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tampered2007-02-13 09:57 pm
b-q-smee.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-02-13 09:57 pm
Log, Ongoing
When; Feb 14th, Lust Day, 1:34 PM
Rating; um...who knows at this point, really.
Characters; Hook![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ironhook, Pan all_butone, Smee b_q_smee, and Tink one_atatime
Summary; Lust Day. Add Peter and Tink sneaking on the Jolly Roger, and you've got 'nuff said right there.
Log;
He had felt a little funny since waking up this morning, but really hadn't paid too much attention to it. In fact, he had done what he had always done when he had headaches or colds or was feeling oddly; he just shoved it away and cooked something.
So, that was precicely what he was doing. Bartholemew Quigley Smeethington was cooking. He was cooking lunch, in fact, and lunch happened to be chicken fettichini. He placed the lid back onto the pot holding the noodles and turned down the heat just slightly before he opened up another pot with sauce in it and stired that a couple times, before replacing the top on that one as well.
Once that task was finished he stepped back, straightening his pink apron in an old nervous habit, and barily suppressed the urge to pace. He pulled off his stripped hat and fanned himself with it for a moment, brow creasing in confusion. Was it hot in here or was it just him?
Rating; um...who knows at this point, really.
Characters; Hook
ironhook, Pan all_butone, Smee b_q_smee, and Tink one_atatimeSummary; Lust Day. Add Peter and Tink sneaking on the Jolly Roger, and you've got 'nuff said right there.
Log;
He had felt a little funny since waking up this morning, but really hadn't paid too much attention to it. In fact, he had done what he had always done when he had headaches or colds or was feeling oddly; he just shoved it away and cooked something.
So, that was precicely what he was doing. Bartholemew Quigley Smeethington was cooking. He was cooking lunch, in fact, and lunch happened to be chicken fettichini. He placed the lid back onto the pot holding the noodles and turned down the heat just slightly before he opened up another pot with sauce in it and stired that a couple times, before replacing the top on that one as well.
Once that task was finished he stepped back, straightening his pink apron in an old nervous habit, and barily suppressed the urge to pace. He pulled off his stripped hat and fanned himself with it for a moment, brow creasing in confusion. Was it hot in here or was it just him?