?Pshaw. I know how to party! I?ll just get all the girls from the Gardens together and have em over to the apartment. We?ll paint our nails, dance around in our pajamas, talk about boys and...?

Well, Riley was all domesticated with Daniel and David...and Mindy was now married...and Mataya and Max had moved in together...and... well, ahem. Melisande had her own little matched pair of boys and besides they?d never really hung out.

Blink.

How in the hell had that happened?

Okay.

Well there was Kazzy...hadn?t seen her in forever. Lirssa...checkmark in the rare sighting column. Vexi, well from the sounds of things Vexi was mired in a torrid affair. Icer? She had all those kids. Dusky? She was kind of a cold fish.

Surely she was forgetting somebody?

She?d just met Chyrie and she seemed...oh wait, getting married.

She stepped around her desk, acutely aware that Bane?s face was staring smugly from the picture on his byline as she carried the Post with her out into the reception area. She lit upon the svelte receptionist that was patiently sorting through the mail. Ah ha!

?Jhai Nein, so I was wondering?I mean, Good Morning! And uhh, how are you?? Fiora got off to a rocky start.

The slow assessing gaze was eerily penetrating, ?You?ve already said Good Morning, Ms. Shantalaine.?

?Umm, yea, right. Well, okay let?s just get down to it then shall we? I?m looking for a girlfriend--?

The phone rang and Jhai Nein held up a patient finger and took the call with seamless ease, ?Hello thank you for calling the Plaza de Troyes, this is Jhai Nein how may I help you today? Yes. Our private investigator is currently out of the office but I can take a message. Thank you.? She dutifully repeated back the information and then disconnected. With elegant and easy to read script she recorded the information for Jin and brought that disconcertingly direct gaze back upon Fiora, ?I am yours. Should you care for sexual pleasures I??

?What?!? NO!? Fiora felt her face blazing heat as she was sure she turned several shades of scarlet and crimson, spluttering to interrupt, ?I meant hang-out together. Paint toenails, bake a pizza, dish about guys, gossip?ahhh! Nevermind!?

Rushing away from her receptionist to slam back into her office she tossed the Post article on her desk. Breathing a little raggedly she rubbed at her flaming cheeks and babbled, ?That went well. Class act that one Fiora!?

Several calming breaths later she decided it was far more important to focus on her work than to let this continue to bother her. As she reclaimed her office chair she was startled by the smug mug of Bane gleaming up at her.

?Oh who asked you anywho?!? Flipping the Post over so that his picture was facedown she flounced back in her seat in a snit.

The problem with shopping for groceries for a meal that you?ve never made before is that you really have no idea what in the hell you?re doing.

Why dry white wine? Dry bitter wine tastes like vomit. Fiora decided immediately that Hazel Hay just accidentally said dry. Surely she meant this expensive bottle of Muscat and not one of those bitter Pinots?

Right?

Hell now that she thought about it, why couldn?t she soak the chicken in beer? It would definitely be more appealing that way. But, no, she was trying to impress people with her cooking so maybe the over expressive Hazael Hay was on to something. She conceded on the beer and went with the bottle of Muscat.

But since she?d been good about the wine she decided she could mix up the next ingredient a bit. Right? All of these potato varieties: Golden potatoes, russet potatoes, sweet potatoes.. yes! Sweet she wanted sweet! Tossing a few orange-ish potatoes in her purchases she continued onward.

Hungry from all this shopping, she ate the apple she bought to go in the meal as she pondered the necessity of buying chicken that hadn?t been cooked before. It looked kind of gross. Quickly before she lost her fortitude she selected a few breasts and thighs and had the merchant wrap them up, fleeing as fast as she could.

The spice merchants shop was overwhelmingly smelly. She'd sneezed a dozen times before making it through the door, her russet hair spilling free from the reserved hair style she had worn into work. She wasn't sure she'd be able to enter but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make, scrunching up her little nose as she considered the list of spices. Holy monkey butts, that was a lot of spices. Hot, tired, feet aching and a little flustered, she let the merchant talk her into bay leaves, thyme, oregano, cinnamon, cumin, and rosemary. Anything to get her out of there quickly. It wasn't until she was free that she realized she'd totally forgotten the pepper.

She made the mistake of telling the cheese vendor that she was attempting this particular recipe and quite suddenly had an entire list of how he would change the recipe as it was very bland. Half an hour later she was desperately trying to escape, his advice so far over her head that she could only swipe at a russet curl and nod vigorously as her first question had increased the conversation tenfold. With her chunk of brie in hand she backpedaled quickly. Overwhelmed and trying not to give into the urge to turn tail and run she remembered belatedly that she needed bacon. Traipsing back to the meat vendor she selected a pound of bacon even though the recipe only called for four slices. That seemed ridiculous but the merchant refused to be budged.

What in the hell was she going to do with all of this bacon?

She?d just have to make another meal with it. Yes, that?s what she?d do. She?d cook the second round success story to her newfound hobby. Burdened with an armload of purchases, desperate to get off her feet, hot, flustered, and tired, she thought about stopping at the Inn for a quick sandwich but realized that kind of defeated the purpose of cooking her own meal. Squaring her shoulders she marched determinedly toward home and as she passed the newsstand she flipped the bird at Bane?s condescending picture.

She was off to cook.

Bliss was a shower at the end of a long day. Pushing back the curtain she stepped over the edge of the old porcelain tub and reached for the maroon towel that matched her bathroom d?cor. Tucking the plush terry cloth around her she used another smaller version to roughly dry the mass of curling russet hair. If she didn?t comb it while wet it spiraled into a mass of curls that refused taming.

She wasn?t a girly girl but her collection of pretty bottles, jars, tubes, and cosmetics would make one think otherwise. Selecting a lotion in a pretty cobalt blue jar she slathered herself up and rubbed it in. Hanging up her towels, she grabbed her short boldly-colored lounging robe and padded toward the living area. A quick move turned the vid screen to face the kitchen and she selected the Hazael Hay episode that had caught her eye and set to work.

Two minutes later she was scowling as she waved a knife in the direction of the perky brunette, ?Listen you twit, it does not take ?less than a minute? to chop up this chicken.? And who knew you needed so many different bowls and pots and pans? She owned two and was doing the best she could. The potatoes would have to wait until the chicken marinated in one, while the bacon was grilling... oh sh-t! burning in the pan. ?Stop that!? She grabbed the handle and yanked it back, screeching as her hand was burnt.

?Oh damnit!? The bacon hit the ground and splattered grease along her nicely bared legs. ?OW!?

Pissed, she barely resisted the urge to kick it as she leaped backwards and knocked over the sack of spices. ?Gnarly Geriatric Gnolls This SUCKS!?

She opted to ignore her current disaster as Hazael Hay continued on in her over the top hand gesturing fashion. Trying desperately to follow along she popped the cork on the bottle of wine and liberally poured it over the chicken, ?Marinate, you bastages!?

Deciding she needed to apply equal amounts of wine to her own personage. She tipped the bottle to her lips.

Washing the knife clean she grabbed an orange potato, nearly skating across her kitchen floor when she stepped on a cylinder shaped bottle of rosemary leaves. The knife spun crazily in the air and narrowly missed skewering her. That deserved yet another drink of wine. Calmer, she set to chopping the potatoes, listening intently to the cooking vixen?s video.
Fairly certain if Hazael Hay said the word ?EVOO? one more time she would intentionally skewer herself she realized she didn?t have the apple to go in the cream. Another stream of curses erupted and this time she gave into the urge to kick the pan of bacon.

Just one less step, really, that?s all, she told herself as she reclaimed the pan and washed it, trying to fit the potatoes and the water in it to boil. At this point Hazael Hay cheerfully announced, ?blah blah blah and put our deliciously mixed cream and apples in the Food processor!?

What?

What in the hell was a food processor?