ext_7328 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
dodyskin.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2004-12-21 01:50 pm
dodyskin.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-12-21 01:50 pm
Lost in the Supermarket by Lint (PG)
Fandom: ANGEL THE SERIES
Pairing: Illyria/Wesley
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website:unknown
Why this must be read: Illyria, God King of the Primordium and Wesley Wyndam Pryce, Department Head of Occult go shopping. Dude. Nuff said.
She picks up a plum and offers it to him.
“These here, are they not oscrats?”
“Plums,” he says. “We call them plums.”
“The resemblance is uncanny. It must be them.”
She takes a bite, and he winces and moves to take it from her.
“We have to pay for these first,” he says of her annoyed reaction. “And then wash them. There are pesticides, things to keep insects from devouring them while they grow.”
“Pesticides?”
“Poison,” he explains. “To kill bugs.”
“You would poison your own food?” She asks.
“To protect them.”
“I do not understand.”
He starts to explain some more. Stops. Not sure how. He’d never really given the idea much thought before, and now that he had it does seem a bit ridiculous.
“They do not taste right.”
Wesley examines the plum, rotates it gently in his hand.
“It’s not ripe,” he explains. “It’s not ready to be eaten.” He takes another plum from the bin, holds it up to her. “To see if they are ready you just give them a little squeeze.”
Illyria takes the fruit from him, holds it with her thumb, index, and middle fingers, and squeezes. Wesley jerks back slightly, blinking quickly as the juice of the exploding plum hits his glasses. She stares into her palm, pulp and juices running down her arm.
“Right,” Wesley mutters, cleaning his glasses with the end of his shirt. “Moving on.”
(Bulk Candy)
Lost in the Supermarket
Pairing: Illyria/Wesley
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website:unknown
Why this must be read: Illyria, God King of the Primordium and Wesley Wyndam Pryce, Department Head of Occult go shopping. Dude. Nuff said.
She picks up a plum and offers it to him.
“These here, are they not oscrats?”
“Plums,” he says. “We call them plums.”
“The resemblance is uncanny. It must be them.”
She takes a bite, and he winces and moves to take it from her.
“We have to pay for these first,” he says of her annoyed reaction. “And then wash them. There are pesticides, things to keep insects from devouring them while they grow.”
“Pesticides?”
“Poison,” he explains. “To kill bugs.”
“You would poison your own food?” She asks.
“To protect them.”
“I do not understand.”
He starts to explain some more. Stops. Not sure how. He’d never really given the idea much thought before, and now that he had it does seem a bit ridiculous.
“They do not taste right.”
Wesley examines the plum, rotates it gently in his hand.
“It’s not ripe,” he explains. “It’s not ready to be eaten.” He takes another plum from the bin, holds it up to her. “To see if they are ready you just give them a little squeeze.”
Illyria takes the fruit from him, holds it with her thumb, index, and middle fingers, and squeezes. Wesley jerks back slightly, blinking quickly as the juice of the exploding plum hits his glasses. She stares into her palm, pulp and juices running down her arm.
“Right,” Wesley mutters, cleaning his glasses with the end of his shirt. “Moving on.”
(Bulk Candy)
Lost in the Supermarket
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject