Mildred "DREAD" Platt plopped her ingredients down on the belt and watched them steadily glide towards the cashier. The man, who was wearing a Patriots shirt, swiped the eggs, butter, milk, over the scanner before arranging the items in a paper bag.
"Wow, I bet I can guess what you're making," he chuckled.
"Yeah, a fuckin' top hat. No shit. More baggin' less draggin', I got baking to do," Mildred said, grinning wildly with her nose scrunched up.
The next day, Mildred stood proudly next to a few other girls around her age, give or take a few years, at the fall fair in the town's center.
"Alright. If someone has a Toyota 1996 Ultima, please know that your lights are on," announced the man at the microphone, Hank. "And with that, we'll get the Bake Contest and Sale to benefit the Salem Historical Society under way."
Before the bakers dispersed to their tables, Mildred suddenly grabbed the microphone away from the man, who was too slow to stop her.
"Thank you, Hank. What an honor it is to be up here my fellow bakers," she said, moving out of his reach as he tried to take the mic back. "I do want you guys to know that I smell your fear and your pre-made Toll House cookies and it makes me stronger, your terror feeds me more than your low-rent cookies. Now fight me, cowards," she finished, putting her hand up to her mouth in a V shape and waggling her tongue in the middle.
At this, Hank finally managed to forcibly regain control of the microphone.
"First warning," he hissed at her.
At that, Mildred took her place among the tables and waited for people to come by and vote for their favorites among the confections.
Carefully, she arranged her lemon bars on the plates in front of her.
NO WHISK, NO REWARD
It's a bake off (sophomore year)
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Ruggahissy
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CardboardAirplane
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Let's face it there was really only one reason for Jack Kilgore to be here, and it was for the food. Hell yeah! Taking anything from anyone who was even more competent with an oven than him was something he could consider a good time. Not much of a high bar there though.
Oh yeah, and for the Salem Historical Society too, wow, who could forget about that? He totally cared, he'd grab a megaphone and preach about the whatever the fuck it was for days to come.
Jack walked into the fair wearing an "I'm with stupid" shirt and a light jacket which was kept unzipped solely for the sake of people being able to read the shirt. He stood around until he heard an announcement, and promptly laughed to himself hearing that someone left their car lights on.
"Ha, dumbass." He mumbled to himself. An older man looked behind him having overheard Jack's little remark. He just shrugged and mouthed the word "sorry". A smug look on their face as he gave a sorry excuse for an apology.
As he was losing focus and thinking about heading to one of the tables so he could get to one of them first, he paused and looked back to the mic. A girl having taken control of it and slandering the others taking part.
He raised a fist and quietly whooped and hollered to himself. Damn it can't you take a joke? Jack found it funny anyway.
Truthfully he wasn't even paying attention to what one was the best or anything, he was just here to enjoy himself and that was that. He'd give a small comment with all of the snacks, ranging from "Oh this shit's hella tasty." To "This is godawful, you sure you ain't trying to kill nobody?"
The more negative comments were kept to himself and said once he's out of earshot of anyone who would care.
Jack walked up to a table with some lemon bars resting atop a plate. There was a small pause as he thought about what to say afterwards, like it was mandatory he said something.
"... Well hey, thought it'd be shit when I saw it was like, yellow." He nodded his head, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't terrible. Actually it was a lot better than terrible.
As Jack was walking away and stopped and backpedaled a bit, wanting to say something to Mildred. It wasn't really related to the food or anything, he's already vocalized his thoughts on the matter, albeit not to her face.
"Keep trash-talking, that'd be pretty fucking funny." He chuckled a bit at the thought, showing where his priorities were.
Jack kept moving, not wanting to waste the time here all too much.
Oh yeah, and for the Salem Historical Society too, wow, who could forget about that? He totally cared, he'd grab a megaphone and preach about the whatever the fuck it was for days to come.
Jack walked into the fair wearing an "I'm with stupid" shirt and a light jacket which was kept unzipped solely for the sake of people being able to read the shirt. He stood around until he heard an announcement, and promptly laughed to himself hearing that someone left their car lights on.
"Ha, dumbass." He mumbled to himself. An older man looked behind him having overheard Jack's little remark. He just shrugged and mouthed the word "sorry". A smug look on their face as he gave a sorry excuse for an apology.
As he was losing focus and thinking about heading to one of the tables so he could get to one of them first, he paused and looked back to the mic. A girl having taken control of it and slandering the others taking part.
He raised a fist and quietly whooped and hollered to himself. Damn it can't you take a joke? Jack found it funny anyway.
Truthfully he wasn't even paying attention to what one was the best or anything, he was just here to enjoy himself and that was that. He'd give a small comment with all of the snacks, ranging from "Oh this shit's hella tasty." To "This is godawful, you sure you ain't trying to kill nobody?"
The more negative comments were kept to himself and said once he's out of earshot of anyone who would care.
Jack walked up to a table with some lemon bars resting atop a plate. There was a small pause as he thought about what to say afterwards, like it was mandatory he said something.
"... Well hey, thought it'd be shit when I saw it was like, yellow." He nodded his head, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't terrible. Actually it was a lot better than terrible.
As Jack was walking away and stopped and backpedaled a bit, wanting to say something to Mildred. It wasn't really related to the food or anything, he's already vocalized his thoughts on the matter, albeit not to her face.
"Keep trash-talking, that'd be pretty fucking funny." He chuckled a bit at the thought, showing where his priorities were.
Jack kept moving, not wanting to waste the time here all too much.
S027: Perante Losoa
S084: Jack Kilgore
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Ruggahissy
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"They're lemon bars, geen-e-us," she said back with a frown. "Citrus got real," she said, though it wasn't clear if she was making a joke or if it was the result of a slight lisp due to her braces.
But he did compliment them after all, and said she was funny. Her expression changed in an instant and she lit up, beaming.
"Hell yeah, the only trash is my talk. My bars are bars!!!" she enthused, waiting for the next person to come by.
But he did compliment them after all, and said she was funny. Her expression changed in an instant and she lit up, beaming.
"Hell yeah, the only trash is my talk. My bars are bars!!!" she enthused, waiting for the next person to come by.
Eve was only going to have one shot at this, so she had to make sure to line everything up perfectly. Real high-stakes shit, right here. Everyone bringing out their best, or what they thought was their best, all for the incredibly prestigious prize of... she couldn't remember if there was even a prize. Being the best fundraiser for a thing like three people cared about, she guessed.
Food was food though, and Eve was here to make her mark. To that end, she made sure that her longboard was lined up just perfectly with the row of tables before pushing off and sending herself rolling along at a steady clip in front of them.
...Yeah, she pretty quickly chickened out of the ambition to grab something off of every table she passed. Should have gotten a plate first, if there were any to be had. She did hit one perfect bulls-eye though: Moldy Mildred's table.
"What up, Mildew," Eve said breezily as she coasted by, snatching a lemon square right off the tray. She didn't grab it perfectly, her fingers leaving a bit of a gouge around the edges of another bar next to it, but she didn't stop to apologize or engage Mildred in any further conversation. She did kind of wish she had a GoPro or something to capture the look on Mildred's face, though.
Huh. That wasn't half bad, actually. Mildew was good at something. Unfortunately, Eve wasn't ever going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. She gave her board another push with her trailing foot, propelling herself farther across the square and away from any fallout of her drive-by dessert yoinking, not looking back.
Food was food though, and Eve was here to make her mark. To that end, she made sure that her longboard was lined up just perfectly with the row of tables before pushing off and sending herself rolling along at a steady clip in front of them.
...Yeah, she pretty quickly chickened out of the ambition to grab something off of every table she passed. Should have gotten a plate first, if there were any to be had. She did hit one perfect bulls-eye though: Moldy Mildred's table.
"What up, Mildew," Eve said breezily as she coasted by, snatching a lemon square right off the tray. She didn't grab it perfectly, her fingers leaving a bit of a gouge around the edges of another bar next to it, but she didn't stop to apologize or engage Mildred in any further conversation. She did kind of wish she had a GoPro or something to capture the look on Mildred's face, though.
Huh. That wasn't half bad, actually. Mildew was good at something. Unfortunately, Eve wasn't ever going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. She gave her board another push with her trailing foot, propelling herself farther across the square and away from any fallout of her drive-by dessert yoinking, not looking back.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."