+ The Moral of the First Story +
Aug. 13th, 2013 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
[ A transmission, you see, must be like a song: Voice and instruments alike, playing its tune. Her instruments are the pans and pots, the clinking and clacking, the bubbling and boiling, the rustling of pages from the book of recipes in her hand. Truth be told, this particular song may be a little out of tune. ]
Mustard, custard, cream of eel. Salt and pepper, same old-- herrings?
[ Her eyes frantically dart across the pages- ] No, no, no! [ -searching line after line for the origin of this atrocity. ]
Here. 'Twas the wrong page in the right book, and you-- [ The Duchess turns sharply and glares, glares at-- at you. ] --could not even think to tell me sooner!
[ She rips page after page from her book, and stuffs them all into a big pot. ] Of course I'll start again, what choice do I have? But you had better do better this time!
Mustard, custard, cream of eel. Salt and pepper, same old-- herrings?
[ Her eyes frantically dart across the pages- ] No, no, no! [ -searching line after line for the origin of this atrocity. ]
Here. 'Twas the wrong page in the right book, and you-- [ The Duchess turns sharply and glares, glares at-- at you. ] --could not even think to tell me sooner!
[ She rips page after page from her book, and stuffs them all into a big pot. ] Of course I'll start again, what choice do I have? But you had better do better this time!