slayer_fray | [Milliways: Suite 132 Suitewarming]

Lilly and Mel have out done themselves.

There's no theme to this party, no gimmicks, other than the 'welcome to our suite and please get very drunk' idea, and this aim has been faciliatated by the huge numbers of bottles of all sorts of alcohol covering the galley kitchen. The breakfast bar boasts five huge bowls of punch, the dining table is covered in assorted snacks and dips, and brightly coloured balloons cover the floor, and, despite the best efforts by a certain boyfriend to use helium for comedy voice purposes, the ceiling as well.

The door to the main bathroom stands open, and a large pile of freshly laundered towels stand on the way to the hot tub, above which a large sign declares: clothing optional.

Mel's bedroom door is shut and locked, protecting weaponry and other valuables, while Lilly's room is opened, and her Bathroom is very clearly labelled.

Out on the balcony, the barbeque takes pride of place among a vast amount of meat, just waiting to be made use of.

The centre of the living area is cleared, but a box of Twister has been placed very obviously on top of the locked entertainment centre.

Suite 132 is open for business

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"I just..." He bows his head shamefully. "I know you'll do whatever you can. I just don't want Mel and Lilly to kick my ass. Lilly said I could work the sausages."

In all liklehood she meant only the sausages, if she actually meant anything beyond the innuendo. She didn't know he can't cook though, and he did assure her that his barbecuing skills were okay. He lied.

Either way, it begs the question of why there is still a huge pile of sausages, and far fewer of the good thick, juicy steaks and chops that had been set aside for a proficient chef to work with.

Indy hands over the next tool obediently.

"Spatula."

Mike flips the spatula in his hand before setting to removing the steaks and ribs.

"They won't kick your ass. Not on my watch they won't. Besides, most people like things well done."

The meat comes off the grates easily. Anything that might have stuck is so stuck that it just peels away from any left over tissue.

Cleaning the grill...that's going to be the tough part.

Cleaning shmeaning. Black gunk adds taste!

"So, um, what did I do wrong?" Indy asks the master, poking idly at the stack of raw sausages with the long fork implement. "Was it the temperature setting, or that vent hole thing?"

Or the fact he left the grill unattended to go ogle hot tub nakedness for about thirty minutes?

"It's too early to tell. Preliminary reports indicate excessive heat is the cause, but it could have been any number of things. It's good that you came and got me when you did. Now that there's plenty of time to rectify the situation with tasty meat treats."

After all, who doesn't love tasty meat treats?

"Metal scrubby brush thinger."

"Tasty meat treats sounds gay. Can we not say massive meaty offerings?"

"Wire brush."

Indy sniffs and and admires the awesome view of the lake for a while. When he looks back, he blinks at Mike's outstretched hand.

"Oh. Right. You want the wire brush. Sorry. I thought we'd stopped playing the Surgeon game."

"You don't stop playing the surgeon game in the middle of an operation. Geez Indy, I bet your imaginary malpractice is through the roof."

Mike shakes his head as he scrapes the little crusty bits of carbon off the once pristine grating of the grill.

"There. All spic and span. And dare I say ready and yielding for your massive meaty offerings. Which, by the way, is totally more gay than Tasty Meat Treats."

Indy looks appraisingly at the cooking surface. "Nice job. And I wouldn't really know what's gay and what's not. I rely on you and Xander to keep me straight."

"Besides, there's enough scantily clad hot chicks here to convert... I dunno... Aziraphael?"

"Are you kidding? Have you seen Crowley?"

"Yeah. But I can't judge what's hot and what's not unless its got breasts. Evidently."

"What ever trips your trigger, Indy. What ever trips your trigger. In the meantime, how do you like your meat? Long, thick, juicy, or au natural?"

"As big and thick as they come. If I can't fit in my mouth in one go, so much the better."

"I always knew, but never had proof. Now...now I do. Thank you Indy."

Mike stabs at a rather brick-like T-bone that takes up a good portion of the Tasty Meat Treat serving plate.

After a pinch of kosher salt, Mike slaps the steak on the grill. It makes a very satisfying sizzle as tender flesh meets red hot metal.

The squeal of heated moisture escaping the searing cut of meat reminds Indy of something. Pain.

"Where'd you come up with the name Honey Wumpus anyway?" he asks, seemingly at random.

Mike is falling into his cooking zone.

"Huh? Oh...heh, right. It's like a Madlib. You know just take two of the most bizzare things and put them together."

"Um... and what is a Wumpus when it's at home?"

"Happy."

Mike offers before turning to smirk at Indy.

Indy shakes his head at him with a helpless sigh and a grin.

"Mel is so lucky to have you," he admits with absolutely no conviction.

[Milliways: Suite 132 Suitewarming]

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