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Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Goodbye, Pterry :(

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(no subject)

Go enjoy the desert, maker mine.

I'm sure he will. Wasn't him what created the desert, not really, but he'll like it well enough.

We should all be so lucky. Not that I won't be, I've always done my best to be good, but still. *Ah, to be as oblivious as he is.

*He manages a smile.* Its nice to meet you, ma'am, even on such a sad day.

Sad enough, but his ripples won't fade for a while yet, that's nice enough to know.

. . . if he made us, and his death is newsworthy, does that mean we've been famous all along? I've always wanted to be famous. *Teatime logic. It's not like other logic.*

...you know, I think you might've got some kind of point there.

[Look, Anoia isn't the most logical of critters either, as the red gingham apron embroidered with oversized ants is any indication]

Oh good! *He's so pleased about this, you have no idea.

*And yes, crazy logic is the best logic.*

Glad you approve. Now, is there any way I could interest you in... [rummaging around in an apron pocket, coming up with:] A whisk? Think this one's a whisk anyway, might be sommat else.

I could get more use out of a knife, but thank you for thinking of me!

[She drops the whisk back into the pocket, digging around in the other instead.] Oh knives is easy, they jam drawers up something aweful.

Flensing? Paring? Bread knife? Steak knife? Cheese knife? Butter knife? Fish scaler, which is a bit like a knife but all flexy.

Anything sharp. I am an Assassin, after all.

Flensing, then.

[More rummaging in a pocket that's apparently deeper than it looks, coming up with a pair of ice tongs, offering them over.]

There you are!

[The problem with being the goddess of things what stick in drawers, is that while she knows what sticks, and what they're called, she doesn't generally know which item belongs to which title.]

*Sigh.* That's a set of tongs, ma'am. You can tell because they grip, instead of cutting.

Oh is that the difference? Good to know.

[Tongs dropped back into one pocket while rummaging in the other again]

Cutting, cutting, cutting, right.

[Kitchen shears come next] Flensing knife, yes?

Shears. You're getting better, though!

Maybe you should just show me everything, and I'll pick a few.

[He may regret having asked that, especially given just how brightly she smiles at the suggestion]

That's a good idea!

[And rather quickly a small heap of items begins to form, each one pulled from that apron pocket. Novelty whisks and pancake turners, ice cream scoops and commemorative teaspoons, melon ballers and other various kitchen-junk-drawer-based detritus. Not a one of them is actually a flensing knife, though there is a collection of spreaders with jaunty snowmen-shaped handles]

*He'll just see how many knives he can find. There must be some . . .*

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