Planet Matzo Ball

November 22, 2015:

Being sick right before thanksgiving is no fun. Unless you get to make fun of the person…

The Titans' Tower


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Turkey Day is approaching. For some reason, this means that Garfield Logan is wandering around as a (wild) turkey — not one of those grotesquely overgrown birds who seem to have a bad glandular condition. He's in the garden, picking bugs out of the trees. Mmmm. Grubs.


A redhead emerges from the castle into the central garden bundled up in several layers and an ugly-looking sweater. It's not Christmas yet, but needs of the season outweigh the needs of the calendar day, specially when staying warm is involved. His hair looks far more disheveled than usual and he is clinging to a steaming cup of something or other that he holds not unlike a knight of Camelot might have held the Holy Grail.

"… oh," the young man says as he spots Garfield. "I see you're in a fowl mood…" he coughs.

"Gobble," Gar replies, and swallows. With a sideways look at the tree, he abruptly turns into a woodpecker and starts pounding his face into the bark - BBRRRAAAPPPAPTPTPATPTPTPT - got it.

"Our tree's got boring beetles. Or it did. I ate them all."

The woodpecker flutters out and midair turns human landing upwind of Keith.

"You're still sick. Why are you out here in the damp and draft?"

"I'm going stir crazy in there," Keith answers, taking a sip of the ginger lemon tea. "I feel like a princess confined to the tower. It's just a cold, hon, I'm not going to die…" there is a stubborn streak in the O'Neils, and it tends to manifest itself often in the field of medicine. Instead of creating doctors, however, it often ends up creating more patients. "Besides, you need someone to help plan the dinner, no?"

"Tofurkey," Gar says stubbornly. "And baked yams. That's all they get."

That's not all they get. If Keith weren't too sick, he'd know that there were two free-range turkeys already prepped and waiting in the colder of the two walk-in chillers directly DOWN from the kitchen, not to mention other supplies. Gar may not want to cook but that doesn't mean he can't cater.

"Also, you had a fever of 103 this morning. That's normal for SMALL cats. Not for you."

"That wasn't fever, that was you saying how hot I was, Garfield." He is n ot about to admit weakness. Fever is for mortals, the Fae know not of this 'fever.'

"And we need to schedule our end of the year meeting, don't forget that. I've got the mentoring plan almost drafted…" well, almost. Right now he's too busy falling asleep.

"And you're going to look at the parts you did while you're sick and scream curses in proto-Gaelic and then start over, once you're completely well," Gar retorts. "I know how you think, Keith O'Neil. You just turn the Golden Girls tapes back on and settle yourself down."

Yes. Tapes. The Castle came with a few amusing things, including an unnaturally high-fidelity cassette tape system that made both Betamax and SuperVHS look like black-and-white from the 1930s. Apparently a gift from one of the Lairmaster's grateful clients; It currently had nearly anything that was broadcast on television before 2003 on it, and much of what came after, though it had taken some time to set things up to parse it all out onto smaller systems. It couldn't QUITE handle a full 1080p HD image, though, so future stuff had been relegated to the digital domains.

"Would you like me to make you some matzoh soup?"

"I'd rather not," Keith says to the suggestion of watching the Golden Girls, "I think I had a fever dream and dreamt that Dorothy was trying to take over the world." He pauses and suddenly realizes he let something slip.

"Not that I have fever. It was an expression… matzoh soup? I don't think I've ever had that…."

"Dorothy has no need to take over the world. She already secretly rules it. You ARE sick," Gar says. He leads the feverish one inside the door (stop heating the outside!) and sets him in a comfy chair where the breeze from ouside can be smelled, because of the recirculation system. The kitchen is right here, and there's a quick flurry of activity: a tablespoon, of oil a tablespoon of broth from the chicken-broth-pot simmering on the back burner, a half cup of matzoh crumbs and two eggs. Gar frowns and tosses in a hefty pinch of fresh thyme and stirs it into a sort of lump, then starts ladling soup stock into a smaller pan. while the bowl of whatever that was, sits in the refrigerator.

"Now, does protein sound like death to you, or could you kill and devour a cow at the moment?"

"I… could really go for something warm," Keith answers, settling into his comfy chair as a way of compromise. "… whyyydoyouask?" he says, giving the green guy a suspicious look.

"I also was thinking… it's been an awfully long time since we've had Kat over. Do you think she's mad at us for some reason?"

"Who, Hawkeye? No. I… it's more likely that she's kind of feeling embarrassed. Just how sharp are your gossip ears?"

If Keith doesn't know this then Gar is pretty sure he's going to be horribly upset that Gar didn't tell him the first thing he heard of it but … yeah. Well.

"I may have heard from someone who heard from someone that there was a bit of a … revelation … about Hawkeye Agent of SHIELD."

He considers. It'd be possible to poach an egg, but that might kill his appetite, but the matzo has to sit in there for a half hour or so, and then it takes at least fifteen minutes to cook… aww crud. Toast and poached eggs it is.

"I'mma make you something light before the matzoh ball soup is ready, K?" (foosh, crackity crack, koosh, snnept.)

"Suresurenowwait," Keith waves a hand, "What's this about Hawkeye? And how long have you known this?" those green eyes are giving him THE LOOK.

"You had better come clean, Garfield, or I swear I will cough all over yyou."

"I may have heard it a monthorsoback. And you keep your plague to yourself, or you'll be sleeping with a porcupine tonight."

That wasn't an answer. POING! It's TOAST! and Gar scrapes a few scrapes of butter across both slices, and angle-cuts them, and puts the two poached eggs into a chinese blue rice-seed porcelain bowl, and sprinkles a light sprink of sea salt and black pepper.

"Here. Eat. I'll have your soup in about an hour. I didn't know you were going to be up or I'd have made it earlier."

And he kisses Keith on the back of the head. And briefly turns into a clam and back to murder any unwanted viral passengers.

Keith begins to munch on the food and gives Gar the hairy eye. "… Garfield, that was not an answer and you know it! You're being cruel again!"

He hmphs and eats, looking slightly sullen.

"Are you SURE you want to hear gossip when you're sick?" Gar asks. "You know you might wonder if you were hallucinating it when you're all better."

He steals the half-empty hot-lemon-ginger-tea and adds a drop more honey and some more hot water before returning it.

"Gar!" Keith ponders throwing an egg at Gar, but decides that food shouldn't b wasted that way. "Come ooooon! Don't make me suffer like this! Now I'm not going to rest until I know what's going on!"

And lightbulb, "… and you know how important it is to rest when you're sick. Right?" Big eyes.

"OK FINE," Gar capitulates. "You win. SO. Rumor hath it that one fine July day, a number of SHIELD agents were seen to be chasing through a neighborhood, and that they were apparently after one purple-clad blond archer guy. But, also, the selfsame purple-clad archer guy was also chasing along, as was our dear Kate, and she's the one who took out the one being chased. With some kind of flashy arrow. All the televisions went fritz. So it was an EMP arrow."

He waits to see if Keith will get what was going on.

"And, since then, Kate has NOT been seen at any of her favorite restaurants and hangouts with Mr Purple Arrow."

Really. Gossiping about friends. SO tawdry. But also delicious, which is why it's such a conflicting pastime.

"… I am not entirely sure… so they were chasing some sort of replica of Hawkeye-guy. Why hasn't kate been seen with Clint since?" Keith asks, nomming on his egg-toast. He's sick and therefore slow, so he could be forgiven for not jumping to conclusions immediately.

"Word on the street," Gar says, and by this he almost certainly means Danny the Street who is a notorious gossip, "says that replica-Hawkeye-guy was the one she was with all along. He certainly had me fooled as well, and you know that I'm not easily fooled by robot stand-ins."

Probably. Of course, one only knows when a robot stand-in is there when they fail to fool.

"So I think she's embarrassed or had a slightly cracked heart."

And, here's where Gar does his best not to think about superhero girls who apparently fall for much older guys.. but then again, Kate isn't nutburgers.

"…Oh my god, you mean Kate was with a…" Keith's eyes grow large.

"That's… oh dear lord, poor Kate. We need to invite her out to dinner or something…. not mention anything about robosex. Just. Oh god, poor Kate-" and here he dissolves into a coughing fir for a few seconds.

AND, Gar rescues the hot lemon ginger tea with honey and the toast as Vorpal has an attack of the spasms. He waits for the recovery.

"I may have to do something violent about this plague business," he says to himself. Note, Gar has … sometimes … dealt with other people having … viruses …

"Oh no, you're not going to go Body Wars with me. Sometimes these things have to carry through their natural duration, you know…" Keith takes the tea again and starts sipping gingerly once the coughing fit has subsided.

"… besides, you should put your smarts to better use. Like the problem of… Bunker."

"Problem? Bunker?" Gar is confused. "He hasn't grown an evil goatee has he?"

"No, but I notice he's terribly lonely. You know… maybe we should conspire. Go on the lookout." Sip. "Find him a boyfriend. It's inconceivable that a guy as nice as Miguel hasn't been able to find anyone, you know? This needs to be resolved. I can tell the signs, you know. He's feeling lonely."

He holds the cup in both hands and just enjoys the spreading of the warmth. "Thing is… can you think of someone? And if you say 'Midnighter' I will deck you SO hard…"

"Nah. Midnighter needs someone who can vaporize him with his mind, so he doesn't get all smug and assholish. More smug," Gar says. "I'd totally set him up with Danny, but Danny's got no patience for Batman so Midnighter? He'd toss him out in Siberia."

The wind-up alarm bell dings, and Gar goes to the kitchen and adds hot water to one of the pans of broth, then turns the heat on. He takes the bowl of matzoh stuff out, and runs water on his hands, and partitions the dough into four balls, each about the size of an egg, and lets them rest while the broth gets hot. Ohright, touched egg, wash hands again.

"OH, you meant Bunker. Right. Honestly? I'd set him up with Joe Wilson if Joey wasn't so spooky sometimes. Poor guy needs to learn to let go of things he's been, y'know?"

"Wait. Joey Wilson is… gay?" Keith tilts his head, "How do you know that? Then again…" an idea starts coming to his mind. "You now, you haven't told me much of anything of him back in the day. I vaguely know about his powers, but you've been very secretive about this…" tilts his head.

"To be honest, I couldn't say. He does look the part, right? But he had girls all over him, the guitar and he inherited his Daddy's build," Gar says. He shrugs, and tosses the four blobs into the boiling stock, and claps the lid on top, reducing the heat slightly. Fifteen minutes onto the windy-alarm thing.

"So, what do you want to know about him?"

"Who is this Daddy you keep referring to, for starters?" Oh boy, Keith goes fo the good questions, doesn't he? "And wouldn't you want to, y'know, ASK him before setting him up?"

"If I wanted to set them up I'd introduce them in a harmless setting first," Gar says. "I don't really do the blind date thing to people."

He clears away the crumby toast plate and cleaned out egg bowl and prepares a television tray. (Nobody really uses them to watch television and eat any more — they're too high, and no back support — but they work for small mobile meals.)

"Joe's dad is Slade Wilson."

And the name… drops like a dead fish. Keith's green eyes stay on Gar. "… and what does that mean?" He pauses to sip his tea, "I mean, I know that must mean something important… but you've got to realize I've only been doing this for…" he frowns. "A year and some change." That's right. He had started the hero shenanigans in July of 2014. Time certainly flies, "The name isn't exactly clicking for me, though."

Gar sighs. "You are so behind on your foe recognition drills," he says in a petulant voice, and draws a picture of the famous Deathstroke mask on one of the small whiteboard things in the kitchen.

"This fellow. I know he has a lot of imitators. No, not Deadpool."

"I haven't run into him… what's the deal with him? And couldn't he afford a better designer for his mask? That's pretty… well. Basic." The redhead tilts his head and looks at the mask.

"And what should I do if I ever do run into him? I mean, he's Joey's dad. I take it the apple fell very far from the tree?"

"Yeah. You could say that. He's a mercenary and assassin. Way tough. Only a few people have ever beaten him at any kind of game."

Other than that, Gar can't really say. There are reasons. Some of them terrible.

"If you see him? Be prepared to rabbit hole him into orbit."

He'll probably survive it but it won't feel good.

Keith nods slowly and closes his eyes, suddenly feeling a hit from being sick. Ooh, energy dip. "I think I'm ready to munch down before I fall asleep… maybe watching Golden Girls under the covers isn't such a bad idea…" he says quietly.

"I'd offer you an invitation, but I don't want to get you sick…"

"I'll be a lizard. They don't catch cold viruses," Gar says, dipping the matzo balls into two bowls. Hey, it's lunchtime for green people too. A bit of cold water follows the soup into the bowl because Gar has experienced the pain of super-hot soup. It is terrible and bad. One bowl, and a chinese-style spoon, and a clean kitchen towel in case of dripping.

"Here ya go." He follows shortly with his own bowl.

"You get all the useful powers, you know," Keith grins, greedily reaching for the promised bowl, trying not to thoroughly devour it in one go for the sake of decorum. "… After this, hot cocoa and blankets. You've got to promise me you won't get yourself killed out there during the time that I can't join you on patrol. I would be most cross with you."

"Cross my heart," Gar says and doesn't finish it.

"What do you think of matzo balls?"

Vorpal rolls 10 on 1d20.

"I approve of these balls of yours," Keith says absent-mindedly as he tries to keep his focus through the valley of sickness-mist long enough to finish his food. "Would totally have them again."

Gar Logan says, “Matzo balls.”

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