paradisa | ♅ third

[It's a bit late to be in the kitchen, really. But Mistress is a somewhat nocturnal creature (the night time is the best time for large and elaborate parties, after all), and she gets a little bored when the lobby calms down in the evening.

So tonight, she's decided to explore the kitchen. And though she's from medieval times, it's not the microwave or the refrigerator that's caught her eye. Oh no.]

What are all these foods, exactly? So many of them, in so many layers of wrapping.

[You see, Mistress is used to less-processed food, served with goblets of wine and mead. More modern foods have piqued her curiosity! She's currently sitting on the counter in the kitchen, journal perched in her lap.

Every single piece of processed cheese in the refrigerator has been unwrapped and laid out methodically. Ding-Dongs and Swiss Rolls have been stacked into thoughtful pyramids, with swords stuck through them. There's a large and explicit painting on the floor, done entirely in condiments (mayonnaise and a pickle have been put to particularly good use). Potato chips seem to have been of particular interest, as Mistress has opened and tried every flavor she found in the cupboards.

There are some greasy streaks in the journal as she wipes her hands.]

Are things not made fresh here? Everything seems to be in its own little bag and stored. And who created this barbeque potato chip? I need to know.

[ OOC: open in the kitchen or over the journal. And here is her obligatory permissions post link. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I was looking where I was going, I still require clean floorspace to move about.

How is it my problem if you're incapable of stepping around things on the floor? I would assume that's a personal problem.

Not to mention those drawings were obscene, children could have walked in and seen them!

Not this again. There are only two groups of people: those who know what fucking is, and those who don't. My art would have gone over the heads of those who don't know. And I can't expose those who do know to what they already know, can I?

Besides, it's quite late. If children are wandering around at this hour, it's not my concern.

Even those who know quite well what--

[Aziraphale paused, his usually impressive lexicon failing him, until he had to resort to a vague handwave.]

--you know, is, that doesn't mean they wish to be reminded of it when fetching a nice cup of bedtime cocoa.

Well, they should. There is nothing I enjoy more with my bedtime wine than the thought of truly debauched fucking. I even went through the trouble of adding olive oil for shine!

Madam!

[He splutters, literally lost for words.]

What? I couldn't find anything better for the sheen on cum!

Stop! Stop this instant! That sort of talk is not acceptable for polite conversation.

Oh good god, are you another virgin? This is an epidemic.

I--

That is, to say...

Well. It's none of your business, if you don't mind.

So... yes.

Yes, as it happens, I find that sort of thing... it's not my cup of tea.

And, as a virgin, you know that how?

It's just so unsanitary.

That's part of the fun.

Not to mention it's so much effort.

Also part of the fun, although you could always be lazy about it and let other people do the work.

Other people can hardly do all the work, and it's so much concentration required. Simply not worth the effort.

On the contrary, I can think of at least four positions that involve no effort at all, beyond placing your knees shoulder-width apart and raising your ass in the air. How much concentration you put in is up to you.

I know you're a virgin, but would you prefer to give or receive?

N-Neither!

[Flushing, Aziraphale patted his pockets down in search of a handkerchief - a habit that he had got into during the late Victorian era, and simply never got rid of.]

I am a Principality, Madam, we do not... fornicate.

I don't know what a "principality" is, but everyone knows whether they like to give it or take it. Some do both!

An angel! A divine being! A sexless being!

Sexless? [Mistress looks genuinely concerned, or at least as genuinely concerned as she's capable of being.] Well, I have some things that can help you, though you'll miss out on a large chunk of the enjoyment.

...Thank you for the offer, but I am not interested. At all. Ever.

(no subject)

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