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tampered2011-01-07 01:06 am
schisming.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2011-01-07 01:06 am
⚚ ongoing ; closed
When; 06 January, late evening.
Rating; PG-13 for now
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schisming & gilthart
Summary; Baby, let's talk about not ORPHAN-WIDOWING ME
Log;
A surprising factoid regarding Elliot - and completely separate from the ones he throws all willy-nilly into his regular conversation - is that he knows how to make hot chocolate without the aid of a microwave and Swiss Miss. (Although he does, of course, have trivia: for instance, 'Dutching' sounds a lot filthier than the actual process it describes.) This involves a whisk, constant attention, and meticulously measured chili powder, because the latter goes from 'huh!' to '...whyyyyy did you do this' in seconds. Other possible additives exist, or none at all, but Elliot likes the throwback to the Aztecs as well as occasional fits of experimental cooking. Peppermint is also good, but the chili powder adds an element of additional warmth to texture and taste, and 'warmth' largely comprises the ambiance he is going for.
Which also explains the soft sweater and corduroys, along with why the whole apartment smells like ginger and roses courtesy a small candle on the table in the kitchenette. If asked he would say that these things were less detrimental to good tenant status than setting random fires, because he is only a romantic where no one else can comment. Although that implies erroneously that all of this is a setup tantamount to seduction, and it is ...not, to Elliot it feels more like an ambush. He's mindful of certain recent echoes, and it is perhaps telling of how spectacularly good he is at hypocrisy that somehow Sage making tea and setting him down to discuss his lifelong not-just-moodswings reads differently. Not an ambush, just care. But if he dwells on that long enough he'll put this off, and holding back words rarely crops up among Elliot's many-splendored problems. Analytical as ever he reflects maybe they've just never had the time before - at home their lives are so marked by the immediate reality of hovering death that discussing as much was like discussing an event rescheduled for rain. Dammit, Seth was ripped apart by zombies, now we'll have to find someone else who can read Coptic.
...it's never really like that, except when it is. But even that's only at Elliot's most blackly macabre, and this is another reason why 'try not to die' as a precept sounds so--terrifying, because he knows what it looks like not to try. Don't jump in front of the bullet, but don't try to dodge, either. On this auspicious note the mixture at hand comes to its desired melting point, but fortunately Elliot is perfectly capable of woolgathering and virtually any other activity at the same time. He lids and transfers the pot for cooling purposes and otherwise ...putters, which beats lurking as an activity. Or so one hopes.
Rating; PG-13 for now
Characters;
schisming & gilthartSummary; Baby, let's talk about not ORPHAN-WIDOWING ME
Log;
A surprising factoid regarding Elliot - and completely separate from the ones he throws all willy-nilly into his regular conversation - is that he knows how to make hot chocolate without the aid of a microwave and Swiss Miss. (Although he does, of course, have trivia: for instance, 'Dutching' sounds a lot filthier than the actual process it describes.) This involves a whisk, constant attention, and meticulously measured chili powder, because the latter goes from 'huh!' to '...whyyyyy did you do this' in seconds. Other possible additives exist, or none at all, but Elliot likes the throwback to the Aztecs as well as occasional fits of experimental cooking. Peppermint is also good, but the chili powder adds an element of additional warmth to texture and taste, and 'warmth' largely comprises the ambiance he is going for.
Which also explains the soft sweater and corduroys, along with why the whole apartment smells like ginger and roses courtesy a small candle on the table in the kitchenette. If asked he would say that these things were less detrimental to good tenant status than setting random fires, because he is only a romantic where no one else can comment. Although that implies erroneously that all of this is a setup tantamount to seduction, and it is ...not, to Elliot it feels more like an ambush. He's mindful of certain recent echoes, and it is perhaps telling of how spectacularly good he is at hypocrisy that somehow Sage making tea and setting him down to discuss his lifelong not-just-moodswings reads differently. Not an ambush, just care. But if he dwells on that long enough he'll put this off, and holding back words rarely crops up among Elliot's many-splendored problems. Analytical as ever he reflects maybe they've just never had the time before - at home their lives are so marked by the immediate reality of hovering death that discussing as much was like discussing an event rescheduled for rain. Dammit, Seth was ripped apart by zombies, now we'll have to find someone else who can read Coptic.
...it's never really like that, except when it is. But even that's only at Elliot's most blackly macabre, and this is another reason why 'try not to die' as a precept sounds so--terrifying, because he knows what it looks like not to try. Don't jump in front of the bullet, but don't try to dodge, either. On this auspicious note the mixture at hand comes to its desired melting point, but fortunately Elliot is perfectly capable of woolgathering and virtually any other activity at the same time. He lids and transfers the pot for cooling purposes and otherwise ...putters, which beats lurking as an activity. Or so one hopes.