#but yeah I like Starch Noodle she’s fun

[quibbs126]

I really want to draw Starch Noodle in this Susato pose, because given her description, I feel like it really fits

[camillemontespan]

friend date [AU. one shot. drake walker x camille montespan]

@moonlightgem7​ @ibldw-main​ @emichelle​ @katedrakeohd​ @loveellamae​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @burnsoslow​ @saivilo​ @gardeningourmet​ @walkerswhiskeygirl​ @mskaneko​ @dcbbw​  @rainbowsinthestorm​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ @pug-bitch​ @flowerpowell​

I was inspired after seeing Sarah Michelle Gellar (Buffy) post a wedding anniversary tribute on her instagram which said that she had been friends with her husband, Freddie Prinze Jr, and they were meant to meet a mutual friend for dinner. The friend bailed but Sarah and Freddie didn’t. 20 years later, they’re married with kids. It was so sweet and pure and I instantly had an idea for this one shot!

ALSO, Le CouCou is a real restaurant in New York. It looks amazing. The menu, not so much. All prices and dishes are real. Is it sad I googled it? Yes. Do I care? No!

************************************************************************************* 

Sorry, D. Got to bail tonight. Give my apologies to Camille, we can catch up soon. 

Drake swallowed, staring down at the phone in his hand and the text message Liam had just sent him. It wasn’t like Liam to cancel. Liam always kept plans. Liam was reliable. 

‘You alright?’ Leo asked, chowing down on noodles as he spoke. He was leaning against the kitchen counter in Drake’s apartment, helping himself to Drake’s food and beer.  ‘You look like you’ve had the worst news ever.’

Drake shrugged. ‘Well, not really but kinda..’

Leo looked over Drake’s shoulder at the text. ‘Huh, not like my brother to cancel. What’s the problem? You still get to hang with Cammy.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Drake sighed. 

Leo raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay… not understanding this, dude. Camille’s a babe. She’s fun. She’s also your friend. I mean, I know you guys have this underlying sexual tension-’

‘Liam likes her,’ Drake interrupted. ‘That’s why it’s an issue.’

‘So? Liam doesn’t own Camille,’ Leo replied, not unreasonably. ‘She’s single. You’re single.’

‘I thought brothers were meant to be loyal,’ Drake said dryly. 

‘I am,’ Leo said, shrugging. ‘But it’s been ages since you’ve been laid so excuse me for looking out for my buddy.’

‘I’m not gonna sleep with her,’ Drake hissed. ‘We’re.. Friends. Ish.’

Drake and Camille were friendly, yes, but not close. They rarely saw each other due to living on opposite sides of the city, their working hours and different interests. Camille was friends with Olivia - Leo’s girlfriend- so the four of them had hung out occasionally. Olivia teased that it was like a double date, which Drake swiftly denied. 

He did find Camille really attractive though. He liked her laugh and the way her mouth quirked up at the corners so it looked like she was always smiling. She was friendly and interested in what he had to say, but Drake always let himself down by trying to keep her at arms length. 

Liam liked Camille, see. Not that he had done anything about it - he was always busy working so didn’t have much free time. But whenever they saw Camille, Liam would tell Drake how much he liked her and was absolutely going to ask her out. 

Drake figured that if Camille was given the option between him and Liam, she would go for his friend. That was how it always played out. If the two men liked the same girl, Drake would step back. 

He just didn’t think he could compete with Liam’s classic good looks, high flying job as a Wall Street broker, his penchant for treating women to dates in fancy restaurants and his sleek penthouse apartment.  Drake was more rugged, sure, but he worked as a bartender in Williamsburg, existed on noodles and pasta, took women to dive bars for dates (that never went down well) and lived in a studio apartment that had a damp problem.  

‘I’ll cancel on her,’ Drake decided. 

Leo paused in eating the noodles to give Drake an unamused stare. ‘Why?’

‘Well, it’ll just be us,’ Drake said, ‘and it’s in a fancy restaurant because of course, Liam booked it, so if it’s the two of us it’ll be like a date-’

‘And?’

‘And it’s not a date!’ Drake burst out. ‘It’ll be awkward. We’ve never hung out just us before. What do we talk about?’

‘Her job, your job-’

‘Yes, I’m sure she’ll be impressed by the stock of whiskey,’ Drake interrupted. ‘God, I’m gonna cancel-’

Leo grabbed his phone and hit Drake gently on the head with it. ‘No!’ he scolded. ‘That’ll be rude. She’ll know something’s up. Look, just bite the bullet. Meet her at the fancy restaurant, impress her with your knowledge of whiskey, be interested in what she has to say. It can be a quick meal and if you’re really suffering, then make an exit right after. But don’t bail because she’ll know you don’t want to hang with her. Don’t be a dick. Do you want to be a dick, Drake? Did your mom raise you to be a dick to beautiful women?’

Drake blinked. ‘What the fuck has Olivia done to you?’

Leo reddened. ‘She’s shown me the error of my previous womanising ways. But that’s beside the point! Go to dinner tonight.’

Drake sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll go. Whatever.’

Leo rolled his eyes and said through a mouthful of noodle, ‘Don’t act like it’s your bloody execution, Walker..’

‘Don’t act like you’re bloody British, Rhys,’ Drake shot back. ‘Now give me my phone back.’

*************************************************************************************

Drake agonised over what to wear to the fancy restaurant. Knowing Liam, it would be starched white table cloths, French waiters, views over New York and a wine list Drake couldn’t pronounce. 

He eventually settled on a brown leather jacket, green henley shirt, dark blue jeans and brown boots. Suits were not his thing, but this outfit was much more acceptable than his usual denim shirt and jeans combination. He looked smart like this; like he had made an effort but not too much. 

Camille had texted him to say she would be at the restaurant for 8pm. They were both on. This was not a date, this was just two sort of friends hanging out at a fancy restaurant. 

Drake took the subway to Lafayette Street where the restaurant, Le CouCou, was located. Just from the name alone, Drake knew he was in for a French affair. Fantastic. He hated French cuisine but he remembered Liam saying he had booked the table weeks in advance because it was a popular restaurant, so a change of location wasn’t on the cards.

He entered the restaurant. The walls were of exposed brick, chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the tables were covered in white cloth. Drake pushed down the fish out water feeling he was experiencing and puffed his chest out, trying to look confident. 

‘Hey there,’ he greeted the host. ‘We had a table booked under the name of Liam Rhys, but he cancelled so it’s just the two of us.’

The host smiled. ‘Your friend arrived a moment ago, please follow me.’

Drake followed her through the restaurant towards the back where he could see Camille sitting at a round table by the window. She stood up to greet him, reaching out to give him a hug. 

Her hair smelled of coconut, which was delicious and enticing and distracting at the same time.

‘I was so sure you’d bail on me!’ Camille said, giving him her megawatt smile. ‘Honestly, I’m surprised you’re here.’

Drake sat down and blushed. ‘Nah, Montespan. I’m a gent. Never leave a lady hanging.’

Bullshit.

Camille looked down at her menu. ‘So, looking at these prices.. It would be cheaper to order a bottle of something.’

‘Sure,’ Drake agreed. ‘Champagne?’

He didn’t like champagne but he knew that women did. 

Camille reddened. ‘I actually don’t like champagne.. I know, I’m so not classy.’

Drake let out a laugh. ‘Same actually. I only suggested it in case you liked it, plus this place looks like champagne is all it serves..’

Camille bit her lip, her eyes scanning the menu. ‘Wine?’ she suggested. 

‘Sounds good. What do you like?’

‘Sauvignon Blanc.’

‘Chile or New Zealand?’

Camille blinked at his question. ‘Uh, New Zealand.’

Drake grinned. ‘Expensive taste, Montespan.’

Camille giggled. ‘How do you know about the countries?’

‘Well, I do work in bar..’

Camille grinned. ‘Of course! Amazing, you can be my drink guide this evening! Shall we order wine then?’

‘Let’s do it,’ Drake said. ‘Let’s be not classy in this classy place.’

***********************************************************************************

With wine ordered, they studied the food menu - studying being the loose term for it. Unable to read it was more apt.

‘What the fuck is Lotte au jambon, potee de chou et fruits de mer..?’ Drake asked in haltingly slow French.

Camille frowned and looked through the menu. ‘Ah, here’s the English translation! Um, monkfish roasted with-’

‘Nope,’ Drake interrupted. ‘Where’s the steak? There has to be steak here.’

Camille looked down the menu before her eyes lit up. ‘Found steak!’

She pointed to the dish. Drake paled. ‘Camille, it’s $65.’

Camille’s eyes widened. ‘Ah shit.. Okay, scrap that.. Um.. it’s pretty expensive here. We’ll be paying $29 minimum and that applies to the oyster starter..’

Drake groaned. ‘Oysters, really?’

‘They are said to be an aphrodisiac..’ Camille teased. 

Drake blanched at her words. ‘Uh.. uh, yeah they are..’

Camille let out a throaty laugh, the laugh he liked. It was a laugh she used whenever something seemed to really tickle her and it made you feel special for making her laugh that way. ‘I’m kidding, Drake,’ she said. ‘Look, we’re here. Let’s just order something and grin and bear it. Who cares about the price? We’ll just have Liam refund us. This place was his idea, after all.’

Drake grinned. ‘Liam can reimburse us! Awesome, so shall we order the most expensive dishes and laugh when he is presented with the bill?’

Camille shrugged. ‘He does work on Wall Street, I’m sure this amount of money is peanuts for him.’

Drake raised his wine glass. ‘To Liam, for funding our dinner.’

Camille laughed again, her eyes sparkling. She raised her glass and clinked it against his. ‘To Liam.’

**************************************************************************************

They both settled on the chicken and foie gras. The wine was going down a treat and conversation was easy. Drake couldn’t believe had considered cancelling. They got on really well! There were no awkward silences and Drake found he could open up to her easily about things he never spoke about, like his father.

‘My dad passed away when I was fourteen,’ he told Camille, pouring her another glass of wine. ‘He worked as security guard for a bank - he was involved in a robbery and was shot.’

Camille studied him with her chin placed on her hand. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concern. ‘I’m sorry, Drake,’ she murmured. ‘That’s really sad.’

‘He died an honourable death,’ Drake replied. ‘He made sure all the customers were out of harms way. My mom was in pieces, as was my sister.. So I became the man of the house.’

‘That must have been hard for you,’ Camille said. Drake’s eyes locked with hers. He could see the gold flecks amongst the brown; owl eyes. They were gorgeous.

‘It was,’ Drake said, finally, after a long moment. ‘Sorry for bringing the chat down.. I just.. I’ve never really talked about my dad to people before. Not even Liam.’

‘How come?’ Camille asked, reaching out to take his hand. Her thumb rolled over his palm, soothing and gentle. Drake looked down at their joined hands and swallowed. 

‘I guess I don’t like to be vulnerable,’ he muttered. 

‘Sometimes it’s good to be vulnerable,’ Camille told him. ‘It’s healthy to talk about feelings, share the weight of them. When my parents died, I retreated into myself and my grandma worked so hard to bring me back to life-’

‘Your parents died?’ Drake asked, his eyes widening in shock. ‘Shit, Camille. That sucks.’

Camille smiled weakly. ‘Life has dealt me shitty cards,’ she replied. ‘But what matters is how you deal with it. You can either let it break you down or you keep going. Talking when you’re feeling broken makes you stronger’

There was an unspoken understanding between them. Their eyes were steady on each other and Drake wanted to say so much more but he couldn’t find the words. How had she managed to break down this wall he had built? Camille tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. ‘So, shall we get the bill and head somewhere else?’

Drake smiled. ‘I know we’re not keen on this place but I did see that there’s a bar upstairs.. Fancy it?’

Camille grinned. ‘Lead the way.’

*******************************************************************

Drake ordered two glasses of whiskey. They sat at the bar under the chandeliers that cast a golden glow down on them; Camille simply shone. She had chosen to wear a tuxedo dress with pearl buttons and silver strappy heels; it was a date night outfit. Drake was now pretending they were on a date, while Camille was oblivious to his sudden change of heart.

I really like this woman. I already did but she’s so different to how I imagined. She’s kind and funny and warm. I could talk to her all day. 

As Drake toasted Liam yet again, Camille smiled and studied him. He was rugged, just her type. He was easygoing and funny with a dry sense of humour. He was also surprising. 

I really like this guy. He is different to how I imagined. He’s thoughtful and kind and genuine. I could listen to him all day. 

The conversation became silly, with  Camille asking Drake absurd questions and laughing at his answers. It soon turned to Never Have I Ever and Drake ordered more whiskey. 

‘Never Have I Ever… gone skinny dipping,’ Drake suggested. Camille blushed and reached for her drink, taking a long sip.  Drake let out a hearty laugh. 

‘Montespan, you minx!’

‘I was eighteen and drunk, okay?!’ she protested, laughing back.  When they calmed down, Camille considered her question for Drake.

‘Never have I ever.. Cheated on someone.’

Drake didn’t drink. Camille grinned. ‘You’re a nice guy.’

‘I am indeed,’ Drake said, giving her a smirk. ‘Clean record. Now, Leo on the other hand…’

Camille let out a groan. ‘Oh god, Leo. He is something else.’

‘Hard to imagine he and Liam are related,’ Drake said. ‘They’re both so different.’

‘Yeah.. Leo’s wild, Liam’s boring-’

‘What?!’ Drake cried. ‘Liam’s boring?!’

Camille turned red. ‘Don’t tell him I said that!’ she said. ‘Oh god, I feel so bad!’

‘Harsh words, Camille,’ Drake warned, shaking his head. ‘Harsh words.’

Secretly, he was pleased. Liam had no chance.

‘So you wouldn’t date him?’ he asked, sipping his whiskey. Camille shook her head. ‘No way. He likes.. Fancy restaurants like this. I like bars. I know we’re still in the same restaurant, but right now, this, Drake, is the highlight of my night.’ 

Drake could feel the heat rising on his cheeks. Camille gave him an earnest smile and tossed back her whiskey before checking the time. 

‘Shoot, I’m up early tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Help me find a cab?’

Drake said yes and paid their bill. He helped Camille put on her coat, letting his fingers brush hers. She smiled secretly.

**************************************************************************************

Drake hailed her a taxi. When it pulled up to them, Camille turned to say goodbye. 

‘It was really nice seeing you,’ she told him. ‘Thanks for not bailing on me. I know you were tempted.’

Drake stepped back at her words. ‘Montespan, no-’

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you still came along.’

She leaned up to hug him. Drake’s arms enveloped her body, holding her close. As they parted, her eyes looked up into his and before Drake could react, her lips were on his. The kiss was soft and warm; she tasted of whiskey and caramel. Drake groaned against her mouth and parted her lips with his tongue.

Whiskey, caramel, burnt sugar. 

That was what the kiss tasted like. 

Their tongues twisted together, urgently now. They were trapped in those moment, the bright lights of the city fading around them, their senses only on each other. When they pulled away, Camille’s eyes were dark. 

‘Come home with me,’ she murmured. 

‘Aren’t you up early tomorrow?’ Drake asked.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care.’

***********************************************************

The next morning, Drake woke up in a tangle of bedsheets. Camille’s nude body lay curled up beside him as she slept soundly. She looked so peaceful. 

Drake smiled. 

His phone buzzed. Checking the screen, he could see it was 7am. Liam had texted.

So… how’d it go last night?

Drake frowned. Good, he typed. She’s fun.

Liam replied instantly. 

I’m glad you had a good time. Thought you would. Leo and I are of the opinion that you need to get laid. 

Drake bolted up. His fingers worked quickly on the keyboard, his mind full of questions. 

But you like Camille?

Liam texted back, clearly enjoying this exchange.

Yeah but you clearly like her more. I just needed you to be pushed together.  I’m fine; I’ve got a date tomorrow night.

Drake grinned, relieved. He had been wondering how to explain his current bed situation. Now, it looked like he didn’t have to. Camille rolled over and sighed as she slept. Her hands reached out for him, as if she knew he was there. Drake settled back down and pulled her against him, holding her close. 

‘Morning, Drake..’ she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. 

‘Morning, Camille.’ 

‘This is nice,’ she mumbled. 

‘I know, right?’

‘I need to get up though..’

Drake chuckled against her hair. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

‘But you’re warm and comfy..’

‘Guilty as charged.’

Camille giggled, turning to face him. ‘Want to join me in the shower?’

Drake smiled, watching as she dragged herself out of bed. He watched her naked form as she padded through to the en-suite. He felt his cock harden. 

Drake would definitely be joining her in the shower. 

[podmusical]

The Ballad of GG Scrumptious, Part 1

Credits and Lyrics for Episode 7 of Days of Future Fuzz

starring:

“Narrator” - Jordan Gelber Golden George Scrumptious - Andrew Radford Butler

written by Jonathan A. Goldberg music by Matt roi Berger

recorded, mixed and edited by Marcus Bagala and Will Melones

NARRATOR

Oh hello there, what’s that?  You want a story?

Something real and true, but perhaps, too, allegory?

Oh well, let me see, let me see, let me have a drink

And think up a story worth your time - let me think-

Ah! I’ve got it, and it’s got it all!

A hero and prophecy, a warning, a fall

A promise, a history - hidden, but crucial

And a secret you’ll never guess - though maybe you will

I think you look smart, I mean, you came here to me

When you needed some fun - that’s as smart as can be.

So what do you say?  Let me lay out the scene

Let’s start at the beginning, the best place to begin:

Born beneath a lard-shaped star

The moon was in the House of Starch

(The house, by far, the fattest -

Like being born in a fry basket)

His mother labored in great pain

16 lbs, this fellow weighed

And his eyes shown like a grease stain

Skin glowed like a casserole fresh made

His mama named him Golden George

Papa Scumptious was overjoyed

Said “we’ll call him GG for short.”

He was in the kitchen by age two

Cooking breast milk cheese fondu

Had his mama spooked - but one taste she knew:

Her boy cooked naturally

Over time his talents grew

And his confidence grew too

Said he would shape the world of food,

Fast and Casually.

He sang:

GOLDEN GEORGE

My gifts know no restraints

Soon all the world will know my name

My gift to all shall be

An escape from drudgery

Via culinary artistry.

NARRATOR

So how do you like him? Guess he’s our hero

The boy with a wish and a gift… and an ego.

But this amico was on to somethin’ -

The world is bitter and cold and troublin’

But nothing’s so warm as something straight out the oven

And filling you up and giving you comfort

Adjusting your dials and pushing all your right buttons.

So why not toot his honker when he’s so much to offer?

Food and drink HEAL - and this boy was a doctor

But he needed more than a gift or a wish

He needed more than an ego - he needed a DISH.

GOLDEN GEORGE

It’s time to make my fortune

So let the world prepare

I’ll save their mouths from boredom

All other chefs beware!

I’ll keep the oil flowing

I’ll keep the oven hot

I’ll find the dish that shows them

What I’ve got!  Yeah!

Teryaki steak tips!

Buttered sweetbread fries

Cheese-laced onion blossom

Ranch on the side

Now, here’s my masterpiece! It’s

Piled high with 7 cheeses

What taste, what artistry

Baked Macaroni - I’m a genius!

NARRATOR

And though it sounds simple, and maybe you laugh

That macaroni pasta put GG on the map

That macaroni pasta was better than yours by half

His use of thousand island dressing WAS astounding

Over seven layers of cheeses, french AND italian

And one that might be Russian but ain’t NO body telling

Mm mm!

See, the recipe’s a secret, and GG’s smart to keep it

Cuz everyone wanted what that bastard was selling

The momentum of this dish on every wish list

Was enough to propel him to the highest echelon

Of chef’s and give him what they all were eyeing:

FRANCHISING!

But as GG sat in his kitchen, in Centralia New Jersey

Sizing up contracts, showered in glory

He felt a worry, an itch left un scratched

He was lost in the dark, lost his spark, all seemed black.

Something ached in his twice baked heart

Tho his macaroni was a work of art

All that work felt artless heartless

See, at the top, the drop’s all you got left

Now, his hostess was a beauty queen

Named Melanie Marie Manzine

Triple M saw GG’s depression

And so she pulled him near to tell him:

TRIPLE M

“I watched you build this place -

The joy that played across your face.

Why not give everyone

A taste thereof

Fill your menu with that joy and fun.”

GOLDEN GEORGE

Fun?  Yeah,

NARRATOR

thought GG,

GOLDEN GEORGE

that’s the one!

The ingredient I had, but since had shunned

I’ve been so high on my own hot air

I’ve lost the fun that got me there.

Food should always be fun!

It’s entertainment for tongues!

That was obvious once

But I was blind I was dumb

As to what I’d become!

Goodbye to former pursuits!

Better to give and include!

Without further ado, I present you

A place where the food can always lighten the mood

The all new GG Scrumptious, where fun is always on the menu!

NARRATOR

Well, you can guess what happened next

Oh, you can’t?  Well here it is:

GG rethought the plot of his vocation

He let go of the top and focused on elation

The silly joy and fun of stuffing your face and

Drinking your weight in

Milkshakes and

When his restaurant reopened after a short renovation

It was a success!  He was met with adulation,

And opened up franchises in 7000 plus locations!

GOLDEN GEORGE

GG Scrumptious, where fun is always on the menu!

NARRATOR

And he married his muse! Yes he truly fell for

That clever, wild woman who’d been running the door.

Triple M and double G had their lives intertwined

By a wild west rabbi named Tex Rubenstein

Beneath a papermache macaroni

In the most beautiful mixed-denominational ceremony

GOLDEN GEORGE

Finally everything is right

I love my work, I love my wife

This is more than I ever could have hoped for

TRIPLE M

[Crying]

GOLDEN GEORGE

What’s this?  My love, why do you cry?

Tell me and I will make it right!

There is no worry we’ve in sight

TRIPLE M

“GG, I’m pregnant!”

NARRATOR

What?  You don’t feel the tension?

Yes of course a child’s a blessing

It’s just - oh, I get the impression

You’re missing a key component to our hero’s depression.

So, for a second let’s leave the present.  

It’s time for a little history lesson…

Long ago when the world was young

When the restaurant game had not yet begun

Casual eateries didn’t exist

And the only fast food was that you couldn’t catch

If early man sought something good to eat (yeah!)

He’d best fall down on his knees and pray to the gods of drink and feast.

It was the perfect way,

And would still be today, but…

A lesser god of feast was this gal Edesia

Ha - your face betrays you never heard the name.

You missed nothing if you never met her

Though she thought she was an up and comer in game

She made a plan to be

The greatest god of food and drink in history

She’d show humans the holy ways

And thus secure their love and praise

Till the end of days

Well she didn’t wait more than a thousand years

When a man hit bottom and her chance appeared

A failing chef named Ray of the Romulus line

Stumbled in and begged at the foot of her shrine

He wanted fame and a chance to succeed

He was a fine mix of talent and greed

She saw her play

And she didn’t delay

Gave him a vision:

Her, descending on the gravy rain.

The salty brown drops

Washed his pain away

And she offered him the deal

That saw the world changed

In her vision, she said to him:

EDESIA

“Oh Ray unknown, how your talent and your pallet go to waste

As well you know, Gods tip the balance, and in their talons grip your fate

In this market how can you make

Your name known?  Oh no!

But I’ve a deal that, if you should take,

Your fame will grow, and grow, and grow!

I see your wonder, see the hunger in your eyes

With my secrets you’ll stun ‘em be their culinary prize

All that I charge of you

Is never have a child - your praise alone is mine

Yes, no children shall you bear

Though many will you claim as hairs in time

Yes the king of food for all your days

The people will taste and they will praise

O’er all you’ll reign, you’ll not be done

You’ll rise so long as the sun has rays

You’ll rise so long as the sun has rays

You’ll rise so long as the sun has rays

And only set when the Rays have son.”

NARRATOR

You’ll rise so long as the sun has rays

And only set when the Rays have son.

Well Ray thought that sounded mighty fair -

A heavenly answer to his despair.

He bowed in praise, swore his faith blindly

Which, for gods, is legally binding

Ran down to town to his deep fried peacock eye food cart

In an hour he’d sold out, he was the talk of the town, his food a work of art!

And it grew and it grew and it grew and it grew

And Ray learned the secret that the Gods all knew

And he used them to create a new empire

Food that’s fun served fast, with cheer

Paired with a casual atmosphere

Fills all with food, yes, true, but too - delight!

People could not get enough

They came to get their faces stuffed

How nice! … for Ray…

The gods of food and drink were forgot

Edesia too, it seems her plot

Backfired.

And Ray looked down over all he commanded

By his death, to 1042 locations had he expanded

And as the ages changed, so did Ray’s descendants menus

As they took the empire to new, exciting venues

The Visigoth Grill, Crusader’s Crudo

Pita the Great, Dynasty Noodles

The Original Scythian Style Pub

Bennigans, Arby’s and Stubbie’s Subs

Mongol Flay It Yourself Easy Horse

And on and on til present day, of course.

And the most powerful chain on down that line

Was the Ray’s Pizza Franchise

Featuring Real Ray’s, Original Ray’s, Real Original Ray’s

Famous Ray’s, Infamous Ray’s and Ray’s of other Names

From the first Ray’s cart, this chain had continued

And you could still order peacock eyes off the secret menu.

And they ruled all the franchises with an iron fist

Ah - but how did Ray’s have heirs, if Ray’s never did have kids…?

Listen to this:

Oh it was all part of Edesia’s promise

Which was so poorly thought out it was almost comic

The contract was written up by the best lawyer of the time

Marcus Legislatus, and the print was very fine

As his wife had written it all by hand

And Marcus had married the most beautiful cricket in all the land!

But we don’t have time for that part!

What matters is the deal at this vile contract’s heart:

The Ray to Play Stipulation…

…which stated

That any chain restaurant whose owner mated

Forfeited their first born child to the Rays

Or they handed in their restaurants - either way, they all paid.

And the chains turned over became the Ray’s

And the children turned over - well, the Ray’s they became

Many chains tried to avoid this doom:

Ray Kroc hid his son in a Grimace costume

Papa John put Baby John in a basket of reeds

Dave Thomas sent Wendy to live in a tree

But each was found out, and each child was claimed

And through old, evil magic, was changed to a Ray…

Mama chef, papa chef, RUN! Hide your child away.

Look how the Rays come, on the 5th birthday of,

Oh!, what you most love, they’re gonna take away, and,

Oh!, what you most love -They’re gonna make a Ray.

They’ll file in, eat up all that you’ve got

And you must feed them your best - whether you wanna or not.

Then when they’re done - oh! - that’s when you give ‘em either

The first child of your blood, or all of your franchises

All that you’ve built, oh!, is it worth the pain

Worth all the guilt - oh - to see your child a Ray?

Many parents chose of course their child to keep

But many a chef was overcome with greed

And that’s how the Rays stayed on top of the game

And that about brings us up to date.

So now you may be keen

To the fear that chilled GG

When Mel

Said that she was with son…

All he’d made, all he’d created

Was to crumble lest he gave their

Son…

What was to be done…

GOLDEN GEORGE

My dear please dry your tears

You’ve nought to fear for our son’s life…

Let the Rays take all I’ve made,

I promise I won’t contemplate

The trade of child for franchise…

NARRATOR

Well, Triple M was overjoyed

But you and me, we know our boy

GG’s not the sort

To sell himself short

He doesn’t give - he takes!

And he’d fight, he might even tempt fate…

Sure he’d changed his ways,

But to give up everything he’d made?? it-

Was a thought that repulsed him, everything he hated.

Well GG Jr came short months later

And his parents love - well, it couldn’t have been greater

And though GG’d been conflicted on what was to be done.

He’d greatly underestimated how much he’d love his son.

GOLDEN GEORGE

Feel how his smile calms me

See how his hands are strong

He’ll be flipping frying pans before too long!

God, he’s such a nat’ral!

See him with that spatula!

One day all that I’ve made will be… no…

NARRATOR

Yes…

And two weeks before lil G turned 5

A letter came in the mail, said “It’s Time.

We march your way in 14 days.

Prepare our feast.  Signed, the Rays.”

Outside there was a storm, but there was a knock at the door

GG turned and saw dripping on his floor

A chef, clad all in mauve

How’d the man get inside?  GG worried this was bad

But the chef simply smiled and acted as if he had

All the answers in the world.  And GG eased, suddenly calm.

He offered the Mauve Chef a drink, but then the chef dropped a bomb:

He looked GG in the eye

And the Mauve Chef said:

MAUVE CHEF

“I can save your son

Save all that you’ve done

But you must be brave,

No matter the pain

And do as I say.”

To be continued…

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Honored Spirits - (Thanksgiving) Holiday

Not as silly as most of the chapters since having anyone explain Thanksgiving to the noodles would just be too much. But I like the idea of them not being sure about turkeys and chickens and WHY IS THAT SHAPED LIKE A HAND?

Udon bobbed its head. It was hard to tell how it saw and what kind of vision it had since it was a spirit that didn’t typically exist in the physical world, but more than once Angela wondered if it was near-sighted – that would explain the bobbing motion as it tried to bring the piece of paper in front of it into focus. In the end she decided that Udon was simply being difficult and the bobbing of its head was more of an expression (not unlike a facial expression) of what could possibly be annoyance.

(She refused to dwell on how the idea of interacting with a spirit of all things became so commonplace that she ignored the laws of…well, everything and just kind of shrugged it off. Such thoughts were for when the shadows grew too dark and the nights too long. Somehow Ramen seemed to know or perhaps sensed it for it would chase away the darkness with its gentle green glow enough that she could go to sleep.)

That is not a turkey, it sniffed.

Next to it, Soba bobbed and wiggled its head as well. It’s not nearly as ugly, it agreed. It’s still pretty…hideous to look at. And turkeys aren’t made of…is that pasta?

“Macaroni,” Genji said absently over his shoulder. “They were asking what it was,” he added when Ana made a curious noise.

Ana nodded and tapped the paper. It was stiff and slightly yellowed with age and a little uneven from the liquid of the glue soaking into the paper and contracting as it dried. A few pieces of the macaroni were missing and in a few places jagged pieces remained. “Macaroni art,” she told the spirits. All three flipped their ears toward her in interest. “Children do it.”

She watched in amusement as the spirits cocked their heads to the side almost in unison. But it is not a turkey, Ramen protested. Why are you telling us that it is a turkey when it is made of macaroni?

Turkeys are not flat, Soba said. And these are very small. Why are they so small? Are they baby turkeys?

From the sink, Hanzo sighed. “It’s just a piece of art,” he told the spirits.

“Fareeha did this when she was six,” Ana explained, guessing the vein of the spirits’ protests. “It’s just a fun little art project. Do you want to try?”

The spirits glanced at her. WE ARE NOT CHILDREN! Udon boomed.

At the same time, Soba said, HOW DO YOU DO THIS?

“Soba is intrigued,” Hanzo said dryly, taking a deep drink of his beer. There was no mistaking the bottle on the counter as his – the neck was smeared with blood. Angela had given up chiding him for it though she and Ana both made their displeasure known by clicking their teeth at him; predictably, Hanzo ignored them. “So is Ramen.”

Clearly sulking, Udon curled up around the decorative cornucopia like a radioactive snake. Its head rested at the top of the wicker decoration though, pointed toward the area that Ana was clearing to do a craft project for human children. Soba and Ramen bounced excitedly on the chair they shared.

“Hey,” McCree said, tugging Udon’s tail as he reached for another potato to peel. “No need to sulk, big guy.”

I am not sulking, Udon grumbled, wiggling its tail and the tuft at the end stubbornly. It flopped over the open sack of potatoes and McCree’s reaching arm.

Chuckling, McCree tugged – gently so he didn’t get bitten – on the tail again before slipping his hand under it to get another potato. Udon snorted in an almost-audible way and flipped its tail away.

Why is this holiday obsessed with turkeys? Ramen wondered as Ana set out pieces of printer paper for them.

Soba snorted. If it is obsessed with turkeys, then why are there so many chickens in here?

Those that couldn’t hear the spirits looked up in surprise when both brothers started snickering. “Yeah, Soldier 76, McCree,” Genji teased with a wide grin. “If the holiday is obsessed with turkeys, then why do we have chickens?” He punctuated the question with a thwack of his blade that neatly took off the head of the chicken he was breaking down. “Much less…whole chickens?”

Both brothers, competitive creatures that they were, had a pile of carcasses and a trash bag-lined bucket. There was something remarkable, disturbing, and (at least to McCree) surprisingly attractive about the speed in which the brothers (mostly Hanzo) broke down the whole chickens. His hands moved quickly, his knives flashed, and the chickens moved with strange speed through their stations.

But to their point, yes.

Chickens.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” McCree said though no one was. “It’s not my fault 76 volunteered us to host Thanksgiving two days before it’s supposed to happen.”

Such a dumb name, Udon grumbled, flipping its tail like an agitated cat. It wasn’t clear if the dragon was speaking about Soldier 76, the soldier that was supposed to be dead, or the name of the holiday.

The old soldier twisted to glare at McCree. It wasn’t as effective given his full-face mask, but no one had the heart to tell him that. (Well, they did but it was more amusing to let him think he was scarier than he actually was.) “You agreed that Christmas decorations shouldn’t be put up until after Thanksgiving,” he pointed out.

“Put your paw there,” Ana told Soba, gesturing to the paper.

I do not understand the point of this, Ramen said, bobbing its head as it watched Ana trace the outline of Soba’s talons.

“I can do yours, Ramen,” Angela said, coming around to Ramen’s side.

Ramen bobbed its head and rubbed its head against her shoulder – careful of its horns – before moving placing its paw where she gestured. This still doesn’t make sense, it said, twisting its head on its neck to peer at the doctor as she traced its foot. How does this become a turkey? Is this where turkeys come from?

Oblivious to the incessant questions and chattering of the spirits McCree said, “I agreed, but I didn’t agree to cook a Thanksgiving feast for everyone.”

That doesn’t answer why there are chickens and not turkeys, Udon grumbled.

“They ran out of time to get a turkey,” Hanzo explained since clearly no one was about to. “So they could only get fresh chickens but perhaps that was for the best.” There was a muted crunch as he neatly removed the head. He picked up a smaller blade and began scoring the tendons around the legs to remove those as well.

The dragons all twisted their head to look at him. Ana clicked her tongue disapprovingly as Soba moved its paw and gently moved the paper and the paw back into place for her to finish tracing the last of its talons. “All done,” she said. “You can remove your paw now.”

Excitedly, Soba obeyed and bobbed its head as it looked at the paper. Is it a turkey? Is that what a turkey looks like?

No, Udon said sourly. It looks like an ugly chicken.

Angela finished tracing Ramen’s talon and leaned back. “All done,” she told the dragon who bobbed its head excitedly at the paper in front of it. “Now we can decorate.”

I thought you eat turkeys, you don’t decorate them, Ramen said.

Udon bobbed its head in annoyance as Ana pulled out a few bottles of glue, old boxes of macaroni, beads, and other obscure craft items that Tracer had found with the decorations.

(It was easier to blame it all on Tracer, even though a good amount of the team had went with her into the forgotten storage rooms and found the old decorations from Overwatch’s heydays. Reinhardt was also a major culprit – the two of them had been the most excited about decorating and celebrating even the most obscure holiday.)

“I wonder how well this stuff kept,” Angela said absently as she pulled out a chair beside Ramen. It bobbed its head at her until she scratched between its shoulders. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

Udon watched with waning interest as the “turkeys” were colored in with various materials glued down to the tracing of a spirit’s talons. Instead it turned to watch McCree peel potatoes, bobbing its head with its dewlap extended.

“I know that look,” McCree said, shaking the peeler at it. “Don’t be startin’ nothing, now.” It seemed to grin though it lacked the malleable lips to do so; if he hadn’t been familiar with their “expressions”, McCree would have thought the gesture was threatening.

The dragon drifted up as if gravity had lost its hold on it and “swam” through the air toward McCree. It alighted on one of his shoulders, letting the rest of its body drape across the back of his chair. With a warm chuckle, McCree reached up with his free hand and tapped the tip of its blunt nose with a hand whitened by potato starch.

That is disgusting, Udon grumbled.

You cannot taste or smell, Soba grumbled back, twisting its head to shake its dewlap at the other dragon. And you like the attention.

Udon bared its teeth at Soba who replied in kind with a hiss. It wasn’t aggressive so everyone ignored it and soon enough Soba was distracted by Ana opening a jar of colorful beads. (Not that anyone really could hear the hiss, but the motion was explanatory enough.)

The cowboy would make a fine mate for Hanzo, Ramen said, bobbing its head.

McCree knew something was up by the way Hanzo’s spine stiffened and Genji leaned over his cutting board with a wheeze. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

You would make a good mate for Hanzo, Udon told him. We all approve.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanzo said stiffly.

Udon shifted out of the way as McCree reached for another potato to peel. As a reward, McCree scratched gently at Udon’s nuchal crest before resuming his appointed job. Dissatisfied, Udon slid into McCree’s lap, forcing him to adjust to make room for the spirit. It didn’t seem to mind the motion of McCree’s hands as he peeled the potatoes, letting its neck drape over the bend of his elbow and letting its hind legs dangle over the edge of the chair. From the stability of the spirit in his lap, McCree suspected that its hind claws were hooked over the strut of the chair to keep from slipping off.

“This is what my life’s come to,” McCree said with a laugh when he caught Angela and Ana looking at him with smiles. “I’m just a chair for a spirit.”

The kitchen fell silent save for the incessant chatter of the spirits and the times that Genji or Hanzo translated or answered their questions. There was much fanfare when Hanzo won the race of breaking down the chickens, much to Genji’s open distress.

(McCree could see the subtle signs of distress and the shaking in Hanzo’s arms when Ana commented that she had always thought Genji to be the swordsman, not Hanzo and said nothing about it. If Hanzo sat a little closer to him and Udon than was typical afterwards, he didn’t comment on it save to nudge his elbow into Hanzo’s arm reassuringly. The conversation went on and no one commented - that he could hear - about their closeness.)

Hanzo cleaned his hands and joined McCree in peeling potatoes, starting on the sweet potatoes that McCree would later use to make some of the desserts. He nudged Hanzo’s knees with his own and they shared shy smiles before bending their heads to their tasks.

A while later Genji joined them and began chopping onions at the other end with his faceplate to protect him. It was quite a sight to see a ninja cyborg dressed down in a hoodie and sweatpants chopping onions and garlic so McCree took a quick picture. A moment later Udon shoved its snout into his phone and McCree obeyed the silent command, switching the camera around to take a selfie with him and the dragon.

That of course turned into taking pictures of and with the group in the kitchen, even the reluctant Soldier 76. He even had pictures of the dragons, Soba and Ramen holding their claw-turkeys in their jaws while Udon bobbed its head in disapproval in the background.

Just before dinner, when their artwork was completely dry, they hung all of the decorations up with the help of the dragons - it was easier than finding a ladder. Dinner itself was a loud and messy affair, unsurprising given the number of people that attended. They went around the table saying what they were thankful for despite everyone’s protests - If we’re doing this, Soldier 76 had said, slamming a fist down on the table emphatically, Then God damn it we’re doing it correctly - and ate dinner with much teasing to McCree and Soldier 76 regarding the chicken-or-turkey debate.

Fareeha was mortified to find that Ana had hung up some of her childhood Thanksgiving art but they all cooed over the talon-turkeys (as they were beginning to call it) that Ramen and Soba had created. They all took a picture next to it and the proud dragons who bobbed their heads with their dewlaps extended.

The most adorable thing, everyone agreed, were the signatures at the bottom of the pages: Soba & Ana Amari, Ramen & Angela Zeigler. Since no one could agree on how old the spirits actually were (time being a very human concept, apparently) they settled for adding “Thanksgiving” and the year.

After dinner the entire team chipped in to clean up, creating a long chain of people to do dishes, take out trash, clean up the dining room, or put food and chairs and extra tables away. Much to his surprise, the noodles did their best to assist as well though lacking hands that could easily grasp things, it was much slower going.

Late that night, wide awake from nightmares despite his exhaustion, McCree found a dim blue glow in the common room when he went to make himself a glass of water. “Hey bud,” he said quietly and the spirit swirled in midair before coming over to greet him. When it was in within range, he scratched its nuchal crest the way it liked and smiled when it bobbed its head happily.

“What’re you doing up so late?” he murmured to it as it draped itself around his shoulders almost shyly. It was Soba’s spot, after all - Udon typically didn’t use him for a perch but that day seemed to be a day of firsts for the dragon.

Udon bobbed its head and McCree thought he heard a voice but realized that it was probably just the whisper of the wind outside.

“Where’s Han and Soba?” he asked instead. “They awake?” Udon awkwardly shook its head “no”. “Still sleeping?” Udon confirmed this with a nod, an easier motion for its neck to make. “So what’re you doing up, silly?”

The dragon bobbed its head at him as if to say, I am not silly.

McCree smiled and rubbed its jaw fondly before it tossed its head again and drifted off. He followed it with his eyes as it drifted toward the wall where Soba and Ramen’s talon-turkeys hung. “You know,” McCree murmured. “It’s not too late to make one.”

Udon twisted to look at him with an almost incredulous look on its scaly face. From its not-quite expression, he hit the nail right on the head. Finishing his water, he put his glass in the wink and went to the cabinet where Ana had stored the craft stuff.

The next morning, the team found another talon-turkey hanging on the wall, signed “Udon & McCree”.

[vickyvicarious]

max, johnny, and the very important mission (bmw 2)

bullymagnet week, day two: heist

Since the plan is to make one cohesive story out of these, I’d suggest reading day one first.

.

“Mr. Spender, I need your help!”

It’s not exactly unusual for one of the Activity Club members to come bursting into the room with a dramatic one-liner. Actually, it’s probably far weirder for any of them to make their presence known like normal people, but Max usually does his best to bring down the curve on this one. Pair that up with his reluctance to ask for help in general, and… he would’ve expected more of a reaction, honestly.

“Oh, good afternoon, Max,” Spender mutters, flipping a page of his magazine. He doesn’t even bother to look up. “Yes, your pop quiz was a little below normal for you.”

“I’ve only been here like a week, you don’t know my normal,” Max retorts, frustrated. “Not that I ever expect to see ‘normal’ again… But, anyway, this isn’t about school!”

At this, Spender does perk up. “A spirit? Report!”

“…Not a spirit, per se,” Max shrugs. “More of a… Starchman situation?”

“STARCH-SIT!” Ed bursts into the room, followed by Isabel twirling her new umbrella around her wrist with a fierce grin. As Ed continues talking, he and she begin spontaneously fencing with their tools, leaving Isaac blocked in the doorway, scowling. “Man, I love those! What was it this time? Quoteathon? The Great Tremble? Oh, did he bring out The Noodle?”

“What? No. No. What is that stuff? No.” Max sighs, turning back to Spender. “He confiscated something that belongs to me, can you help me get it back?”

Ed just laughs mysteriously.

“Max! How could you lose y–” Cutting himself off with a quick glance to Isabel, Spender changes tacks with a sigh: “What did you do to make him confiscate your tool? Were you magnetizing things in class?”

“No. It’s weird enough that I’ve been carrying a baseball bat around everywhere, you really think I’m gonna draw attention to it like a numbskull?” The looks Max gets suggest that yes, everyone does think exactly that. Jerks, the lot of them.

“Well, your pop quiz suggests – ”

“There was a spirit on my desk eating that test! You saw it! You sparkled at it!”

“The fact remains, even Isaac gets good grades with spirits around.” The boy still trapped in the doorway perks up a little, until Spender continues, “Well, not in art.”

“Heh.” Max can’t help snickering at that one, despite the betrayed look Isaac shoots him. But he’s quick to get back on track – this is a serious matter, after all. “I only said I don’t really like The Hobbit, can you just help me get my property back?”

Spender sighs again, with feeling.

“Who doesn’t like The Hobbit, Max?” He shakes his head despairingly, and Max rolls his eyes. So sue him for preferring sci-fi. “I really shouldn’t encourage so much flaunting of the school rules – Isabel, your turn to watch the security cameras. I suppose I’ll be busy walking young Max down to the office to plead his case…”

“Max has his bat,” Isaac points out.

“Yes, it’s really not a good idea to separate a new spectral from their tool for long, we all know that Isaac – wait. You do have your bat.”

“I never said he took my bat,” Max grumbles, glaring at Isaac. There’s a stupid triumphant glint in his eyes; Max is totally going to remember how petty he is. He’ll be twice as petty back over this. “He took my hat! I need it back!”

As one, everyone turns to him with silent, yet expressive faces.

Do you really think I, a Teacher, would stand against the ancient teacherly art of Confiscation unless a tool were involved? Spender asks.

Gee, Max, that’s lame. Never knew you were so lame. It’s just a stupid hat, Isabel opines.

I wonder if I made a paint oven, could I cook a spectral potato? Hot potato hot! …Ed.

Ha ha ha that’ll show you, don’t make fun of my dumb drawings ha ha ha I win, gloats Isaac.

“Fine! I don’t need your help anyway!” Max yells, and storms out of the room.

The problem is, he doesn’t even know where Starchman keeps the stuff he confiscates. Normally the teacher’s desk would be a good bet, but this is Starchman. Max vaguely recalls a treasure chest his first day. The English teacher is way too terrifying to just ask for his hat back, and there’s no way he’s just waiting around until he manages to earn twenty-five stars to get it back.

Honestly, he’s not sure if it even counts as confiscation when you require students to pay you to get their stuff back, but the stars aren’t actually real money. Even if no one seems to ever remember that fact. Even the vending machine by the cafeteria accepts them, to say nothing of that school store.

Maybe, if it were just a matter of a day or two, Max would be willing to grit his teeth and wait it out… but collecting twenty-five stars would by all indications take a lot more time and effort. No, there’s got to be some way he can steal it back…

“Ow!”

Even though Max is the one who ends up knocked to the ground, Johnny gets mad. And he wasn’t even the one Max bumped into.

“Ollie,” the bully snarls, cracking his fists with that signature menacing grin, “what little punk dares to bump into my friend?”

The big lug blinks contemplatively down at Max, who rolls his eyes.

“He’s a nerd,” he decides.

“A nerd?!” Johnny’s voice gets more than a little bit insane, his grin ratcheting wider. Max can hear those tires screeching again. “Y’boys know how I feel ‘bout nerds.”

“You wish some of them actually wore suspenders ‘cuz snapping them seems like it’d be fun,” Stephen contributes with a grin, Ollie and RJ nodding seriously.

“No, not that feel, the mean feel!”

“I mean, that feel’s kinda mean too,” Max interjects.

“Yeah, Puckett, but it’s not like punch mean, you get me?” Johnny does a double-take. “Wait. Max?”

All of a sudden, Max finds himself lifted to his feet, brushed off in like fifteen different directions by what feels suspiciously more like nine arms than eight (a ghost?), and his right hand receives another weird Johnny slap-biff-punch-shake-clasp greeting. He’s fairly certain it’s not the same one as last time, but he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s moved up in Johnny’s book, or if they’re both just completely random. At the end, Johnny just stands there, giving him this weird stare.

“You look different, man,” Stephen says.

“Yeah, that’s cause Starchman confiscated my hat,” Max snarls, rage returning as he remembers the injustice done to him. “That thing is basically part of my head!”

“Oooooooh,” Johnny’s gang agree. “Yeah, that’s it. You look naked, dude.”

“You look like a nerd,” Johhny says. “That’s just not right.”

“I thought you thought I was a nerd, though? I mean… you broke into my house to call me one in the middle of the night only like a couple days ago.” Max hoists his heavily-graffitied cast as proof.

“Y-yeah,” Johnny says, cheeks flushing. “But. You don’t normally look like a nerd. Yer all… stealth-nerd. Normally.”

“Did. Did you just say my hat makes me look cool.”

“T-this kid needs a hat, stat!” Johnny roars, and leaps at RJ, trying to tug off their hood. “RJ, c’mon, it’s a sacrifice for the greater good! Gotta cover his, his stupid, uh bald head. Yeah!”

…That sounds like a yes.

Max ducks his head, scratching at his hair, grinning a little. When he looks up, it’s to Johnny staring at him again, frozen, with one hand in RJ’s mouth and the other hovering mid-air.

“W-what?”

“……Nothun’. Ollie, Stephen: extraction.” The two boys help Johnny to prise his hand out of RJ’s mouth, a task that takes a couple of minutes. They all act like this is usual stuff for them, but Max is very concerned about what this implies for RJ’s bite strength, and makes a note not to touch the hood any time soon.

Still, Johnny’s got a point. Max needs a hat. Not just any hat. He needs the hat his mom gave him, the one that makes him look cool. And, well, he was just thinking about how hard it would be to do this alone…

“Johnny,” he says carefully, well aware that maybe this counts as making a deal with the devil or whatever. “Johnny, uh, do you want to steal back my hat with me?”

Johnny’s face is – yeah. Definitely the devil.

“Do I ever, MAX,” he exclaims, suddenly at his side, arm clasped over his shoulders. “Do. I. Ev-arr. Yes! Yes Max I EVER SO DO -”

“Great we got it you like crime,” Max mutters, trying to at least pretend like he regrets this decision.

Twenty minutes later, after one strategy meeting, one hoist into the vents, ten minutes getting lost in the vents, and one spent hovering in the ceiling trying to think of a cool way to jump down without bumping his cast. After some frantic hiding beneath the desk and a lot of attempts at lockpicking the treasure chest and Johnny finally just kicking the lock off with a roar that brings Mr. Starchman back into the room moustache a-tremble and wielding what Max realizes in horror must be The Noodle -

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself bolting down a stairwell, screaming in mutual terror with Johnny at his side, when their escape is foiled by Cody, Violet, and Jeff walking up the steps chatting. The only free space next to them is filled up by a small spectral goat on two hooves wearing a ridiculously huge backpack, so there’s no way through. Well, on the steps anyway, but Max manages to leap up and rebound off the wall, flipping over them and landing in the hallway beyond. Freedom awaits him in the form of the open front doors to the school, and for a second he’s tempted, but…

Johnny’s tangled in a heap with the other kids on the last few steps, and if Max runs now he’ll probably start punching his way out. Jeff has had it rough enough lately, what with the spirit possession and all.

He pretends that’s why he goes back to offer Johnny a hand up, followed only moments later by a pool noodle lasso landing round both their necks with (he could swear) a spectral yeehaw! echoing in the air.

He pretends real hard.

[thevintagebluebird]

Unpinned - Asian Zucchini Noodle Stir-Fry with Shrimp

I forgot about my blog. That’s it. No excuses. No promises to be better. I forgot and I’m not sorry BUT I’M SLIGHTLY ASHAMED. My dear friend Melanie invited me over for a dinner-making session and said ‘hey, we could make something for your blog!’ and I was all like ‘OH HECK, yeah, that’d be good!’ So here we are. ...I’m a little sorry. It was actually the start of my seasonal evening job that was the problem - when you’re out of the house from 8am to 11:30pm you really do not have time to cook, never mind cook and take photos. But that’s over and I’m free again so let’s do this.

We debated what we’d cook, and I glanced at my long-suffering Pinterest board (I’m coming for you, summer drink cocktails) and found this summery-looking dish. As you can tell from the lovely image, it’s from Just A Taste (ah, my beloved three-letter blog names) which is run by Kelly. Now, I like Kelly. She’s up-front about being a professional host, and has one heck of a culinary resume (an undergrad, a masters in broadcasting, AND a culinary arts diploma with highest honors from The Institute of Culinary Education - who has worked for Gourmet and Epicurious!?! Damn girl.) And even though she’s a mom, she only links to pictures of her puppy. Well played, Kelly, you’re awesome. Which is why it pains me to say this recipe was b-o-r-i-n-g.

Verdict:

Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? - Well, THEIR zucchini noodles aren’t sitting in a puddle of water, so maybe, yeah.

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? - No, pretty cheap and actually quite healthy.

Does it taste good? - It tastes ok. That’s the best I can say for it.

Asian Zucchini Noodle Stir-Fry with Shrimp

PREP: 15 MINUTES

COOK: 15 MINUTES

YIELD: 4 SERVINGS

1/2 cup chicken or vegetable broth

1/4 cup hoisin sauce

1 Tablespoon low sodium soy sauce

2 teaspoons corn starch

3 Tablespoons olive oil, divided

1 Tablespoon minced garlic

1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger


1 pound jumbo shrimp, shelled and deveined


1 medium bell pepper, sliced

1/2 cup shredded carrots

2/3 cup sliced red onions

1 cup sugar snap peas

2 medium zucchini, cut into noodles


Toasted sesame seeds, for garnish

DIRECTIONS

In a small bowl, whisk together the vegetable broth, hoisin sauce, soy sauce and cornstarch. Set the mixture aside.

Place a large sauté pan or wok over medium-low heat. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil and and heat it for 1 minute. Add the garlic and ginger and cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly.

Add the shrimp to the pan and cook, stirring as needed, until the shrimp are cooked throughout and pink on all sides, about 3 minutes. Season the shrimp with salt and pepper and then transfer them to a bowl, leaving any liquid in the pan.

Increase the heat to medium. Add the remaining 1 Tablespoon of olive oil to the pan, then add the bell pepper, carrots, red onions and snow peas and cook, stirring constantly, for 3 to 4 minutes until the vegetables are crisp but tender. Add the prepared sauce and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly. Return the shrimp to the pan, stirring to combine, then add the zucchini noodles and cook, tossing to coat, for 1 minute.

Transfer the stir-fry to serving plates, garnish with toasted sesame seeds and serve immediately.

Here’s what ya need. Bunch of veggies, the shrimp your lovely friend had in her freezer (thank you Melanie!), powdered ginger and bouillon (because we aren’t buying the real stuff) and your beloved spiralizer. 

It’s us! Look at us cooking during the daylight hours! Yay summer! This might actually be the first naturally-lit blog post I’ve written.

Just so you know what kind of a badass Martha Stewart lady I was cooking with, this is her set of mixing bowls. She a) has a set that b) matches and c) isn’t chipped. It’s gorgeous. She’s a real grown-up and I envy her.

So the recipe should really warn you that things are going to look mighty disgusting when you start. Here’s our “broth” + soy sauce + useless cornstarch + hoisin sauce (which is the greatest sauce ever and if you don’t have a bottle go buy one it makes everything taste amazing and was the only saving grace for this dish).

And here I am cutting red onions. I am not mugging for the camera. I was in real, genuine, serious pain. THE THINGS I DO FOR YOU PEOPLE. Tears, smeared mascara, the whole nine yards.

Melanie graciously took over cooking da shrimps. They were the tastiest part of the dish besides the hoisin sauce. We really could’ve just made a pot of hoisin-covered shrimp and it would’ve been better.

Melanie is having none of my shenanigans. What a trooper.

Ok! Shrimps cooked, now all these veggies we sliced; throw ‘em in your trusty wok and cook away. This is looking mighty healthy. Sprinkle with powdered ginger because you forgot to buy ginger!

Looking tasty, smelling great. So far so good.

So this may have been mistake #1. I forgot (as I do LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE TIME) to cut the zucchini noodles as I spiralized. I think in my head I’m just convinced that having super duper long endless noodles will be fun, when in reality, they’re not. They’re cumbersome. They’re impossible to plate. They’re annoying to eat. And yet, again, I didn’t cut ‘em. 

Basically one big noodles. We dumped the “sauce” in right after which was probably mistake #2, because a cup of liquid is going to turn this into soup. What the heck, Kelly??

Plated as best I could, notice the puddles beneath the zoodles. Also I have forsaken my sesame seeds and left them at Kelsey’s house, which is a shame because they’re actually really tasty and might have given this dish a little more texture. Ah well.

This is why you cut your zuchinni noodles, folks.

Moment of truth! “Hey, it’s ok!” A sparkling review indeed.

Final final verdict: We left out both the ginger and garlic, so it may not entirely be the fault of the recipe that it was only ‘meh’. I mean, it was nice as a summer dinner, and it was healthy as heck, it just lacked...interest. The main problem was the sauce. It was basically water, and very unappetizing. I *might* try this again without the broth and just toss a bunch of veggies and shrimp with hoisin and soy sauce (and sriracha, seriously needed sriracha) but I’m giving this one a solid B-.

If ANYONE knows how I can create a sidebar with the titles of my post history near the top, I’d be eternally grateful, as there’s currently no way to browse my posts without endless, endless scrolling.