Pancakes

[hellshaped]

Who: Hellboy and YOU
What: Hellboy (on a loss) desires pancakes. He probably could use some help.
When: Lunchtime, prime pancake time
Where: Kitchen
Rating: the babyest rating possible, he is a baby
Note: Prose or actionspam, I'll follow your lead!

Hellboy had been enjoying his time back in the castle. The snow was fun, and he managed to avoid all the weird people so far, since mostly he'd been hanging out with Molotov or exploring the grounds.

But he was getting hungry.

So, if anyone were to step inside the kitchen, they might notice that every inch of it seems to be dusted in a fine powder of flour. There are also broken eggs scattered about, some chocolate chips on the floor, and an open container of milk just sitting on the counter.

The culprit is probably this little red person with horns and a tail, who has found a footstool and is standing over the stove with a skillet in his massive right hand. By the almost cartoonish way he is scratching his head, it should be pretty obvious he's trying to figure out how to turn on the burners.

Children and stoves are probably not a very good idea. And when the child in question is this messy, it's probably the worst idea ever.

Comments

THIS IS REALLY OLD

[bezazzled]

[Two can play that game! She makes a face right back at him. And then she huffs because she remembers she has to take the mature road here.]

Okay, look. Do you want real pancakes or not? If you wanna get a stomach ache later, that's just your business, but just tell me if I should keep cooking these things or not.

shhh it's still acceptable

[hellshaped]

[He seems to deeply consider this.....

Hmm............

And then he eats some more batter. Awesome.]

[bezazzled]

UUUUGH.

[Clearly frustrated, she throws her hands up in the air before folding them across her chest and sulking against the counter. He is so going to pay for that when his stomach turns on him.

From the corner of her eye she spots a can of whipped cream. Whatever, Hellbaby! She's just going to eat this whipped cream straight from the can. DISAPPOINTINGLY.]

[hellshaped]

[WAIT...............

That looks like a much better idea. He looks at her intently!!!]

Can we trade?

[bezazzled]

Seriously?

[She has every intention of telling him NO, but then reconsiders. If she gives him the whipped cream, he'll spare his stomach from the batter. Look at these mature decisions she's making!]

Fine. Let's trade, but no trade-backs.

[hellshaped]

[This is super mature, Mabel. Once he's back to normal, he will be so proud!

Right now though, he just makes a small, dismissive sound and holds the can of batter out.]

I promise.

[bezazzled]

[She just gives him a look for a moment longer... and then quickly makes the switch before he can change his mind.]

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do this the right way.

[And she'll just turn her attention toward spraying the batter onto the skillet. You know, actually cooking pancakes!]

[hellshaped]

[Hellboy rolls his eyes -- not that this is a visible thing because his eyes are a solid color -- and just sprays whipped cream into his mouth. Yeah. Take that.

He's also going to talk with his mouth full, look:] Ow ong ill ish ake oo?

[bezazzled]

HEY. You can't rush art, and cooking is definitely an art. I mean, why else would they call it "Culinary Arts" when it becomes a professional thing?

[She pats a pancake with her spatula.]

But it's only a few minutes longer, I promise.

[hellshaped]

[Swallowing a mouthful of whipped cream like that's not totally gross or anything--]

What do you mean, "Culinary Arts"?

[bezazzled]

It's the fancy term for cooking. Totally professional. That sort of thing.

[hellshaped]

There is no way you are a professional cook. You're barely older than me!

[bezazzled]

[She looks at him for a good long minute. Or six seconds. But it feels like a minute.]

How old are you, anyway?

[hellshaped]

I just turned three... kind of. I had a birthday a couple days ago, but I don't know if that actually counts.