dizzy_land | He's your brother. Right.

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He's your brother. Right.

((Closed to Dean, Sam and Starbuck. Lots of confusion to ensue, I'm sure. ^^))

Starbuck sort of felt bad. She really should have gone to see Dean as soon as she was feeling totally back to normal (the potion had put her off for a day or two). Instead, she got caught up in building the pyramid court, so glad that she had found something to preoccupy her mind that she completely forgot to go looking for her (admittedly hapless) rescuer.

Dean had told her that he was living in Le Bat En Rouge (the name alone was enough to make her laugh, even though she had no idea what the language was or what it meant), so she grabbed the pyramid ball to give her hands something to do, and made her way to New Orleans Square. And despite the fact that she actually had a serious question on her mind, she was in a damn good mood for a change.

When she arrived at the giftshop she stifled another laugh at the souveniers, rapped her knuckles against the doorframe, and called inside teasingly, "Housekeeping! Get her while she's in demand and before she realizes that she's not getting paid for it!" Not that she had ever learned good housekeeping habits. But he didn't look much better.

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...Yeah, probably not, but he couldn't say he'd mind the company. "Hey, backup never hurts," he said, smiling. "Maybe we can keep each other from strangling it if it gets annoying." Or else help each other kill it, or something. Either way.

"Yeah, I don't think you'd be able to stop me from strangling it if it really gets on my nerves," she said semi-ominously. "I can't believe the thing is really in a kid's book on Earth...."

She perked up suddenly. "Pizza's probably done." She filled her glass with Sprite this time (not seeming to realize that the leftover root beer in the glass would not make for the best flavor combination) set it down on a table top on her way back to the oven. Donning the grey industrial mitts again, she open the oven, pulled the pizza out and set it on the counter to cool. "That looks done, right?"

Sam was actually a little concerned about the methods of interrogation Starbuck was likely to employ, but it was Dean's call so he said nothing, although he should probably point out to someone later that it would be impossible to strangle the Cheshire Cat, given that it could vanish parts (or all) of its body at will. It would be like trying to strangle a poltergeist; futile and almost definitely unwise.

But for the time being he followed Starbuck over to the ovens, leaning over her shoulder to see the pizza. "Looks perfect," he said. And it smelled perfect, too, and Sam decided that they needed to be eating that pizza right now.

"I'll see if I can find a pizza wheel somewhere," he offered, starting to open drawers.

On the one hand, Dean's more rational side acknowledged that conducting a joint investigation with anyone who wasn't Sam was probably a bad idea, but on the other hand... It was the Cheshire Cat. How bad an idea could it be? The damned thing was probably indestructible, for all he knew.

Pizza was a much better thing to occupy his mind with.

"Here," he said, grabbing a pizza wheel from a hook on the wall and handing it to Sam. "Slice away." And fast.

((no worries; it's that time of year, we know how it goes (hope your finals go well!). Sammy's probably going to be dealing with jetlag for a while anyway with all the travelling she did today. XD))

It was probably for the better that no one had challenged her on her decision to go with Dean. To say that they wouldn't like her when she was angry would have really been putting it mildly.

Starbuck eyed the little kitchen piece with a perplexed look. "I don't understand why you don't just use a knife. It'd work just as well, wouldn't it?" It was taking her a while to get used to the idea of certain conveniences that the park contained. She'd already had a survivalist mentality on arriving, so she'd stuck with most of her old routines. Unnecessary utilities didn't really fit into her sense of things.

“Probably,” Sam answered with a grin. “But this is more fun.” He looked at the pizza, wondering if it needed to cool more, but he was too hungry to wait. “I think these really are more convenient, especially if you had to do lots of pizzas quickly.”

Sam made quick work of the pizza, marking it out carefully into six mostly-even slices before actually cutting them, the melty cheese only sticking a little. Then he scooped the slices onto the plates, holding the crust carefully between thumb and forefinger while trying not to burn himself.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, Sam," Dean muttered, watching the pizza-cutting process impatiently. He took one of the plates as soon as there was pizza on it and would have tried to eat it then if it hadn't nearly burned his fingers just touching it. Maybe waiting for a few seconds was the smart thing to do, after all. "Wanna go to that..." he gestured over in the direction of the semi-outdoors area near Space Mountain, "eating place thing?"

((Yeah, things are kinda crazy for me too right now, so I hear you there. ;D))

"Eating place thing?" Starbuck repeated after a moment, a laugh caught in her voice. "And I thought my vocabulary wasn't worth saving. No wonder he's the smart one," she said, pointing to Sam. She snatched up a plate and headed out to the area Dean had mentioned.

Sam gave Starbuck his most winning grin started piling several of the large slices the focaccia he'd pulled out of the cabinets earlier onto his plate.

"Anyone want any of this?" he asked about the bread as he grabbed the jar of sauce (for dipping).

Dean shot a glare at Starbuck, repressing an urge to argue. "I'll stick with pizza," he told Sam, once he figured Starbuck had been glared at sufficiently.

If Starbuck had ever been intimidated by glares she probably wouldn't have lasted long... anywhere. Not even in her own home. But it was endlessly amusing watching Dean try to throw his weight around. She twisted her lips in a way that suggested she was trying to supress a grin, and beckoned him along with a toss of her head. "Are you always this moody with people who threw themselves at you no more than a half hour ago?" she teased in an undertone.

She glanced at what Sam had pulled out and nodded. "Sure, I'll try anything."

Poor Dean. Sam was doing his best not to laugh at him, but he was secretly enjoying seeing his brother thrown off his game by a woman.

"It's awesome," he promised Starbuck, putting two large pieces on her plate. Then he proceeded to start eating right where he was standing.

Dean realized that glaring wasn't helping his case at all, but he wasn't sure what else he could do in response to a comment like that.

"Right," he said loudly, settling on the highly mature coping method of 'pretending not to hear.' "This way." He followed Starbuck toward the tables, shooting Sam an annoyed look as he passed.

"So that's a 'yes'," she murmured, smirking. She could deal with moody. Moody was pretty common on a battlestar. She was usually the queen of it, of course.

Starbuck took a bite of that whatchamacallit stuff that Sam had put on her plate as she sat down at one of the tables (she wasn't fussed, so she didn't pay much attention to where she landed). "Wow," she said around a mouthful. "That's a hell of a lot better than I expected it to be."

Sam gave her a Dean-worthy smile around his own mouthful of focaccia and then cocked an eyebrow at his brother as if to say "See, Starbuck knows what's good" as he settled into a chair and turned his undivided attention to his food. God he was hungry.

Dean sat down quickly and ate most of his pizza in a few large bites as soon as it was cool enough to put in his mouth, pausing only to meet Sam's look with a challenging stare.

As it turned out, though, eating improved his mood significantly, even if he did still suspect that Starbuck and Sam were ganging up on him in a way that was completely unfair. "This stuff really does taste better than the food in those carts," he commented. Then again, it didn't take a nutritionist to figure out that a diet half-composed of churros wasn't exactly ideal.

Ganging up was always fair. It was the easiest way to point out that someone else was wrong. Starbuck engaged in it frequently.

She was also engaged in eat-like-you've-been-starving mode. It was a difficult one to get out of, and it also meant that she ate her food in a few minutes flat. Military was good for stuff like that. "Maybe we can get you to take a cooking class," she suggested with an amused grin. "You could find one of the chefs here and ask them to teach you. That way you wouldn't always be eating crap, and I could score meals out of it too."

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He's your brother. Right.

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