The Pie Maker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wordvomit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2014-06-27 06:51 pm
wordvomit) wrote in entrancelogs2014-06-27 06:51 pm
[OPEN] your very own mental breakdown
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?]
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?]
no subject
He probably will be,
[Ned remarks with a crooked little smile, dumping the rotten fruit into the nearest trashcan. With the tangible evidence of his panic swept aside, all the Pie Maker is left with are the slippery remnants staining the countertop. Lingering, like his worry.]
Um...I thought it looked a little darker.
[Then again, given the saturation of everything in Ned's world, anything else tends to look considerably less vibrant.]
It feels kind of like an old movie. I talked to a lizard about it and he said he was painting the walls different shades of gray. [There is a long pause while Ned considers how crazy he must sound.] It...was a talking lizard.
[As if that makes it sound any better.]
no subject
Figures.
[ It's getting harder and harder to surprise Abigail. Talking lizard? Must be Tuesday.
Now that she's noticed the change in color, she can't imagine how she hadn't, before. People often talked about extreme sadness or depression as leeching the color out of the world around you, but actually seeing a world that has been half-bleached... it's more unnerving than Abigail would have expected. ]
Kinda depressing, isn't it? [ She looks down at the remainder of the orange in her hand. It somehow tastes grayer, though she doesn't know if that's only the power of suggestion. ] I wonder if that's all that changed. [ She's found that these events often enough have many, seemingly disconnected, effects. ]
no subject
It is funny to him, however, that her observation seems about right. The orange isn't quite as orange-y as it should be.]
I think the puppies are supposed to make up for the lack of...everything else.
[They very nearly do. Ned wishes he didn't have to suffer his own loss here. He makes a valiant attempt at a smile.]
Do you like pie?
no subject
Who doesn't like pie?
[ Now, mind, it's a little early for pie, by most people's standards, but they live in a magical mansion where time has no meaning and hundreds of puppies spontaneously invade their living spaces. Pie for breakfast really isn't all that radical of a notion ]
Do you make pie?
no subject
[Ned has to chuckle at that - he thought by now he might have gained a reputation in Wonderland for being the 'awake at five in the morning because he's heating up the ovens' guy. He recovers from his own little joke and adds, much more serious this time:]
...I do, actually. Make pie. It's what I was...going to do, this morning, but...
[He trails off a little listlessly, wrinkling his nose at the offending green-and-gray peaches.]
...I've think I've got some triple-berry left in the fridge, if you want any?
no subject
[ How could she turn down an offer like that, after all. If there's still some in the fridge, that means he wasn't just struck by the urge to make pie this morning, but that it's something he does habitually. Abigail imagines there are worse ways to spend one's time. ]
At least that's one good thing about this place. [ She says it as if continuing a conversation they already had; she figures everyone who was kidnapped and brought here has played the 'spot a silver lining' game. While Ned is getting the pie she hops onto the counter, sits with her legs dangling a foot or so off the floor. The congregated puppies continue to sniff at her boots with intense interest. ] The food's a lot better.
no subject
Even turning around to pull out a half of a triple-berry from the day before, cutting it into two massive pieces, and serving one up to Abigail feels like The Pie Hole, if only for an instant.
Of course, the jarring reminder that he can't touch dead things and bring them back to life anymore is still there, a pulsing undercurrent of screaming agony, but who even has time for that when there are guests to be entertained and pies to be consumed?
No one, that's who.]
I'm a little...particular about food, [he admits reluctantly, wondering if his newfound lack of power means that he can eat this pie and not have it wither on his tongue.] I prefer to make my own. But I'll take your word for it.
no subject
Wasn't really an option for me, where I was living. [ Because she doesn't want to get into the whole 'psychiatric care facility' talk, she adds, hoping he'll assume something more normal like a boarding school or college ] Dining halls. [ It's not a lie, just... a half truth. Okay, maybe a quarter truth.
It is clear once Abigial takes a bite of the pie that particularity about food makes for great cooks. Hannibal has never made anything that wasn't delicious, and this pie of Ned's isn't just good. It's perfect ]
You made this?
[ She takes another bite, less cautiously this time, a furrow forming between her eyebrows. ]
This is... really good.
[ There's surprise in her tone. It's not like she was expecting the pie to be terrible, but she wasn't expecting it to be so tasty. ]
no subject
In much the same fashion Ned loathed having to pick through limited foodstuffs while avoiding meats and other dishes created out of former living creatures, and a homesickness for home-cooked meals by his mother is what drove him to nighttime forays into the Longborough kitchen to bake.]
Sorry it's not warm,
[he apologizes automatically, because he knows for a fact that pies are better when they're fresh, but today they're making do. He pulls the other piece toward him, leaving a fork hovering over the lattice top.]
...b-but, um, I'm glad...that you like it. I sort of do this for a living, back home.
[He doesn't take a bite. Not yet.]
no subject
[ It's a logical jump, for her; anyone who is this good at baking pie and does it for a living must be raking it in. Abigail isn't usually a quick eater, but she's halfway through the slice already, unapologetically. She's been eating Hannibal's cooking since she arrived here, for the most part, and while everything he makes is delicious, it's always so gourmet, so complex and unusual. Nice to have something that is delicious but also simple and familiar. ]
no subject
[It's a nice thought, though. Ned wishes he had the luxury of wealth, but he came so close to bankruptcy and financial ruin before a criminal fell off the roof and into his dumpster that it's still difficult to believe his money is all in order.
He saves some strictly because he doesn't have to constantly purchase fresh fruit, but he often indulges and when he does it's usually for Chuck. In lieu of giving and receiving emotional Heimlich Maneuvers - or anything more - Ned dotes with gifts.]
I almost went out of business, once. But I started working on murder cases with a private investigator, which helped with- uh, expenditures.
[Noticing her plate, Ned slowly (wordlessly) pushes the other slice of pie to Abigail.]
no subject
The fact that it's a private investigator doesn't really make much of a difference: he's still someone whose job it is to see through people's secrets, to separate the innocent from the guilty. Part of her defensiveness gets re-routed as sarcasm; she raises her eyebrows, asking with some skepticism ]
Kind of a weird second job for a professional pastry-maker, isn't it?
no subject
Uh. Yes?
[There's absolutely no denying that it isn't unusual. Pie Makers are supposed to spend every second of the day taking stock and rolling out the dough for the next morning and prepping, prepping, prepping. On more than one occasion Ned has left Olive and Digby behind to manage The Pie Hole themselves, which was perhaps not fair, but in Ned's defense solving crime provided a semi-steady, lucrative income alongside his small business.]
I mean, I'm not- I'm not like a professional investigator. [He can't infer the same way that Emerson Cod can.] I just sort of help the detective out sometimes. I-
[Quickly and effortlessly bring the dead back to life to expedite our investigations?]
-guess I'm observant. Or something.