Monday, May 21, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Val's Tantrum (Trevor's Song era)
Warning: this outtake contains sexual inneundo and abuse of cookware. Please do not read further if this will upset you.
They could hear the crashing from where they stood outside the practice studio, across the driveway from the house. They'd actually congregated to listen; it was that loud.
"Sounds like your woman needs to get laid," Trevor said, bobbing his head like he knew it all. Then again, when it came to tantrums like this, he did.
"Hardly," Daniel said with a snort.
"That time of the month?" Eric asked. Like he knew about those things, Trevor thought. Mr.-I'd-rather-be-their-friend. His girls got one boringly chaste week on the bus with the band and then forever bought him dinner whenever he blew through town.
Come to think of it, having women buy him dinner wasn't such a bad thing. But that lack of getting off? For-get it. Trevor hadn't formed a band to keep his pants on. Or zipped, for that matter.
"No," Daniel said with a sigh. He hung his head and shook it, looking like a dark brown mop. Trevor snickered, wondering what sort of shit he'd have to clean up later on. Val was not a happy woman in there.
Lately, she'd been like that a lot.
"It's her fault, really," Daniel said. "She told me to make dinner, and I did. No big deal, right?"
Trevor wasn't so sure about that. Part of Val's miserable mood had started when she'd quit the restaurant. That'd been years ago now, but her mood wasn't even a bad wine -- it hadn't even tried to improve with age.
"So what happened?" Mitchell asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Daniel a look like he wanted this to hurry along.
"I told her it was time to clean out the freezer. Maybe reorganize it. I swear, there were twenty pounds of chocolate in there. Candy bars, those big bricks for baking, bags of chips, you name it, it was in there. I swear, it took up half the freezer and didn't leave room for the extra sauce I made! Gram would kill me if I let it go to waste; that's her secret recipe!"
"And the frozen margarita mix took up the other half of the freezer?" Trevor asked, bored with the story of the spaghetti sauce. He'd been hearing about how wonderful Gram's sauce was for years, but every time he had it, he thought it wasn't much better than the jarred shit Mitchell's mother would stock his apartment with.
"She didn't care when I said that ought to go downstairs, too!" Daniel half-whined. Trevor cringed, but when Daniel continued, it was in a better tone. "You know, maybe we could put some food in that freezer? Food, kitchens -- you know what I'm saying here?"
"So now she's throwing things because--" Trevor asked. He needed to hear this. To make sure it was real. And to laugh his ass off when it was.
"You heard it," Daniel sighed. "She's pissed because I asked if she'd move the chocolate."
"Oh, Dans," Mitchell said. He scratched his arm, his face screwed up like he was in pain. "That's harsh. I think if I did that to Kerri, she'd take my head off. Along with other choice parts of me that I'd rather keep."
Trevor couldn't get a word in before Daniel said, "That's our roasting pan she's throwing around now. It better not go through the windows."
"Let's go make some music," Mitchell said, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder to turn him in the right direction. Eric jumped eagerly for the door of the practice space. Trevor took one last hit of his cigarette and ground it into the gravel.
"Music soothes the savage beast," Mitchell continued, reaching above Daniel's head to hold the door open.
"The only thing soothing that beast is her chocolate," the drummer said, giving the house one last, mournful look.
"And you fuck-ups tell me how great your monogamy shit is," Trevor grumbled, resisting the urge to provoke Mitchell more severely. This would have to do for now.
Sure enough, the big idiot cuffed the back of his head as he walked by. "It is great, you loser. Just sometimes… you gotta take the bad with the great."
"And keep the chocolate upstairs!" Eric laughed.
It didn't escape Trevor that neither of the stupidly attached men in the band laughed along. In fact, Trevor thought, they sorta looked like they wouldn't mind if Eric joined Daniel's head in that roasting pan of Val's.
Just so it wasn't his, Trev thought as he picked up his bass. He had more important things to do.
Thankfully, a steady woman was at the bottom of the list.
They could hear the crashing from where they stood outside the practice studio, across the driveway from the house. They'd actually congregated to listen; it was that loud.
"Sounds like your woman needs to get laid," Trevor said, bobbing his head like he knew it all. Then again, when it came to tantrums like this, he did.
"Hardly," Daniel said with a snort.
"That time of the month?" Eric asked. Like he knew about those things, Trevor thought. Mr.-I'd-rather-be-their-friend. His girls got one boringly chaste week on the bus with the band and then forever bought him dinner whenever he blew through town.
Come to think of it, having women buy him dinner wasn't such a bad thing. But that lack of getting off? For-get it. Trevor hadn't formed a band to keep his pants on. Or zipped, for that matter.
"No," Daniel said with a sigh. He hung his head and shook it, looking like a dark brown mop. Trevor snickered, wondering what sort of shit he'd have to clean up later on. Val was not a happy woman in there.
Lately, she'd been like that a lot.
"It's her fault, really," Daniel said. "She told me to make dinner, and I did. No big deal, right?"
Trevor wasn't so sure about that. Part of Val's miserable mood had started when she'd quit the restaurant. That'd been years ago now, but her mood wasn't even a bad wine -- it hadn't even tried to improve with age.
"So what happened?" Mitchell asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Daniel a look like he wanted this to hurry along.
"I told her it was time to clean out the freezer. Maybe reorganize it. I swear, there were twenty pounds of chocolate in there. Candy bars, those big bricks for baking, bags of chips, you name it, it was in there. I swear, it took up half the freezer and didn't leave room for the extra sauce I made! Gram would kill me if I let it go to waste; that's her secret recipe!"
"And the frozen margarita mix took up the other half of the freezer?" Trevor asked, bored with the story of the spaghetti sauce. He'd been hearing about how wonderful Gram's sauce was for years, but every time he had it, he thought it wasn't much better than the jarred shit Mitchell's mother would stock his apartment with.
"She didn't care when I said that ought to go downstairs, too!" Daniel half-whined. Trevor cringed, but when Daniel continued, it was in a better tone. "You know, maybe we could put some food in that freezer? Food, kitchens -- you know what I'm saying here?"
"So now she's throwing things because--" Trevor asked. He needed to hear this. To make sure it was real. And to laugh his ass off when it was.
"You heard it," Daniel sighed. "She's pissed because I asked if she'd move the chocolate."
"Oh, Dans," Mitchell said. He scratched his arm, his face screwed up like he was in pain. "That's harsh. I think if I did that to Kerri, she'd take my head off. Along with other choice parts of me that I'd rather keep."
Trevor couldn't get a word in before Daniel said, "That's our roasting pan she's throwing around now. It better not go through the windows."
"Let's go make some music," Mitchell said, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder to turn him in the right direction. Eric jumped eagerly for the door of the practice space. Trevor took one last hit of his cigarette and ground it into the gravel.
"Music soothes the savage beast," Mitchell continued, reaching above Daniel's head to hold the door open.
"The only thing soothing that beast is her chocolate," the drummer said, giving the house one last, mournful look.
"And you fuck-ups tell me how great your monogamy shit is," Trevor grumbled, resisting the urge to provoke Mitchell more severely. This would have to do for now.
Sure enough, the big idiot cuffed the back of his head as he walked by. "It is great, you loser. Just sometimes… you gotta take the bad with the great."
"And keep the chocolate upstairs!" Eric laughed.
It didn't escape Trevor that neither of the stupidly attached men in the band laughed along. In fact, Trevor thought, they sorta looked like they wouldn't mind if Eric joined Daniel's head in that roasting pan of Val's.
Just so it wasn't his, Trev thought as he picked up his bass. He had more important things to do.
Thankfully, a steady woman was at the bottom of the list.
Labels: chocolate, creative writing, Daniel, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, ShapeShifter, Trevor, Val
Monday, May 08, 2006
Fiction Outtake: This one's for us girls! (Post-Trevor's Song era)
Mitchell wasn't having much luck reading his guitar magazine. He knew it was stupid to sit at the kitchen table and try to read in the first place, but Kerri wasn't helping matters any.
She was pacing around the cooking area, stopping to open the pantry, the refrigerator, the cabinets. She'd move things around, dig a bit in the freezer for something near the back, close everything up again, and move on to the next spot.
Over and over.
She was on her twelfth circuit when he'd had enough.
"Woman, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I need chocolate. I can't believe we don't have any chocolate. Why is there no chocolate in this house?" she asked as she took every single thing off one of the pantry shelves.
Mitchell got up to take a look at the things she was putting on the floor. Pancake mix, syrup, cans of tuna, corn starch -- that was the sort of stuff he was expecting to see. And he supposed he remembered picking up that bottle of Big Buck's Bodacious Sauce the last time he'd been at Big Buck's for some ribs.
But when it came to things like a dry scone mix, a paper cup of corn chowder that needed to have water added before it was anything but powder, and six varieties of balsamic vinegar, all he could do was scratch his head. Some of it he could blame on Val, who loved to force her gourmet finds on them. Some of it might have come from Nancy, and some of it… who knew? Maybe one of Amy's jokes again?
"Ker," he asked softly as she growled and started putting things back, "where'd some of this come from?"
She looked at the can of baby bay shrimp in her hand. "You know," she said slowly, "I have no clue. And you know what else?" she asked, fixing him with a stare that was so bright, it made him wince. "I don't care. It's not chocolate and that is what this is about. Where the fuck is the chocolate?"
He thought fast. The boys were still with Nancy; he had time before she'd want to leave for the day. He could pull this off -- if he moved now.
Mitchell grabbed Kerri by the shoulders and turned her toward the door leading to the garage. "Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
She tried to resist, so he bent and slung her over his shoulder.
"I'm taking you out and we're buying out every single peanut butter cup the store's got. What doesn't make you puke in an hour's going into the freezer."
"Stop!"
When she struggled, he set her down as gently as he could, worried that the way she was moving, she'd hurt herself. Or, worse, he'd hurt her.
"I don't want peanut butter cups. I want…" She licked her lips, her eyes roaming the ceiling. "I want brownies."
"I think I saw a box on the floor."
Kerri looked at him, her hazel eyes twinkling. "Race ya to 'em."
"Nah, you go. Call me when they're done." He started to stroll off, but she tackled him. Thankfully, not hard enough to bring him down, but hard enough to knock some of his wind out. He gave her a scornful look over his shoulder.
"You're eating?" she asked. "Then you're helping bake."
"Only if I get to smear batter on you and lick it off."
"Nope," she said calmly, picking the box of mix up off the floor.
"You do it to me?" he asked hopefully. "Would that be chocolate enough for ya?"
She pressed up against him and gave him one of those infuriating closed-lipped kisses. "Try it and see. But… after we bake these puppies and I've had a few."
Mitchell frowned as she tore into the box. She peered inside, looking so cute he wanted to melt, then with a sheepish smile read the back for the cooking directions.
"You know," he drawled, ready to break and run before she could throw something at him, "in two days, you'll be telling me to take what's left over to the studio because you don't want to gain three pounds just by breathing in their scent."
"You know," she answered, cocking her head slightly, "you could forget about that smearing batter thing, get out of my sight, and let me enjoy my brownies in peace, motherfucker."
Mitchell decided that even Trevor wasn't enough of a fool to hang around after that charming invite. He grabbed his guitar magazine and headed out onto the back porch. Anything to avoid the evil brownie fumes; Kerri would find a way to curse him so he gained three pounds, he was sure of it.
She was pacing around the cooking area, stopping to open the pantry, the refrigerator, the cabinets. She'd move things around, dig a bit in the freezer for something near the back, close everything up again, and move on to the next spot.
Over and over.
She was on her twelfth circuit when he'd had enough.
"Woman, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I need chocolate. I can't believe we don't have any chocolate. Why is there no chocolate in this house?" she asked as she took every single thing off one of the pantry shelves.
Mitchell got up to take a look at the things she was putting on the floor. Pancake mix, syrup, cans of tuna, corn starch -- that was the sort of stuff he was expecting to see. And he supposed he remembered picking up that bottle of Big Buck's Bodacious Sauce the last time he'd been at Big Buck's for some ribs.
But when it came to things like a dry scone mix, a paper cup of corn chowder that needed to have water added before it was anything but powder, and six varieties of balsamic vinegar, all he could do was scratch his head. Some of it he could blame on Val, who loved to force her gourmet finds on them. Some of it might have come from Nancy, and some of it… who knew? Maybe one of Amy's jokes again?
"Ker," he asked softly as she growled and started putting things back, "where'd some of this come from?"
She looked at the can of baby bay shrimp in her hand. "You know," she said slowly, "I have no clue. And you know what else?" she asked, fixing him with a stare that was so bright, it made him wince. "I don't care. It's not chocolate and that is what this is about. Where the fuck is the chocolate?"
He thought fast. The boys were still with Nancy; he had time before she'd want to leave for the day. He could pull this off -- if he moved now.
Mitchell grabbed Kerri by the shoulders and turned her toward the door leading to the garage. "Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
She tried to resist, so he bent and slung her over his shoulder.
"I'm taking you out and we're buying out every single peanut butter cup the store's got. What doesn't make you puke in an hour's going into the freezer."
"Stop!"
When she struggled, he set her down as gently as he could, worried that the way she was moving, she'd hurt herself. Or, worse, he'd hurt her.
"I don't want peanut butter cups. I want…" She licked her lips, her eyes roaming the ceiling. "I want brownies."
"I think I saw a box on the floor."
Kerri looked at him, her hazel eyes twinkling. "Race ya to 'em."
"Nah, you go. Call me when they're done." He started to stroll off, but she tackled him. Thankfully, not hard enough to bring him down, but hard enough to knock some of his wind out. He gave her a scornful look over his shoulder.
"You're eating?" she asked. "Then you're helping bake."
"Only if I get to smear batter on you and lick it off."
"Nope," she said calmly, picking the box of mix up off the floor.
"You do it to me?" he asked hopefully. "Would that be chocolate enough for ya?"
She pressed up against him and gave him one of those infuriating closed-lipped kisses. "Try it and see. But… after we bake these puppies and I've had a few."
Mitchell frowned as she tore into the box. She peered inside, looking so cute he wanted to melt, then with a sheepish smile read the back for the cooking directions.
"You know," he drawled, ready to break and run before she could throw something at him, "in two days, you'll be telling me to take what's left over to the studio because you don't want to gain three pounds just by breathing in their scent."
"You know," she answered, cocking her head slightly, "you could forget about that smearing batter thing, get out of my sight, and let me enjoy my brownies in peace, motherfucker."
Mitchell decided that even Trevor wasn't enough of a fool to hang around after that charming invite. He grabbed his guitar magazine and headed out onto the back porch. Anything to avoid the evil brownie fumes; Kerri would find a way to curse him so he gained three pounds, he was sure of it.
Labels: brownies, chocolate, creative writing, fiction, Kerri, kitchen, Mitchell, outtake
