xp_daytripper | Well, bollocks.

Current Mood: bitchy

Well, bollocks.

Change of Christmas plans. Big change of Christmas plans. Instead of heading over to Muir, or visiting Rom or even going over to the mansion for free food, I get to spend my Christmas in the brownstone. With all the people I work with. In quarantine.

Excuse me for a minute while I go swear a lot. Wouldn't want to earn a post-it of my own.

Okay, back. Urge to strangle that bloody Infectia woman still there, but at least I won't offend anyone with bad language. Unless 'bloody' counts. And 'bollocks'. Oh, bugger it - I'm English, swearing colourfully is what we do.

But yeah. We're all locked in the brownstone for the forseeable, we're getting tests and the rest done every day to make sure our DNA isn't re-writing itself or something, and no-one's allowed in or out.

Merry fucking Christmas.

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Oh lord, that's horrible. I know you were excited about going to Muir...can you guys still get Christmas presents? And how long are y'all gonna be stuck?

At least a week, just to make sure we're not going to spread this thing around. And as long as it can survive decontamination, we're allowed stuff from outside. Giving presents is a bit trickier - good thing I ordered yours from Amazon. *grins* Has the box turned up yet?

This suck, to quote the kids.

Yeah, the box came and was promptly snatched away from me to be stashed under the Christmas tree. Good thing I'm patient.

So no exploding boxes for Christmas this year? Darn, that was my best idea. Guess it's on to plan two...fruitcake. It'll survive anything right?

Yay. *grins*

Fruitcake could survive a nuclear winter, even. If it's anything like the one Rom had at that Christmas at her dad's, year before last.

I propose a challenge. Whoever can stay perpetually drunk throughout this entire ordeal without getting sick wins . . . something. I dunno. Maybe another drink.

I like this plan. It's a very good plan. A cunning plan, even.

Hey, didn't you say something last night about brownies?

My Christmas bonus (and it damn well better be big considering the money I'm losing by not being at Silver this weekend) is going to end up funding the restocking of my booze stash. It's going to be drier than me by the time this is over.

Mmm, brownies. I think I'll bake some for Sunday night :D

You are not the only one with a considerable stash to donate. I have more alcohol in my apartment then food right now.

I am making pancakes. A lot of pancakes. Theraputic I am stuck in this building has anyone told that poor old man yet I have a big bag of chocolate chips too ooh pancakes.

Anyone donating things to put in the pancakes is my new best friend.

Something tells me that replacing our blood with ethanol isn't the best way to stave off some contagion, but I can't be bothered with trivialities right now. I'm too drunk (and yet, I type flawlessly. Go me.)

You should come help me make eggnog pancakes.

I realize that I cannot cook anything ELSE but I can cook PANCAKES.

Pancakes! Click click bloody click pancakes!

Wow, Family Guy really is quotable in every situation.

It's the one recipe you're not crepe at?

*flees*

Oh, that is awful. Terrible awful no good -very- bad. No pancakes for you. Except that I have made a lot of them so someone has to rescue me from them.

In Soviet Brownstone, pancakes eat you!

Okay, no more sugar for me. Except on pancakes, because lemon and sugar is good. So are the pina colada ones. Hey, maybe we could go through Mark's cocktail book and see how many pancake versions we can make!

I wonder if I could make a mojito pancake. Except I think that mint might not be very good with pancakes, yes?

That and I think Sofia might prefer us to not eat her herbs all in one sitting. ;)

Hey, I wonder if we look pitiful enough at her, she could cook one of those dinners of hers? I'm down to mac and cheese and hamburger helper - forgot to go shopping this week.

. . . Well. It's nice to see all roads apparently lead to communicable mutation-corroding plague. I confess I feel better. Clearly it is an honour not solely my own. When the quarantine is less I invite you to join my criminal suit.

Although just to be safe I believe even after the medical clearing has been seen through I shall ask this be done from no less a distance than 100 yards. I've had an Unfortunate Experience.

Yeah, she decided to send Remy a Halloween prank. Which got lost in the US postal system and then got redirected here. Talk about trick or... trick.

Someone ought to contact Bartlet, make sure she isn't opening any mysterious parcels too, what with the sprog and all.

I should get in touch with the ravishing Dr. Bartlet just for the sake of old times. I far prefer her brand of physio to the officially sanctioned beating that is an examination by Dr. Voght. In fact, now that I come to think on it that was quite the little Shakespearian drama: her, the unattainable one promised to another, and I, the star-crossed suitor suffering in noble silence, struck down by the fateful package meant for her lover. And now, as you have so kindly pointed out, we have further common ground in the woman we both have the equally strong desire to see choked upon her own entrails.

It is an exclusive club, after all. But growing.

I am sorry to hear about this. Would it be possible for me to have some of the food that is being prepared for the Winter Ball sent over to you?

Sure, if you can spare it and it can make it through decontamination before it goes off. I for one wasn't looking forward to tinned spaghetti and instant ramen for the week.

Thanks for the offer, it's really appreciated.

Well, we'll miss you on Muir. Better to be safe, though.

Yeah, that's what the general thought was - better to be safe than sorry. Have fun.

Although, maybe brandy butter instead? Since I think the custard wouldn't make it long outside the refridgerator. The pudding however, would probably survive a nuclear hollocaust. I'll give Marie some extra to bring you guys.

Bring on the Christmas pud - you don't get a decent one here in the States normally. Thanks, Laurie.

So much for that emergency last-minute shopping run into the city on Saturday, huh?

That's alright, you'll be doing our poor kitchen a favour. Mom usually says cooking reminds her of Grandma, which I think is why she cooks so much.

Hopefully you guys will all come out with a clean bill of health. Too bad we don't have anyone with a mutant power of healing, hey?

Well, no-one's actually sick, and hopefully none of us will be - there's a good chance what got sent was too old to work, or so Moira says. But since it's pretty contagious and has messed with a few people already, it's safer to do the week-long quarantine.

Healing's handy, but it tends to be a bit more trouble than it's worth, in the long run.

Oh? I wouldn't think there'd be trouble with a healing power. Although, maybe if it was a two way street one. Like, you cured the plague but then had a house fall on your head.

*ponders* We'd have to make sure they never wore red shoes, or talked to strange girls from Kansas who happen to have Jack Russel terriers.

Thing is, there's usually some kind of tradeoff with powers, and healing's not any different. Energy's got to come from somewhere, and if the injury's bad enough, then it might take more than you have in yourself.

There's also the bit where it gets way too easy to only see yourself in terms of what you can do, who you can fix, especially somewhere like the mansion. Not saying it's not a great power - it's a real gift, yeah - but just that it's not all it's cracked up to be.

True. I guess that's like the teleportation power. It's great to get you somewhere fast but you'd get real sick of carting people around all the time. Especially if no one thanked you for it afterwards.

Well, that sucks. I'll be by to see you if there's time before we go to Muir - or after if not, if you're not out by then.

Well, we can talk through the front door intercom if you drop by before you go.

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Well, bollocks.

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Christmas pudding and brandy custard it is then.

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