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[chilledout]

So, ice cream!

[It's an opening. It's not a very big opening, but Bobby doesn't know if he's supposed to talk about the doom and gloom before he gets going. He feels immediately self-conscious, not because he minds being on screen, but because being here makes him think about that stuff all the time. He knows everything is bad. He knows there's a war. He's seen the preparations. He's also heard about the Void.

But he also thinks that they need to find some of the lighter sides of life if something bad is going to happen.

Thus, after pausing, he finally goes on with renewed purpose:]

I heard at the feast last month that some people come from worlds where people haven't discovered the wonder of ice cream. Or maybe some people have been sheltered away from it. Either is possible, right?

I have an important proposition to all of you ice-cream-ignorant folk: how would you like an ice cream social? I know, you're going to tell me that you don't understand why you have to try ice cream, and you don't know why you'd be at a social for it, but hear me out!

Bad stuff is on the way, apparently, and we only have just enough time to fix this. No one should face bad stuff without ice cream in their tummy.

[He's acknowledged it. He doesn't want to talk about it, but he's acknowledged it.

He pauses, realizing.]

Unless you've got a problem with lactose? In which case—[he squeezes his nose obnoxiously as if to indicate the inevitable bad smell]—keep all of that away from me, okay!

But right—social. I'm gonna be in my room in Caer Glaem, so let me know if you want to fix your ice cream-less life. It's a service I'm providing to you. [He picks up a container full of sprinkles and adds:] And don't worry, I've got sprinkles, too. Oh, and don't wait too long—I'm gonna be heading out soon for an adventure, so you've only got a couple days to rectify this severe oversight of your worlds and lives.

[Which is probably rude, but it doesn't occur to him that it is.]

[ooc: open log for this is here!]

Comments

[psalmed]

Ice...cream?

[Okay someone hasn't heard of it. At least not in any kind of traditional form.]

It is a food? Frozen cream?

[chilledout]

Frozen cream, but with ... sugar? [That sounds right in his head.] You don't just want frozen cream. I tried that once. [Bobby rubs at his stomach to indicate that it had been an offense on his body.] Biiiiig mistake.

[psalmed]

Flavored creams?

[She's trying, at least. And how animated he is makes her smile quickly, cover it with her hand because that's certainly not polite.]

What happened when you tried it?

[chilledout]

It tasted like regret.

Have you ever imagined the taste of regret?

[psalmed]

I imagine it would be bitter, monsieur.

[But she is laughing. It feels odd, but this strikes her as somehow so strange. So funny in times such as these.]

Is it like spoiled cream?

[chilledout]

No, more like ... [How does he explain it?] Have you ever had skim milk?

[psalmed]

I am terribly afraid we only have different kinds of milk by virtue of what animal they come from.

[She is making this terribly awkward on him, isn't she? Lia frowns a moment before she comes up with more of an idea.]

Perhaps I could simply try it?

[chilledout]

No! [There's a panicked rush of "I don't want to inspire you to do this awful thing." It's very clear that he doesn't want her to eat badly frozen milk. No way.]

Skim milk is milk with a loooooooot of water in it. A lot. It's gross! It tasted like milk with water in it, but it was ... [His head tilts to one side and the other.] Not mixed together right.

[psalmed]

[He knows a lot about milk. Lia is still watching him, blinking, trying to absorb all these new terms and things because she'd never guessed it was so complicated. Maybe this was why you had to employ so many cooks...]

But I could try the ice cream you have?

[chilledout]

Easily! [Now, now she will know. This is precisely why he made this announcement in the first place.] I think I'm living in one of the crappier rooms, and I have a sign on the door! [Wait, right.] In Caer Glaem.

[psalmed]

One of the...crappier rooms?

[Certainly she should reassure him. But his frankness startles her, amuses her. He's so...well what she has decided is the definition of modern.]

I am in Caer Glaem as well so you have no need to hesitate on that account. Should I bring anything?

[chilledout]

If you have a spoon you really, really like? Otherwise, I've just been handing out cones.

... Do you have a spoon you really like? Because that'd be neat.

[psalmed]

...I have an embroidery spoon...

[So no. Not an eating spoon. That is kind of disappointing.]

I will not inquier as to what cones are. More than likely you will simply have to show me. Monsieur? I do not believe I caught your name.

[chilledout]

A ... what? [Doesn't that have to do with clothing? Boy, he has no idea how you eat embroidery, and he doesn't want to find out.]

Oh, uh—yeah, I'll show you! And I'm Bobby, Bobby Drake. [He flashes her a grin.] You can call me Iceman, too.

[psalmed]

It holds your spools straight...

[He doesn't care. She barely cares. So she smiles in return and ducks her head.]

Lia de Beaumont. I am afraid I do not have a moniker such as 'iceman' and you will certainly have to tell me about that when I arrive.

[chilledout]

I sure can! More people should have monikers like that here, if you ask me. [It's better than the war, anyway. It makes more sense to run around with a name like Iceman than to find in a stupid war.]

[psalmed]

Perhaps you might bestow those names upon them. But I shall find your room, monsieur, and try this ice cream you praise.

[It might be a threat.]