The perfect seasoning!

Fic: The Picky Eater Bloos

2009-02-28T06:59:23Z

This has been my headcanon for Ratatouille ever since I saw the movie for the first time a couple years ago. I keep meaning to write it. Maybe one day I'll write a real fic. For now? Just a drabble.

Title: The Picky Eater Bloos
Rating: G
Synopsis: There is a place where all imaginary friends go when they are no longer needed and somewhere a little chef has outgrown his mentor.

Bloo looked down at his dinner. It looked back.

"What is this? This is all eyes and legs and--it just moved! Mac, it just moved!"

The shrieks started to reach that pitch that made all of the more canine friends wince, and the boy sitting down at the end of the table sighed. "Bloo, it's just...well, I don't actually know what it is, but it is not moving."

Just then, their dinner stretched out one long, slimy tentacle to snag the salt and pepper shakers. Languorously, it began to season itself. Bloo looked at it in mute horror for a few moments before he backed up from the table and hopped off his chair.

"I don't know about you guys," he announced, "but I am going to go have a little chat with the chef."

Mac bit at his lip apprehensively. "Bloo, I don't know... I mean, it's not that bad--" the dish gurgled at him appreciatively, "--okay, no, it is that bad. Do we still have any peanut butter in the kitchen?"

"There is only one way to find out, my friend."

And with that, Bloo made his way to the kitchen, head held high and shoulders (or where they should have been) straight.

The unceremonious bang as Bloo plowed into the kitchen would have made any sane person jump, but the little chef perched precariously on the edge of their largest stewpot merely turned and smiled at them both. "Oh, are you ready for the second course? It will be ready in just a minute boys--you cannot rush perfection!" he chuckled, waving a wooden spoon three times his size at them to punctuate his words.

"Perfection? What do you mean, perfection? We're going to need a new room for the first course! It was crawling off the table! Do you really expect us to eat that disgu--" Bloo's words were muffled as Mac flung an arm in front of his mouth.

"What Bloo means is that dinner has been a little...unusual," he said delicately. He was doing his best to avoid staring at the viscous purple smoke rising from the pot now that the chef had raised the heat.

The chef didn't seem to mind either of their words. "Of course! No chef can be a true gourmet if he is unwilling to take risks! These foods may be unusual, but their taste is divine," he hummed as he went back to stirring the pot.

After a few minutes of twisting and contorting, Bloo managed to squirm out of Mac's grasp. "How are we supposed to taste it if we can't even catch it?" he whined.

"Just as cooking requires originality, tasting requires courage!"

Bloo marched up to the stove, glaring all the way. "Just how much courage do you expect us to have, anyway? I've seen horror movies with less tentacles than this dinner. What's next, gray slime?"

With a broad smile, the tiny chef gestured to a bowl behind them. Gelatinous, gray goop towered high above the rim. "How did you know? You should try it; it's delicious!"

As Bloo railed against the injustice that was gray goop that was probably going to eat the house (he'd seen that movie, thank you very much), Mac stuck one hesitant finger into the muck, then brought it to his mouth. "Actually this is pretty good," he admitted. "It tastes kinda like chicken."

"You have refined taste," the chef told him, floating over to where they stood. Bloo's mouth was currently grazing the ground ("MAC, now you're going to DIE and where am I going to find another best friend NOW?") but the chef didn't seem to notice. "Foie gras is for the finest palates!"

"Foie gras?" Mac asked. He took another little swipe--it really was pretty good.

"Oui," the chef agreed, "The very finest goose liver!"

For the next few moments, Bloo laughed hysterically as Mac attempted to scrape his tongue out of his mouth. The chef waited for Mac to stop spluttering before continuing, blissfully unaware of his pain, "And after the calamari and the foie gras, there is the soup! Things are a little out of order this meal, but I thought I would try something new this night..." Bloo watched him speak, eyes glazing over, for several minutes before something occurred to him and his sudden and dramatic gasp of astonishment interrupted the lull of his jovial speech.

"I KNOW YOU! You're Gust-ew! You make the corn puppies!"

For the first time, the expression on the chef's face tightened. "Oui, I am Chef Gusteau, but--"

"Yeah, Gusto! Oh man, I love those things!"

Gusteau looked severely uncomfortable. "No, you see, I--"

"Hey Mac, he makes the corn puppies! I bet he makes those tamales, too!"

"Oh man, I love those!"

Bloo neither knew nor cared what the little man was grumbling about as he swept past him out of the kitchen. "Hey Wilt, Coco! Our new cook is the guy who makes those little corn puppies!"

"I love those!"

"Coco!"

For the record, I enjoy both lovely French food and nasty freezer shit. :Db

alphabet_stew @ 2009-02-06T01:40:00

2009-02-06T06:45:20Z

THIS IS ALL FOR YOU, TRENT.

Faster, faster... His heart pounded in his ears as he ran. He told himself that it was from exertion, but he knew that it had much more to do with the fear that sluiced raw through his veins. He could hear it behind him, an intangible, unearthly sound that somehow scared him much more than the pale glow he could just barely see reflected on his sweat-soaked skin. He could put that golden tint back to the moonlight shining down, ethereal, that made the walls of this labyrinth seem to gleam a different color every moment. But somehow he could not dismiss that sound as woodland creatures in the night. There was no creature on earth that could sound like that.

His breath stuck in his throat as he raced onward and he wheezed, knowing that the creature behind him could hear him just as well as he could hear it. He gasped for breath as he bent to collect the bright, shining stones that stretched out before him. He knew, he somehow knew that they would lead him to salvation, just like Hansel and Gretel. He did not know how he knew this, but he preferred not to question this. He needed some hope if he ever wanted to outrun the thing creeping slowly, inexorably towards him.

He turned yet another corner (it had been ten before this--no, twenty?) and his eyes widened as he saw something shining in the darkness before him. He leapt forward, grasping his prize even as the creature rounded the corner, its eyes wide and unblinking. He felt power coursing through him and the creature before him hovered uncertainly. It's pale, transparent skin darkened as it became ethereal, and its eyes widened as it began to comprehend what was happening.

He was no longer afraid, and it must have shown in his face. The creature turned tail and ran. He darted after it, a grim smile spreading across his face just as confidence spread throughout his body, warming him against the chill night air.

He caught hold of slick skin and pulled it near. This was the game he played. This was the game he loved.

I admit that it turned out somewhat differently than expected, but eh. Write what comes out, that's what I always say.

...and this part is for Kristy.

His heart was pounding against his chest for an entirely different reason now. They were close, so close, and there were only seconds left. Slick skin met slick skin and he swallowed him down.

***

He looked on with a satisfied smirk as shy eyes skittered away. He watched it go, knowing that soon their positions would be reversed. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care, not through the contentment that hazed his mind. Instead, he remembered the way the incandescent flesh had wobbled when the creature was on the prowl...and the way its tentacles wound curiously around everything it touched.

alphabet_stew @ 2009-01-19T01:13:00

2009-01-19T06:19:34Z

Why is the first real thing I've written in like two years godslash? No. Really. Why?

Uh. It's just a drabble, but. ...god, okay, Hermes/Loki slash with some Anansi thrown in. ;o;

It was well past midnight in a small, smoky old bar, and the place was completely empty. And yet... It was perhaps only a feeling that prickled in the back of the bartender's mind as his eyes slipped over an empty table secluded in the back corner, but he thought it might not be a good idea to close down quite yet. He set to work behind the counter, his mind idly shutting down as he cleaned and recleaned pristine glasses.

Dark eyes met across the table and sparked in amusement as the cards were dealt.

"Ready?" the first man asked, gesturing to the cards still face-down on the table. He knew what was beneath every one, and his golden countenance shone with the knowledge.

"Always," the second replied, leaning back in his seat lazily. He knew Hermes knew. That wasn't the point, anyway.

A third man at the table, all dark limbs and smiling eyes, glanced between the two men and then sat back in his seat. "Fold," he said slowly and deliberately without even looking at his cards.

The second looked at him mildly. "Why Anansi, that's not like you. Stepping out before the game's even begun."

Anansi reached out to tousle red hair and shook his head decisively. "Sometimes," he began with a self-satisfied smile, "The most important part of the game is knowing when to bow out."

Loki would have scowled at the touch, but instead a slow grin spread itself out across his features. Anansi had been around longer than either of them, had been burned more often than either of them--and he knew when a game was far too hot.

Well, that was fine. Hot was how he liked it. He looked up to see Hermes' eyes still on him. "Shall we?"

Hermes smiled, the warmth of it almost covering the laugh in his eyes. "Of course." He gathered his own hand without even bothering to glance down at the cards. "This would typically be where I'd raise the bets, but you've been having a particularly bad night, haven't you Loki?" he remarked, as if he were merely talking about the weather and not a god exhausting all his otherworldly resources...again. "Do you even have anything left to bet?"

Loki pondered this. It was true that his pockets were, for the moment, empty, but there was something in Hermes' silent prodding that caused him to reconsider the obvious answer. "Yes," he said finally, resolutely.

"Oh?" This time the answer was from both of companions.

"Yes," he repeated, a smug smile coming over his crafty features. "Myself. I bet myself on this hand. All or nothing."

Anansi let out all his breath through his teeth, but Hermes raised an eyebrow and said nothing but, "I see your bet."

Loki finally let his gaze drop to the cards he held in front of them, absently noticing how totally crap they were. No matter. Once again, that wasn't the point of this game. This was not simply a matter of chance, but an elegant dance between the two of them. There was more than deciding the odds, picking up the appropriate cards, and hoping for a win. There were marked cards, sleight of the hand, subtle distractions--in other words, this was a question of cheating.

A sort of quiet, companionable silence settled over the two of them as cards were traded and twitches too fine for mortal eyes to see were carefully filed away for future reference.

Finally, the last card was picked up, and the last minute changes made to each hand. Loki did his very best not to smirk as he brought his eyes up to Hermes' defiantly. "Well?"

Anansi groaned into a spidery hand.

"Queen, Jack, Ten, Nine, Eight."

Loki blanched, stricken, as he realized what Hermes was listing.

"Clubs," he added helpfully. "Really, Loki, queen-high? I would have at least expected a king from you."

It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and Loki sighed as he noted Hermes's perfect royal flush. Hearts. Of course.

"I'll just be going," Anansi said, creeping away from the table before either responded.

"So," Hermes drawled, and Loki felt a faint smudge of irritation at the smirk that had finally made itself apparent on his face. "Let's discuss winnings."

this is saved in my 'hell in a handbasket' folder on my computer

alphabet_stew @ 2008-12-26T04:57:00

2008-12-26T09:59:35Z

I need to stop writing bits of this story and actually start from the beginning.

...I say that, but I'm losing faith that it's ever going to happen.

She walked slowly through the forest, greenery pliant under her feet. She was completely engrossed in the familiar feel of the grass and leaves beneath her feet when she heard another whisper rise to join the sound of the wind through the trees.

"...please..."

She started and blinked back her reverie as best she could. Had there been a voice buried somewhere in the mounds of dead leaves and roughage?

"...lonely..."

She had heard it that time, definitely. Denali turned silently on her heel, regarding the forest around her. There were always voices, quiet or loud, familiar or new. This one, however, was different. It felt nearer, dearer to her than any she'd ever heard. More familiar and loving than even those of her siblings. "Who's there?" she murmured. Though her voice was soft, she was sure she'd be heard.

There was a brief beat of silence. "...me." The voice sounded surer of itself now. "Just me."

Denali half-smiled to herself. Of course. "Hello, just me. It's nice to meet you."

The answer, when it came, was remarkably pitiable. "...it is?"

Denali's heart twisted in her chest, and she had to ignore how familiar even that tone was. It was the one she'd so longed to adopt herself, the one she'd buried along with her own darker feelings. The one she was careful to never use with Adon. The one she was especially careful to never use with Alia.

"Of--of course it is," she replied, her voice sounding more confident than she'd really expected it to. "But where are you?" She peered around the immediate vicinity, doing her best to surreptitiously discern another set of eyes.

"Away...in here."

There was a split second where the words meant nothing to the solitary girl standing in the clearing--but then she felt a slight tug. It wasn't against her clothes, or skin, or anything discernible. Just a gentle nudge in the right direction. Her feet started to wander before she had full knowledge of the situation, and she soon found herself in a clearing she was not familiar with. This disconcerted her slightly. After all, after so many, many years, was it really possible that there was a clearing she did not know by heart?

A voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Hello," was its soft welcome.

Her mouth was open to reply before she realized that she was alone in the clearing. She snapped it shut again as she noticed a number of things. First and foremost, there was no one there to talk to. Second, and nearly as important, the voice wasn't talking. Not as she knew it, at least. It was quiet and it was subtle and she heard it with a place wholly unconnected to her ears. She had an inkling that it was her mind, or even her heart, or maybe some combination of the two. The final realization came slowly and melted over her in a gentle recognition, like seeing an old friend in a large crowd. There was a large box in the middle of the clearing. She marveled for a moment that she hadn't seen it, but it was almost the same color as the trees and vines surrounding it, covered in what must have been centuries of dirt and growth. The voice (or whatever it was) seemed to be coming from within.

Denali forced her mouth open once again. "Hello." Her voice sounded strangely muffled to her own ears, but she paid it no heed. After all, speech really did not seem to work the same way here. Despite herself, a sort of curiosity began to well up within her. "Who are you?"

"I...I don't know." The voice seemed contemplative for a moment. "Am I a who?"

A soft, amused smile worked its way onto her face. "Well, I could be mistaken...but I haven't met many wheres or whats that could speak to me," she responded, taking comfort in the almost unconscious reaction her smile had been. Denali had faith in her instincts.

For one strange, brief moment, the air seemed to pulse. Was that laughter? Yes...shy as it had been, there had been something distinctly delighted about what had just rippled through her. Denali's smile broadened as she moved closer to the box. "Do you have a name?"

In an instant, the air stilled. A heavy sense of dejection rose up from nowhere, and Denali found herself bewildered by it. What had caused this sudden upset?

"I don't have one."

Denali blinked, surprise momentarily taking her voice as she tried to work her name around that. All of the First had proudly named their children, broadcasting their love and creativity for the world to hear. She'd heard the tale countless times when she had been small. How could there be a being in their world who was nameless?

Another shaky smile overcame her features as her mind quieted and she became used to the idea. Perhaps...she had stumbled onto something much more mysterious than she had previously suspected. Perhaps this was a thing that was not supposed to be found. How lonely... The thought came to her unbidden, but once it had she could not banish it. How lonely it would be to be set aside into this hidden clearing, to be forever silent. All alone for longer than even Denali could remember. Her smile set as she came to a conclusion.

"Well. That's easily remedied. What sort of name would you like?"

alphabet_stew @ 2008-11-23T03:04:00

2008-11-23T08:38:09Z

Once upon a time, I started writing a story called 'Unhinged Triptych'. I ended up dropping the story due to being dizzy and sick, but it always stayed with me. :| FESTERING. I heard a song tonight that reminded me of it. I started drabbling. I don't think that anyone reading this actually read it while I was writing it (the writing wasn't very good, don't bother), but these are short snippets from the story. I don't know if I'll rewrite it. I hope I will. I dearly loved it. THESE ARE IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER. 'KAY? 'KAY.

She lay quietly on the box, her frail frame draped over rough corners like they were old friends.

“Denali?”

She did not stir. She gazed up unseeing at the tiny bits of sky visible through the trees’ canopy. She paid no notice to the hesitant young man standing before her.

He knew it. “Denali…I’ve brought you some food, okay? I remembered that you liked pear, so…” he trailed off when it became apparent that would not respond. She never did. He placed the food at the base of the box, awkwardly clearing his throat and shifting from foot to foot. “It’s—it’s right here when you want it.”

A whisper passed through the clearing. Tryn almost mistook it for the wind, but his hopeful heart knew better. He leaned closer, trying to discern what word had slipped through her lips. Finally.

“Adon…”

He drew back abruptly, his mouth set in a firm line. “I know. Believe me, Denali…I know.”

Full of tense lines and hatred, he spun on his heel and walked out of the clearing and was quickly swallowed by the forest beyond.

“Adon… Come back…”

Kirandin lay awake that night wondering. Why? How? How had things come to this? She could still remember running to Alia every morning to have her hair put in pigtails and the way that Denali would smile at her and ask her how she was doing. She remembered the way that Adon would smile too, though he pretended to be solemn.

She didn’t know the last time he’d smiled like that, but it hadn’t been recent. Not since…not since the incident. Now all he ever showed was his reserved calm. He was just pretending, just like he always had. She was sure of it. After all, she knew him. She knew him. She could see the exhaustion deep in his eyes and she felt the way his hand would sometimes tighten unconsciously on her shoulder. He was still hurting, and she wondered if he would ever stop. Honestly, she wasn’t sure. After all, if she hadn’t managed to acquit herself of the nightmares yet, then how could he?

Natalie could see him from the corner of her eye. He was there again watching her.

She trailed her fingers along the chain-link fence as she walked past him, doing her best to completely ignore the way his striking eyes followed her from across the street. Intently. She was beyond thinking it was coincidence. This was the third time this week she’d noticed the shadowy figure watching her from what he probably believed was a subtle hiding place. Then again, perhaps shadowy was not the best term. The man was bright—dazzling, almost.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he had been shadowy. Then he would seem suspicious. As it was, he just seemed so sad.

Alia smiled as she coaxed another gentle laugh out of Adon. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw the way that Adon stretched out a hand to brush an errant strand of hair from her eyes. She could practically hear the lilting laugh and soft teasing as Alia reached out to comb a hand through Adon’s much longer, more beautiful hair. They looked so sweet together. So happy. Like twin rays of sunlight, they brought cheer to the small clearing and to each other. Neither of them knew that she was there. And didn’t that just describe the problem all over?

Kira felt her heart stop cold in her chest. Denali was moving—she was moving. None of them had seen her respond to anything in the ten years that she’d been nearly comatose. And yet here she was, lifting herself with shaking limbs from her perch upon the box. She fell lightly on her feet and tottered slowly out, away. Towards Adon, who looked about as stricken as the typical blunt trauma victim. Kira’s voice caught in her throat even as her mind raced, Run, leave, go! Not again—not again!

“No!”

Two pairs of eyes turned towards her, empty violet eyes quizzical and green ones anguished.

“No…stop…please…” Her voice sounded faint even to her own ears.

Adon winced at something in his own mind and took an unconscious step back. A choked sound escaped Denali and she stumbled forward, one arm outstretched—perhaps towards Adon, and perhaps towards something only she could see. A soft sigh with a rough, ragged edge spilled out of her. It took him a moment before he could catch the words riding it, and his eyes widened.

Kira could only watch helpless as he took three huge steps forward to catch Denali as she fell.

Adon could feel the cold lines tracing his skin as she stroked his face. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat and let her. She gave him a secretive smile and leaned forward to place her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much, Adon,” she murmured, her voice almost impossible to discern from the soft breeze rustling through the leaves.

He brought a shaking hand up to stroke her hair, tangled and dirty from neglect. He remembered it glossy. “And I you, dear one.”

She nuzzled at his neck a little, reveling in the rumble she felt there when he spoke. A soft chuckle escaped her, her breath cool on his skin. The strained, broken sound broke his heart. “It’s been so long. So long…”

He nodded slightly, careful not to jar her in her perch. “It has.” He closed his eyes against the memories that told him why, why he had left--no, why he had fled, and why he should not be standing her holding her in a protective grasp. Red blood painted the inside of his mind and his soul screamed once more at the memory of a broken bit of sunlight and the pain—so much pain.

Abruptly, she tensed, and his eyes flicked open. “Adon…you’re remembering again. You always did used to think too much.” She pulled away then so he could see her teasing smile. She did not move far, however, staying still in his arms. She waited until his eyes finally met hers, haunted meeting haunted. She ran a hand over his brow one more time. “You have a fever, Adon. You should be asleep.”

He started, not knowing why. The answer came to him in an instant. “But I am… Denali--”

And then he was awake once more in his empty bed, feeling the beginning of another migraine coming on. He was annoyed to note that he did indeed have a fever.

Her brother wrapped her up in warm, comforting arms, but she still could not stop shaking. She had seen it, the blood, the pain, the crying and anger and fear. She’d seen him fall, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. Natalie turned her face into Sam’s neck and let the tears fall.

WOO SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE THING hush I felt the need to write things as they came into my mind. Pretty much the only person reading this who was my friend when I wrote this likes spoilers anyway.

Jesus, why did I ever stop writing? I'm so rusty.

alphabet_stew @ 2008-06-07T12:08:00

2008-06-07T16:08:51Z

I would like to start over.