10707/Female cookies have no nuts

Female cookies have no nuts
Date of Scene:	11 January 2020
Location:	Kitchen - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Goofin' around in the Kitchen with Shannon and Alexis
Cast of Characters:	Prismatic, Nightingale

---

Prismatic has posed:
    The kitchen, at least a small part of it, looks like a battle might have taken place. Flour covered a bit of the countertop, drawer front, and floor. A mixing bowl might have been a little overfilled. There was baking soda, baking powder, and baking chocolate -- the latter of the three was *not* opened -- a half a bag of chocolate chips, and half a bag of pecans.

    Alexis Carr was watching the window of the oven with trepedation, and a smudge of chocolate on her cheek.

Nightingale has posed:
     Like the footsteps of doom, humming a soft little tune, comes the footfall of the Winged One. She who is tying her hair up in a bun so as not to shed into whatever culinary creations are teeming in her mind. She of the hallowed Mac 'n Cheese. Into the temple of the kitchen she makes her way, only to find... a battlefield. A flour-dusted, pecan-strewn battlefield. Shannon just stops in her tracks, eyebrows raised, and hiding her smile behind one hand. She doesn't dare say anything just yet, waiting to see if Alexis has this under control.

Prismatic has posed:
    Only on a small portion of it.

    Alexis looks over at the humming fotstepped winged wonder, and she points at her.

    "Not, a, word, Pidgeon. I've just had to math this recipie out because I'm used to metric!" she states, and then turns back to the window, stooped over slightly. "Who knew chocolate chip would be so difficult?!"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon chuckles softly, and sets to work trying to help clean up some of the mess. "I wish I could taste-test this for you," she offers, a rueful smile on her face. "But I can't have pecans." Well, at least nothing seemed to be burning down. Yet. That was the operative word, wasn't it?

"Well... where's the recipe you used? Maybe I could help go over that with you if you like?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Oh? Alergic to them?" Alexis inquires, and she looks around, and then she frowns.

    ... and opens the often door.

    Reaches in with an oven mit....

    ... and pulls out a mostly charred notebook.

    "Well. We're off to a bang-up start on my culinary career." she jokes.

Nightingale has posed:
     When one sees such an aggregious cooking foul-up, there is only one thing to do. Slowly, Shannon raises her hand and... facepalms. "Well, I'd say that's a half-baked start. C'mon, there's usually a recipe on the back of most bags of chocolate chips. We can make them without the pecans and then completely gorge ourselves on the results." Grinning lopsidedly at Alexis, she winks, and adds, "You'll wind up working my tailfeathers off with dance, anyways."

Prismatic has posed:
    "As far as I knew you were tailfeatherless, though if you wanted to shake a tailfeather, I beleive there's a song from that, from the movie classic 'Blues Brothers' -- which we're both too young for." she jokes.

    "At least that was a pretty good burn."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods towards the charred remains of the notebook, and grins wider still. "No, -that- was the burn." The flour is swept up and disposed of, the baking soda and powder rounded up and placed neatly in the center of the counter, and the rest of the ingredients gathered together, ready to be measured out. "I've had my cooking fowl-ups, too. Should've seen the time I tried to make parsley mousse with chive sauce. That was epically bad."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Parsley mousse... Shannon, that... that just doesn't sound tasty at *all*." Alexis states as she helps in wiping some of the countertop down with a wet cloth, and goes to wring it out in the sink.

    "Salmon mousse on the other hand is pretty tasty... if you like fish."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon giggles, grinning ruefully over at Alexis. "It wasn't. I was on a French herb cooking kick at the time. Maybe about oh, ten years old when that happened." Her expression changes quickly at the mention of salmon mousse, shifting from mirthful to plain out horrified. She turns slowly, having just been reaching for a clean mixing bowl, cradling the precious vessel in her hands.

"Salmon, yes. Smoked salmon or mousse, no. That's... sacrilege!"

Prismatic has posed:
    Shannon would earn a slight look, and then Alexis breaks into a grin. "Just wait until I tell you about Yorkshire Puddings and Toad-in-the-hole." she jokes, "Salmon mousse is just a savory paste. made with salmon, mayo, yogurt and cream cheese. It's not particularly fishy." she smiles slightly. "It's fabulous on a bit of toasted bread."

Nightingale has posed:
     "Yorkshire puddings are divine. Toad-in-the-hole, delicious. Bangers and mash? Yes, please! But salmon paste? Yuck!" Okay, so now Shannon had a few dishes she could make to spoil Alexis with a bit. Smiling to herself, she perches on one of the stools, looking at the ingredients laid out on the counter, and the measuring implements--not one bit of it having anything to do with metric. "I'll take your word for it."

Prismatic has posed:
    "You can't tell me that you've never had lox either." Alexis suggests, "Or a tuna fish sandwich?" she adds in curiosity, "Or just not a fan of delcious classy things? I can track it down, if you'd like. I'm sure there's someplace that makes salmon mousse. about."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon scoffs openly at that. "Tuna fish and mayo are a classic combination. But salmon? Oh god... no. Just... no!" Somehow, though, she had a funny feeling she'd be trying salmon paste whether she liked it or no. Wrinkling her nose, she shrugs, and chuckles softly. "Okay, okay, fine. But I'll insist on washing it down with a good, tall glass of sweet tea. Cannonball style."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Ugh. No. That's just sacrilage. I can't beleive Americans dumped several years worth of tea into the harbor only for you to add sugar and ice cubes to it!!" she accuses, and gives a good natured poke at Shannon.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon pokes right back and grins at Alexis. "Mmhmm. And who kicked whose tailfeathers in the Revolutionary War? Or the war of 1812? I rest my case." Chortling softly, she shakes her head, pulling her in for a wing-hug. "It's okay," she teases. "We can't all be perfect."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Look, I'm naturally born in Boston and even I recognize that if England wasn't also fighting a war with France, who loaned the fledgeling colonies an awful lot of money and forces, then you'd be singing God Save the King and using your U's and spelling theatre 'tre' instead of 'ter'." she points out, and the timer digs.

    "Ah, and now the cookies that Shannon cannot eat are finished."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon takes the hint, her wings drooping, her head hanging in shame. She's silent for several long moments, reaching out to gingerly touch Alexis' shoulder. "I'm sorry." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Prismatic has posed:
    "... Shannon. I'm not being serious." Alexis replies, looking over to the winged girl.

    "The tea joke is an ongoing thing between me and a few others who prefer southern style sweet tea. In all honesty? There's not a lot of people who do like tea the way I like it. I tend to make it very, very strong, even for the Northern Brits." she explains, reaching in with an oven mut and pulling out a tray of cookies.

    They at least look like cookies.

    "I've used that line with a bunch of my very much American friends... but... if it's hurtful, I'll stop." he states gently, looking to Shannon.

    "I'm sorry."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon shakes her head quickly. "No, no, I was worried I'd gone too far and offended you. And honestly? I like hot tea just as much as I do sweet tea. You should see the tea chest my folks gave me at our late Christmas." She tries to smile some, her wings ruffling behind her.

Her smile widens some as she sees the cookies do indeed look like cookies. They smell like cookies. Only the edges seem a little crispy, but by and large, they look as a cookie ought to look. "You'll have to get Sam to taste test those. Too bad, they look and smell fantastic."

Prismatic has posed:
    "You don't wilt like that with an 'oops, I took that too far'. It seems like you were honestly hurt by my reaction -- and trust me, I'm not mad about that. War's over." she gives a wry grin. "So, chin up, Pidgeon. How about we try some female cookies next?"

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon shakes her head. "I do, though, because I care about you like I do Sam, and I don't want to mess things up with either of you." Yeah, there's a chin up--and a great, big, feathery wing-hug. "I've been hurt and trust me, that was nothing. Wait... female cookies? How do you even manage that?"

Prismatic has posed:
    Alexis gives a smile, and she hugs back on Shannon, even though Shannons' a good deal taller. She gives a soft huff.

    "Shannon, I'm dead set convinced that literally nothing is going to stop Sam from wanting to be around me. I have tried." she jokes gently.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon chuckling, she smiles a little bit. "I wasn't saying that. The guy's so stuck on you that you might as well be surgically joined at the hip. Maybe one day I'll be lucky like you two." She sighs softly and settles back on the stool at the counter. "What I was saying was I don't want to offend either of you and make you not want to be around me."

Prismatic has posed:
    "I'm afraid you're rather stuck with us, Shannon. And by the by -- the way you make female cookies?" she grins.

    "Female cookies have no nuts."

Nightingale has posed:
     Shannon's jaw drops and she just stares at Alexis. Her eyebrows shoot about halfway up her forehead as she looks over at her in shock. Then... she just bursts out in fits of giggling, her face soon dusted with a delicate shade of rose. "Oh my gawd, seriously?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Just so." Alexis replies with a grin, grabbing another round of butter from the fridge, and milk, and gently draws the cookies off the sheet and onto a cooling rack.

    "On the odd occasion, I do have a terrible riebald joke."