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Jul. 7th, 2020
juevos rancheros
Jul. 7th, 2020 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
backwaterZack still remembers all the good places. Fresh eggs from Weddell's. One big, fluffy loaf of Junon-style bread from Furioso's, the kind with the thick, cloudy (heh) crusts. The bacon, now you wanna get that from the Costan bodega on the corner of W 57th and Station Drive, along with, if you're lucky, a pair of cowboy boots hand-painted with tableaus depicting running bulls and the bright blue Costan sky. Zack doesn't have enough scrap left from the paltry cleanup jobs he's been running to kinda sorta pay his way as of late, but he gives them a good eyeing, promises them, "Someday," and tosses the paper wrap into the backseat of the Beaufort with all the rest of his bounty.
He's up early early early, mostly because he always is. It's easy, when you cat nap most of the day. And what better way to spend a morning alone than crafting Absolute Perfection in a pan for the ones you love, love so much that no matter what they do, no matter how they fight and fuss, nothing in this world could ever compare to what a complete and utter joy it is to get to be around them. Now if only they'd get that into their thick skulls and just be happy for once. Not that it matters. Zack's got this, he's handling it. He's gonna wake them both up for breakfast and not even recognize them when they're through, they're gonna be so stoked through the goddamn roof.
He's wielding sea salt and fresh-crushed pepper like a fucking wizard. Bam! Fresh coat of butter. The pan is spitting like a spooked alley cat. The kitchen? Smells divine. Too bad he doesn't know Sephiroth's tastes the same way he knows what country boys like, or he'd be slathering everything in hot sauce. That's fine; once everything's plated, he slips the bottle of Red Lord 52 into the back pocket of his shorts and tiptoes his way into the bedroom.
"Breakfast in bed," he announces, ruffling Cloud's hair as he slips into the crowded bed. There's always just space enough between these sleeping cuties for him to fit right into. Imagine that! "G'mornin', babe." And Sephiroth... Naw he's gonna ruffle his hair too. "Wake up, darlin'. Hope you like bacon."
He's up early early early, mostly because he always is. It's easy, when you cat nap most of the day. And what better way to spend a morning alone than crafting Absolute Perfection in a pan for the ones you love, love so much that no matter what they do, no matter how they fight and fuss, nothing in this world could ever compare to what a complete and utter joy it is to get to be around them. Now if only they'd get that into their thick skulls and just be happy for once. Not that it matters. Zack's got this, he's handling it. He's gonna wake them both up for breakfast and not even recognize them when they're through, they're gonna be so stoked through the goddamn roof.
He's wielding sea salt and fresh-crushed pepper like a fucking wizard. Bam! Fresh coat of butter. The pan is spitting like a spooked alley cat. The kitchen? Smells divine. Too bad he doesn't know Sephiroth's tastes the same way he knows what country boys like, or he'd be slathering everything in hot sauce. That's fine; once everything's plated, he slips the bottle of Red Lord 52 into the back pocket of his shorts and tiptoes his way into the bedroom.
"Breakfast in bed," he announces, ruffling Cloud's hair as he slips into the crowded bed. There's always just space enough between these sleeping cuties for him to fit right into. Imagine that! "G'mornin', babe." And Sephiroth... Naw he's gonna ruffle his hair too. "Wake up, darlin'. Hope you like bacon."