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Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
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3:12 pm
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"There is a theory which states that if ever for any reason anyone discovers what exactly the Universe is for and why it is here it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another that states that this has already happened."
~Douglas Adams
Reply with your character journal to one of my characters, leave a(ny) prompt, and I'll write you mini-episode of their AU history. It could be disasters in Hogwarts or solving crimes in Victorian England, or kicking each other's shins in King Arthur's court. Or it could be a case of Sailor Scouts or vampire Slayers, or their lives as cats--or five year olds. It could be a marriage or a funeral, or Wimbledon.
Come on, let's get a little different.
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(12 comments | comment on this)
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10:31 am
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| Wednesday, November 18th, 2009
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1:05 pm
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What thehell is rong with mE? Can't keep my eyes open no matter how hard i trybollocks sato what are you
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 17th, 2009
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3:12 pm
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Have spent most of the day on the phone with an old friend in the Vatican. Learned nothing new, or useful, except that Italy's weather continued to ridicule its victims.
Am vexed.
Have also decided to indulge by removing certain articles of worth from immediate temptation. Am less vexed, but expect future consequences and sulking. Nearly half a day later, and she's still kicking the door? Really, now. It's not as if the place is without cable.
(OOC: Mischa's life is hard. )
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, November 16th, 2009
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7:51 am
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To whomever is housing, and apparently fathering, my perpetually misplaced ward;
When appropriating one's child, a forwarding address is the least courtesy asks in substitution. Let's have a little respect for the foster system, shall we?
Best regards,
H. Sato
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(92 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, November 13th, 2009
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1:17 pm
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| Thursday, November 12th, 2009
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10:46 am - Mischa // This is going to cost a spleen and a half.
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Thing #475 Unpleasant to Tell Your Boss Before Breakfast:
"Your castle's on fire."
Because it was.
...balls.
And why, in the name of all sane and holy and tax deductible, does she insist on maintaining the monstrosity? It swallows insurance like a tar pit, none of the caretakers stay sober, the attached land is downright hostile, the cellars are a swamp, bats own the attic, its bedrooms are glacial at best, and the local children think it's haunted.
Yet every damn December someone must troop out to the poxy outhouse and pretend it's livable.
Every. Bloody. Year.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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10:36 am
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While I actively understand the moral and emotional traumatic implications of caging one's children, I've yet to refuse the fact that it'd be damn convenient.
(Admittedly, the James' girl is faring well. Which is rather disheartening, really, as the one I arm is the least problematic of the lot.)
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(29 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009
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7:59 am - OOC: Death's Halloween Fête Menu
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"The dining, catered by Masque and refreshed by Death's own coffers, was exquisite, as well, and offered in a vast dining room that seemed to large to actually fit inside the size of the yacht. There was trickery at work, oh yes, And perhaps it was a bit discerning, but who would pay mind to physics when there was thick Persian wine and dinner fit for a king to be had? The dining hall was fitted with long tables, covered in thick white tablecloths with primordial darkness woven whole-cloth into them. Candles were set upon every crevice, and a few that didn't seem to actually exist, but held the glittering flames nonetheless. The servers for the meal were golem; great stone-gray hulking figures with the moon for eyes and though the word "met" for death was carved into their foreheads, they continued to walk and move and serve the meal on their silver platters." ~Death's Dinner
For anyone wondering what the aforementioned feast included, here's a brief sketch:
Turtle soup, Russian dark bread, Turkish olives, caviar, mule steaks, Frankfurt smoked sausages, tea-smoked duck. Game dished up in sauced colored to resemble liquorice water and boot-blacking, truffles in jelly and chocolate-tinted creams. Black cherry borscht. Eggplant (baked in its skin) with mushroom au jus. Marbled eggs. Venison marinated in marsala and black pepper. Smoked eel, oysters and watercress with a chocolate vinaigrette. Pear thick soup with chocolate. Pot roast squab pigeon with candied carrots and Madeira-chocolate jus. Bittersweet chocolate snowballs. Hazelnut parmigiano flan. Hall-O-Host truffles. Krispi ghosts. Black, black, black forest cake. Chocolate covered strawberry "frogs". Dark-tinted glasses for the wine, and a silver service.
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(145 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, October 26th, 2009
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1:53 pm - OOC: Heroin/MJ wedding fare
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9:17 am
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Wedding dinner was a success. Congratulations, and hefty bonuses, to all my (justifiably exhausted) staff.
Ritchie: the relief staff is starting today. Do not exercise any of your usual "welcoming" hooliganary. Get them into place and keep them there. No tricks. I'll be out for most of the week.
[private]
Restructuring the defenses did not go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped.
Which is to say: fuck.
A dozen "give or take" he said. Smarmy dog. The exact number, I suspect, is a cool, hard thirteen. Thirteen. And these aren't the shrimpy appetizers, oh no. These are the ones with enough meat on them to actually survive outside the Box's reality. The ones bold enough to raise hell--and hungry enough to need company. The ones who feed.
I hate the holidays.
(But he's safe enough. Bo, better than safe, invisible. None of them--not one--will be able to spot him at the hotel or gallery or restaurant or any other place that bears my mark. None will find him. This time I will keep my promise. I will protect what's mine.)
[/]
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 20th, 2009
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4:27 pm - OOC: Dessine-moi un mouton!
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10:41 am
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I have a wedding in exactly four days.
Yes.
Very well.
WHERE THE HOLY BLOODY FUCK IS BLOODY FUCKING PATISSERIER?
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(89 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, October 19th, 2009
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12:55 pm - It's not evil if it's legal.
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Much as I try, there seems to be no way around it: Masque needs additional staff. More specifically, Masque needs extra hands--and brains--if we're to fulfill the current roster of private engagements. Since I've no mercy to waste on recruiting and training new blood, cannibalization is the only option; I'll have to import staff from France. Which, of course, will royally agitate both parties and create a multi-level disaster of operatic proportions. (Which would be significantly more worrisome if not for the fact that I bloody well own my chefs.)
But we'll get a lot of money. And praise. And I don't trust American training with pastry.
Still, these cat fights lose novelty quickly. I'm not particularly eager to waste my time--oh. Oh, dear, I just remembered a lovely, lovely little fact. I'm the boss. The big, bad, wicked overlord controlling the master schedule and all its helpless victims.
Ritchie? Congratulations. You've just been promoted to home field referee.
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(86 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, October 16th, 2009
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3:19 pm - "It's not about where you come from, it's that you came at all."
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Last night I was dinning on with a charming, yet entirely off-beat, young student who surprised with me a curious subject.
The "American" DNA.
Apparently some geneticists have shown that there is indeed such a thing, bred and born in a country of immigrants. An immigrant-specific genotype, " a genetic marker expressing itself—in some environments, at least—as energetic risk-taking and competitive self-promotion" (as quoting my earnest dinner date). It's an interesting thought. By nature, most tend to remain in their homeland regardless of famine or war, and yet there is a skinny 2% which is disproportionally inclined to leap forth, away, to take chances. (There was some mention of dopamine-receptor systems, but I confess my appetite distracted me from hearing it out.)
But what does this say about this land--and its fervent, risky, fabulous people? What does it say it about the young gods born in this kingless land or the old gods ferried here?
And what does it say about us few--us happy, foolish few--who are neither divine nor young, and not at all native, who came simply because we...
Well.
Because I could, of course.
(PS: He tasted like fried sage and black currants.)
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 15th, 2009
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10:26 am
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I will not eat him. I will not eat him. I will not eat him. I will not eat him. I will not eat him. I will not eat him. I will not--
I'm going hunting.
Dishes up for E & D: chocolate-port semifreddo with chocolate-port bisque on dark chocolate sponge cake w/ orange-cinnamon truffle (yes), sautéed strawberries in black pepper-cabernet sauvignon sauce w/ vanilla bean ice cream and sacristan cookies (maxium yes), risotto fritters w/ gingered blueberries (no, too harsh), eggplant ravioli w/ medallions of Maine lobster and tomato-basil butter (maybe, keep the butter but reconsider the lobster), wine-marinated lamb popsicles in fenugreek cream curry on spinach potatoes (no, too...silly), steamed black mussels w/ coconut broth and red curry oil (yes, but revamp the broth), oysters served w/ tomatillo-habanero “minoneta”, smoky chipotle-garlic salsa and fresh-cut salsa, (maybe, can we upgrade the salsa?) apple-rutabaga soup (no), fillet of wild turbot w/ coriander and carrot pappardelle (maybe, with citrus butter sauce?), oven-roasted pigeon from Anjou wrapped in parma ham with foie gras (maybe, New Yorkers have the oddest mindset towards the bird).
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 12th, 2009
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1:43 pm - [note on bathroom mirror]
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Alex-kun;
Out till late. Dinner's in the fridge; yours is in the blue container, the cat's is in the green container. Please don't confuse the two. (Again.) Your latest CDs are on the coffee table. Enjoy.
~S.
PS: Do not give your credit card as a tip. (Again.)
PPS: Do not let out cat. (Again.)
PPPS: Stay. Inside.
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, October 9th, 2009
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9:35 am - This sort of thing is becoming a terrible habit.
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I need to steal an 87 year old crusty foul American lout man from a hospital.
Suggestions?
ETA: Kidnapping, check.
Next: Any of you blessed angels/healers/killers/saints able, and willing, to keep a foul-mouthed chunk of humanity alive, pain free, and relatively sound of mind without life support equipment?
[OOC: Anybody involved in med care, or better yet employed, at a New York hospital, would be aces.]
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(21 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, October 7th, 2009
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10:16 am - OOC: "Dreams digest the meals that are our days."
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9:37 am
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