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tellitslantTitle: With Abandon or Not At All
Author:tellitslant
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/pairing: Ensemble (Magnus/Tesla)
Rating: PG
Word count: 2500
Disclaimer: Characters are property of SyFy. This is a transformative work; no infringement is intended.
Thanks: To![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sophia_gratia, for amazing beta as well as pushing me till I fell under Magnus's spell.
Warnings: None. No major spoilers. Set somewhere in season two, pre-"Sleepers."
Summary: Inspired by resonant's comments: Whenever I'm exploring new characters, I always enjoy asking myself two things: Can they sing? and Can they cook? Five interlocking five-hundred-word ficlets about the Sanctuary team, cooking, and music.
*
"Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all."
- Julia Child
*
Will knows that there's a sound system in the Sanctuary kitchen, theoretically, but he's never heard it in use; the Big Guy insists on silence while preparing his culinary creations no matter how weird they are. So when Will hears jazz music drifting softly down the corridors one Sunday afternoon in April, he goes to investigate.
He's startled to find Magnus there, as dressed down as he's ever seen her in jeans and a men's button-down shirt. Her hair is in a messy bun and her sleeves are rolled up; she's got flour to her elbows and is kneading a loaf of bread. She's not singing along, quite, but she's humming absently, focused on her baking. He's never seen her working in the kitchen before: an unexpected addition to the puzzle he's always trying to piece together.
"Magnus?" he says, stepping through the door.
She startles visibly, a small cloud of flour rising comically around her. "Will! What are you –" She clears her throat and starts again. "Did you need something?"
"No. I just heard the music." One of these mornings, you're going to rise up singing. He knows the singer is Ella Fitzgerald, but the song escapes him, familiar as the lyrics seem to be.
Craning his neck, he looks at the bread; closer now, he can see she wasn't kneading it at all, but braiding it into a complex pattern. "Pretty fancy, Magnus," he says. "I didn't know you could cook."
She smiles a little stiffly. "Well, anything you can make over a campfire, I'm your woman," she says facetiously. "Other than that, though, I rarely have time. Still, this crossed my mind today, and given the time of year..." She studies the loaf, neatening one of the strands with a fingernail.
"The time of year for bread?" Will frowns. "What, is it some kind of special bread?" It certainly doesn't look like any kind of bread he's seen before.
"It's Easter bread, Will. Very common in Orthodox and formerly Orthodox countries in eastern Europe. I had it for the first time in Vienna years ago." Magnus flushes slightly for no apparent reason.
The silence stretches out as the song ends, until another begins. They're writing songs of love, but not for me, Ella sings. Magnus reaches for the remote and stabs the off button.
"Okay," Will says, knowing there's more to the story but unwilling to pry, given the tension he can see in Magnus's shoulders. "Will we have some with dinner tonight?"
"Perhaps," Magnus says, and turns to the oven. She bends to check the dial, immediately in her own world again, and Will leaves quietly.
Dinner that night is late and Magnus is still twitchy. The bread is on the table, golden brown and inviting, but when Will tries some he finds it unexpectedly sweet and unsuited to the sharp gravy they have with their beef. No one eats more than one slice and it sits on the kitchen counter for days, growing stale.
*
It's as if they've just been reminded that people other than the Big Guy are allowed in the kitchen; there's a run on the space like it's probably never seen before. Will finds himself in there the morning after the weird dinner, looking for a quick breakfast following his workout. The bread's on the counter, and maybe it would be better with jam or something, but it just feels weird to eat it for some reason. He digs through the cupboards unenthusiastically; nope, cereal isn't gonna cut it. Turning to the fridge, he grabs the egg carton and starts foraging for omelette ingredients.
It's not till he's got an odd assortment of leftovers covering the counters that he remembers the music. He flips the system on and shuffles through the Sanctuary cloud until he lands on Nirvana. Yes, he thinks, and cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl. Milk, salt, pepper, cumin just for the hell of it, and Will pours the mix into a sizzling pan.
He grates cheese and chops vegetables to the rhythm of "Lithium," letting himself get lost in the music. It's weirdly compelling; he's not much of a cook, but he understands how people can enjoy the prep work. Maybe he should do this more often. It's the waiting he's not good at, though; once he's tossed the cheese and veggies onto the omelette and dropped the lid on top of the pan, it's just a matter of time, and he's hungry now.
The system hiccups and skips to "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and Will taps the spatula in his hand against the countertop. He hits the cutting board by accident - and hey, that's an even better sound. Here we are now, entertain us, and he grabs a wooden spoon from the draining board and starts drumming along.
He's really getting into it when there are heavy footsteps behind him; before he can turn around, Biggie smacks him one in the head, hard enough that the spoon goes flying into the wall. "Hey!" he protests automatically, reaching up to rub the sore spot on his skull. That was harder than usual. "What the hell, man?"
Biggie glares at him. "Some of us are trying to work," he grunts. "Now clean up my kitchen." He leaves without another word. Will stares after him, then turns to look at the counter. Okay, so the drumming had scattered cheese gratings and veggie bits all along the surface. And maybe he'd been a little loud.
Suddenly his nose wrinkles and he dives for the frying pan. "Oh, shit!" He juggles it frantically, pulling the lid off and shaking the omelette out onto the waiting plate. Yup; the edges curl up black and crispy. After all that, he's burned the stupid thing.
I'm not like them, but I can pretend. The sun is gone, but I have a light. The sun is gone; I'm having fun - I think.
He eats the omelette anyway. It's pretty damn good, actually.
*
Kate comes barrelling into the lab that afternoon while Will and Henry are arguing over schedule changes. 2 a.m. feedings suck if one of them has a date, and they do try to help each other out - most of the time. Kate ignores the heated discussion and grabs Will's arm. "Will, c'mon!" She tugs hard, nearly tipping him over. "You gotta come help me beat my meat!"
Henry snorts coffee out his nose. "Say what?"
Will barely manages not to pull the same trick, instead setting his cup down very carefully.
Kate dimples at them. "Look at that weather." She points at one of the security monitors and they look automatically. "Blue sky. Sunshine. Not a cloud in sight! We're having a barbeque. Biggie's gonna fire up the grill and I have some steak that needs tenderizing before I stick it in the marinade. All right?" She jerks her head in invitation.
Will shrugs. Why the hell not?
He can hear the music throbbing the moment he leaves the lab, and he's a little annoyed that Biggie lets Kate get away with this level of noise when he was so quick to get on Will's case. When he gets to the kitchen, he's really pissed off; if Kate's room is bad, what she's done to the kitchen is ten times worse. He vows silently that there's no way in hell he's going to get stuck cleaning this up.
Meat tenderizing is a great way to work out aggression, though, and Magnus - or, more likely, the Big Guy - actually has one of those fancy tenderizing mallets, which is pretty fun. He even joins Kate in a bit of headbanging to Joan Jett.
"Don't give a damn 'bout my reputation," she yowls off-key, getting really carried away by the air guitar. Her hair goes every which way as she gets into it. "Never said I wanted to improve my station!" He doesn't know what's in the marinade, but it smells great.
He does end up cleaning the kitchen again.
Kate disappears "to make sure the grill is working properly" and doesn't come back, and Biggie shows up and growls at him. Will throws up his hands in defeat and wonders where they keep the mop.
It's almost worth it that night, when they eat out on the patio. They've got the doors open and the heat going full blast to make it possible, but everything was done on the grill and he has to admit Kate's got a deft touch. His steak is charred on the outside and blue on the inside and delicious.
"Not bad, Kate," he says, cutting another huge bite. He chews a couple of times and then stops, grimacing. Reaching into his mouth, he fishes around for a moment, then pulls a long, black hair out, covered in bits of steak.
Kate bursts out laughing. "Sorry, dude," she says between giggles. "Hazard of listening to good music while I cook. Don't worry." She winks. "I showered this week."
*
It's the smell, not the music, that draws Will to the kitchen the next day. It smells nostalgic and yet somehow sickening, like the nights he made dinner for himself when his dad wasn't around to do the cooking. It can't be, but yup; Henry's in the kitchen making Kraft mac and cheese. Worse, he's rapping along to the Barenaked Ladies. Will leans against the door and watches, trying not to laugh.
"Chickety China, the Chinese chicken, have a drumstick and your brain starts tickin'. Watchin' X-Files with the lights on, we're dans la maison, I hope the Smoking Man's in - oh, hey, Will!" Henry catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and stops abruptly.
"Do you know that whole thing off by heart?" Will asks.
Henry looks a little embarrassed, but refuses to admit it. "Long days in the lab, gotta keep the brain busy, you know." He stirs the pot a few more times for good measure.
Will shakes his head and grabs the remote, clicking through the song listings for something he uploaded the other day for just this eventuality. Well, okay, maybe he hadn't seen exactly this coming, but something similar was bound to happen. "Hey, listen, I found you a theme song," he says, and clicks play.
Think I'm just too white and nerdy, think I'm just too white and nerdy, can't you see I'm white and nerdy, look at me I'm white and nerdy.
"Weird Al? Thanks, man." Henry shakes his head. "Never heard that one before. Real original. Listen, you want some?" He gestures at the pot and Will walks over to peer in. It's just as orange as he remembers. Didn't the government regulate the dye amount, or is this a vintage pack?
"Seriously, dude, it's almost lunchtime. Why should I eat this crap when I can wait for Biggie to bring me a fancy sandwich with a little garnish?" Will mimes a sprig of parsley, then realizes how absurd he looks and drops his hands.
"Do you know what the Big Guy's making today?" Henry shudders theatrically and drops his voice. "I'm not saying lutefisk, but I'm not not saying lutefisk, you know what I mean?"
"Seriously?" Will looks at the pot again, weighing his options. "You sure you got enough to share?"
"Yeah, c'mon, we got all sorts of fancy ketchups to go with it too." Henry bends over to poke through the condiments on the fridge door.
Will smirks, then smothers a laugh as he realizes Henry hasn't said it on purpose. "That's great," he manages, "but do you have Dijon ketchup?"
"Dijon ketchup? I dunno, let me see." Henry shoves a few more jars aside, looking.
Wait for it; waaaaait for it. Will can see when it hits him; he freezes, then straightens up slowly. "You mean, real Dijon ketchup?" Henry asks. He's trying to keep a straight face, but Will can see his lips twitching. "No, not real Dijon ketchup. Man, that's cruel."
*
There's a vampire in the kitchen when Will comes down for breakfast the next morning. "Aw, you've got to be kidding," he says, watching Tesla poke through everything on the counters and the shelves. "Do you even eat?"
"When I find something worthy of eating, Wilhelm, I'm sure you'll be the first to know," Tesla says, baring his teeth in what's less a smile and more a display of dominance. "Wait; what's this?" He spots the stale Easter bread and his face goes absolutely, preternaturally blank.
"Something Magnus made the other day," Will says, puzzled. "I don't think it turned out quite like she wanted it to, though."
Tesla touches the hard crust with one long finger. "I see." He grabs the nearest piece of fruit, almost blindly, and stalks out of the kitchen. "Well, don't just stand there," he yells back over his shoulder. "I'm sure you have much more important things to be doing."
Will does, actually; he and Magnus spend the day chasing down an escaped peridax. They end up in the sewers - why do they always end up in the sewers? - and miss lunch, but Will can't even think about food until he's showered twice.
He bumps into Magnus in the kitchen again. She's got to be as hungry as he is, but she's not eating, just staring at a pan sitting on top of the stove.
She whirls around when he comes in. "Will! Do you know... who made that?" She points at the pan.
Will lifts the covering dishcloth and peers in. Whatever's in there smells delicious, but looks a bit like used kitty litter. "I don't even know what it is," he says, dropping the cloth. "And Tesla's the only person I've seen in here all day."
"Nikola?" Magnus says in disbelief.
"Yeah, not like he can cook, right?" Will starts, but breaks off when he gets a look at Magnus's face. She's not laughing; she's startled as hell, staring at the empty space on the counter where the Easter bread was. "Magnus? You okay?"
She blinks and focuses on his face. "Oh, Nikola can cook, Will," she says slowly. "He had to learn during the periods at Oxford when he couldn't afford to eat in halls." She lifts the cloth off the pan again, smiling softly. "And that is bread pudding. I haven't had it since the last time I went home to England."
She leaves the kitchen in a hurry - presumably off to find Tesla, Will guesses, though he's not sure what to make of the look on her face, curious and wondering and scared. What the hell was that about?
Will stares around the kitchen, looking for clues. The control for the sound system is sitting on the counter. Nah, he thinks, but picks it up anyways. Does the vampire listen to music or is it beneath him? Will clicks the play button.
Oh, lady be good to me. I am awfully misunderstood, so, lady be good to me.
*
1.
Ella Fitzgerald, "Summertime"
Ella Fitzgerald, "But Not For Me"
2.
Nirvana, "Lithium"
Nirvana, "Smells Like Teen Spirit"
Nirvana, "Dumb"
3.
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, "Bad Reputation"
4.
Barenaked Ladies, "One Week"
Weird Al Yankovic, "White and Nerdy"
Barenaked Ladies, "If I Had $1000000"
5.
Ella Fitzgerald, "Oh, Lady Be Good!"
Author:
tellitslantFandom: Sanctuary
Characters/pairing: Ensemble (Magnus/Tesla)
Rating: PG
Word count: 2500
Disclaimer: Characters are property of SyFy. This is a transformative work; no infringement is intended.
Thanks: To
sophia_gratia, for amazing beta as well as pushing me till I fell under Magnus's spell. Warnings: None. No major spoilers. Set somewhere in season two, pre-"Sleepers."
Summary: Inspired by resonant's comments: Whenever I'm exploring new characters, I always enjoy asking myself two things: Can they sing? and Can they cook? Five interlocking five-hundred-word ficlets about the Sanctuary team, cooking, and music.
*
"Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all."
- Julia Child
*
Will knows that there's a sound system in the Sanctuary kitchen, theoretically, but he's never heard it in use; the Big Guy insists on silence while preparing his culinary creations no matter how weird they are. So when Will hears jazz music drifting softly down the corridors one Sunday afternoon in April, he goes to investigate.
He's startled to find Magnus there, as dressed down as he's ever seen her in jeans and a men's button-down shirt. Her hair is in a messy bun and her sleeves are rolled up; she's got flour to her elbows and is kneading a loaf of bread. She's not singing along, quite, but she's humming absently, focused on her baking. He's never seen her working in the kitchen before: an unexpected addition to the puzzle he's always trying to piece together.
"Magnus?" he says, stepping through the door.
She startles visibly, a small cloud of flour rising comically around her. "Will! What are you –" She clears her throat and starts again. "Did you need something?"
"No. I just heard the music." One of these mornings, you're going to rise up singing. He knows the singer is Ella Fitzgerald, but the song escapes him, familiar as the lyrics seem to be.
Craning his neck, he looks at the bread; closer now, he can see she wasn't kneading it at all, but braiding it into a complex pattern. "Pretty fancy, Magnus," he says. "I didn't know you could cook."
She smiles a little stiffly. "Well, anything you can make over a campfire, I'm your woman," she says facetiously. "Other than that, though, I rarely have time. Still, this crossed my mind today, and given the time of year..." She studies the loaf, neatening one of the strands with a fingernail.
"The time of year for bread?" Will frowns. "What, is it some kind of special bread?" It certainly doesn't look like any kind of bread he's seen before.
"It's Easter bread, Will. Very common in Orthodox and formerly Orthodox countries in eastern Europe. I had it for the first time in Vienna years ago." Magnus flushes slightly for no apparent reason.
The silence stretches out as the song ends, until another begins. They're writing songs of love, but not for me, Ella sings. Magnus reaches for the remote and stabs the off button.
"Okay," Will says, knowing there's more to the story but unwilling to pry, given the tension he can see in Magnus's shoulders. "Will we have some with dinner tonight?"
"Perhaps," Magnus says, and turns to the oven. She bends to check the dial, immediately in her own world again, and Will leaves quietly.
Dinner that night is late and Magnus is still twitchy. The bread is on the table, golden brown and inviting, but when Will tries some he finds it unexpectedly sweet and unsuited to the sharp gravy they have with their beef. No one eats more than one slice and it sits on the kitchen counter for days, growing stale.
*
It's as if they've just been reminded that people other than the Big Guy are allowed in the kitchen; there's a run on the space like it's probably never seen before. Will finds himself in there the morning after the weird dinner, looking for a quick breakfast following his workout. The bread's on the counter, and maybe it would be better with jam or something, but it just feels weird to eat it for some reason. He digs through the cupboards unenthusiastically; nope, cereal isn't gonna cut it. Turning to the fridge, he grabs the egg carton and starts foraging for omelette ingredients.
It's not till he's got an odd assortment of leftovers covering the counters that he remembers the music. He flips the system on and shuffles through the Sanctuary cloud until he lands on Nirvana. Yes, he thinks, and cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl. Milk, salt, pepper, cumin just for the hell of it, and Will pours the mix into a sizzling pan.
He grates cheese and chops vegetables to the rhythm of "Lithium," letting himself get lost in the music. It's weirdly compelling; he's not much of a cook, but he understands how people can enjoy the prep work. Maybe he should do this more often. It's the waiting he's not good at, though; once he's tossed the cheese and veggies onto the omelette and dropped the lid on top of the pan, it's just a matter of time, and he's hungry now.
The system hiccups and skips to "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and Will taps the spatula in his hand against the countertop. He hits the cutting board by accident - and hey, that's an even better sound. Here we are now, entertain us, and he grabs a wooden spoon from the draining board and starts drumming along.
He's really getting into it when there are heavy footsteps behind him; before he can turn around, Biggie smacks him one in the head, hard enough that the spoon goes flying into the wall. "Hey!" he protests automatically, reaching up to rub the sore spot on his skull. That was harder than usual. "What the hell, man?"
Biggie glares at him. "Some of us are trying to work," he grunts. "Now clean up my kitchen." He leaves without another word. Will stares after him, then turns to look at the counter. Okay, so the drumming had scattered cheese gratings and veggie bits all along the surface. And maybe he'd been a little loud.
Suddenly his nose wrinkles and he dives for the frying pan. "Oh, shit!" He juggles it frantically, pulling the lid off and shaking the omelette out onto the waiting plate. Yup; the edges curl up black and crispy. After all that, he's burned the stupid thing.
I'm not like them, but I can pretend. The sun is gone, but I have a light. The sun is gone; I'm having fun - I think.
He eats the omelette anyway. It's pretty damn good, actually.
*
Kate comes barrelling into the lab that afternoon while Will and Henry are arguing over schedule changes. 2 a.m. feedings suck if one of them has a date, and they do try to help each other out - most of the time. Kate ignores the heated discussion and grabs Will's arm. "Will, c'mon!" She tugs hard, nearly tipping him over. "You gotta come help me beat my meat!"
Henry snorts coffee out his nose. "Say what?"
Will barely manages not to pull the same trick, instead setting his cup down very carefully.
Kate dimples at them. "Look at that weather." She points at one of the security monitors and they look automatically. "Blue sky. Sunshine. Not a cloud in sight! We're having a barbeque. Biggie's gonna fire up the grill and I have some steak that needs tenderizing before I stick it in the marinade. All right?" She jerks her head in invitation.
Will shrugs. Why the hell not?
He can hear the music throbbing the moment he leaves the lab, and he's a little annoyed that Biggie lets Kate get away with this level of noise when he was so quick to get on Will's case. When he gets to the kitchen, he's really pissed off; if Kate's room is bad, what she's done to the kitchen is ten times worse. He vows silently that there's no way in hell he's going to get stuck cleaning this up.
Meat tenderizing is a great way to work out aggression, though, and Magnus - or, more likely, the Big Guy - actually has one of those fancy tenderizing mallets, which is pretty fun. He even joins Kate in a bit of headbanging to Joan Jett.
"Don't give a damn 'bout my reputation," she yowls off-key, getting really carried away by the air guitar. Her hair goes every which way as she gets into it. "Never said I wanted to improve my station!" He doesn't know what's in the marinade, but it smells great.
He does end up cleaning the kitchen again.
Kate disappears "to make sure the grill is working properly" and doesn't come back, and Biggie shows up and growls at him. Will throws up his hands in defeat and wonders where they keep the mop.
It's almost worth it that night, when they eat out on the patio. They've got the doors open and the heat going full blast to make it possible, but everything was done on the grill and he has to admit Kate's got a deft touch. His steak is charred on the outside and blue on the inside and delicious.
"Not bad, Kate," he says, cutting another huge bite. He chews a couple of times and then stops, grimacing. Reaching into his mouth, he fishes around for a moment, then pulls a long, black hair out, covered in bits of steak.
Kate bursts out laughing. "Sorry, dude," she says between giggles. "Hazard of listening to good music while I cook. Don't worry." She winks. "I showered this week."
*
It's the smell, not the music, that draws Will to the kitchen the next day. It smells nostalgic and yet somehow sickening, like the nights he made dinner for himself when his dad wasn't around to do the cooking. It can't be, but yup; Henry's in the kitchen making Kraft mac and cheese. Worse, he's rapping along to the Barenaked Ladies. Will leans against the door and watches, trying not to laugh.
"Chickety China, the Chinese chicken, have a drumstick and your brain starts tickin'. Watchin' X-Files with the lights on, we're dans la maison, I hope the Smoking Man's in - oh, hey, Will!" Henry catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and stops abruptly.
"Do you know that whole thing off by heart?" Will asks.
Henry looks a little embarrassed, but refuses to admit it. "Long days in the lab, gotta keep the brain busy, you know." He stirs the pot a few more times for good measure.
Will shakes his head and grabs the remote, clicking through the song listings for something he uploaded the other day for just this eventuality. Well, okay, maybe he hadn't seen exactly this coming, but something similar was bound to happen. "Hey, listen, I found you a theme song," he says, and clicks play.
Think I'm just too white and nerdy, think I'm just too white and nerdy, can't you see I'm white and nerdy, look at me I'm white and nerdy.
"Weird Al? Thanks, man." Henry shakes his head. "Never heard that one before. Real original. Listen, you want some?" He gestures at the pot and Will walks over to peer in. It's just as orange as he remembers. Didn't the government regulate the dye amount, or is this a vintage pack?
"Seriously, dude, it's almost lunchtime. Why should I eat this crap when I can wait for Biggie to bring me a fancy sandwich with a little garnish?" Will mimes a sprig of parsley, then realizes how absurd he looks and drops his hands.
"Do you know what the Big Guy's making today?" Henry shudders theatrically and drops his voice. "I'm not saying lutefisk, but I'm not not saying lutefisk, you know what I mean?"
"Seriously?" Will looks at the pot again, weighing his options. "You sure you got enough to share?"
"Yeah, c'mon, we got all sorts of fancy ketchups to go with it too." Henry bends over to poke through the condiments on the fridge door.
Will smirks, then smothers a laugh as he realizes Henry hasn't said it on purpose. "That's great," he manages, "but do you have Dijon ketchup?"
"Dijon ketchup? I dunno, let me see." Henry shoves a few more jars aside, looking.
Wait for it; waaaaait for it. Will can see when it hits him; he freezes, then straightens up slowly. "You mean, real Dijon ketchup?" Henry asks. He's trying to keep a straight face, but Will can see his lips twitching. "No, not real Dijon ketchup. Man, that's cruel."
*
There's a vampire in the kitchen when Will comes down for breakfast the next morning. "Aw, you've got to be kidding," he says, watching Tesla poke through everything on the counters and the shelves. "Do you even eat?"
"When I find something worthy of eating, Wilhelm, I'm sure you'll be the first to know," Tesla says, baring his teeth in what's less a smile and more a display of dominance. "Wait; what's this?" He spots the stale Easter bread and his face goes absolutely, preternaturally blank.
"Something Magnus made the other day," Will says, puzzled. "I don't think it turned out quite like she wanted it to, though."
Tesla touches the hard crust with one long finger. "I see." He grabs the nearest piece of fruit, almost blindly, and stalks out of the kitchen. "Well, don't just stand there," he yells back over his shoulder. "I'm sure you have much more important things to be doing."
Will does, actually; he and Magnus spend the day chasing down an escaped peridax. They end up in the sewers - why do they always end up in the sewers? - and miss lunch, but Will can't even think about food until he's showered twice.
He bumps into Magnus in the kitchen again. She's got to be as hungry as he is, but she's not eating, just staring at a pan sitting on top of the stove.
She whirls around when he comes in. "Will! Do you know... who made that?" She points at the pan.
Will lifts the covering dishcloth and peers in. Whatever's in there smells delicious, but looks a bit like used kitty litter. "I don't even know what it is," he says, dropping the cloth. "And Tesla's the only person I've seen in here all day."
"Nikola?" Magnus says in disbelief.
"Yeah, not like he can cook, right?" Will starts, but breaks off when he gets a look at Magnus's face. She's not laughing; she's startled as hell, staring at the empty space on the counter where the Easter bread was. "Magnus? You okay?"
She blinks and focuses on his face. "Oh, Nikola can cook, Will," she says slowly. "He had to learn during the periods at Oxford when he couldn't afford to eat in halls." She lifts the cloth off the pan again, smiling softly. "And that is bread pudding. I haven't had it since the last time I went home to England."
She leaves the kitchen in a hurry - presumably off to find Tesla, Will guesses, though he's not sure what to make of the look on her face, curious and wondering and scared. What the hell was that about?
Will stares around the kitchen, looking for clues. The control for the sound system is sitting on the counter. Nah, he thinks, but picks it up anyways. Does the vampire listen to music or is it beneath him? Will clicks the play button.
Oh, lady be good to me. I am awfully misunderstood, so, lady be good to me.
*
1.
Ella Fitzgerald, "Summertime"
Ella Fitzgerald, "But Not For Me"
2.
Nirvana, "Lithium"
Nirvana, "Smells Like Teen Spirit"
Nirvana, "Dumb"
3.
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, "Bad Reputation"
4.
Barenaked Ladies, "One Week"
Weird Al Yankovic, "White and Nerdy"
Barenaked Ladies, "If I Had $1000000"
5.
Ella Fitzgerald, "Oh, Lady Be Good!"
