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Pie for Beginners - Monday 2nd period - Week 3

Class was once again the the Danger Shoppe, but there was no ninja waiting for them there. Instead, there was a slightly hyper actively bouncy mercenary in a chef's hat. And an apron that told people to kiss the cook.

He loved that apron.

"Gooooood morning kiddos! Professor Yondaime has been..." He made a face that clearly showed he had no clue. "...unavoidably detained. So, I will be teaching you all about cream fillings! Won't that be fun?"

He may have been binging on Food Network this past week and now thought he was Julia Child. Minus the hunchback.

In the room there were three tables, each with different ingredients on the for making three different type of pie filling and pre-baked pie crusts for the kids to use.

"We will be making a custard, a standard vanilla cream, and a chocolate mousse with too many vowels and s's in the name. Instructions are on each table!"

[[OOC: ~~Please wait for the~~ OCD is up!]]

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Anne's pale face flushed, and her lips trembled for a moment before she pressed them into a tight line.

"In that case, Mister Steadcool," she said, putting every ounce of sarcasm she possessed into the name -- and oh, wouldn't Miss Stacy be dreadfully disappointed in her for the way she was behaving to a teacher? But then, wouldn't Miss Stacy be scandalized herself at the teachers here? Yet another dilemma upon one horn of which she couldn't decide to impale herself. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I could live with myself if I had to use those pie crusts, and I can't find a thing to make my own."

Deadpool stared. "But this is the filling class. Crusts were last week." He pulled out a stack of papers from one of the pouches on his belt. "See? Right there in Arashi's syllabus. No crusts today."

Anne's cheeks flushed even brighter red. "Then shouldn't we know how to make our own by now?" she demanded. "I simply can't use these! It would be like filling in the names on a poem someone else wrote and claiming it for my own!"

"What's so wrong with that?"

For once, Anne was utterly at a loss for words. She gasped, one hand to her chest.

"Why," she finally ejaculated ~~not dirty, it's totally canon~~, "why -- that's just blasphemous!"

Another thing not to write home to Marilla about, or Mrs. Lynde would surely find out, and brand her a perfect heathen all over again.

"No, no, no." Deadpool replied, waving her off. "Blasphemy is calling Nate 'Jesus with a gun' and then shooting him in the head. Once or twice."

"No," sputtered poor Anne, "that's cold-blooded murder. It's completely different from trying to create something from someone else's handiwork! Haven't you got a spark of soul in you?"

Deadpool snickered. Then laughed. Then fell over from laughing so hard. After a moment he calmed down and looked up at Anne...

And promptly started laughing again.

Anne crossed her arms over her chest, pursed her lips, and endeavored to look as indignant as possible, which under the circumstances was actually quite easy.

"I don't see why it's so funny," she said in an affronted tone.

He sighed and whipped away a tear from all the laughter. "I'm a mercenary, kid. Of course I don't have a pesky ickle conscience."

Anne suddenly, desperately wished she had a slate to break over his head. "And they let you teach? Standards have died a gruesome and unsightly death in the past hundred and thirty years!"

"I said the same thing!" Deadpool replied, giving her a bright smile.

"That isn't something to talk about as if it's an achievement," retorted outraged Anne.

"Oh come on! I haven't killed anyone that counts since I came here."

"Anyone that counts?" Anne cried, trembling a little as another crack spread across the rose-colored glass through which she viewed the noble ideal of teaching. "I can't look up to someone like you!"

Hey now, that hurt.

"Aliens don't count!" Deadpool maintained. "Especially not the tentacle rapey ones. My gentmanly bits are quite happy un-tentacle raped, thank you very much."

To say that Anne was scandalized was, at this point, an understatement of the grossest order.

"I'm sure I never needed to know that about you," she sputtered, wishing more desperately than ever for a handy slate to break, over the head of a teacher or not. "I'm quite glad you were spared such a horrible fate, but such things shouldn't be spoken of in polite company!"

"Polite company?" Deadpool parroted. "Ohhh. You're one of those kooky time-travely kids, aren't you?"

"I am an accidental sojourner on this island," replied Anne, trying her best to salvage what dignity was left her in this increasingly futile conversation, "but that's certainly no reason to do away with common decency."

Quite the opposite, in fact, she felt, but she was beginning to believe that there was no reasoning to be had with Deadpool.

Reason? Deadpool? HA!

"Aww, poor kid. Don't worry, I'll help you acclimate."

Anne made a small gasping noise of indignation. "Thank you very much --" this with killing sarcasm -- "but I'm perfectly capable of acclimating without your help."

"But reality TV! You need help!" Deadpool was on his feet and going for a tight hug as she really needed one. Really.

Stop laughing like that.

Anne, certainly not expecting this and too transfixed with scandalized, outraged horror to move out of the way, soon found herself sorely in need of oxygen. If she had been familiar with the term 'personal space,' she would have felt bereft of that as well.

"I beg your pardon!"

Hugs for everyone! "Don't worry, I'll help you out. You'll be my newest minion!"

"But I don't want to be your minion!" Anne objected, struggling in vain to free herself from a hug that was, to her, rapidly approaching crushing.

Re: Talk to the Fake Teacher

mouthy-merc.livejournal.com - 2007-07-24 04:54 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Talk to the Fake Teacher

ladycfitzgerald.livejournal.com - 2007-07-24 05:04 (UTC) - Expand

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