10681/He Can Do Everything, But He Can't Cook

He Can Do Everything, But He Can't Cook
Date of Scene:	09 January 2020
Location:	Illyana's Apartment, Greenwich Village
Synopsis:	Doug thinks he can cook. Spoilers: He can't.
Cast of Characters:	Cypher, Magik

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Cypher has posed:
How hard could it be? He has every sort of reference guide. He has youtube videos. He has cookbooks. He has tips and tricks. It's just scrambled eggs.

And then Doug's phone goes off, and he has to shoot someone a couple of text-messages... and when he turns back to the pan, it's ruined. He tries to scrape the burnt eggs out. "Oh come on."

How about bacon? Bacon can't be that hard. Fortunately while he can't cook bacon, he does know to smother a grease fire by putting the lid on the pan rather than putting water on it.

Doug sighs, and looks at the ruined kitchen, before he puts his hands on his hips. "It looked so simple..."

Then he turns, and goes out.

The kitchen was clean last night, and now it looks like a bomb hit it. How could someone so bright be such a god-awful cook?

Magik has posed:
Let it be said that kitchen is far nicer than Illyana has any right to own. The appliances are fairly new and well-taken care of, probably due to significant disuse. At least the dishwasher is regularly employed, but the garburator or the oven live in a foreign country she has only a sparing visa to. The fridge is well-stocked, halfway with things bearing Cyrillic labels and a few suspicious jars that magically got seals on them the moment Doug stepped into this intensely private place.

The side benefit of knowing a sorceress with portals everywhere. He can apply that knocker to the given door and fall inside. Either way, the chemistry table for him to mix up his potions and alchemical horrors with aid of gas heat must be somewhat durable. Those countertops in glistening granite are, at least, washable with the swipe of a cloth.

She is not here, presumably. The bedroom /had/ a form sprawled out on the bed asleep at one point, until she was not. This could have coincided with the sound of the pipes rattling, heralding a shower. It might also indicate the breach in the dimension when she vanished to go get a few miles of running and two hours of sword-play in whilst Doug was practicing. Just a ten minute gap in there between rattling around between the cabinets and drawers to charred doom. Because when the blackened scent threatens to set off the smoke detectors, the bed creaks.

If he leaves the building, she surveys the wreckage with a narrowed-eye look. The dishes don't waltz themselves like the //Sorcerer's Apprentice// or anything so ridiculous. No brownies freed with a sock here. She brute-forces them into the dishwasher and mutters, "Akila qul dos vraheil."

66:66 flashes on the digital display. She nods smartly and taps the door twice, then high-tails it back into the nest of pillows. At least that much looks better. She has to thumb through a book to find a reference that actually deals with fixing the rest without actually involving black magic.

Cypher has posed:
Yes well, Doug has seen "Elvira: Mistress of the Dark" so many times that he knows not to replace the Phalemgra with Hamburger Helper.

Anyway, he tries to be stealthy about it as he tip-toes back into the apartment with a bag of danishes and a cup of coffee. This is just as good, right? He looks at where the ruins in the kitchen were, and are no longer, and then he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Busted?"

Magik has posed:
Clearly the ruins are less ruined. Clearly the sorceress is lounging in bed reading a tome with a leather-bound cover and no human language on the front, flipping through handwritten pages grooved in a lovely purple cipher. Nothing to see here! She looks up, the black leather top clinging to her throat and ignoring the fact it is winter outside, and baring one's midsection isn't ideal. Maybe the cropped, long-sleeved creation is used for yoga and swordplay day. "Mmm?"

The pillows propping her up are pristine in their plumpness, beckoning to the lazy approach of a morning. "I have self-sustaining spells," she replies with a languid flick of her wrist. See, feet are still bare. Nothing to see here. "Eventually they take over certain things." A flash of a toothy smile, barely measured. The door is open; she can hear it, certainly.

Cypher has posed:
"Yeah well." Doug says. "I figured it'd be a nice thing to do. I swear, cooking can't be that hard, it's just following instructions! Sam can do it. Heck, BERTO can do it, and he's had a personal chef since he was THREE." Doug sighs, and dangles the bag in one hand, before he runs his hand through his hair. "Me? I go out and buy danishes. Nobody buys danishes like me!"

He shakes his head, and says, "I'm afraid if you want romantic breakfasts, you're going to have to pick up somebody else."

Magik has posed:
"Can you not talk to the computer and find out what to do?" asks the blonde, flipping another page. The book trembles and she snarls at it. "Silence. You will remember who owns you. Stop being jealous." Yes, she is talking to a book as though it might be a truculent cat jealous someone else has a delicious can of squashed meat.

Her languid flick of her finger turns the page back. The spine of the book creaks in protest, and perhaps suggests acquiescence to her infernal will. "With respect to food, we can find something you can manage. Something safe. How do you eat, otherwise?" This from the girl who blew up a crockpot trying to make Russian oatmeal. Her supine position turns more upright as she lifts off the pillows. "Bring me this prized danish. Is pouring a drink not possible?" A beat. "What do you have with them? Boiling water for tea is not so dangerous."

Cypher has posed:
"Something always happens. I get a text message or a phone call or aliens attack the house or SOMETHING." Doug says, before he drops the bag in front of Illyana, and then offers her her choice of identical extra-large cups of coffee, cream and sugar on the side. Doug sighs, and then says, "When I'm not at the school I order a lot of take-out." He shrugs and says, "I guess it runs in the family. Mom was a terrible cook, too. Sam gets queasy at the memory of the traditional Ramsey family Christmas Aspic Salad."

Magik has posed:
"Turn off the phone, <<volchonok>>." Illyana drags a thumbnail down the side of the book and shuts it. Putting it aside on the bedside table suggests this is the equivalent of light reading, and then she can smooth the covers out with her hand. Must make it look inviting to come crawl back to sleep. "Aspic salad is not even a phrase that makes sense. It is better than the jellied fish or fermented everything common to my family." The demon one or the Rasputin one? He has to guess.

Once he comes in properly though, she rolls onto her side facing him, hand propped up and palm to her cheek. Trailing her hand in idle circles around the blanket, she smirks at him. "I tried a frozen pizza once. I had to slice it and quarter it before it attacked innocent civilians."

Cypher has posed:
Doug raises his eyebrows. "Illyana, you might as well ask me to cut off my hand." He sits on the edge of the bed, and says, "But I tried. I tried to be a dashing and romantic boyfriend." Then he sighs, "Depression-era cooking... it's a trad-- it was a tradition." Then Doug looks down. "So you can't cook. And I can't cook."

"I wonder if we could borrow Roberto's cook. Belinha could prepare a shoe in ways that'll make your mouth water." He strokes his chin, thoughtfully.

Magik has posed:
Illyana perks up to this note of a chef. A hint of laughter glimmers in her Arctic eyes, though they so rarely shimmer with more than that. "Let's borrow her. We can pay her somehow. Schedule it and see it delivered somewhere, and I will have it portaled here." The practical measures cause her to shrug slightly, hinted at with a smirk and another pat of the bed. "Turn off the phone unless you plan on using it. It is not cutting off your hand when so handsomely rewarded. You have not asked for anything which means I must..."

A little shrug, swiveling easily to another promise ventured. And this is how humanity falls, this is what happens when her soul splits in twain. All the same, she adds, "Like for like. A gift to make your mouth water in some way. It will have to be innovative." A long pause follows and she taps her finger to her mouth. "I am trying to be a romantic and... what is the feminine version of dashing? Seductive? Girlfriend."

Cypher has posed:
"Well I'd say you're succeeding." Doug says, one eyebrow raising. "I guess it really is the thought that counts." He swings his legs around onto the bed, and sits, cross-legged, before he takes out a lemon danish and takes a bite out of it. "...Beautiful, mystical girlfriend." Doug murmurs. "...Phone. Beautiful girlfriend. ...Internet connectivity."

He holds up his hands, and says, "Illyana, I'm just a mortal man!"

Magik has posed:
Phone, internet, girl stretched out rather lazily. She does not give Doug any sort of assistance in figuring out what the right answer is. "Making breakfast and putting your phone down, it shouldn't take terribly long to make breakfast. It's the reward that takes longer." She takes the coffee to herself, hugging the ceramic cup tightly. Oh yes, the metaphysical joys of coffee cannot be overlooked or forgotten. Her fingers absorb the heat before she sips it greedily like it's her lifeblood to be spilled. "You think I am beautiful?" she asks the black liquid. Those pale eyes lift briefly.

Cypher has posed:
Doug sighs. "Yeah, but if it's not the phone, it's the aliens..." He gestures, off-handedly. Maybe the boy just can't cook. Maybe he's bad at it and he's just too proud to admit it. He always was proud.

He leans back on his hands, and he says, "I don't just 'think' it, it's a fact." He grins. "'In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair--'"

He tilts his head, and says, "You always reminded me of when Galadriel says that. ...And just like her, you went into the West and remained Illyana."

Magik has posed:
The aliens. Her eyes narrow a fraction. "I get interrupted by demons and the worst part, I sense any of them. Right now..." Her eyes glow, faded pupils vanishing into a ghastly hue of bluish-white. "S'ym is among the legions of the cracked claws. Isn't that lovely? He thinks to overthrow the Duke of the Brass City, perhaps." Another blink, they are back. "Terribly interruptive. But try. It may be worth your while." No more said, no less. There is coffee that she is doing her damnedest to down in a go, which may not be possible. But her love affair with the Arabica bean is not to be overlooked while he recites Tolkien.

Even /she/ knows that one. "Cate Blanchett was perfect in the role. I would not say I have her ethereal fairness." But she has the cheekbone game. "Your compliments are sufficient to avoid being run through. You seem sincere enough and you have no ulterior motivations than scarfing another danish. You have the lemon one..." Had? "And I will not duel for my honour on the second. But you have frosting on you."

Cypher has posed:
"Always Chaotic Evil." Doug says. "But knowing their alignment, their behavior can be predictable. Being eminently untrustworthy, you simply don't trust them, right?" He stretches one leg out, and has a sip of his own coffee. "I got two of each." He says. He took one bite out of the danish and was ignoring it while he listened to Illyana. "One of us hated lemon danishes. I couldn't remember who it was."

Magik has posed:
Away goes the cup beside the evil grimoire and then, a pouncing of a lemon Danish to follow with the speed of a girl possessed in purpose. She snatches it up and rolls onto her back with her prize, nibbling at the softened edges. "I will give them their leash before exposing the betrayal and decimating them. It could be delightful. Do you feel like causing them horror?"

Cypher has posed:
Doug glances up, and then says, "Well I'm not exactly equipped with a sword plus three versus Demons." Doug says, "But I do have an attentive ear, and I am pre-eminent and first among the slaves of the Witch-Queen until she sees fit to discard me like the wretch I am--" He leans further back. "So yeah, sure, this frog'll jump."

Magik has posed:
"Good. Every now and then I need fun. Besides, they will see it as a good opportunity to harass you a little. We can bring along someone else to round out the team and make it a little less fair in the odds." Between bites and swallows of the danish, Illyana sketches out a possibility. "Or we could make a call to a planet of waterfalls down huge chasms. Have you heard the roar of liquid water from a seven mile high cliff-face? There are splendors everywhere to be found. What kind of adventure should we be on, if there is no imminent threat to us?" Those sharply bright eyes turn upward to Doug again. "Last thing I want is you to feel bored."

Cypher has posed:
Doug tilts his head at Illyana, and then he beams. "Actually--" He says, "Today, do you just... wanna hang out and play video games?" He rests his chin in his hand. "I mean I like adventure--and you--but I also really like video games. I mean, you know I do." He gives a quirky grin, and then sighs, stretching out, before he unfolds. "It isn't really so much a question of feeling normal... but even Demon Queens need a day off... right?"

Magik has posed:
"I will destroy you in that game to go into an uncharted rainforest. The puzzles you have to keep your eyes closed for and I'll read you the clues," Illyana says with the deadly seriousness of a woman whose competitive streak is blood, claw, and fang altogether in one. No lovely Galadriel there, she's more like Morgoth perhaps. Or Shelob's mummy in chasing that tree of a win. "I have no need to go to Limbo today. The problem will still be there in a week. It is practically manufactured to be." A slender, arcing smile shows briefly even as she stares up at him, answering that quirky grin with a smirk. Unfolding is a rarity thus, so...

She can smack into him from the side by rolling if he doesn't dodge it.

Cypher has posed:
Thwack! Illyana is strong enough to physically manahandle an ordinary man -- Doug goes 'Ow' and then flops onto his back. "I'm defeated." He looks over at Illyana and then says, "All right, fair, I guess it's not a challenge unless I'm handicapped, so hail to the king baby." He puts one arm behind his head, and relaxes there for a moment. No, it isn't normal, but it's even better, really...

Magik has posed:
She sits up with a measure of triumph. "What are we to play, then?" The sharp arc of a smile on her lips is a rarely seen thing, the fires in her eyes too bright. "Only for the riddles. The rest of the time, that's fair. We could do that sword beat game everyone thinks is such good exercise. Or the diode firing badminton murder game if you want to move around. I think that requires a racquet controller." Racquetball played by a demon queen, just imagine how terrifyingly 80s it is. "Or do we play one of those cooperative games? Maybe the one where you get to be the skeleton and /I/ get to be the paladin for once?" Braced as she is, maybe the sight of them in a normal situation is odd, but why not?

A snap of her fingers and gold coins start raining down in illusionary form, tumbling gems bouncing off his chest and a spill of fireworks erupting above.

//Level up! +1 luck, +4 heart, +2 charm//