[OPEN] your very own mental breakdown

[wordvomit]

Who: Ned the Pie Maker and YOU
Where: first-floor kitchen
When: FIRST DAY OF THE EVENT; June 27th
Rating: PG to PG-13
Summary: kjsbdjLKADHJFKMWHY
The Story:

Why?

[Ned awoke to the event feeling the same way he does every other day when he wakes up: normal, slightly sluggish, and needing a quiet jolt of caffeine to his system. The abnormality in the early morning rise came in the form of a bona-fide swarm of diminutive dogs - puppies, to be exact - all of whom looked exactly like miniature versions of Digby.

But it isn't the frequent in-kitchen canine collisions that have him so bent out of shape, like a pipe cleaner twisted too far to be returned to its original perfectly pointy and straight form. No, it is that Ned has retrieved his usual assortment of rotten fruit from a special cooler in the back, intending to bake them into today's batch of pies, and that his first touch to a particularly moldy strawberry has yielded...

...nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The power that has plagued him, consumed his life and dictated his actions for so long, is simply...gone. That cannot be, he thinks, reaching for a handful of blueberries and, for his troubles, receives nothing more than mildew and mush.]

No.

[The kiwis, the bananas, the cherries and apples. All of them, the same result. All of them varying unappetizing shades of brown, gray, and green.

Ned is not yet certain what frustrates him more, the fact that his terrifying Gift refuses to work in a place where no one knows him, or the fact that his terrifying Gift refuses to work and he isn't at home in The Pie Hole, with Chuck, pulling her into a kiss to celebrate his ability to touch her the way he never could.]

No, no no no...no, not here. Why- ...why?! Why now? Why not- wh-why not...

[Why not at home, where it really matters most?]

Comments

[sorta_cinderella]

Ned?

[Hey, it's that incredibly creepy girl you've been trying to get along with! Isn't this a lovely opportunity for her to suddenly be in the kitchen? She stands in the doorway, blinking at his apparently meltdown.]

[wordvomit]

[Ned whips around with the urgency of a cornered animal, hastily wiping his hands off on his apron and shoving them into his pockets without further delay.]

Yes, that is my name, my name is Ned, u-um...how...are...you today?

[He swallows a heaping spoonful of anxiety and it settles uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.]

[sorta_cinderella]

Your waves are screaming in utmost terror and unpleasantness. I take it it's more than the rampant parade of puppies going around.

[She means well, honestly. She's actually concerned for him, since he's a decent guy.]

[wordvomit]

Waves? What waves? What are you talking about?

[In his usual fashion when defending himself, Ned folds his arms over his chest and and leans up against the counter. In the hopes of diverting attention from anything off about him, it's better to keep the conversation on Hana's own strange proclamations.]

[appealingavarice]

[Greed's a little preoccupied with his stupid always-hungry body and the strangeness of dogs seeming to like him, but he's not so preoccupied that he doesn't smell the rotten fruits. For a moment he's worried that might be part of the event, but no, his pretzels are completely fine, so...]

I think you've been staring at those things too long.

[wordvomit]

Yes!

[Ned nearly bellows, rounding on the next entrant into the kitchen, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.]

Yes, I- I...I agree, it's- a travesty! A real- real tragedy, here...in the kitchen. Today. I can't bake pies with this-

[He makes a small, tight gesture toward the fruit.]

-this stuff. You are absolutely right.

[appealingavarice]

[...okay, that was a weird enough reaction to get the remainder of Greed's attention away from the little mob of tiny mutts on and around his feet.]

Are you going to get some better ones?

[wordvomit]

...Of course.

[Ned clears his throat and hastily scrambles to shove most of the fruit off of the counter and into the nearest rubbish bin, finding himself more than extremely unsettled that none of the berries are brightening under his fingers.

Just dead fruit.

Beneath normal hands.]

[notthesecondworstfighter]

[This isn't exactly the sort of thing Wash had expected to walk in on upon entering the kitchen. But then, he hadn't been expecting to wake up to puppypocalypse either, so... All he can think is Wonderland. Only here do things this bizarre happen.

A guy freaking out over some really gross old fruit is decidedly more bizarre than the puppy infestation, however, and it has him stepping toward Ned. There's a careful note in his voice when he speaks, as though he's worried the guy might round on him and...god even knows what.]

Uhm, I'm sure there's some fresh fruit in the fridge?

[wordvomit]

[Ned is not the sort of person prone to violent outbursts...at least, he isn't anymore. He hasn't physically retaliated to bullying or prying inquiries since he was a boy, when he learned that such reactions would bequeath unto him an equal and opposite reaction.

The Pie Maker's Third Law of Thermodynamics, as it were. (He got the shit kicked out of him once, and isn't keen to have it happen again.)

Taking that into account, it is understandable that as a stranger approaches him in the kitchen during his time of extreme vulnerability, Ned backs away with the same number of steps, his hands clutched tightly behind him as he shakes his head.]

I- I- ...y-yes, of course there is, I'm just- it's...it was an overreaction, I'm being- silly. The kitchen is playing tricks on me like some kind of sentient culinary prankster, is all.

[Finally Ned looks at his guest, whose voice was unfamiliar, and does an expert double-take at the face. He looks like a younger version of Will.]

...do I know you?

[notthesecondworstfighter]

[Eyebrows raising in surprise as Ned steps away from him, as thought frightened, Wash stops in his tracks. He hadn't meant to make the guy uncomfortable, but man, does it ever look like he has.]

Well, I wouldn't put it past it. It is a kitchen in Wonderland, after all.

[But he hasn't heard of certain rooms playing tricks on people... And he's still really confused about the gross fruit. What kind of trick would the kitchen, or anyone, be playing on him that involves mouldy old fruit?

However, his attention is drawn away from this fact with the question. Blinking in surprise, he looks back at Ned and surveys his face, just in case he missed the fact that he knows the guy. But no, he's definitely entirely unfamiliar.]

Uh, I don't think so. I mean, I've never met you, but you could have seen me around...?

[He'd maybe been expecting questions like this since he's out of his armour for the first time in like, ever, but not from people he hasn't met before.]

[wordvomit]

[Ned is perpetually uncomfortable, uncomfortable is his default setting, uncomfortable is what keeps him safe and keeps him aware. People don't always make him uncomfortable, but Ned is a neurotic person and is keen to worry for no reason at all just to cover all his bases.]

...maybe.

[It's unlikely. Ned just assumes it's a weird coincidence despite the fact that coincidences are things in which he ardently does not believe.]

I'm Ned.

[Hands in his pockets, he nods his head politely.]

[thehobbsgirl]

[ Abigail doesn't usually wake up this early, but there had been so many puppies in her bed that she gave up trying to go back to sleep. Caffeine and some kind of breakfast are absolutely essential, which is why she goes to find herself something, rather than waiting to eat with Hannibal, as she often does.

It dawns on her belatedly that her surroundings are looking particularly drab, but maybe it's just the morning light messing with her. It doesn't occur to her that there might be other disturbances to her environment, besides the profusion of puppies, until she sees a guy in the kitchen having a complete meltdown over some blueberries covered in fuzzy mold. Immediately assuming the worst, she goes over to the fridge and yanks the door open, asking: ]

Oh no, don't tell me all the food's gone bad...

[ She has no way of knowing, of course, that Ned expected the fruit to be rotten ]

[wordvomit]

[It's very early. So early that Ned thought he might avoid seeing other people, were it not for the ridiculous number of puppies running amok and jumping on residents in their sleep.

Poor pie-making planning, on his part.]

N-No, [he replies with a start, hastily turning to address the newcomer and her completely valid concerns.] No, it's- I think it was just me. It's playing a trick...on...me. I think.

[He hopes. He can still make pie with fresh fruit, of course, it's just an uncomfortable surprise to find that something he considered a defining feature is suddenly gone.]

[thehobbsgirl]

[ Abigail turns away from the fridge; his theory must be right, because the rest of the food in there looks just fine. Even through the muddle of sleepiness, there seems something very off about his reply. Something very strange about the man's demeanor generally. Awfully jumpy, isn't he? She rubs the heel of her hand over one eye, willing herself to wake up enough for this conversation. ]

Why would it be a trick on just you? [ She at least doesn't have to ask what the It in question is - she's gotten used to the idea of Wonderland as having a sentience and rather mischievous, horrible habits. ] Are you saying things just go bad if they're yours or... around you? [ Stranger afflictions have happened, in this place. Unceremoniously, Abigail grabs an orange from the counter and holds it near to Ned. Nothing happens. ]

1/2

[wordvomit]

I have no idea, maybe it's just-

[Maybe it's only for the event. Only for the event. The muted colors, the puppies, the lack of his- no, that's silly. The event can't possible take away something stuck to him so tightly. So securely. Something else must be wrong.]

2/2

[wordvomit]

[In his postulating, Ned barely notices that the girl has moved closer and is holding a perfectly good citrus fruit next to him.]

...what are you doing.

action;

[glumshoe]

[ In the midst of starting his very own puppy farm, it occurs to Will that their safety and comfort is only half complete with the other half of the equation missing. The kitchen has to have something to offer, preferably quick and easy, but if not he's made his own healthy dog amalgams and had them eat up. Never this many. Their small sizes may yet be his saving grace, though.

At least that's the plan until he finds Ned cradling a handful of rotten something like it just killed his mother. The rest of the kitchen is pretty ripe, all told, but Will knows where his concerns lie. ]

Ned? Uh, can I ask..?

action;

[wordvomit]

[Funny, because the exact same thing that would have once brought the rotten something back to life is what killed Ned's mother a second time. Ned is used to the smell - frequent trips to the city morgue and possessing a back room full of decomposing fruit have a curious way of becoming normal, every-day things - but the presence of others in his workspace is an additional stress to an already terrible morning.

Will's unanticipated arrival gives Ned a start, and it is perhaps difficult not to look guilty and/or suspicious when wearing an expression of horror and wielding a handful of slippery, fuzzy berries.]

...Will,

[he finally squeaks, taking a deep breath and hurriedly scraping the fruity refuse off of his fingers and into the nearest trashcan.]

H-Hi, uh, it's- [Not what it looks like. Although really, what does it look like?] -weird, I ask for baking ingredients and this is what it gives me?

[glumshoe]

[ That's what we call dramatic irony and it is literary and visual media lifeblood, dear viewers.

Will has a suspicious mind but it isn't required when Ned is working so hard at looking thusly horrified. One could certainly be this affected watching the tools of his trade betray him, or the kitchen betray him in the way that only a mildly sentient kitchen can.

Ned sounded like he was going to say something different and changed his mind at the last moment, which is more suspicious but next to clutching handfuls of rotten fruit some gestures don't really rate. Will's hand finds the back of his neck, uncertainly looking around the counters. ]

Could be contained here? Have you tried around the dining room? [ Maybe it's only ingredients - the food he got earlier for himself and a gaggle of furry friends seemed fine. ]

[wordvomit]

[Ned makes it a point to be as unobtrusive as he possibly can, given the state of his ridiculous height and his ridiculous ability.]

I...have not. Yet. I probably should.

[He should also probably wash his hands. Without further ado, Ned turns away from Will in favor of staring at the sink, determinedly scrubbing the evidence of his loss from his fingers.]

Maybe you could, um, ask the refrigerator for some other fruit? While I clean this...up...

[avoirfaim]

[ Upon the arrival of the deluge of puppies, Hannibal Lecter armed himself with a lint roller and the ability to stare any creature down until it whimpered in submission and walked away. The rampant nature of the whole thing bothers him more than anything else, and carefully avoids the remnants of whatever they chose to eat and leave in various corners of the mansion.

He's not cleaning up after dogs, particularly dogs he has no moral charge over.

Anyway, dogs and muted colors aside, there's really nothing out of the ordinary occurring for him. He approaches the day as he would any other day, with the exception of being armed with a lint-roller, and makes for the kitchen to make brunch.

He smells the rotten fruit before he even pushes open the door. The sourness hits him and his lip curls into a grimace. He pushes open the door and stares.

That's gross, Ned. ]

[wordvomit]

[Putting aside the fact that Ned is outrageously uncomfortable with the idea of any person or thing entering the kitchen in his time of crisis, his panic is compounded at least tenfold by the presence of someone who unnerves him in an exceptionally unusual way. Perhaps it was the judgmental tone that Hannibal Lecter had taken upon their first meeting that discomfited him so, perhaps it is simply that Ned is having a very personal panic attack and doesn't need any interruption throwing him off-kilter more than he already is.

Perhaps it is the look of wretched distaste on Hannibal Lecter's face when he enters the kitchen that makes Ned's stomach lurch with more anxiety than he thought he was possible of handling at one time.]

U-Uh.

[How does one begin to explain such a gratuitously questionable scenario?]

M-Morning.

[avoirfaim]

[ His stare is, well, unapologetically direct. He looks at Ned, then at the pile of rotten fruit, that grimace remaining firm on his face. ]

Would you mind telling me why there is an abundance of rotten fruit on the counter?

[wordvomit]

[Like a deer in headlights, Ned stares, and stares, and stares some more before slowly dropping his handful of rotten fruit in the nearest waste bin. Screaming internally at the merest thought of attempting to explain himself, Ned takes a sharp breath and doesn't break eye contact when he says:]

...I have no idea.

[A beat. He backpedals like a kid on a bicycle without brakes rolling down a San Francisco street.]

It- I-I asked for fruit, for baking, the- the kitchen did...it gave me this.