Unpopcorning of Zoe Washburne

[cplautumnflower.livejournal.com]

((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.

Comments

[laconic-once.livejournal.com]

Wash didn't think he spent much time in the Popcorn Room, when it came right down to it. But he did visit with regularity, because it didn't seem right not to be able to talk with his wife, even if she was non-responsive snackfood. And so he would ramble about mundane things, occasionally asking for an opinion and absolutely not expecting a response, at least not right away. Because he felt it was the responsible thing to do, he also addressed some comments to Jayne, Book, Kaylee and Inara. He wasn't much convinced that any of them, let alone his wife, were really there to listen, but it did make him feel better, and unlike most of the random people around this place, the popcorn did not react poorly to his varied attempts at humor. He respected his captive audience. And it reminded him, when he saw buttery tracks through the door, greasy salt fingerprints on the walls, and the occsional confused looking stranger getting The Explanation from a passerby on the way to a dormitory shower that, well...

...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."

[earthto-mars.livejournal.com]

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?"