Meg says, not quite idly, and waits hopefully.*

[stilljustandrew]

*Bar does not oblige.*

*Andrew looks over his shoulder and sticks out his tongue at Meg, then goes back to dicing onions.*

[balletrat]

*Meg pulls a face at him.*

What have you been doing to butter up Bar lately?

[stilljustandrew]

*loftily* I think she's just taking the side that's clearly in the right.

[balletrat]

*Meg snorts.*

I think she just wanted to see you in the goggles.

[stilljustandrew]

Well, good, then everybody wins.

*He scrapes the diced onions into a skillet, pours a dollop of olive oil over them, and turns the fire up under it.*

[balletrat]

Except posterity, *Meg points out.

Tragically.*

[stilljustandrew]

Posterity will somehow manage to go on.

*Stir stir stir.*

[balletrat]

Posterity shouldn't have to settle for less than the best.

Or, you know, funniest.

[stilljustandrew]

*smug* Bar evidently disagrees.

[balletrat]

*Meg shakes her head.* Bar is going to be posterity. She doesn't have to worry about it.

[stilljustandrew]

Then neither do I.

Okay, those have to just sit and brown for a little while ... what to do in the meantime. Hmmm.

[balletrat]

. . . if you're expecting an answer from me, *Meg says, giggling,* you're doomed to disappointment.