So I’ve been writing, and have written, a lot of really hysterical and weird things during NaNoWriMo. (If you don’t know what NaNo is, google it and come back because I don’t have time to recap.) Like, for example, my entire novel last year. I mean, it was my first completed draft ever, which was a great and wonderful accomplishment, but it was also really awful. It was melodramatic, plotless, had a Tragic Gay Character(tm) and none of my characters were even remotely decent. But! I have slowly and painfully become a better writer along the way, so enjoy these rants about food and wandering rambles about Mario Kart that I know enough about writing to know are going to be cut in the end.
Rory frowns in the general direction of his empty brown bagged lunch, and pats the empty bag mournfully. “And,” he says, standing up and rummaging in his pocket, “If he orders us to share his opinion, he’s a (redacted) alpha and really the beta needs to just take over at that point. Do you have any change?” he asks Luce, who pulls out her purse, rummaging in it.
“Here,” she says, passing him a handful of quarters. Rory ruffles her hair with his other hand, unerringly. (At this point I should mention he’s blind.)
“Thanks, sis. Vending machine, here I come.”
Katriona shoves it backwards onto the table and snatches a cookie, glaring at Fenrir. She takes a bite, and her glower lessens considerably. Oh, wow, this is good. It’s mildly spicy, ginger maybe, and the peanut butter is prevalent without being overwhelming. She shifts it and takes another bite out of the chocolate side, and that time she lets out a little sigh. Her glare is completely gone now, replaced by contentment. She crams the rest of the cookie in her mouth, and glares at Fenrir again, chewing angrily.
It’s really, really good.
Fenrir grins at her and sits back with a sigh.
“All right, you vultures, go ahead,” he says, and immediately the other wolves fall on the cookies. Katriona watches them mournfully, and swallows her cookie.
Fenrir smiles at her, a little softer.
“Am I forgiven?” he says, hopefully.
“Baking cookies does not negate death threats,” Katriona says, regally.
(I don’t even know.)
“Fenrir spent the entirety of yesterday stress baking pizzas. We have like five pizzas in our fridge, and we had to drink all of the milk because the carton wouldn’t fit.”
Katriona huffs out a surprised breath of laughter.
“What, did you take milk shots?”
“Basically,” Luce says. “At one point, we got Rory to chug it, and timed him to see how long it took him to drink the rest of the milk.”
She’s silent for a moment, and then says, in a tone of utter bewilderment,
“We have an anchovy pizza. No one likes anchovies, we don’t have any anchovies in the house, which means Fenrir ran out and got anchovies for a pizza no one is going to eat. And we don’t know why.”
(My personal favorite. I might keep it just because it’s funny, although likely I’ll end up cutting it and stashing it in a nice little folder to lie neglected until I happen upon it, read it, and giggle.)