*There is a moment of quiet and then the sound of someone fiddling with the microphone. Steven clears his throat and his chair squeeks.*

Look, I know that I'm not clean and sober like Jack but did anyone else see that fucking Frankenstein walking down the street?

Put that with the wolf man and the mob of villagers with torches and pitch forks and we've got ourselves the the makings of a really bad movie. When the fuck did we get a mob of villagers?

This city is way too fucking crazy to be sober in.

*Her curses softly, mumbling enough that the microphone can't quite pick up exactly what he's saying and his palm slaps against the table top.*

Droplet, Sunrise, Artichoke. Stay inside and away from affected folks. We don't need any creepy kid vampires or Brides of Frankenstein. I'm not feeding you if all you want is brains and Jack's fuckign sweetbreads.

I need a drink.

*There is more rustling as he fiddles to turn the microphone off and then silence*

I may or may not have a bit of a crush on Stark's car. It's a very, very good car and the bastard built it himself. Which means I might actually have a bit of a crush on his brain.

... Ugh. Very hung over and Jack, little bastard, decided that wobbly wiggly runny scrambled eggs were a good thing to make for breakfast. I hate hurling.

Tosh. Artichoke. While I don't expect you to come nurse me when I'm hung over I was thinking we should go shoot pool and drink beers sometime this week. I know, I know monopolizing your time. I'm awful. The regret just oozes from me.

Private//For Tosh's eyes only
I'm still thinking about you in those whites. Just those whites and those heels? Jack really liked that, you know how foul his mouth gets. Thought I might have to restrain him.

Lets do it again soon
/Private

God I need a tylenol.

That was shitty marinara. I say that not just as a pretentious little bitch. I also say that as a trained chef. Heavy on the garlic, low on any real flavor. A good marinara is blood simple, children. You'd think that all powerful gods could figure it out but no, of course not. What the fuck with they come up with next?

Fucking bullshit.

It was very much a staying inside day. I'd say it was relaxing but fucking Jack is anything but relaxing. I'll be bruised for a good long while yet. God was it fucking fantastic. And fantastic fucking. But honestly, next time the deities need something food related we'll be more than happy to help if it'll mean it's not the half assed from the bottle sort of marinara.

Pathetic.

Artichoke, when do you have another day off? Jack and I want to see you again. And I want to see you again. Just the two us, thought I could teach you to cook something and you could teach me about coding and filters. Fair trade? Also it would really turn me on to teach you how to cook. What d'you say, Tosh?

Look. Yesterday was a curse day. Yes it was all very funny. Yuck it up.

The Dawning was –

She’s the sort –

I don’t want to be in her knickers. But I do want to have her about. So thank you, sunrise, for spending time with me when I was old and wrinkled and awful. I’ll make you flan, as promised, next time. And that thing we talked about it. Is it... sorting itself?

And that is entirely enough about that curse. We’ll never speak of it again.

Okay, maybe once more. Jack? Come to daddy.

In much more interesting, less curse related news it looks like we have a space for our restaurant. And a name. A very, very good name at that. Smug sonovabitch. Artichoke is going to be the City's finest. I fucking promise you that. Head Chef Easy Fucking Slut Jack behind the wheel and no Mimi breathing down our necks? There is nothing that's going to stop us from being ... well I don't have the words for how amazing we're going to be.

Pretty Kyle said that what was better than an orgasm and more personal was giving an orgasm to the person you love. That is how good our food is going to be.

... Also I think I have a date. I know I have a date. Only I don't really date. I have sex with people. Sometimes semi-publicly. This is going to be interesting. And before you say a word, Cocksucker, I'm not wearing a suit. Sunrise, help?

I'm just hoping she doesn't send her minions - or her Jack - after me if I screw this up.

I think I may have a small problem. This is going to be fun. No actually this is going to bloody fucking suck. I'm one of those Goddamn crotchety old Englishmen who are no fun and drool on themselves.

Alright so there's been no drool and there had better not be. And it does look like these are all my own teeth. So there's that very small blessing.


This goes away at midnight right? In just over 23 hours I'm back to being sexy Steven Daedalus right?

This is -

I don't -

*Steven gives an inarticulate yell of annoyance and there is the sound of something most definitely breaking*

There is a reason I do so many drugs and brine myself in alcohol. I was hoping to be dead in an orgy related accident before I got to ... this.

This whole curse day thing is the deities taking the piss, is what it is. First I'm using "lolspeak" -not a fucking word Jack Bourdain or we'll see if you ever get to fuck my mouth again- and then everyone and their dog forgets everything.

How am I supposed to find perfect veal when my connections can't remember that they're dealing in premium cuts of meat? This new restaurant is never going to go anywhere if this bloody curse day shite doesn't knock the fuck off.

... I wonder how many blowjobs getting the Chef some truffles would earn me?

And I am stating it officially. I'm staying inside on curse days. I really just can't be assed to deal with all this fuckery.

The City isn't all bad though. There is an awful lot of pretty isn't there?

Oh hai!

Is cursed. Has a grumpy. Go wai, nuffin to see. Ragey Steven is on the rage-ohol. Jack. Your beejs I wants them nao. City are a n00b.

Imma nom and hide till midnight thirty. NO RLY!

Okie dokie. So this is my crit/contact/whatever ooc post. You can drop me a line here if you need to reach me for any number of reasons. I've left anonymous posting on but if you abuse it I'll turn it off and everyone loses so don't be a jerk and we'll all stay happy.

I'm going to screen the comments - even though I hate that - because hey, we all feel a little more comfortable if what we're saying is private. If you don't mind me unscreening it so we can get a little dialogue going on? Awesome. Let me know and we'll do that. If you want a bit of back and forth but you don't want to unscreen the comments give me your email or your messenger or whatever and we'll talk there.

I check my email all the time so if you desperately need me you can find me at goyave.de.morte [at] gmail.com and on AIM I'm xxnightbright or xxwitchlingxx on YIM.

*There is a low groan and soft rustle of fabric followed by the quiet thump as his knife kit rolls of his chest and Steven pushes up on his hands until he's sitting up. He doesn't look surprised so much as annoyed*

Oh, you have got to be bloody kidding me! That's right! Man celebrates just a little too hard and you leave him passed out in a park! You little fuckers!

*he pushes gracelessly to his feet with much rustling of chef whites and swearing. There is a long moment of dead silence*

... No hangover.

Alright, now someone really is bloody well taking the piss. Seth! Fun's over! Get out here so I can wring your bloody throat!

*another long moment of quiet and then the sound of Steven kicking the side of the fountain*

Jack? Look, I'm really sorry about that veal, eh? It's not really stealing though is it? I mean, it's more like reinvesting and those truffles I got for it were well worth it. I know we talked about this but you've got to be – Jack?

*there is a loud bang and Steven swears as he quite literally stumbles upon the lap top*

Hello? Jack? Anybody? I have some very expensive, very rare, wriggly baby eels to acquire so that we win the FUCKING Epicure. And unless I get the fuck back on that my chef's going to gut me like a delicious, Hawaiian moon fish. Hello?!

Alright. I'm here. I'll make sure to get the crit/contact post up ASAP but for now you just get my text app for Steven Daedelus of Kitchen Confidential. We all want to make sure we keep the story straight, don't we.


( If it's any consolation I'm sure you'll delicious )