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It was that time. Crepe time, yo. Honestly? He'd been kind of fiending for them ever since mentioning them. When he'd woken up, he could practically taste them. The grocery store had been early morning empty, and he'd breezed through. A rare appearance in jeans, too, since most of his khakis were dirty, and his other pants... well. Those were Friday pants. A faded t-shirt proclaimed his presence at Tommorrow World 2011.
The evidence of his efforts peeked out of plastic grocery bags: flour, sugar, salt, eggs, milk, and various condiments: jam, sweetened condensed milk, and a small carton of blackberries. The coffeee maker hissed and burbled, and the scent of hazelnut was just starting to waft out.
He'd forgotten a sifter. It's the little things that kill. He attacked the nuggets of flour with a vengeance, determined not to be foiled by hard little lumps in his crepes. Then the sugar and salt. He hung a bag on the handles of a drawer and pitched shells into it as he cracked eggs. Whoops. No one saw that.
No. One.
Lotta batter, yo. That's what fridges were for, tho, right? He used a fork to cut off a chunk of butter from a stick, dropped it in the pan, and lit up the stove.
It's crepe time.
How do you know?
Because crepe socks.
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2 potency Prime Sight/1 potency Life Armor, cloaked, 24hr