angels in the architecture

[tryingitall]

Who: Balthazar and open!
Where: The library, the kitchen, and assorted other mansion locations.
When: Monday
Rating: Probably PG?
Summary: Balthazar is in need of distraction. I have two scenarios here, but feel free to bump into him in the halls in between locations, if you're so inclined. I'm game for other ideas, too.



He finds it somewhat vexing how difficult the library is to locate on any given day. He's found it once before, although he wasn't especially motivated to peruse the contents then. Why bother, when he could ask his closet for any book he has in mind?

The flaw in this theory, Balthazar eventually realizes, is there are books out there he doesn't know he wants. Books about art history, for example. Having latched onto the idea of setting up a miniature gallery in his rooms, he's determined to follow through, but he needs more information. Examples. Ideas.

After a couple hours of wandering the halls, he finally finds the place and ducks inside with a grumble of relief. Now, of course, the problem is how to find what he's looking for within the library itself. No one ever taught him the Dewey Decimal System, if indeed that's even how the place is organized. But he has all the time in the world, so he'll begin at the beginning and wind his way through the stacks for as long as it takes.





When he began walking again, he wasn't aware he was headed for the kitchen, but once he arrives there he decides to stay and experiment. Angels don't need to eat, but Balthazar has developed a taste for one or two things aside from alcoholic drinks. Certain sweets. Well-brewed tea. Vegetarian dishes spiked with fiery sauces and spice. There's a cookbook open on the counter, possibly left behind by someone else, and he finds himself thumbing through it as the kettle heats. It's mostly baked desserts, and he's about to lose interest when one page catches his eye.

'Fried cheesecake bites'. Fried cheesecake? Fried cheesecake. It sounds like the unholy offspring of Sara Lee and a county fair funnel cake vendor.

He's not sure if he'll like it himself, but he's willing to bet Death would. Assuming he could somehow pull off the dish. After the recent TV land fiasco, it might be smart to make nice.

It can't hurt to try, anyway. He scans the ingredients list with a frown and goes for the refrigerator.

Comments

[unregenerate]

"Depends on the mood I'm in." Which is usually not dessert-y, but that doesn't mean she won't indulge every now and then. Her most recent indulging has been quite limited, thanks to a certain demon keeping her locked up for the better part of a year.

It was a good time for all, really.

She has to wonder what prompts an angel to start checking out some desserts, though. From her experience, most angels don't seem to appreciate the finer things in life or whatever the hell category desserts fall under.

She turns attention to him, studying for a moment before taking a sip of her drink. "Thinking about opening up your own bakery or something? Give the masses what they really need?"

[tryingitall]

Balthazar's well out of the loop as far as goings-on back home. Dean filled him in on Castiel slaughtering Raphael's followers, and anything after that got tuned out due to shock. He's not asking any more questions.

He shakes his head at the question. "Not without a year or two of vocational education. I thought I might kiss up to Death a little, or make something Gabriel will eat, or both."

[unregenerate]

She approves of kissing up to Death, if only because that guy is the one to keep an eye out for. Meg knows who's strong, stronger and who is God Mode. She remembers how pissy Death was about being tethered to do Lucifer's bidding. Not that she can blame the guy, who wouldn't be pissy about that.

"Death's got a sweet tooth, huh?" That's kind of hilarious when she thinks about it. The guy is straight up done with everyone's crap, but still enjoys junk food. Imagine that. "Can't blame you for wanting to stuff him full of cake if it'll keep him happy, wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that guy."

She won't comment on Gabriel, though, mostly because she thinks she's met him once and it was a vague conversation. Meg's all about avoiding arch angels, thanks.

[tryingitall]

"It might be more like a golden-fried tooth, but I'm not certain. I know the idea of homemade cake and at the diner got him interested. It seemed worth trying." He smiles, shrugging, and adds: "Considering if I ever go home, I'll be dead, I thought it would be prudent to be friendly."

That, and Death's snark is extremely entertaining when one isn't on the receiving end.

"Have you done any cooking, yourself?" He asks mostly for the sake of conversation, but truthfully, he could use pointers.

[unregenerate]

She just can't get over it - Death's love affair with junk food seems kind of ridiculous, but then her own soft spot for alcohol could be considered the same. It takes a lot to get her wasted, but that doesn't mean she tries to be drunk all the time.

Maybe she just likes the taste of alcohol.

"Not since my time as a human. Oh, the years of being fragile and easy to kill." There's a mock wistfulness in her tone, because she doesn't miss being human at all. Sure, becoming a demon is, to put it lightly, hellish, but she likes being resilient and taking on more than she should. "Think you're missing a key component. Probably a 'kiss the cook' apron."

[tryingitall]

Balthazar can relate. For him it's as much the taste and the burn as it is the buzz. If all he wanted was a mind-altering substance, he could just go for hard drugs. He prefers brandy.

"We're all a little fragile. Some more than others." He shrugs, deceptively casual.

"Do they make those?" Liking the idea, he immediately looks around the kitchen for aprons. "Do they have any that call for anything more than a kiss? That is, I don't want a kiss from Death, but I'd be willing to negotiate with certain other people."

[unregenerate]

Meg doesn't comment on the fragile thing, instead raising an eyebrow and dismissing it. If there's anyone who considers themselves practically invulnerable, it's Meg. She knows her limits and her weaknesses, she just chooses to ignore them. Makes it easier to throw herself at the enemy, when there is one.

"Yeah, it's one of those kitschy things." And instead of pointing him to a closet, she steps over to one that looks like a pantry. Opening it up as she thinks of an apron, she finds one setting neat and folded on the shelf. Pulling it out, she shakes the apron so the front can be read: 'Kiss The Cook'. It's mostly white, but with red stripes. Looks a little gaudy, but that's what she was going for.

Grinning at him, she nods over toward the pantry. "There, get yourself one. I'll just shove this somewhere."

Or burn it. Depends on her mood.

[tryingitall]

"Magic pantry! I didn't realize it did that." He wanders over and holds the door close for a moment, considering. When he re-opens the door, the apron within is larger and grey rather than white.

He unfurls it and holds it up to his chest with a smirk. Rather than 'kiss the cook' it reads 'you can't beat my meat!'. Whether that was his idea or something Wonderland itself came up with, he's not saying.

[unregenerate]

Meg likes an angel with a sense of humor, whether the phrase was his doing or not. She tosses the apron in her hands on the counter for later burnage, then proceeds to hop up there herself, her mug of tea forgotten as she settles in to watch him work.

"You could probably just yank whatever dessert you're making from there, you know." It seems much easier to her. Open the door, boom you're done.

[tryingitall]

He seems to like the apron he's been given, so he pulls it on, tying it clumsily around his waist, then wanders back over, shaking his head. "If it were for anyone other than Death, maybe. With my luck, he'd know I cheated. Besides, what have I got that's better to do?"

He leans on the counter near her and peers at the cookbook again, flipping pages. "...brown-sugar bourbon cake. Now there's a dessert I can get behind."

[unregenerate]

Good point on that one. Not that she'll ever be bringing cookies to Death's doorstep, she'd rather just avoid him whenever possible. She had what could be considered a semi pleasant conversation with him once, and that had been interesting, to say the least.

Meg knows who to piss off and who to give wide berth. Everyone else is fair game.

"Death does seem to know all, doesn't he?" She starts looking around on the counter she's perched on, possibly searching for something to mess with. "Gotta give it 110% when it comes to cooking for that guy. Bet you he's one of those harsh critics about his sweets."

Death seems like a harsh critic of everything, a fact she can appreciate. The dessert Balthazar names does sound pretty good, only because bourbon.

"Make sure you've got plenty of that bourbon, angel face." Sadly, she's yet to find any kind of kitchen toy on that counter, but she's bored enough to stick around and watch him work him way through this.

[tryingitall]

Personally, Balthazar thinks Death is rather fun to chat with once you accept that he doesn't care about your problems and views you as tantamount to a housefly on his windowsill. "More than I do, that's for certain. I'm still worried how the hell the place pulled him and Lucifer in."

"I'll just ask the pantry for the liquor." He checks the recipe. "What's your favorite label? It doesn't specify, and I only need a cup for the recipe. We can drink the rest of the bottle."

He'll even be a gentleman and let her have most of it.

[unregenerate]

"That is a puzzler, isn't it?" Meg doesn't sound like she's spent much time giving it thought, but she has. She's just given up on figuring it out, that's all. Let someone else lose sleep over it (not that she sleeps, but that's entirely beside the point).

She ponders a mental list of bourbon before shrugging her shoulders, looking slightly amused. "Can't go wrong with Jim Beam. Keep it original, none of that Honey or Red Stag crap."

Hasn't done her wrong in the years since it's been introduced, why screw with something already perfect?

[tryingitall]

He raises an eyebrow at her cavalier attitude, but he has to concede there's not much either of them can do about Wonderland's inordinate power. It's far, far above their pay grades. Maybe indolence is best, in this case. "Well, I suppose if it unravels the multiverse entire, our troubles will be over, anyway."

Tapping on the pantry door, he calls for the bourbon, looking over the bottle when it comes out. It seems all right, and after filling the measuring cup, he just hands it over to her. "There might be ice in the freezer, if you want it. I prefer bourbon neat, myself."

[unregenerate]

Taking the glass from him, she takes a sip without saying a word. Guess who else prefers it without the ice? No muss no fuss and all that.

It feels just the slightest bit surreal, perching on this counter and watching an angel be all domestic. Granted, her only real experience with angels up close and personal was Castiel, and he seems to be the most special of snowflakes. For the most part, angels seem to act either high and mighty, or weirdly down to earth.

She cocks her head to one side as she watches him do his thing. "So, what's your story? Soldier tried and true, or did you sneak out of the house and run away with nothing but the wings on your back?"

Curiosity is a good cure for the boredom she's been feeling lately. Not to mention keeping her mind off certain other things.