maskormenacelogs | Yet another Thanksgiving log

Come one, come all! While most guests that are invited are John's friends, she had wanted the invitation to be as open as possible, and Mary had taken the steps to invite a couple acquaintances of her own. ...Of course, they don't show, but it doesn't worry at her smile at all, or her social graces. She greets anyone who enters the door if she's near, and if not they'll get a hug once she exits the kitchen. Mary will be certain to touch at least everybody once. Nobody's expected to stay through the whole dinner, as she's more than happy to send any quick visitor home with a slice of pie, but any who should will get to hear John and Mary's only-to-be-expected announcement.

While she's sporting the make-up and pearl earrings, she's just wearing a light sweater and nice jeans along with, keeping it as casual as can be while still carrying effort. The home has been made as inviting as can be, though there's no fire crackling, given the weather's plenty warm enough by her and John's standards. The AC's only turned on during the day.

If you want sports, there's the TV for American football, or of course...rugby out on the lawn. Try if you dare.

When not out mingling and bringing drinks, she'll be working on whatever details need arranging in the kitchen, where she's more and happy to let others enter by this time. It's not as chaotic as it was the day prior, to be sure. A certain pie-taster had failed to arrive, meaning John had needed to fill in. Mary's never been concerned about her baking or cooking before, but Will just had to stress her about the bloody pie.

At dinner, she'll sit beside John, but keep mostly quiet at this time unless spoken to, happy to observe and listen with a smile on her face. It isn't until after the supper's through and everyone needs a break before the pies that Mary will nudge John and inch his dessert spoon closer to his glass for a toast. On with it, then. Is her anticipation not high enough?

Edited 2014-11-28 21:20 (UTC)

Sherlock, in large part, keeps to himself, to the extent that it's possible to do so while simultaneously — and largely unintentionally — being the loudest personality in the room. Even when he's not speaking he's watching, possessed of a particular bloodhound-sharpness and the distinct appearance of being thoroughly ill-at-ease with the proceedings — though still quite comfortable enough to huff in vague irritation at whatever happens to be on the television when that catches his attention.

It helps not a whit, of course, that he's tall and gangly in a way which makes the world look as ill-fitting as he seems to regard it as being, an odd collection of limbs who picks at his food with disinterest and watches the other guests with rather less detachment, as though waiting for one of them to do something spectacular or at very least awful. Hoping, perhaps, that they would, so that his willingness to play along and attend the dinner might be justified.

Indeed, the only great mercy (and vague sadness) is that nobody has yet procured a violin and requested him to play it, which does seem to be his primary function at social events, beyond being lauded in increasingly less-flattering ways — there is nothing complimentary in the praise of an idiot — or, more recently, giving speeches, from which he perhaps wisely abstains this evening. This isn't to say that he isn't verbose; anyone foolish enough to engage him in conversation is apt to find the opposite, and a remarkable cantankerousness that he doesn't seem to care to hide.

Truth be told, he isn't quite certain why his presence is required at all, though it was asked of him, and as more time passes the likelihood of his saying something rude or offensive (unintentionally or, more likely, with full intention) increases. In short, he makes for a rather peculiar, and therefore intriguing, choice of house guest.

Kay has never been to John's house despite knowing him since her first swear-in. So when she arrives, she is instantly curious, like a child who has just been sent to a playground and told that she could play with whatever she wanted. Also, people might have noticed her shooing some crows away at the door. They had tried to follow her into the house, so she told them that this was a special dinner for humans - plus, while John seemed okay with her feathered friends, the other guests might object. Instead, the crows content themselves with flitting from one window to another, or perching in front of a window to watch the goings-on.

She peeks into the kitchen and takes in the lovely smells of the food - and also tries to watch and pick up a few tips. It couldn't hurt. Then she peers at all the titles in John's DVD collection, nodding at some, grinning at others. At least when it's time to watch the parade, Kay will gladly sit down in the couch and stay still, making the occasional comment here or there.

But wait till dinnertime. Kay is overflowing with stories, compliments for the dinner, and so many other things to say. To her credit, she at least has basic knowledge of table manners - no elbows on the table, no talking with her mouth full, etc. It comes with having a prosecutor for a father and knowing that his job is to make sure everyone obeys the rules.

Edited 2014-11-29 13:35 (UTC)

All Bradbury really knows about Mary is that she's John's wife -- who apparently shot his best friend -- who apparently doesn't even remember being married to him, at this point in time. That has the potential to make things awkward, he's sure of it, but he'll keep his fingers crossed and hope it doesn't come up. It's not the kind of thing you talk about with no reason, right?

He doesn't arrive until well into the start of the dinner, looking a little pink-cheeked and breathless from having run from the car to get to the house. "Sorry I'm late," he manages -- Florida's got nothing on a New York winter, so his coat's pretty thin, but he shrugs it off one shoulder while cradling the apple pie he's carrying as an awkward gift in the crook of his other arm. "Hope I didn't miss anything."

The pie goes on the first empty space on the table, before he starts going around to heap his plate. It's his second helping of food for the night, but he's spent so many hours slaving away in the kitchen back home that he's worked up a fair appetite.

Bradbury accepts the glass he's offered without really thinking about, still a little off-balance from having rushed over to get here, but it's only after he's taken a gulp of whatever liquid is in it that he takes a moment to actually register who his server is. They may have never been formally introduced -- and how that's managed to happen, he's not sure, but his own spotty schedule is probably to blame -- but the way she comports herself, confident and keeping attention to the needs of her guests, rather significantly limits the options for who she could be.

"Mary, right?" He takes a moment to shift around the contents of his arms to free up a hand, which he offers for her to shake. "I'm Bradbury -- uh, Rick. Nice to meet you." At last, he narrowly misses adding.

Valeria is just here for the pie. Her pursuit of sugar develops a laser-like intensity from Halloween through Christmas, and with the help of the Porter and a strategic mixture of begging and harassment aimed at the adults in her life, she's making the rounds of Thanksgiving dinners. She is, however, skipping the "dinner" part.

A small girl in a party dress emerges from the dining room and makes a beeline for Sherlock. It's not his magnetic personality; there's a chair near him that's not facing the TV, and Val has no use for parades, dog shows, or sports. She sets her plate and its child-size sliver of pie on an end table, then climbs into her chosen seat. The world's more laborious when you're just over three feet all.

Before starting in on her latest serving of dessert, she rakes Sherlock head to toe with an evaluating stare much too focused for someone so young, the kind of assessment he's more used to dishing out than receiving. Even if she hadn't crossed paths with the Sherlock Holmes who'd been in the City with them, back in the universe before this one, his high-strung energy and bad manners would have given him away. He'll be interesting, if nothing else.

"Hello."

Scully hadn't really anticipated doing anything for the holiday. In the aftermath of years of aborted or interrupted plans, and in the absence of friends and particularly family with whom to celebrate, the very absence of any acknowledgement of the date had seemed at very least apt. It's appropriate, then, that even her plan not to have a plan had been thwarted from an outside and thoroughly unexpected source. John Watson. She remembers the name, a grim, pained face; pleasant, more or less affable. Apparently kind enough to repay her assistance with the offer of a meal and some company, which against her better judgement and only after deliberation does Scully accept.

Her approach to the house is appropriately hesitant. These are, essentially, strangers and Scully is inclined to doubt motivations out of habit. Her few months of experience here living among imPorts has taught her that there is a drive to stick together, born inevitably of shared experience and shared status, so it isn't that she doubts that the invitation was meant kindly. It's how genuine it is that she can't quite discern, and even if the alternative is solitude she doesn't want to impose.

In the end, of course, it isn't better judgment that wins out, or kindness, or anything possessed by her better self, but rather a wholesale grab at a sort of normalcy she hasn't experienced for years anyway. Maybe it's not what she needs, but it's something, and so she knocks, and pushes her way inward to... well, it isn't sanctuary, but she's had quite enough of that. The smile she wears, therefore, isn't solely politeness, or even gratitude, though both are notable components. Nerves, too, play no small part. She has, after all, met only John, not likely any of the other attendees -- and there is likely to be other attendees, which proves true enough, as John isn't who greets her at the door. She extends her hand to the woman all the same.

"Dana Scully." I was asked to come rises to her lips but doesn't quite make it out of her mouth -- of course she was.

Children. Children, at least, have the good courtesy to make sense — this one, unabashed and sharp in her curiosity, is thus far no exception. It's refreshing, generally speaking, to encounter someone unburdened by social niceties, who can afford to play carelessly with implication simply because nobody would ascribe genuine ill intent to a child anyhow (an oversight, but a convenient one). Now, though, perhaps because of the circumstances in which he finds himself, Sherlock takes in the young girl with a vague apprehension, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"Hello." He has, at least, managed to avoid glancing around for the inevitable interloper coming to usher her away from Sherlock Holmes, Bad Influence if ever there were one. Instead, he rests his elbows on the table, hands folding under his chin with forefingers extended to tap thoughtfully at his lower lip and eyes narrowing. He's formulating a theory, has been for some time, that given their tendency to make a beeline directly for the least comfortable person in any given room, are possessed of a latent sense perhaps something like his own, which fades as they grow into the vastly less useful ability to understand other people. At very least they seem to hone in on the high positive correlation between discomfort and interest — that is, the state of being interesting — which false politeness later prohibits in a large portion of the adult population.

In this case, though, he finds it likely, based on the sharpness of her gaze and where precisely she chooses to look that this ability is perhaps less latent than it is developed, and that in and of itself is interesting — and all the more reason that someone should whisk her away right now, immediately. They don't, and Sherlock isn't going to belabor the point.

He tilts his head. Hums softly. "I don't suppose they're likely to notice but all the same I should advise brushing the crumbs off your shirt before making your next house call."

"Hey Rick, I'm glad you could make it."

John is the first to rise from his chair, shifting the bowl of truffled cheese mash aside to make room for Bradbury's pie. Apart from a certain somebody exuding his annoyance at having to suffer this social gathering, the atmosphere around the dining table is pleasant at the moment.

"Can I get you a drink or anything? Beer?"

John's DVD collection is basically a comprehensive library of every James Bond movies to date. There are a couple of turkeys wedged on the shelf, like Samurai Cop, some Schwarzenegger and Stallone movies, but it's predominantly Bond on his side. Mary's side is far more varied but there are still a few chick-flicks adorning her collection.

"Which one do you want to borrow?"

John asks, walking over to Kay with a bottle of coke in his hand. It's intended for her of course – it's Thanksgiving, but she's still too young to drink some of the harder stuff.

Curiosity led Kay into the kitchen. She already knew all about Thanksgiving and what to expect on the dining table, but from experience, people always added their own little touches to the Thanksgiving table. Perhaps they made the pie a little differently, swapped out one mainstay for something new and just as delicious...and really, the tempting smells wafting from the place were just begging her to come over and investigate.

She peers into the kitchen like a child awaiting dessert. After looking around the house, watching a little TV and talking to people, Kay was in need of something else to do. And cooking was something she had dabbled in every now and then. Sure, most of her forays were actually baking, but still. Plus, after putting out two decent homemade pies for Edgeworth and Franziska, Kay has become more confident in her abilities.

"...Miss Morstan?" she says tentatively, watching the woman at work.

Mary just happens to stroll by with some champagne right then, not trying to suppress her smile at Sherlock in passing. Oh, goodness, this will lead nowhere good. Which one will be the worst influence?

Nobody's crying wolf yet. She'll allow it. Carry on, children.

Edited 2014-12-03 02:59 (UTC)

It's champagne, really, but there are plenty of non-alcoholic options on the table nearby.

While there had been the initial greeting on his initial arrival, that was a bit more of a domino group acknowledgment than anything, given how occupying such a feast could be, especially combined with any guests that might have actually had too much to drink by then.

Mary isn't one of them, though, limiting herself mostly to hot apple cider tonight save for the toast planned with John regarding their engagement.

"Yes! Rick, hi, good to finally meet you." She's happy to shake his hand, her grip firm but not overbearing, in harmony with her smile and stance. This one is an important friend of John's, apparently, and that immediately makes him just as dangerous as it does curious. "Hope you made it well? Didn't need to hurry yourself so, I'm sure John would have saved you some food."

And here is the so-very-talked-about Dana Scully. Mary doesn't bat an eye or offer any hint that she would know her as anything other than John's friend, but her normally heightened observations are in overdrive now, in respect to who it is she's now meeting. It isn't often you have someone's whole story on a set of DVDs back home. It could make this as easy as it could get awkward, but that would only be a threat if Mary was an amateur.

She isn't.

"Thanks for coming! Please, in, in. Are you chilly? I'll admit it still feels like an oven out there to me, even this time of year."

Reaching to take Dana's hand, Mary squeezes in quiet affirmation, as if understanding somehow that this is not the woman's most optimal scenario. She steps past her once she's in to shut the door, then moves to gently guide Dana further inward with a touch to the small of her back.

Where is John? She needs to grin at him like they're fifteen.

"I'm Mary. Pleased to meet you, really. John's gone on about you ever since you helped him out."

Of course she's caught right as she's got half a wooden spoonful of bread pudding in her mouth. She's just taste-testing, okay?

"Yes!"

Uch, trying not to look too embarrassed at being caught with a mouthful of food. Are good hostesses even allowed to eat? It's a mystery. She'll wipe at the corner of her mouth with a thumb before continuing on, setting the spoon back to the rest.

"Yes, dear. You want something? There should be some more soft drinks in the fridge."

It's cool, Val's got this. (That is a lie. Val's a terrible judge of what she's got or not got and should not be allowed to interact with anyone as much like her as Sherlock is.)

"Okay." Val doesn't even look down at her dress. If she does have crumbs, she'll brush them off later, but she's quite sure she's fine. It's not like she's a baby and makes a mess when she eats. With dexterity too advanced for her age--explaining why she's been trusted with the china rather than something made of plastic--she starts in on her pie. Sherlock's personality can't compete with that.

When she chooses to exercise them, her manners are good, and Val doesn't say anything else until she no longer has her mouth full, at which point she looks up at Sherlock, kicking her feet in their tiny patent Mary Janes. "My name's Valeria. Don't try to draw any inferences from that. You won't get it right."

Speaking of exercises of manners, it's not the sort of introduction her mother would prefer, but as far as Val's concerned, she's doing Sherlock a favor by sparing him the embarrassment. Should he take it as a challenge, well, that's hardly her fault, now is it?

Kay looks up from the DVD collection and turns to see John close by. She doesn't take the bottle from his hand just yet, thinking it's his and waiting for him to offer it to her. Her expression brightens up at the thought of borrowing a DVD from John; watching new movies she hasn't seen before would be an adventure. Plus, it's just nice to know he would trust her with one of them.

"Samurai Cop!" she exclaims, her grin widening as she thinks of Edgeworth. He may be younger now but maybe he's always liked samurai-related shows. Maybe she could rope him and some of her other friends into a movie marathon. Kay points to the title and adds, "I've never heard of it before."

Kay doesn't think anything of Mary with half a spoonful of bread pudding in her mouth; taste-testing was a very common and even mandatory part of cooking. At the offer of soft drinks, she shakes her head. She was saving as much room as she can for the food.

"Can I help?" she asks, approaching her eagerly. "I promise I won't make a mess!"

Well with the new year coming up she will be covering a strict diet up until the wedding...but, then, this is Thanksgiving, isn't it? She's fairly certain the point is to not care about how much you eat.

But she really was only taste testing.

Also dear Moses someone offering to help. Not that John isn't a dear but she wouldn't trust him with anything more than instant ramen and Hot Pockets.

And still. (But then her standards are high.)

"You want to help? Mm... Well, most of the cooking is through by now, it's more the details that would need messing about with. Like, say, whipped cream. Think you can handle that?"

"You can count on me!" Kay pumps her fist into the air as if she was about to ride a roller coaster instead of decorate something with whipped cream. Well, in her opinion, either was fun. Either was a great way to pass the time, although the latter comes with the added bonus of having others enjoy something she worked on, if only partially. "Are you decorating the pie now?"

Instead of continuing to stick her head into the kitchen, Kay actually enters it, looking all around at the dishes set out.

The enthusiasm is appreciated, but she has to click her tongue and wave a finger before she pulls the foil back over the bread pudding.

"Not yet, love. That waits until later on, or else the whipping cream will fall flat, hm? But I'll be setting out some pudding with the dinner."

"He has?" Genuine surprise, no small amount of amusement. She hadn't thought she'd made that much of an impression against a backdrop of superheroes, real superheroes whose powers are more useful than questionably sane. Still, she'll take it, she supposes. Nice to be remembered, or... something. After a few seconds she manages to school the disbelief from her expression and smiles.

"Well, it's a pleasure, thank you for the invitation." It's genuine and warm, because in spite of her discomfiture she is glad to have been considered, glad to have the opportunity for... well, it certainly isn't normalcy, but to be treated as something like the sort of human being who can appreciate something quiet and domestic, rather than some last bastion against the dark. She remembers driving through the desert in the dark, Mulder's profile as she asked him if he never thought about stopping, stopping somewhere, anywhere and finding a normal life. This is a normal life, he'd said, and maybe by force of life it had become one but there have always been other approaches.

She's neglected them for a long time, but the warmth of the greeting, the smell of good food, the quiet murmur of occupation, of life is... yes, she does appreciate it. More than she might have expected. "Temperature is lovely. I'm from DC; this is pretty warm by my standards too."

A smile and she straightens her shirt self-consciously. "Anything I can do to help in the kitchen?"

Those superheroes didn't help keep her husband from getting nabbed for the millionth time, did they? Nor are they ones Mary has followed on the telly, but that's neither here nor there.

"Oh, you shouldn't have to worry about helping! I can go fetch John if you like. I know it must be stressful not knowing anybody."

She deflates a little - only a little, just enough to get back down to Earth and remember that this was serious business. Right, Kay is in someone else's kitchen now, so it wouldn't be polite to just rush into things.

"Okay...what kind of pudding?" she asks curiously. Pudding was always nice.

"Ah -- beer'd be good." Bradbury grins at John automatically, always glad to see his friend. Although there's a slight moment of disorientation, looking around.

"Sorry, April invited more people than I expected." Here, too, there are more people than Bradbury was expecting, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. He drops his voice, conspiratory, just in case John's future wife is in earshot. "So ... do you actually know all of these people, or was this Mary's idea?"

Bradbury takes Mary's hand and grins reflexively. In a lot of ways, she's not what he expected what John's wife would look like, and yet now that she's in front of him, he can't say he actually could have imagined anything different.

"Just had to take care of a few things back home. Had more guests than we were expecting." Thankfully, he's only in charge of catering for that party, not hosting it. Looking around curiously, he notes that he doesn't really recognize most of the people around either.

"I'm surprised you got him to agree to a party." The last time there'd been a celebration around here, it was because John's friends from work had set it up for him.

Her eyes squint as she just about smiles with her whole face, and body even with that coy little pose, at getting John to 'host' a party. The secret had simply been saying to keep it small, and of course...when it comes to their announcement, it's a big enough deal to have a small dinner party.

Even if Mary understands it's mostly to humor her, being Sherlock and John have been through all of this once before. Perhaps this wedding will differ for the plain note that she might wear the same dress, but they won't see the same bride.

"Oh, it's Thanksgiving. When in Rome, hey?"

Mary didn't know most of these people, either, but it had been a convenient way to get to know the sort of friends John's been keeping in her absence. She has quite a lot to catch up on, after all.

"Oh, well aren't you the gambler. Would have to pay me quite a lot to go anywhere today."

But she has been cooking for days, so she is quite tired. And very full now.

Edited 2014-12-10 06:39 (UTC)

"Mm, might not be quite what you're thinking... More like a curd?"

Not the bread pudding, no, that does not need cream. She'll instead fetch the lemon curd concoction from the fridge, having left it to set overnight. When she peels off the lid, it really just looks like a lemon jam, but once someone dips a spoon into it, the consistency is much softer than one might think.

"For the bread. The cream will go next to it, a bit like butter and jam. So you'll need to make it thick."

"A gambler?" Bradbury wasn't exactly sure what's implied by that, and it caught him off guard, making his brows raise in obvious confusion as he tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean.

"I mean, I didn't think the food was going to kill me or anything," he tried, the joke awful but the best he could come up with trying to think on his feet and feeling like he's missed something pretty significant. Regardless, it doesn't seem wise to press the point; after all, it's obvious that John cares about Mary a lot (despite things she may or may not do in the future, from the sound of it) and it's on Bradbury to try his best not to think about any of that and get along.

"Look, I -- er, do you want to sit down? You must've been on your feet for a while." He's a bit hopeless at this, being a bit short on significant others to treat well, but he's trying.

"Nice. It's a bit of an obscure one, but it's.. uhm, good-ish." John's lips curve up into a smile, clearly approving of her choice. The James Bond holds a special place in his heart but Samurai Cop... well, that's something special. Clearing his throat, he holds out her drink and bends down to pick it up.

"I actually only discovered it only a few years ago myself. It's one of those awful films from the 80s.. so bad it's good kind of thing."

As John hops up to get him a beer from the fridge, he catches his friend looking around with a bewildered expression and feels a pang of sympathy. Some guilt too, for good measure. It might have been too much to ask of a proper American to indulge him on a busy holiday like this one, and he shakes his head as he passes him a beer.

"It's fine. I figured that you might've got collared by your house mates, so... yeah, no worries about it." He shrugs and takes a cautionary sweep of the room before he responds to his question. "Yeah, this whole thing was Mary's idea."

"Figured." He shakes his head, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at his features now. The ... issues Mary's presence brings up for John aside, it's also nice to see that she brings some positive influence as well.

Not that John has the same kind of aversion to homey situations like this that Mitch has.

"You don't seem to mind too much." And his expression grows a little more serious. "Are you guys... you know, all right?"

"As all right as we'll ever be. You know, considering the whole, uh..." John clears his throat, still disinclined to reference the incident that happened between her and Sherlock. Having both of them here with him has heralded a change in John: he's no longer resting on his laurels and waking up with a cramp in his leg. Some arguments have erupted but it's inevitable with timeline disparities.

"We talked it out. She doesn't know everything, but she knows enough."

"Yeah, I'm sure that makes things ... complicated." Bradbury grimaces, and shakes his head slightly. From what he knows of it, he can perfectly understand why John seems happy to avoid the subject. Hell, he would avoid the subject, if it were him.

"She's ... taking it pretty well, though." As far as he can tell. There's no yelling or throwing of things or anything, though he allows that it's entirely possible all of that might have happened before he got here. He glances around, just to make sure Mary isn't actually hovering behind him, before he continues.

"I mean, she's still here." A beat, and then teasingly: "Guess that's true love for you, huh?"

She takes the drink gratefully and takes a sip. Thankfully - and amazingly, she is the type who can wait until she's legal to have the stronger stuff. Kay chuckles a little at John's remark. That meant the movie would be really interesting, because how many movies can be so bad but end up being good as well?

"Sounds like it'll be fun to watch," she notes. "When do you want it back?

Kay hovers close by, watching Mary's every move and just taking it all in. It's amazing how much she doesn't know even after being able to pull off cookies that were a smash hit at a beach party. But that just makes her even more eager and determined to do well in the kitchen.

"The whipping cream?" she asks, to be sure.

"She's erm... adaptable, like that."

No one can throw themselves entirely into a new identity if they aren't good at it. Luckily his question gives John the opportunity to steer away from the subject and he lifts his eyebrows. Teasing or not, it's not a phrase John has ever heard from him before.

"Do you really believe in all that true love stuff?"

"You can borrow it for however long you'd like. Just... make sure not to hand it back to Mary, otherwise it might go missing."

John lowers his voice in case his fiancée is eavesdropping. For an ex-intelligence agent, she has very little tolerance for action films like Samurai Cop and Die Hard. Although it's possible that John is joking, as he winks at her and reaches for his glass of wine.

"Is this your first Thanksgiving?"

Lips pinched in a suppressed smile, Mary settles her hand over his arm in a calming gesture as she in turn shakes her head with a gentle scoff. She can see he's trying, and the effort's enough for her to ease up on teasing for now. For John's friend.

"Only meant that it's near suicide flopping about out there on a holiday when you don't need to."

Especially given what traffic must be like with hover cars, and fear of terrorists still high. Not something even she can claim being jaded to yet. The hover cars, that is! Terrorists are a dime a dozen.

She'll nod to his offer and use the contact to guide him with her towards the couch, which is currently empty with commercials running long. Mary's quick to find the remote and hit mute, finding the chatter quite enough background noise, and she's certain that where Sherlock's lurking he agrees.

"Bit used to being on my feet with the job, but I won't say no to a seat. Probably wouldn't do for my feet to fall off before Christmas."

Edited 2014-12-30 01:14 (UTC)

Mary has a habit of trying to perfect everything she attempts, though that doesn't mean she always succeeds. When she doesn't, she prefers still to focus on what she does excel truly at. Fortunately, baking is most certainly on that list. Which is truly a blessing, given John's...contributions in the kitchen.

"Right. Ever had devonshire cream?"

"Heh, I won't." Kay winks at him. Did Mary have some sort of vendetta against trashy samurai movies, or was John just particular about his collection and which DVD went where? That was interesting.

"If you're talking about my first Thanksgiving here, then yeah." Having been born and raised in America, she could not avoid Thanksgiving, really. "But back home, my family and I celebrate it every year." Her family was technically her relatives, but...it didn't matter.

She shakes her head. "I've never heard of it...is it different?" Should she keep this in mind for when she decides to use cream again for anything? It wouldn't hurt.

Yet another Thanksgiving log

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