TDM 005

[etrayamods]

⏵ arrival ⏴ Arrival goes as anticipated. Characters awaken in a sterile hospital bed in a clean, white room to the hum of machines under the unnatural lighting common to well-kept institutions. Every bit was designed to be comforting and calming, even with the jarring undercurrent of this situation. The first face they see is Aurora's: her smile appears to be warm, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She might offer a quick explanation, or leave characters to figure it out for themselves depending on their approach. The door to the room swings open, revealing a hallway that stretches out ahead of them. There’s noise from outside and strong pumpkin spice scents coming from the lobby. Ah, muffins and tea. Grab one and head into the crisp, sunny fall morning ahead. ⏵ potluck ⏴ Cutthroat Iron Etrayan Bake-Off As you step out of the arrival holding area into the main thoroughfare, the entire street has been turned into tents and chef stations to accommodate the activities of thirty people at once. There’s seats, trailers, and robots bustling about to make sure everyone is ready. A couple of cheerful robots in aprons and colorful sweaters approach and redirect you as you step towards the cooking area. There’s gas ranges, ovens, grills, blast chillers, mixers, and set walk-ins and pantries with just about every ingredient you can imagine. There are cameramen (also robots) patrolling the area to capture all your best moments and to broadcast them directly to your fellow citizens’ devices. Your instruction? “Make your signature dish. You have one hour, chef.” It can’t just be straightforward, can it? The land itself is held together with pure chaotic energy. If you’re lucky, all goes as planned. If you aren’t… well… Roll a Die 1 Your leg is now tied to another chef’s 2 Your meal is continually un-cooking itself. 3 All of your ingredients are pickled now 4 The longer you touch an ingredient, the bigger it gets. 5 Every time you lift your pot lid, a component changes. 6 The aromatics are glowing and flashing like LED lights. 7 Your knife has been replaced with a cheese grater. 8 The ingredients are now magnetically stuck together. 9 Your meal is becoming deep fried. 10 Kittens are multiplying out of the cupboard. * 11 All of your ingredients have become incredibly heavy. 12 Your cook pot moves burners whenever you turn around. 13 Eggs scream when you crack them 14 The kitchen has become incredibly slippery. 15 It’s soup now. 16 All utensils have been replaced with crustaceans. ** 17 Your knife has a mind of its own. Watch out! 18 Your fridge catches fire. 19 Your pasta is trying to escape. Go get it. 20 Any ingredient not in the pot starts to float away. * All kittens disappear at the end. ** These however, stay. ⏵ share a meal ⏴ As all the cooking concludes, you will be invited to plate your meal into one of many casserole dishes, regardless of what was made. A ladle will be tucked into the corner and placed on the table with a folded bit of cardstock declaring the chef’s name and the name of the dish. A helper camerabot will come around to each participant and ask for their thinking and their process. Even if you got away without having to cook, even looking towards the table of dishes will spur a helper bot to start making you a plate with one of everything. The helperbot will insist that it is rude to not at least try what their peers have made. In fact, if you are to fill out the score card for each person, you really must taste everything! The robots can’t try the food, so it’s up to you. The cards look like so. The grading system is opaque. Is it meant to be numbers? Stars? Letter grades? Well, you’re the judge. You figure it out. Chef: ___________ Dish:_____________ Judge:___________ Overall Rating:_______ Flavor Presentation Stackability Wet Originality Rizz ⏵ tummy ache survivor ⏴ No matter how well your compatriots cooked or baked their dishes, there are… factors. You see that carrot? It’s really just condensed chaos in the shape of a carrot. No matter how powerful you are, these particular ingredients may not mesh with your being. …And even if it is truly a carrot, do all the chefs know the proper cooking temperature of chicken? Even chickens are aliens to many. (Optional) Roll a Die 1 Tummy Ache. Go lay in bed. Complaining alleviates symptoms. 2 That plate of food has energized you. You feel compelled to race or spar. 3 The food has reminded you of home. You must tell someone a detail of your childhood. 4 That food was so horrible that it simply must be washed out somehow. Spicy peppers? Booze? Gravel??? You’re going to over do it. 5 You have now discovered your new favorite dish. Make them teach it to you or you’ll lose sleep over it. This is all you want to eat for the next week. 6 The oddity of the ingredients has transferred to you. You start floating away. 7 The range of food and textures have inspired you. Acquire an annoying new hobby or habit. 8 You are now haunted by the digital souls of chickens. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Please direct all questions to our mod queries comment! ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

mod queries.

[etrayamods]

Will Graham | Hannibal (NBC) | Action or Prose I will match

[this_ismydesign]

[OOC: Given the triggering nature of Hannibal canon, I have a Permission Post that include a link to a screened Opt In/Opt Out. My default with Will is to stay away from his profiling info-modding skills, unless asked for by the other player. I also stay away from direct mention of any cannibal activities or murder stuff in general. Will does reserve the right to make bad puns/innuendos but nothing graphic, unless agreed upon by the other player

Finally, Will will not be outing Hannibal. He is from the cliff dive at the end of S3, so his morals are pretty grey at this point.]

I. Arrival:

This was not what he'd envisioned as he'd embraced Hannibal and taken them both over the edge of the cliff.

Regardless of being incredibly mildly disappointed in this fact, Will remained polite to Aurora as she explained his new situation. Even as she faded from view, Will couldn't completely convince himself that his interaction with her, not to mention his new surroundings, weren't the product of his own mind having finally gone completely feral. However, it seemed as if he was going to have to at least pretend this was his new reality; at least until it was proven otherwise.

First things first, he seriously needed to get cleaned up and attempt to find clean clothes. At clean shirt, at the very least. His wounds appeared to be healed, which was a bonus (and a nod towards this being a product of his imagination) but his clothing was ruined. The pants were dark enough that the blood was mostly camouflaged, but this shirt?

Yeah, that was a total loss.

So his other arrivals, or really anyone in the area, might find themselves coming across a small man, in a tattered blood soaked button down shirt, rummaging in various cupboards, looking for a set of hospital scrubs ... or at least a hospital gown.

II. Pot Luck:

Will did his absolutely damndest to avoid the happy robots, let alone the camerabots milling about. Alas, just when it appeared that he might escape, he was cornered and set in front of a stove.

He was not a cook. Unless you counted roasting a freshly caught fish over a campfire. He stared, looking markedly apathetic, at the wide range of beautiful ingredients. At some point, he gave a little huff of amusement at an inner thought. Hannibal would have a field day with the ingredients and the equipment. Don't worry, he kept that thought to himself.

Eventually, he decided to try to prepare a VEGETARIAN spaghetti. The sauce came together fairly easily, and while it simmered down, he began to cook the pasta.

Only. The pasta kept slipping out of his hands and running away from him? The first escapee noodle, Will just watched with a mix of bewilderment and resignation on his face. When the next group of noodles began to flee, Will sighed deeply and reached up to rub his thumb and index finger over his eyes.

"Very well," he muttered. He was speaking to himself, but they were so close together, other chefs might hear him. "Not the first time I've had to chase down my food."

Looking around, he grabbed a sheet of cheese cloth and began to shake it out. Looked like a good net to him. Time to wrangle some noodles!

III. Share a Meal:

All the cajoling, right up to the more direct attempts at manipulation by the 'bots, couldn't make Will try food from unknown personages.

"It is rude, not to at least sample some of these beautiful dishes" The helperbot insisted, for what felt like the 5th time.

Exhaling a deep breath, briefly looking as if he might be about to cave to the 'bots wheedling, Will pursed his lips, then his expression went flat.

"No."

And this time, he simply turned away from the 'bot, as it launched into another pitch, and headed ... well, truthfully he had no idea where he was headed, but it was definitely away from here.

IV - Wildcard: [OOC: Have an idea for a different prompt/scenario? Throw it at me! Sounds like fun!]

ivan niklaus 💀 original

[reapoman]

( the basics: Ivan was once a wizard who turned to Necromancy to find a way to save his dying wife. In the process, he committed crimes against the natural order that were so egregious that Death itself conscripted him into its service as a grim reaper. full info here! )

I. 💀 POT-UN-LUCKY

[ When the helper bots first approach Ivan, he does that thing where he looks behind him to see who they’re talking to, only to realize they’re talking to him. He’s pretty baffled by that, since he’s used to blending in or being downright invisible in a lot of situations, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s been Perceived. And he definitely drops his muffin when he’s ushered away to his cooking station.

Thanks, he hates it.

Well, it seems he has no choice but to participate, and he’s fully ready to do something quick and easy to get it over with but… his ingredients are stuck together? Vegetables are snapping onto the sides of pots like they’re both made of magnetized metal, and Ivan is doing his damnedest to pull them apart but it’s getting worse – he’s starting to collect things from neighboring stations, too. Someone else’s – perhaps even your – utensils or ingredients start flying over to join the katamari-style ball of cooking miscellany Ivan seems to be gathering. ]

Sorry. I just… I have literally no idea what’s going on.

[ Help him. ]

II. 💀 A LIGHT MEAL

[ It’s not like he’s going to turn down a free meal here, okay? Grim reapers don’t strictly need to eat, but it’s something Ivan likes to do still. It helps him feel a bit more human, keeps him grounded.

You know, usually.

He has no clue what it is that he ate to put him in such a state, but he’s started drifting into the air like a balloon. While he’s got a lot of tricks up his very mundane-looking sleeves, flying is sure not one of them, and it makes a bit of panic rise in the back of his throat when he starts floating. Catch him grabbing onto anything for purchase – a table (or he could just whiff it and grab the tablecloth instead), one of the tents, a light post, you.

The look he gives anyone who manages to catch his eye is caught somewhere between “why me” “this might as well happen” and “help.” ]

I don’t know how to get down.

[ Yeah, no kidding. While he’s got a hold of something, his feet are still trying to float upward, nearly turning him fully upside-down. His hair falls free and the tie of his suit sort of flaps there uselessly. ]

I’m open to ideas.

III. 💀 WILDCARD

[ Happy to do another prompt or reroll effects for different threads! Hit me with whatever, basically. If you want to chat beforehand, you can drop me a PM! ]

Hank Anderson | Detroit: Become Human

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Arrival

Hank despises hospitals. The uniformity, the sterileness — it all makes him shudder.

At first he’s too groggy to say “fuck you,” so he lets the AI prattle on with her introduction — of course she’s AI — before he’s slipping out of bed. A little shaky on his feet, but whatever.

Now, Hank gets to voice his sentiment: “Fuckin’ AI. I’m outta here.”

Being in a hospital has him on edge, but at least there’s food once he stumbles out of the hospital room. His stomach growls, so he grabs a muffin. Holds it in his palm, staring at it in a daze as if it’s some pastry that beggars belief.

“Can’t even get coffee in a place like this, huh?” he mutters.

Potluck

Hank can cook — kind of. He’s mostly survived on takeout food for the past few years, but he knows his way around a microwave.

“Oh, you bet I’ve got a signature dish. It’s a fist up your —”

He’s talking to the robot, but his voice is raised so he may as well be talking to everyone nearby.

When Hank steps up to a counter, drumming his fingers along the edge, his mind blanks. But luckily the knife he grabs proceeds to immediately turn into a wriggling lobster.

“What the hell?”

Share a Meal

Hank is stuffing his face, bobbing his head at the robots who insist he must rate every meal.

For flavor, he jots down “yeah.” Presentation — “yes.” Stackability — “ok.”

When Hank gets to the last box, he has to ask: “What the fuck does rizz mean?”

Tummy Ache Survivor

In retrospect, Hank shouldn’t have eaten all that weird food. His stomach is rumbling something fierce, and not from hunger this time.

He places a hand on his stomach. Thins his eyes.

“Shouldn’t have eaten that sandwich in particular,” he says, and, oddly, his stomach starts to feel better when he degrades the food. “Why did you use so much fuckin’ lobster? Just ‘cause your knives and spoons were turning into lobsters doesn’t mean you had to use it all. That’s weird! Needs cheese and mayo, like a normal sandwich.”

Wildcard

(Feel free to PM me here or on Plurk Giangio if you’d like to discuss anything! Also, I’ll match style so please switch to brackets if you prefer.)

iii

[relished]

[the display of tents and pseudo-chefs is humorous after his dinner and Sam's very obvious network post meant to cast a heavy shadow in Hannibal's direction. it spread his intentions as an infection, but he hasn't received a punishment. Echo isn't involved, and Aurora is either too concerned with the current mission or turning a blind eye. possibly both. what Sam failed to do was include a photo, Hannibal's lack of presence on the network left most in the dark.

he's able to wander as he pleases, thanks to that. no one knows what Hannibal looks like aside from those who came to his dinner, and the planet is large enough that he goes unnoticed. not that he particularly cares, after his abrupt return home and then return to Etraya, as quick as a blink of his eye.

he doesn't expect to see the familiar outline of the man he'd just been with. the brown curls, his set expression as he turns the bot down. six months and a blip back to this planet would normally feel like nothing, but to Hannibal it's been too long. he watches first, seconds ticking away. he could be a hallucination, a trick. he's right there, just out of reach and just out of ear shot.

he moves intentionally. no caution or hesitancy, and he's slipping through people and stopping a few feet behind him. he won't chase, not now.]

Will.

[his name breaks into the air and is reminiscent of the teacup. he wants to measure his reaction, to see when, exactly, Will is from.]

hello!

[twin_blade]

[ Food is a risky business in this world. Vax has managed to avoid problems with it so far just by being paranoid as hell, but he doesn't blame anyone who eventually gives in and eats something suspect.

When he sees a man holding on to a lamp while his body tries to float away without his permission, the Champion of Ravens has to stop and look up. Ideas? ]

Have you tried tying weights to your legs?

Leshy | Inscryption

[sacrificesmustbeplayed]

((The game came out in 2021 but I'll still try to avoid major spoilers, but some aspects of his character could be considered spoilers on their own.))

Potluck/Share A Meal

[Leshy is taller than the average human and though he looks like a man from a distance or in silhouette, his skin is bark-like, his beard appears to be made of leaves, there are branches and mushrooms growing from his hair, and there is lichen and fungi growing on his body.

His fridge is on fire.

Leshy is aware of this but does nothing to stop it from burning as he carefully finishes making his... dish.

Even with the chaos inherent in the event and the ingredients, he still somehow made something that resembles a large pile of brown, unappetizing sludge on purpose, given that he makes an appreciative sound as he puts down the plate. In fact, if anything went wrong (aside from the fridge that is still very much on fire) it's that it's entirely possible that this dish has been made more edible than it would normally be.

The label of the dish calls it "The Prize".]

I do not make this for just any occasion.

Sumeragi Subaru | X/1999

[unhappymedium]

[1: Arrival]

It isn't the first time Subaru found himself waking up in a hospital after an event, but he really didn't expect it to ever happen again after the final battle in Tokyo. With destruction raining on the city, the country, the world, it was the end of everything. He in his own way helped cause it - so what incredibly inappropriate irony it was to have him arrive to a place to save the universe.

"You have the wrong person." There's no questioning it. Someone, anyone, other than him should be here instead.

The shock of survival makes him gaze at the floor for long while, wondering if this is actually a form of afterlife he hadn't studied. But eventually Subaru blinks, stands, and gets dressed. The clothing is still torn but wearable, and he throws on his black coat before leaving the room.

-
[2: Potluck]

Subaru participates in the cooking competition in a surreal daze, blindly shuffling through the open kitchen to mix ingredients without fully registering what he was doing, so well wishes to those who want to try whatever abominable flavor profile rises from a mess of noodles, rice, fruit, cabbage, onions, screaming egg, and chocolate sauce.

In theory it was an okonomiyaki. Only in theory. He gently sticks the bowl of half-stirred slop into the flame-engulfed fridge and questions if this isn't all a hallucination in the final moments of life as his sleeves start to smoulder and burn.

-
[3: Tummy Ache Survivor]

Not even a little friendly exorcism is getting rid of these ghost chickens. They squawk and flap and nest around Subaru as he stands there with a tray of someone's flan. Strangely, having ghosts - actual or not - makes him feel better. He tries to touch one but fingers poke through the back of the chicken. There's an offended cluck, and another chicken flies up to roost on his head.

-
[4: Wildcard]
[Timeskip forward or assumed CR or other prompts, anything works for me]

arrival! hi!!

[reconstruction]

[Connor spends more time at the hospital than he'd like. once the time of the month rolls around, he's usually seen waiting outside or in the lobby. he's anticipating strays to explore the lower levels, but more importantly, he's cataloging all of the new faces. so he acts as somewhat of a wallflower, blending in to the crowds (as much as he can, he still wears his uniform every so often despite Damian's blatant dislike of it, and today is one of those days).

what he doesn't expect is a ping to his stored memory as he scans. information floods him and he's standing there, shocked. recall. system running at optimal levels. software instability. error? y_n?

n.

this is not an error.

he beelines for Hank as he holds his muffin, and emotions - emotions, big ones, rise up inside of him: relief, worry, fear. fear. he shouldn't be here. but Connor is happy to see him all the same, even though he isn't quite sure what to do when he reaches him, except-]

Lieutenant, [there's urgency in his voice, mixed with excitement. he doesn't know where to start. so he cheats, scans his vitals] we should get you something better to eat.

[his mouth breaks into a smile,]

And maybe a drink.

Potluck

[redheadedstepdad]

[ Shanks is one of the few judges who seems to be here willingly. Free food is free food, even if it looks extremely suspicious. He's keeping his pen and grading cards in his pocket to keep his only hand free. ]

What's that?

[ The smell is... something. He wouldn't call it good, but it probably won't be the worst dish he's ever tried. ]

i

[redsquares]

[James is working with vegetables, too, partway distracted and in a daze, still having a hard time believing most of this is real. Or he was, that is, until his vegetables started flying over to another man’s pot.]

Uhm…

[What on earth?]

I think you have something of—

[He’s setting his other utensils down and walking over to see what the issue is, when there’s a cinching feeling around his leg, nearly throwing him off balance. He jolts his other leg forward to keep from falling over, hand on the counter, head looking down to see—

His leg tied against this stranger’s. How??? Who knows!!]

What the hell? Is this some kind of joke?

ii. Potluck

[levelshift]

Having unfortunately been placed in the cooking booth next to Will, Accelerator has his own problems he's stuck dealing with. For one, he doesn't cook. He's never learned, and never had any inclination towards it as a hobby. Why bother when you can afford to live off of cheap restaurants and takeout?

Needless to say, he isn't thrilled to be herded into a cooking competition by the companion bots. With no real desire to compete and definitely no 'signature dish' in mind, he figures he'll just half-ass it until the competition is over, and then lose. Perfect plan, no notes.

His first mistake was opening a cupboard to look for a rice cooker, because if his ex-legal guardian can do entire meals with one of those then he can manage to cook some rice. Simple enough, except as soon as he opens the door several kittens burst out, mewling excitedly.

And then several more.

And by the time a rogue spaghetti noodle makes its way over to his booth he's got a couple kittens in his free hand, and more rolling around at his feet. One of them even goes after the noodle, pouncing on it like its prey. More of them keep piling out of the cupboard, and start making their way towards Will's booth where there's more spaghetti to attack.

Accelerator can only stare, bewildered, the kittens he's holding meowing for attention. "What the fuck, are your noodles trying to escape?"

3

[leastdramatic]

That cooking competition was certainly… something. And while Jason’s glad it’s over now, coming out of it unscathed is apparently too tall of an order to hope for. He gives another poke at the remains of what was supposed to be a pot roast before looking at Subaru.

“Needs some help there?” He asks in mild concern.

Share a meal

[levelshift]

There is one scrawny white-haired teenager using his fork to poke at what appears to be an actual, honest-to-God plate of casserole with an unenthusiastic air. It's not that he's a picky eater, this whole setup is just really, really dumb (and really uncool).

"It's short for charisma. Like being charming or some shit," Accelerator states without skipping a beat. He looks up, eyeballing the companion bots that are nearby. All of them look thrilled with the whole Bake-Off thing, and it makes him sigh heavily. No one can say those things aren't trying their best, even if the results are awkward. "The robots probably don't realize no one in their right mind describes food using 'rizz.'"

[unhappymedium]

[He opens his mouth to answer then looks at the now plated pile of something. Chunks of it are clearly egg, and spotted with salmon, then the banana...]



It's cooked.

[The fridge did its job. It probably isn't the most terrible, truly - banana and chocolate do go well together. Subaru sets the plate down for the man to choose his destiny.]

[unhappymedium]

He thinks over his answer, a touch bewildered.

"I... don't know?" He tries to touch another chicken, and the half-supported tray of flan starts to slide off to one side. "They're not spirits, are they. Only projections?"

Hi!!! 😊

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Yeah, a drink sure would be fuckin’ nice.

[Hank is mumbling, still groggy, blinking at the muffin in his hand — pumpkin spice, he’s pretty sure — when he plays back the voice he just heard.

Who else but Connor would call him “lieutenant” and not sound like they’re one-hundred percent done with him already? And that voice sounds excited, even?

Familiar.

The only ones who are ever happy to see Hank are Connor and Sumo.]

Connor?

[Hank turns on his heel to stare at Connor, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Crushing the muffin in his hand.]

The hell are you doin’ here? Or, no. Let me guess. You’re in with that weird AI lady. Projecting people I know just to fuck with me.

[He nods to himself. This sounds entirely plausible in his current state.

Hank squints at Connor as if his vision is failing. It is not. He’s just tired — and hungry.]

What’s my dog’s name?

[redheadedstepdad]

That answers everything then.

[ He takes a shockingly unhesitating bite, he even takes a moment to actually taste it before swallowing it. ]

That might be the worst thing I've ever eaten.

[ Somehow he's cheerful about it. But he's also grabbing the nearest bottle and taking a swig of whatever it is. ]

[bootyshortsforoldmen]

Hank is, admittedly, gawking a bit as he has this new slang explained to him.

“How the hell is food supposed to be charming? Hell. Guess I’ll have to write a big ol’ ‘no’ for all these. No rizz. None. I mean, look.”

He uses his spaghetti sauce covered finger to point to a sad looking lopsided cake, covered in dripping fondant, with the words ‘help me’ scrawled across the top.

“No rizz at all with that one,” he says between bites of spaghetti molded into the shape of a donut. “Not a damn ounce.”

Pointing at the unassuming plate of casserole, Hank asks, “What about that? Got any rizz?”

Re: mod queries.

[cybertron_gravitron]

Any chance of them offering (somehow pumpkin spice flavored) energon for this guy in the lobby?

Sakura l Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle

[featherings]

[ooc: I am the rustiest and need to canon review but. I'm debating options and thought she might work?? Potentially? I'd probably take her from earlier on ala like. Piffle arc, for anyone familiar. If I do app her and go with this game and not something else/a different character idk.]

Arrival:

[...Well, waking up in a new place isn't that unusual for her. Sakura has been getting better about that, about her energy levels increasing more over time as she gets
back more feathers. But she is still recovering more, in the process of still remembering everything and quite entirely regaining as much energy as she had before without tiring as easily.

Still, she can't help but to wonder on the situation.]

My world...? Clow? Ah, but then, wait, what about all the other worlds we have visited back home? Are they...?

[Yuuko, Tomoyo and everyone else. Were their worlds in danger too? She wants to help their homes too but she isn't sure if that's how this is supposed to work. Kurogane's goal was to get back home. She can't let his be destroyed without him.

At the thought of the others, she immediately glances around expectantly. Syaoran, Fai, Kurogane and Mokona have to be somewhere around if she is. Right? Cue her rushing and scrambling, all but falling flat on her face as she trips in her haste to check the hallway to see if she can find them.]

Potluck:

E-ehhh?

[Sakura almost drops the egg she cracks in her attempt to maybe figure one of the recipes she remembers making with Fai from their time running the cafe together in that simulated city. But she isn't expecting the egg to scream? That is what makes her start, her eyes widening in surprise as she accidentally flails, instinctively scrambling to catch the egg to not let it fall and get everywhere.]

Why is it screaming?

[In her prior experience and memories, even if they might still be not complete, the eggs do not scream.....]

Share a Meal:

Wet? Rizz? I'm not sure I know what 'rizz' means to mark for that. And I guess most dishes shouldn't be wet? I mean, even a soup is thicker than water....

[Why would a dish be 'wet'? What is this supposed to even mean?]

Wildcard:

[idk? Any other options people want to go with??]

[this_ismydesign]

[ Hannibal might be happy to know that Will had yet to encounter even a whisper of his (Hannibal's) recent dinner party shenanigans.

Actually, scratch that. This is Hannibal we're talking about. He'd probably enjoy the chance to show off his cleverness, and preen at his success. Not just the success of the party itself, but of having -for the moment- cleverly escaped the consequences of his actions.

The older man's voice was one that lived, almost permanently, in Will's mind. The monster, within Will himself, embraced the less than tasty urges that spilled through the door, which was now permanently open. The remain shreds of his humanity, just sighed and readied themselves for battle.

This whole cooking event was about chaotic energy? Echo should just plug an extension cord into Will's head, and feed off the chaotic energy of the ex-profiler's mind. It could prove enough power to maintain at least a dozen extra dimensions.

But enough of that.

For perhaps the first time since Will had identified Hannibal's identity as the Ripper, the younger man's shoulders did not tense in response to the apex predator's presence behind him. They didn't relax exactly, but to Hannibal's keen eyes, he might noticed that there was a settled resignation that was reflected from Will's body language. ]

Doctor Lecter. [ His voice maintained its soft spoken, sing song quality, expressing neither joy, nor trepidation at the discovery of the man behind him. But when Will turned, his expression mirrored the look in his eyes as he'd stood over the wounded Hannibal, sipping his wine and waiting for Dolarhyde to join them. That strange mix of affectionate resignation, combined with the 'I'm so very fascinated to stand here and watch you slowly die' darkness.

Sliding his hands in the front pockets of his blood stained trousers, he cocked his head slightly to the side, his patented sardonic smirk settling on his lips. ]

I'd say this suggests we're both in Hell, [ he continued in those same, soft tones ] only I don't believe the fallen angel Lucifer would want to deal with us both, at the same time. [ Making a show of studying the environment, his eyes made their way back to Hannibal's face. ] Thus, I suppose I must accept this as a living reality.

[ A discreet exploration of his own into what memories Hannibal carried. ]

[this_ismydesign]

Depending upon how much of a damn Accelerator gave about the people on either side of him, he may or may not have noticed that -to this point- Will had been quiet and morose.

Not only had he been quiet and morose, but there was something about his face, and the way he carried his shoulders, to suggest that quiet and morose was Will's default setting.

He certainly hadn't tried to introduce himself to his neighbor, or ask any questions, despite the fact that his appearance, particularly the scrub top he'd rummaged up, suggested he was a new arrival. Will had been keeping himself to his own damn self, and making sure his go away vibes were as clear and distinct as a neon sign.

Then, his pasta began to escape and ... kittens??

Will was first, and foremost a dog person, but in general he was an animal lover. People could go get stuffed; sometimes literally. As he hunkered down on his heels, a smile broke across his face as he scooped up one of the kittens not currently engaged in chasing pasta. Lifting the little one up, Will booped its nose against his own, laughing when a small paw -complete with claws- pressed against his cheek and tried to push his face away.

Accelerator words penetrated Will's kitten fog, and he looked towards the man. There was no way to hide the way his expression went from KITTEN!! to, ew ... person, before slipping back to neutrality.

"What are you doing with all these kittens?"

His response was two fold. He was avoiding Accelerator's question because it sounded rhetorical. The man had eyes, surely he could see what the noodles were trying to do. Second, if Accelerator had nefarious intent towards these kittens, Will was about to come out of his crouch and attempt to beat the other man's face through the back of his skull.

Nothing personal. But it was safer not to harm, or even joke about harming innocent, and all animals were innocent, animals in Will's presence.

Shelley Lang | OC

[dustyroad]

[Quick Info: Shelley is a hard on his luck private investigator who recently found himself as suspect in a case that hits too close to home. He recently had an NDE that now allows him to see ghosts, on top of acquiring a general vision problem, a chronic illness, and a weird girl who may or may not actually be his niece.

Info on Journal. Folks who met Lola on prior TDMs, this is her Uncle.]

Arrival.

['Dead again?'

That was Shelley's first thought when he woke up in the pristine room that sounded like the boundary between life and death and had the bitter, acrid, medicinal scent of hospitals in the air. The glasses he reached for did little to actually help his vision at this point, but it was good enough for Shelley to squint blearily at the kindly woman who greeted him. His thoughts strayed to Lola, with her peppy smile and cloud of cropped hair, who had greeted him last time he awoke in a hospital with a tangle of tubes and wires hooked to him.

It was just part of dealing with being betrayed by his own body, he supposed.]

Thanks for the info, but I've gotta get back.

[He said hurriedly after the woman told him the situation at hand. A contest to save his own universe sounded too grandiose-- he cared about matters on a smaller scale. Like Lola and the Twins trapped in a blizzard with him and a violent narcissist with poor impulse control.]

The girls need me,

[He added, gathering himself and making for the door.]

I don't accept the challenge-- I need to get back.

[And he left the room-- only to be greeted at the lobby by the inviting scent of coffee and baked goods.

His vision danced in the bright lights, and he planted a hand on the wall to help properly ground him in reality. He stared at the scene before him, brows furrowed, as he took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing.]

... What in the continental breakfast is this?

Potluck

Food? No, don't talk to me about food~~

[Shelley whined at the bots ushering him toward the stoves and pantries that were set up along the street. His stomach, forever upset since his last stint in the hospital, was already churning at the scents of all sorts of food cooking in the air.

He had no idea if he was hungry or wanted to be sick.]

Wait, you want me to cook?

[He balked-- and then, already so tired of this, shrugged.]

Fine. It'll be your regret.

Where's the bread at? It's gotta be...

[In the pantry. He opened it up-- and only saw kittens on every shelf. Shelley, shooketh, took off his glasses and wiped them off in a reflective gesture, then stared at the pantry in disbelief]

What???

Wildcard!

[make up your own prompt! Hmu at woodrift for questions. ]

Lois Lane | My Adventures with Superman

[metrop_lois]

POTLUCK;

[It really shows how many wild things Lois has been through recently that her main reaction to Aurora is, "Not this again." Hadn't everything just gotten settled? Wasn't there some commotion the group was headed to last? Or had she already made it back to her apartment that evening?

Either way Lois is standing here now, muffin in one hand and to-go cup of tea in the other as she peers down the thoroughfare at the absolute culinary chaos occurring. She cocks one brow way up.]

Uh. What is going on here.

[Does she get her question answered before she's thrust into cooking her signature dish? Probably not. In the heat of the moment her brain doesn't go to anything she'd consider a signature dish but the easiest one she could do with her eyes closed -- gyeran-mari. Rolled omelets were probably cheating given how many times she'd had them made for her and made them herself but Lois isn't above using things to her advantage, okay.

Until she finally gets in a booth, finds an apron and goes to start cracking those eggs. When the first one literally screams at her she immediately fumbles the egg shell, drops it in with the egg itself and retreats from the bowl with her hands raised.]

... On second thought how about some buldak.

TUMMY ACHE SURVIVOR;

[Lois usually has a cast iron stomach but one of those dishes she was so happy to taste test really turned on her. She readily scoops up a bunch of her own dish, that cheesy buldak. She hadn't taste tested it just for fairness sake but now she relishes in it, popping a big spoonfull in her mouth to mutter around it.]

Mmh, thank goodness.

[If anything will burn away the bad memories it's fire chicken.]

WILDCARD;

[Want to try another prompt with Lois? Be my guest! PMs are open for your plotting needs. <3]