Challenge

Coffee jello. Inspired because of this video.

Sara fumed. This was the fifth time someone had stolen her obsessively-labled lunch. It was almost enough to make her insectivorous again. And providing a lunchbox troll hadn’t discouraged the fiend, either.

The inconsiderate soul behind this was obviously trolling for some passive-aggressive antagonizing, but he (it was almost always a ‘he’) had yet to match wits with Sara.

She had Methods.

The “moldy” sandwich wrapper hadn’t stopped him. The food colouring in the bread hadn’t stopped him. The spring-loaded 'orrible 'airy spider hadn’t stopped him… for longer than forty-eight hours.

And shy of poisoning…

Hmmm. Sara could almost hear Todd murmuring, Sara, no-o-o-o-o… in the back of her head. All right. Maybe just severe gastric reflux.

So, after stopping by the sushi place down the road for a heinously expensive lunch, Sara went shopping.

The next day, her lunch consisted of “special” fried rice - with mealworms replacing the rice, beondogi replacing the peanuts, and crickets, amongst many other things - “special” coffee jello - made out of her heart-stopping wake-up juice - and a flask of gourmet apple juice - tainted with cascara.

She included the lunchbox troll for verisimilitude. And waited.

Sure enough, come lunchtime, her luncheon was gone. She calmly went and bought some replacement sushi and ate it at her desk while she composed an informative missive about what, exactly, was in her repast, this day.

It finished with, “And the apple juice, as you are no doubt discovering, was doped with cascara. I will be picking random items of my lunch to poison in future. Only I know where the poison is. And, thanks to a generous coating of genitan violet, I will also know who the thieves are.

"Don’t try to wash it off. You’ll only make it worse. Sara (The green one).”

Interestingly, four people at the office had to go and get their stomachs pumped. All four had purple hands. Internal Relations had a field day as a direct result.

[Muse food remaining: 21 (fic war prompts, 0). Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

The black fellow and Scott’s riveting discussion about felt.

“I knew you were lying about something,” the fellow in tweed grinned from ear to ear. “You said you only work in artificial plants and things that aren’t alive.”

“Yeah, I did. So?”

“That’s clearly moss on Echoes of Summertime.”

“No, that’s felt.”

“Seriously? Felt?”

“Yeah. I wanted a moss look and

Easy come, easy go-go.

The name of the vessel was the Remembrance Maru, and according to her registry, she was a pleasure vessel. All passengers and crew had evacuated after a micro-meteor shower had pierced both her defenses and the hull. Now, after a slow cruise from eternity, she’d turned up again in Amalgam’s local space.

Shayde was instantly interested, of course. She all but carried Rael down the long and winding route to Dry Dock’s

Time as currency and the dreadful issue of small talk while handing your life away and being 30 seconds short whilst on your commute.

Nomadic life was fine, so long as one was healthy. However, there were still illnesses that forced a stay. Stays cost. Hot-rack hotel beds were fine for sleeping, and you could harvest any food you wanted in the working gardens, but if you didn’t know an apprentice Gyik chef, the odds of getting it cooked for

Scott, inspired by watching Sara at the harp, is day 17 in his surprising new hobby, marked by his acumen and desire for a greater range of expression and development. Jean comments.

It was not an art usually appreciated in the making, it was something appreciated after it was finished. And even after seventeen days of practice, he was still too shy to show anyone but the Adriens.

He knew Ororo saw it, because she left encouraging little post-its on his desk.

When Scott finds out that leaders can indeed be seen crying and still be respected, he adjusts accordingly.

Kitty had recorded it because she couldn’t believe it. She showed it to Jean because she still didn’t believe it after watching it fifteen times in a row.

“Wow,” Jean said. And, after the third view, “I was joking when I said Sara’s playing could make a statue cry, but - *damn*…”

She

When being the coward of the county works out well.

There’s always that one weirdo in every town. That’s me. I try not to let on, because this is redneck country, but I’m scared of just about everything. Fortunately, since redneck country is also survivalist country, nobody bats an eye at folks ordering food by the pallet. With GPS co-ordinates instead of a delivery address.

I don’t have a bank account. Not since I