[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

[glumshoe]

[ I didn't think it was up to me was going to be the first comment out of Will but cobbler, you say. It may as well have been his selection; one of the few fond memories Will has of his mother involves cobbler and vanilla ice cream they'd made between the two of them, from start to finish. It was hard work and they ran out of rock salt for the ice cream midway through in a move that had young Will running barefoot to the bait shop to buy the last bag there, but his mom and he laughed about it after. It echoed in the empty spaces where more nice memories of her were supposed to go, a room that Will had sealed and regretted this fact after.

But the way Will's eyes light up it unmistakable, a private joy playing at his mouth. ]

Hm. [ The sound is amiable, curving up at the start. ] Would you mind a sous chef?

[wordvomit]

[Cobbler, indeed. Sometimes pie is better flipped the other way around, crust on the top and filling underneath, when it's soupy and warm and requires just the right amount of vanilla bean ice cream slowly melting into a puddle of goopy goodness. It was not one of Ned's mother's staples, but when she made it it usually accompanied a hearty dinner.

There is always room for ice cream, he distinctly remembers her saying on a blazingly hot day in Coeur d'Coeurs. Her hair was styled and tied in a colorful scarf, her dress was a colorful frock. Everything about her was vivid, even her words. Ice cream fills in all the cracks.

With a chasm currently gaping wide in his chest, Ned feels as though he could use something sweet to patch up the broken pieces, or at least distract him from them for a little while. He smiles at Will.]

Not at all. Pass me that rolling pin?

[glumshoe]

[ He and cobbler had a rocky relationship until Will learned to appreciate it. Like his peers, for a long time Will thought it was wrong and backward and didn't fit in with what a pie should be. Then Will discovered that sometimes things aren't the same for a reason, maybe they're better at doing some things than the normal pies. This was a child's thinking, but growing into a man and seeing himself specialized further and ostracized further, the part of himself that he'd anchored into the past held fast on the rock, a surety that he was not wrong and backward. And if he doesn't believe it anymore, he can still enjoy the memory he has associated with it.

He can feel normal a little while, handing Ned the rolling pin and going to wash his hands first. ]

Cooking's purely utilitarian for me, so let me know if I'm doing something wrong.

[wordvomit]

[Unlike Will, Ned does not consider himself a cobbler. Sometimes people are layered like that, crust and peaches, pastry and apples - something different underneath compared to what's on the surface. And sometimes there is a third, even deeper level, and that one is the same as the top surface one; a barely contained bundle of nerves and anxiety.

Like with pie.]

You can slice up about four peaches and four apricots and put them in a bowl with a half-cup of light brown sugar.

[Ned slides a cutting board and a paring knife across the counter. So as to not arouse suspicion about his current mental status, the Pie Maker volunteers a conversational topic.]

I used to, uh...when I was in culinary school, I had this Swiss-German instructor who taught my Tortes of Europe course. [He retrieves a chilled ball of dough from the fridge, warming it in his hands and wrinkling his nose in a wry smile over the memory.] European tortes are the opposite of utilitarian, it was the hardest class I took. He used to threaten to hit people with his cheese grater if they didn't lay their slices of pear in the right direction.