PI LOG: The Gingerbread Guild -- Kitty, Remy, Celliers and Seravina
Having decided that Seravina was becoming much too reclusive and much too mopey for her own good, a small band of metas comes together to cheer the dreamer up. Talk deteriorates very quickly into plans for candy siege engines and flambe'd Denethors.
Seravina's Home -- Willow Street
Ding-dong. Doorbell ringing!
Kitty dives to the side, skulking to take cover beside her partners-in-mischief. "No snickering!" she whispers - primarily to Remy. She ducks her head down and digs the little digital camera out of her pocket, checking the angle to the porch and taking a 'before' shot.
Which is probably worth it in itself, given what's happened to the front-porch. It's currently a sea of paper plates. On each plate is a carefully-propped-up gingerbread man. Attached to one arm of each gingerbread man, glued on with frosting, is a carefully-sculpted little sword. Which would be intimidating if they weren't (a) candy and (b) pastel. Held overhead by a number of them, balanced between two or three gingerbread heads each, are chocolate-chip cookies with frosting letters.
Yes, the letters *do* spell out 'SURRENDER DOROTHY' in rainbows.
Kitty is breaking her own no-snickering rule.
It's probably just as well, because Remy's breaking it, too--which is the only thing that marks his presense hiding with the other miscreants. He's very, very good at hiding, and just because he knew it was an impossibly important sneaksneaky mission, the Cajun is dressed in black today; black jeans, black muscle shirt, black bandana over his hair. He looks like a reject from Hell's Angels. Despite the fact that he's sniggering in the back of his throat, he reaches out to put a hand over Kitty's mouth--no snickering!--as bright eyes behind reddish sunglasses watch the door.
Celliers is doing his best to be stealthy and sneaky with the others, though it's obvious he really doesn't get what it's all about. But he's in human form, on good behavior, and clad in dark t-shirt and jeans.
Doorbell? Isn't the downstairs door unlocked? Sera comes down the stairs, clumpclumpclatterclatter, all legs and arms and bare feet (spring is almost HERE!) calling "Coming!" She opens up the downstairs door, looking tired and wan.
For all of point-four seconds.
"Oh... Mygod," she says, and suddenly cracks up, hard and loud, squealing. "Quick! /Eat/ them before John comes home, or they'll wind up possessed by demons, and we'll have gingerbread deathcookies running around!"
"Mmp!" Kitty protests into Remy's hand - then, Sera! Picture! Because the picture is absolutely necessary to make it worth it. Pity that it can't capture the phrase 'gingerbread deathcookies' along with the image...
"I'd rat'er dem not be in my *belly* when dey get possessed, t'anks." Remy says, pulling his hand away as Kitty snaps the picture. Sera wouldn't have missed the flash, right? Right? He didn't just ruin anything, right?
Celliers winces at the idea of that, blinking at the flash. There's a box of chocolates by the gingerbreads - Jack can't bake worth a damn.
Wide dark eyes, and Sera blinks, looking bewildered, then just laughs all over again. "You... you guys are the best," she says, biting her lip as she moves to throw her arms around Kitty. She'll hug them all the same way, not shy with Jack and not hesitant with Remy. "We can picnic out here, or come upstairs and I can get milk or coffee or something?"
"Or milk *and* coffee," Kitty observes cheerfully. Sera gets hugged back, shameless. "I figured after this long it was way past your time to get randomly pastried." Sera's just lucky it was *pastry*. Kitty inflicts soup on Liam every winter, and, well, that'd be terrible to clean off the porch.
Remy grins--he doesn't seem to see any reason why Seravina *would* be shy or hesitant about hugging him. The incident not too long ago is already forgotten. "I ain't movin' dem all again. Helpin' bake den an' dem settin' dem all up was bad 'nough." The Cajun announces, resolutely, with a broad grin that belies the fact that he'd probably pick up every single plate by himself.
Celliers has plenty of good reasons why Sera should be shy with him. But he's over it enough to hug her back without reluctance or blushing. "I'll help move," he offers, cheerfully enough.
Bringing things up the first set of stairs and in through Sera's door shouldn't be too hard -- the two-floor apartment is spacious but crammed full of.. everything. This and that. Books and beads, ribbons and fabric. Pillows and low tables. There are richly colored paintings on the walls, images of angels everywhere, including one on a far wall that is, without a doubt, John Constantine as the Morningstar, the hour of his Fall from Grace. "I'll put the coffee on," Sera chirps. "Feel free to have a seat anywhere!"
Kitty hastily rearranges things off of tables so that there's room for cookies - and so that the things *can* be easily found again after. And so that no sculptures are harmed in the making of this film. "Is there anything else we need?" she wonders out loud, brightly. "-- and I'm *not* talking about 'Casablanca.'"
"I *still* wan' artillery." Remy protests, watching Kitty fuss and knowing--just knowing--he's about to be a packhorse again. "You bring me into dis, an' you don' give me not'in' but infintary. Heresy, I'm tellin' you." He's propping his fists on his hips in a gesture he probably stole blatantly from Rogue, just for the comedic value it gains when translated to him.
Chocolates go with the cookies, just in case. Lest they get lost in the shuffling of stuff. He can't entirely stifle a smile at Remy's gesture, though he's only met Rogue a few times.
Kitty's packhorsing herself, too, if that's any help. "When *you* figure out how to do bowstrings out of sugar, you can have archers," Kitty answers Remy cheerfully. "And I *tried* to do a catapult. You saw what happened to that! Cookie dough just isn't a consistent enough structural material."
Remy grumbles as he balances plates on his hands, his forearms, and probably one on the top of his head. "Coulda put a l'il more starch or somet'in' in it. Or used gingerbread. Can build houses outta de stuff, why can't you build a trebuchet? Fling gumballs over de line of skirmish." The sad thing is that he's probably starting to really consider this.
"It needs to be able to be pulled down!" Kitty protests. "And flex! Maybe if you used something like Twizzlers. Only not."
"Mebbe..." Remy's really thinking, now, narrowing his eyes at the gingerbread army as it's rearranged over Seravina's room, fingers taptaptapping against the nearest hard surface. "Mebbe dose caramel apple sticks? Only cold, so dey's still a l'il stiff. But den you'd havta replace de boom ev'ry time." If the gumball didn't just bend it straight in half.
"I think we might be out of luck. Taffy wouldn't be a good plan, either." Yes, they're having this conversation with straight faces. Kitty is, anyway.
Remy has become, simply, a master at keeping his face straight. He in fact lifts a hand to scuff it behind his head in thought, where his hair sticks out beneath the bandana and threatens to curl. "Taffy's jus' be messy. Dere's gotta be *somet'in'. Dere's four hunnred million kinds of candy an' we can't t'ink of a t'ing to make a good siege engine wit'? Some X-Men we are."
Remy's always *been* a master at keeping his face straight. "Well, not a catapult per *se*. Something *like* a catapult we could probably manage. It's just hard to find a way to get that springy action with something that has so much of a crystalline formation as sugar. It's *brittle*!" Kitty protests, wide-eyed.
"Meeeeebbbee..." Remy says, drawing the word out carefully, "We use sugar cubes. An' string dem toget'er wit' twine or a licorace whip or somet'in'. Den we coul' use de tension to control how bendy it is." He's pulling this straight out of his ass.
"Sugar cubes chip," Kitty points out gravely. "And there's not enough tension to keep them in a good arch. And they *sure* wouldn't spring back. I'm still thinking Twizzlers are a better bet." She steals sneak-peeks toward the kitchen.
Remy shakes his head, poking thoughtfully at one sabre-wielding cookie. "Twizzlers are all floppy. Dey wouldn' spring back, neit'er. You'd lose de l'il string and it's jus' stay dere. Like in de Wile Coyote 'toons." Which would actually sort of be entertaining, if they could rig up a little gingerman to be smooshed when the base of the engine inevitably swung around.
Sera returns, finally, bearing a tray of coffee, cream, cocoa and milk. "You know, since I was dealing with cups and stuff, I only caught bits and pieces of your conversation, and so I have to say, it really was completely insane," she laughs. "If you want to make a trebuchet, wouldn't you just need things that were stiff, because it works with counterweights? You could use candy canes, couldn't you?"
"I have no idea. Sounds like we're going to have to get plans," Kitty muses. "I was just thinking, you know, catapult. Sproing. But *counterweights*, now... What do you use as a counterweight for a gumball? Jawbreakers?" She lifts innocent eyes to the others.
"Pretzel logs!" Remy says, brightly, his face the picture of childish glee. "Dat'd make it look all medievally, too." At least, as close to 'medieval' as Gambit's brain ever gets. Almost immediately, he's distracted by the cocoa.
"Jawbreakers, pretzel logs and gumballs. Perfect," Sera giggles. "You know, I'm going to have to have you all over for a ginormous cookiebaking party, in which we reconstruct the fight at the White City of Gondor. I've been doing metalworking -- I can make an orcish cookie cutter. And do elves out of marzipan."
"We'll need walls in advance," Kitty muses. "Let me know when it'll be, and I'll start stockpiling building materials. Though if it's during Passover, I'm in trouble." She hands Remy a cup, lest he claim *all* the cocoa for himself!
He isn't quite that greedy. At least, not on the first pass. Remy fills Kitty's mug up, too, before handing it back to her and setting in on his own. "Well...seems t'me we all gotta 'range some time off an' sit down wit' de movies while we's at it. An' we can even have a Denet'or runnin' off in flames. I do flambe okay." Yes, someone's a closet sci-fi and fantasy geek. Who'd have guessed?
Giggling brightly, Sera shares good things to drink and then will happily partake in biting the heads off gingerbread men. Because mmmm. "What are the rules about cooking during Passover?" Sera wonders, cocking her head to the side.
"I would never have guessed," Kitty says cheerfully to He Of The Explosive Powers. "Hey, combine the cookie party with all three extended editions and we've got a day-long holiday to start off with. It'll probably take us that long, too..."
Then Kitty flashes a grin at Sera. "Well, the Seder I could take about an hour describing. But the basic rule is, no leavened bread. At all. Including hedging it around a lot. Into 'no grains that've come into contact with water for more than eighteen minutes'. Pete insists every year that having to take all the Scotch out of the house is the hardest thing he's ever had to do."
"All de scotch?" Remy says, his voice shaded almost mournful, before he makes a little 'tsk'ing sound in the back of his throat. "Dat's a cryin' shame, dat is. I'd offer to house it, but I ain't guarenteein' it'd come back." And no, he does not say the word like that ridiculous chef did.
"See, that would be perfect! You can make walls out of apple matzoh. If they weren't leavened, they can be really stiff and sturdy!" Sera says, grinning. She licks cocoa off her fingers and happily munches on frosted cookies. Because she is /very much/ a sugar addict. "Tell Pete that he can come over and have Scotch at my house, then," she giggles, winking.
Kitty shakes her forefinger at Sera. "Uh-uh. He converted, remember? He's stuck. He can come over *before* Passover, or *after*, but not during." She gives a solemn nod. "And you can't have it, either, Remy, Liam gets it for the duration. It's a tradition by now. Not that we necessarily get it back from *him*, either."
Remy is very practical in dismembering the gingerbread man that's found its way into his hands, if more cruel; he disarms it first, before breaking off its little legs to pop them simultaneously in his mouth. And then, of course, laugh right around them. "So, wait, when did Gondor b'come de walled fortress of Judaism?"
"Well, I'm sure it /didn't/," Sera says, giggling, chomping the head off another gingerbread man. "Oh, fine, I won't try and subvert the whole Passover thing," she says, grinning. "How long is it? A week? A day? I'm awful with the actual details of, say, /any/ religion," she sighs, shrugging. "See, that's another thing -- it might take forever to construct. So if any part of it is over Passover, it'll be good that it's at my house."
The walled fortress of Judaism. Kitty narrowly escapes getting cocoa into her sinuses. "... Eight days," she manages on strangled autopilot. "Starts the, uh, the twenty-third, I think. Through the end of the month." Gingerbread slaughter. The poor army. Baked to be cut down and given away. "So if we do it before then, or in May, all fine... Remy, darnit, *stop* making me think Aragorn is the Messiah!"
"Non, nononon," Remy says to Kitty, waving his dismembered gingerbread man in the air for emphasis. "It's Gandalf dat's de Christ-figure, neh? He's de one who comes back from de dead." There's a moment of pondering, however, before he bites the cookie's head off and chews thoughtfully. "Or mebbe dey share de role."
"Mmm. Aragorn can be /my/ Messiah," Sera purrs. "Okay, so it's not a rush job, we'll do it afterwards. We can have a screening of the movies. All of them, and invite folks to watch, and eat Gondor for the refreshments. It'll be great. I'll just make sure John's like... out of the country, or something. Otherwise we'll /really/ have orcs and things running around. I can make up big batches of fondant to lay over whatever we do for the walls, to give it the look of the pretty white stone. And a sugar tree. It'll have to be impossibly huge so that the army folks aren't too tiny," she notes.
"Judaism doesn't *have* a Christ-figure!" Kitty protests at Remy. Or, that's what she *would* be saying if she weren't trying to talk through a mouthful of gingerbread without either losing crumbs or breaking up in giggles. She swallows, and adds, "No, no, we already *had* orcs running around. The poor guy that wound up as a statue in our ex-garage forever. Is there only one tree in there by then, or two? I can't remember. I'll work out structural supports or something anyway." They're all completely insane.
"Hey, wait, I t'ought 'Christ' was Greek for 'Savior'. So to be technical, it does, he jus' ain't come yet." Gambit isn't exactly the world's most read expert on either Greek *or* religion, so maybe he'll let it slide. "I t'ink dere's one tree. A big dead one. Ooh, if you're makin' fondu-stuffs, can we have dark chocolate for pourin' over de walls like boilin' tar? L'il strawberry-trolls to fall victim b'low?" Remy reinacts this all as best he can with two hands and a gingerbread man's beheaded, legless torso.
"Awww, you're so cute when your mouth is full," Sera giggles at Kitty. "Man. I wonder how big this whole thing /would/ be?" she marvels, thinking on it in her head. "Fondue? Sure! I can make up a nice sauce for boiling oil. A very, very very dark chocolate sauce," Sera laughs. "Strawberry trolls. What would I make an oliphant from? We'll have muffin boulders and I could probably get some colored cotton candy for sugar grass-- you know I'm suddenly thinking of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory."
"It's Greek for 'anointed' and we don't have a savior. Get me drunk sometime and I'll explain," threatens Kitty at Remy cheerfully. "Oliphant. Um! Something carvable, probably. Chocolate? Would it have to be hollow? Or wouldn't that support whatever we put on its back? I'm foreseeing some experiments here!"
Remy waves his hand carelessly, cramming gingerbread into one side of his mouth. "Don' speak Greek anyway. Uh...Carvin' oliphants outta anyt'in' is really pushin' de limits of my creative ability. An' by pushin', I mean way on de ot'er side of campus from it." He gestures off towards the Beacon Harbor University for emphasis.
Sera's all smiles and giggles today, adoring the fact that she has the best friends in the whole world. "I like the idea of experiments. We can do experiments all this month until Passover -- and if anything with just sugars or chocolates can be done during then, if it's, uh, kosher, we can do that. Then afterwards, hello candy Gondor," she snickers.
Which prompts Kitty instantly to sing, "The Big Rock Candy Gondor!", because she *can*.
Finis!
Seravina's Home -- Willow Street
Ding-dong. Doorbell ringing!
Kitty dives to the side, skulking to take cover beside her partners-in-mischief. "No snickering!" she whispers - primarily to Remy. She ducks her head down and digs the little digital camera out of her pocket, checking the angle to the porch and taking a 'before' shot.
Which is probably worth it in itself, given what's happened to the front-porch. It's currently a sea of paper plates. On each plate is a carefully-propped-up gingerbread man. Attached to one arm of each gingerbread man, glued on with frosting, is a carefully-sculpted little sword. Which would be intimidating if they weren't (a) candy and (b) pastel. Held overhead by a number of them, balanced between two or three gingerbread heads each, are chocolate-chip cookies with frosting letters.
Yes, the letters *do* spell out 'SURRENDER DOROTHY' in rainbows.
Kitty is breaking her own no-snickering rule.
It's probably just as well, because Remy's breaking it, too--which is the only thing that marks his presense hiding with the other miscreants. He's very, very good at hiding, and just because he knew it was an impossibly important sneaksneaky mission, the Cajun is dressed in black today; black jeans, black muscle shirt, black bandana over his hair. He looks like a reject from Hell's Angels. Despite the fact that he's sniggering in the back of his throat, he reaches out to put a hand over Kitty's mouth--no snickering!--as bright eyes behind reddish sunglasses watch the door.
Celliers is doing his best to be stealthy and sneaky with the others, though it's obvious he really doesn't get what it's all about. But he's in human form, on good behavior, and clad in dark t-shirt and jeans.
Doorbell? Isn't the downstairs door unlocked? Sera comes down the stairs, clumpclumpclatterclatter, all legs and arms and bare feet (spring is almost HERE!) calling "Coming!" She opens up the downstairs door, looking tired and wan.
For all of point-four seconds.
"Oh... Mygod," she says, and suddenly cracks up, hard and loud, squealing. "Quick! /Eat/ them before John comes home, or they'll wind up possessed by demons, and we'll have gingerbread deathcookies running around!"
"Mmp!" Kitty protests into Remy's hand - then, Sera! Picture! Because the picture is absolutely necessary to make it worth it. Pity that it can't capture the phrase 'gingerbread deathcookies' along with the image...
"I'd rat'er dem not be in my *belly* when dey get possessed, t'anks." Remy says, pulling his hand away as Kitty snaps the picture. Sera wouldn't have missed the flash, right? Right? He didn't just ruin anything, right?
Celliers winces at the idea of that, blinking at the flash. There's a box of chocolates by the gingerbreads - Jack can't bake worth a damn.
Wide dark eyes, and Sera blinks, looking bewildered, then just laughs all over again. "You... you guys are the best," she says, biting her lip as she moves to throw her arms around Kitty. She'll hug them all the same way, not shy with Jack and not hesitant with Remy. "We can picnic out here, or come upstairs and I can get milk or coffee or something?"
"Or milk *and* coffee," Kitty observes cheerfully. Sera gets hugged back, shameless. "I figured after this long it was way past your time to get randomly pastried." Sera's just lucky it was *pastry*. Kitty inflicts soup on Liam every winter, and, well, that'd be terrible to clean off the porch.
Remy grins--he doesn't seem to see any reason why Seravina *would* be shy or hesitant about hugging him. The incident not too long ago is already forgotten. "I ain't movin' dem all again. Helpin' bake den an' dem settin' dem all up was bad 'nough." The Cajun announces, resolutely, with a broad grin that belies the fact that he'd probably pick up every single plate by himself.
Celliers has plenty of good reasons why Sera should be shy with him. But he's over it enough to hug her back without reluctance or blushing. "I'll help move," he offers, cheerfully enough.
Bringing things up the first set of stairs and in through Sera's door shouldn't be too hard -- the two-floor apartment is spacious but crammed full of.. everything. This and that. Books and beads, ribbons and fabric. Pillows and low tables. There are richly colored paintings on the walls, images of angels everywhere, including one on a far wall that is, without a doubt, John Constantine as the Morningstar, the hour of his Fall from Grace. "I'll put the coffee on," Sera chirps. "Feel free to have a seat anywhere!"
Kitty hastily rearranges things off of tables so that there's room for cookies - and so that the things *can* be easily found again after. And so that no sculptures are harmed in the making of this film. "Is there anything else we need?" she wonders out loud, brightly. "-- and I'm *not* talking about 'Casablanca.'"
"I *still* wan' artillery." Remy protests, watching Kitty fuss and knowing--just knowing--he's about to be a packhorse again. "You bring me into dis, an' you don' give me not'in' but infintary. Heresy, I'm tellin' you." He's propping his fists on his hips in a gesture he probably stole blatantly from Rogue, just for the comedic value it gains when translated to him.
Chocolates go with the cookies, just in case. Lest they get lost in the shuffling of stuff. He can't entirely stifle a smile at Remy's gesture, though he's only met Rogue a few times.
Kitty's packhorsing herself, too, if that's any help. "When *you* figure out how to do bowstrings out of sugar, you can have archers," Kitty answers Remy cheerfully. "And I *tried* to do a catapult. You saw what happened to that! Cookie dough just isn't a consistent enough structural material."
Remy grumbles as he balances plates on his hands, his forearms, and probably one on the top of his head. "Coulda put a l'il more starch or somet'in' in it. Or used gingerbread. Can build houses outta de stuff, why can't you build a trebuchet? Fling gumballs over de line of skirmish." The sad thing is that he's probably starting to really consider this.
"It needs to be able to be pulled down!" Kitty protests. "And flex! Maybe if you used something like Twizzlers. Only not."
"Mebbe..." Remy's really thinking, now, narrowing his eyes at the gingerbread army as it's rearranged over Seravina's room, fingers taptaptapping against the nearest hard surface. "Mebbe dose caramel apple sticks? Only cold, so dey's still a l'il stiff. But den you'd havta replace de boom ev'ry time." If the gumball didn't just bend it straight in half.
"I think we might be out of luck. Taffy wouldn't be a good plan, either." Yes, they're having this conversation with straight faces. Kitty is, anyway.
Remy has become, simply, a master at keeping his face straight. He in fact lifts a hand to scuff it behind his head in thought, where his hair sticks out beneath the bandana and threatens to curl. "Taffy's jus' be messy. Dere's gotta be *somet'in'. Dere's four hunnred million kinds of candy an' we can't t'ink of a t'ing to make a good siege engine wit'? Some X-Men we are."
Remy's always *been* a master at keeping his face straight. "Well, not a catapult per *se*. Something *like* a catapult we could probably manage. It's just hard to find a way to get that springy action with something that has so much of a crystalline formation as sugar. It's *brittle*!" Kitty protests, wide-eyed.
"Meeeeebbbee..." Remy says, drawing the word out carefully, "We use sugar cubes. An' string dem toget'er wit' twine or a licorace whip or somet'in'. Den we coul' use de tension to control how bendy it is." He's pulling this straight out of his ass.
"Sugar cubes chip," Kitty points out gravely. "And there's not enough tension to keep them in a good arch. And they *sure* wouldn't spring back. I'm still thinking Twizzlers are a better bet." She steals sneak-peeks toward the kitchen.
Remy shakes his head, poking thoughtfully at one sabre-wielding cookie. "Twizzlers are all floppy. Dey wouldn' spring back, neit'er. You'd lose de l'il string and it's jus' stay dere. Like in de Wile Coyote 'toons." Which would actually sort of be entertaining, if they could rig up a little gingerman to be smooshed when the base of the engine inevitably swung around.
Sera returns, finally, bearing a tray of coffee, cream, cocoa and milk. "You know, since I was dealing with cups and stuff, I only caught bits and pieces of your conversation, and so I have to say, it really was completely insane," she laughs. "If you want to make a trebuchet, wouldn't you just need things that were stiff, because it works with counterweights? You could use candy canes, couldn't you?"
"I have no idea. Sounds like we're going to have to get plans," Kitty muses. "I was just thinking, you know, catapult. Sproing. But *counterweights*, now... What do you use as a counterweight for a gumball? Jawbreakers?" She lifts innocent eyes to the others.
"Pretzel logs!" Remy says, brightly, his face the picture of childish glee. "Dat'd make it look all medievally, too." At least, as close to 'medieval' as Gambit's brain ever gets. Almost immediately, he's distracted by the cocoa.
"Jawbreakers, pretzel logs and gumballs. Perfect," Sera giggles. "You know, I'm going to have to have you all over for a ginormous cookiebaking party, in which we reconstruct the fight at the White City of Gondor. I've been doing metalworking -- I can make an orcish cookie cutter. And do elves out of marzipan."
"We'll need walls in advance," Kitty muses. "Let me know when it'll be, and I'll start stockpiling building materials. Though if it's during Passover, I'm in trouble." She hands Remy a cup, lest he claim *all* the cocoa for himself!
He isn't quite that greedy. At least, not on the first pass. Remy fills Kitty's mug up, too, before handing it back to her and setting in on his own. "Well...seems t'me we all gotta 'range some time off an' sit down wit' de movies while we's at it. An' we can even have a Denet'or runnin' off in flames. I do flambe okay." Yes, someone's a closet sci-fi and fantasy geek. Who'd have guessed?
Giggling brightly, Sera shares good things to drink and then will happily partake in biting the heads off gingerbread men. Because mmmm. "What are the rules about cooking during Passover?" Sera wonders, cocking her head to the side.
"I would never have guessed," Kitty says cheerfully to He Of The Explosive Powers. "Hey, combine the cookie party with all three extended editions and we've got a day-long holiday to start off with. It'll probably take us that long, too..."
Then Kitty flashes a grin at Sera. "Well, the Seder I could take about an hour describing. But the basic rule is, no leavened bread. At all. Including hedging it around a lot. Into 'no grains that've come into contact with water for more than eighteen minutes'. Pete insists every year that having to take all the Scotch out of the house is the hardest thing he's ever had to do."
"All de scotch?" Remy says, his voice shaded almost mournful, before he makes a little 'tsk'ing sound in the back of his throat. "Dat's a cryin' shame, dat is. I'd offer to house it, but I ain't guarenteein' it'd come back." And no, he does not say the word like that ridiculous chef did.
"See, that would be perfect! You can make walls out of apple matzoh. If they weren't leavened, they can be really stiff and sturdy!" Sera says, grinning. She licks cocoa off her fingers and happily munches on frosted cookies. Because she is /very much/ a sugar addict. "Tell Pete that he can come over and have Scotch at my house, then," she giggles, winking.
Kitty shakes her forefinger at Sera. "Uh-uh. He converted, remember? He's stuck. He can come over *before* Passover, or *after*, but not during." She gives a solemn nod. "And you can't have it, either, Remy, Liam gets it for the duration. It's a tradition by now. Not that we necessarily get it back from *him*, either."
Remy is very practical in dismembering the gingerbread man that's found its way into his hands, if more cruel; he disarms it first, before breaking off its little legs to pop them simultaneously in his mouth. And then, of course, laugh right around them. "So, wait, when did Gondor b'come de walled fortress of Judaism?"
"Well, I'm sure it /didn't/," Sera says, giggling, chomping the head off another gingerbread man. "Oh, fine, I won't try and subvert the whole Passover thing," she says, grinning. "How long is it? A week? A day? I'm awful with the actual details of, say, /any/ religion," she sighs, shrugging. "See, that's another thing -- it might take forever to construct. So if any part of it is over Passover, it'll be good that it's at my house."
The walled fortress of Judaism. Kitty narrowly escapes getting cocoa into her sinuses. "... Eight days," she manages on strangled autopilot. "Starts the, uh, the twenty-third, I think. Through the end of the month." Gingerbread slaughter. The poor army. Baked to be cut down and given away. "So if we do it before then, or in May, all fine... Remy, darnit, *stop* making me think Aragorn is the Messiah!"
"Non, nononon," Remy says to Kitty, waving his dismembered gingerbread man in the air for emphasis. "It's Gandalf dat's de Christ-figure, neh? He's de one who comes back from de dead." There's a moment of pondering, however, before he bites the cookie's head off and chews thoughtfully. "Or mebbe dey share de role."
"Mmm. Aragorn can be /my/ Messiah," Sera purrs. "Okay, so it's not a rush job, we'll do it afterwards. We can have a screening of the movies. All of them, and invite folks to watch, and eat Gondor for the refreshments. It'll be great. I'll just make sure John's like... out of the country, or something. Otherwise we'll /really/ have orcs and things running around. I can make up big batches of fondant to lay over whatever we do for the walls, to give it the look of the pretty white stone. And a sugar tree. It'll have to be impossibly huge so that the army folks aren't too tiny," she notes.
"Judaism doesn't *have* a Christ-figure!" Kitty protests at Remy. Or, that's what she *would* be saying if she weren't trying to talk through a mouthful of gingerbread without either losing crumbs or breaking up in giggles. She swallows, and adds, "No, no, we already *had* orcs running around. The poor guy that wound up as a statue in our ex-garage forever. Is there only one tree in there by then, or two? I can't remember. I'll work out structural supports or something anyway." They're all completely insane.
"Hey, wait, I t'ought 'Christ' was Greek for 'Savior'. So to be technical, it does, he jus' ain't come yet." Gambit isn't exactly the world's most read expert on either Greek *or* religion, so maybe he'll let it slide. "I t'ink dere's one tree. A big dead one. Ooh, if you're makin' fondu-stuffs, can we have dark chocolate for pourin' over de walls like boilin' tar? L'il strawberry-trolls to fall victim b'low?" Remy reinacts this all as best he can with two hands and a gingerbread man's beheaded, legless torso.
"Awww, you're so cute when your mouth is full," Sera giggles at Kitty. "Man. I wonder how big this whole thing /would/ be?" she marvels, thinking on it in her head. "Fondue? Sure! I can make up a nice sauce for boiling oil. A very, very very dark chocolate sauce," Sera laughs. "Strawberry trolls. What would I make an oliphant from? We'll have muffin boulders and I could probably get some colored cotton candy for sugar grass-- you know I'm suddenly thinking of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory."
"It's Greek for 'anointed' and we don't have a savior. Get me drunk sometime and I'll explain," threatens Kitty at Remy cheerfully. "Oliphant. Um! Something carvable, probably. Chocolate? Would it have to be hollow? Or wouldn't that support whatever we put on its back? I'm foreseeing some experiments here!"
Remy waves his hand carelessly, cramming gingerbread into one side of his mouth. "Don' speak Greek anyway. Uh...Carvin' oliphants outta anyt'in' is really pushin' de limits of my creative ability. An' by pushin', I mean way on de ot'er side of campus from it." He gestures off towards the Beacon Harbor University for emphasis.
Sera's all smiles and giggles today, adoring the fact that she has the best friends in the whole world. "I like the idea of experiments. We can do experiments all this month until Passover -- and if anything with just sugars or chocolates can be done during then, if it's, uh, kosher, we can do that. Then afterwards, hello candy Gondor," she snickers.
Which prompts Kitty instantly to sing, "The Big Rock Candy Gondor!", because she *can*.
Finis!