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cplautumnflower.livejournal.com) wrote in
hh_mirror2007-06-16 08:43 pm
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Unpopcorning of Zoe Washburne
((All firefly muns have been alerted and some plotted with. Zoe doesn't remember any of her days at Hogwarts before. Also, hi! Knitmeapony here!))
So, butter.
There were always things you missed, things that just didn't keep on a ship. And you'd get to missing them so much that you would even get a craving for the fake stuff, when you got it on the ship. Butter was one of Zoe's weaknesses, just a fresh pat melting into oatmeal or bread or rice. Got so bad she wouldn't mind the fake stuff, even if it was a bit orange and oozed into everything.
Still. Didn't mean a woman wanted to be covered in it.
She examined herself, examined the room, and decided job one was to get the stuff out of her boot.
So, butter.
There were always things you missed, things that just didn't keep on a ship. And you'd get to missing them so much that you would even get a craving for the fake stuff, when you got it on the ship. Butter was one of Zoe's weaknesses, just a fresh pat melting into oatmeal or bread or rice. Got so bad she wouldn't mind the fake stuff, even if it was a bit orange and oozed into everything.
Still. Didn't mean a woman wanted to be covered in it.
She examined herself, examined the room, and decided job one was to get the stuff out of her boot.
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...people came back.
In spite of all that optimism and general practicality regarding the issue, however, he flatly was unprepared to see his wife emptying her boot of melted butter as he rounded a corner. He should have earned points for his recovery, though. His unhurried walk floundered into a half-run, half-skid through butter puddles to end up nearly nose to nose with her, staring in open-mouthed admiration.
"Hello, wife," he smiled. "Fancy meeting you here."
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He was babbling. He knew it, but, hell, when was that unusual for Wash?
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"I'd be more than willing to give the issue the discussion time that it deserves, or at least explain what I know about where we are, for what it's worth." Experimentally, he bent his head and licked a little at her neck. Yep, butter.
"There are baths, but that is top-grade proper-dairy butter, unless I am much mistaken. Seems a waste."
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"There's a bunk. There is my bunk. Also, now, I think, your bunk. Our bunk!" he babbled, slightly breathless.
"We can go there?" He slipped his hand into hers, looking somewhere between joyous and just-recently-two-by-foured-to-the-head.
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And hah, he looked like he had the day they were married. "Our bunk sounds like a good place to start." She gave him an impish little smile. "You lead the way."
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Oh, dear. Another victim.
Okay, I confess. I am a grade A Popcorn Room lurker. I couldn't help myself. This mystery bothered me, more than a lot of jobs I'd been put up to. People randomly turning into popcorn? Kernels popping into their very own, unique, human being of a snowflake. It was an interesting room, half the school seemed affected by it, and yet nobody had the answers.
Ah, well. Time for more interviews. Attacks. Whatever you wanna call them. "Ugh. That butter's a killer," I replied with a wince, grabbing a towel from my messenger bag (http://www.galaxyarmynavy.com/prodimages/9148_big.jpg) and handing it to this badly-faring newcomer. Hey, this was routine by now. I was prepared! "Popcorn, huh?"
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"Thanks." She took the towel and shook it out. Girl seemed trustworthy, after all. Tiny, short hair, faintly perky -- smelled like Kaylee, and she's always got a good spot in Zoe's view.
"Don't really know why I ended up here. Where's here?"
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"It's... in Scotland?" I offered with a slight shrug, raising my eyebrows. Here's to hoping she wouldn't freak. I seemed to be dropping that bomb a lot lately. "Weird, I know. People pop up here all the time, though. So I'm guessing you don't remember anything?"
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"Scotland." She tasted the word. "Haven't heard of a place called that. What moon that on?"
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That was most certainly not a word, but... damn. That was a little different than I was thinking! Maybe a few years in advance, yeah, but five hundred years into the future? "So you're from... wow," I mumbled, rubbing at my head. "That... you are a long way off."
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"Explain... what things?" I replied slowly, cocking my head slightly; that questioning way Weevil always mocked. "If you don't mind my asking."
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The name sounded familiar. I had, of course, gotten a roster of all of the students at the school (for investigation purposes only, I swear) (okay, and maybe a little for myself), and I was fairly sure there'd been a 'Reynolds' on it. "First name 'Mal'?" I asked with furrowed eyebrows. "I think he's even in my house."
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