milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"Billy Liar's got his hands in his pockets
Staring over at the neighbor's, knickers down.
He's got his knickers down."

Sings the happy-go-lucky Head Bar-ex-turtle.
He's behind Bar with a HUGE stack of papers in front of him.
There are crayons.

Fear.

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His nose twitches in its post-poked'ness.

"Okay, you may have a point there. I'm going to need some help here. I mean, you can't just order a hot chocolate when we've got every kind of chocolate ever made back here for ingredients. I'm going to need some help.

Milk or Dark? Rich or thin? Spicy, bitter or sweet? Marshmallows or Whipped Cream?"

"...There are differences? Er, wow. I usually just ask for, y'know, hot chocolate. The normal sort. But..."

There is Pondering.

"...Milk, rich, sweet, marshmallows and whipped cream. Since you asked." She gives him a bright smile as she ticks off all these answers on her fingers, then folds her hands neatly and regards him. At no point has she giggled at his post-poky nosetwitching, which is quite the accomplishment considering.

"Oh there's no kidding around here when it comes to chocolate. Go big, or go home, that's what I always say...when someone asks me what I think about going places."

From out of nowhere a rat appears on Bar's top.

"Some of the Belgian, shaved over low heat. Temper in some cream. And bring me a Flake bar."

She peers. And listens.

"I never knew that so much fuss could be made over hot chocolate. Waffles, now. I know those can get very fancy. I read a very large book about them."

The rat scampers off back towards the kitchen.

"Oh now don't even get me started on waffles...."

She grins and bounces up and down. "Please, start on waffles. I love them. Especially combined with fruit and various syrups."

"Well, I mean, there are all kinds. Sweet, savory. Crispy, chewy...crispy and chewy. Me personally though? I'm a traditionalist. I like the plain with nothing on them at all. Too much stuff on them and you're really just hiding the fact that you've got a sub-standard batter going on there."

An adorable grin ensues.
"But you can't manage the fruit with substandard batter. I mean, not properly. A true fruit waffle has to be perfect in all aspects. Otherwise it's just a pile of fruit on a glorified pancake. No fun at all."
Matilda loves debate, and she loves food. Debate about food is therefore the ultimate pinnacle of existence.

"Are we talking about fruit in the waffles? Or on the waffles?"

"Oh, on the waffles, of course. You can't cook fruit into waffles. Well, the book says you can, but I tried one and it was oogy."

"It's not easy, but it can be done. So long as the fruit is uniform in size. Like, it works better with blueberries than with strawberries or peaches. But it can be done."

"Aha. That'd make sense. I tried with peaches and it wasn't nearly as good as, say, a nice big crisp waffle with strawberry and banana slices piled on and a crosshatch of maple and chocolate syrup overtop."

"You are clearly a visionary, and wise beyond your years.
...
You're not a god, are you?"

A rat skitters back to Bar, with a pan of warm melted cream and chocolate...and a Flake bar.

She grins cutely. "Nope, I'm just an ordinary girl. Who can make crayons dance." The yellow crayon does a little jig. "See?"

Mike mixes the chocolate and cream together with some additional milk, and then pours it all into an oversized coffee mug.

"Woah. How'd you learn to do that?"

A shriggle, which is the unholy child of a shrug and a giggle.

"I don't exactly know. I can move stuff with my eyes." She puts the crayon down. "It's useful and fun."

"Only work on crayons?"

"Nope, it works on everything else, too." She smirks and pulls out a paper crane from somewhere, making it fly around a bit. "See?"

"NICE!
...
Were you like, doused in radioactive goo?"

There's got to be a super hero trick about this, there has to be.

"No, not that I know of. I just found out one day that I could move stuff with my eyes."

A Tildashrug. Like a normal shrug, but smaller, younger, and cuter, because it is from a Matilda.

"I'm sure I would have noticed if there had been any goo beforehand."

"I suppose, though we didn't even know about the goo until years later, when Splinter told us,...so don't rule out the existance of goo."

"...You had goo? What did it do for you?"

"Would you believe I used to be a turtle?"

She looks at him.

Then she takes out some paper and very quickly folds an origami turtle.

She looks at the turtle.

Mike, turtle. Turtle, Mike. Mike, turtle.

"...There is some resemblance," she concludes doubtfully.

"Yeah? It's not surprising, I was always the pretty one."