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Time: Late afternoon, 25 July 2000
Place: The Manor Grounds
Status: Public
Summary: The Barbecue

Severus had prepared for this extensively, had done research as soon as he was told that he needed to provide food for a ‘barbecue’. Well, that was American, wasn’t it? A newly-published book titled The Great American Barbecue and Grilling Manual was his starting point. (The words ‘great’ and ‘American’ did not belong in the same sentence, although perhaps he might be mistaken, never having been to America.) After learning that this was not merely an American cuisine but a regional (Southern) American cuisine, he began to specialise. Having found a butcher to bring a pig and something to cook it over (yes, the whole pig, you dolt) he learned that it could have been done with a goat as it had been in the Caribbean, and with less effort.

Having put forth effort already, he pushed ahead. The intensive labour required to prepare food by the slow ‘barbecue’ method had been provided by Remus Lupin, although he surely did not understand when he volunteered exactly what it was he’d be doing. The butcher himself was also interested and so Snape had ‘invited’ him to come and help. Work for the day, eat. Bring your family with you and they can help and eat also. Only if they help. Severus’ labour shortage crisis solved.

The whole concept of barbecue sauce was confusing, so he’d made three kinds. Two for public consumption—a South Carolina style with mustard, vinegar and black pepper that seemed reasonable enough. Kansas City style that was thick, red-brown, and gloppy, made with a tomato base and molasses. The third was for Crowley, a Texas-style sauce amusingly named ‘Devil’s Spit’ made from a tomato base with cumin and hot chiles. These American chiles being unavailable, he procured an Oriental variety that were infinitely hotter. Let him call that bland.

Chicken would go on, although not for as long as the blasted pig, and sausages for the unadventurous. The Brunswick Stew might end up in the restaurant under ‘American Cuisine’. It was simple enough, with a tomato base, lima beans (or any beans), corn, other vegetables, and meat. Traditionally rabbit or squirrel but he could use leftover pork, chicken, beef or even cut-up sausages. Basically, a fine way to rid himself of leftover almost anything and he revised his opinion of American ingenuity. The true test would be Crowley’s opinion. If he disapproved, it was definitely going on the menu.

Okra and sweet potatoes proved impossible to procure. Field greens—of the turnip variety—were simple enough to cook in some of the extra pig fat. Black-eyed peas, which looked an awful lot like beans, with bacon. He made carrots in sauce of butter and brown sugar that seemed terribly French, but he simply shrugged. There would be green peas—not mushy, unfortunately, which would have made Crowley complain and Snape smile, a dish of fried apples that was a side dish, apparently popular with pork, and potato salad. It was a source of annoyance that the recipe he found for this called for red potatoes that did not need to be peeled. How brilliant would it have been to set Lupin to peeling potatoes for his own requested potato salad?

Cornbread was simple enough to make, although all the different names and types confused him. The concept of beaten biscuits was repulsive so he settled on cheddar biscuits instead. American biscuits, he found, were a bread roll that seemed a bizarre combination of bap, scone, and crumpet. But they were a Southern staple and very simple to make. Devilled eggs—also simple, seemingly French—were another extra dish along with pickles of varied types. He refused to make grits—porridge was bad enough at breakfast and he would certainly not serve it in any other time.

Cold tea, sweet, with or without lemon was also a disgusting concept. Lemonade, if people wished to drink it. Lupin had to deal with squeezing the lemons, too. He had procured some Bourbon and Belial would, he imagined, not object if any leftover made its way to the bar. Mint juleps required it. Mint grew in the garden and sugar was a staple.

Having no sweet potatoes with which to make sweet potato pie, which seemed unpleasant anyway, he went with pecan pie. It was too sweet, but someone would eat it. Pound cake with whipped cream (another job for Lupin) and blackberry cobbler, which was enough like local fare for people to be willing to eat it. If he could have found watermelon, that would have been amusing. But messy, so just as well he hadn’t found it.

All in all, it was a great effort on his part, slave labour or no, and people had better appreciate it else he would be extremely put out.

"Let Wensleydale handle things in the kitchen, Lupin. The butcher will take care of serving the meat. You can clear plates and make sure the dishes are all filled." He had planned this. "The butcher's wife can help with drinks. The children have been disposed of."

Out of the way, nothing more sinister. Eating now, washing dishes later. Work for food, and a good trade on his part.

"Keep an eye on the biscuits, Wensleydale, and see that they don't burn. And make sure there is plenty of ice."

He turned.

"No, mint juleps are not sweets, get away from me, you silly child." Weren't they supposed to be on the far side of the lawn, eating their supper?

Attention Edit: As of this point the Devil's Spit sauce is no longer on the serving table but in Snape's hands, doled out by him. Please do not have your character get into it.

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"Well, he certainly seemed ready to fight because I called Uriel a whore. And he must have known he wouldn't stand a chance against me if it came down to that." He shrugged. "I've no idea what Uriel has done. At the time I was more convinced Pestilence had used Uriel's vulnerable mental condition on his advantage. I can only imagine how good it must feel to him to be around somebody so obviously ill."

He frowned, then. "Who's a bitch?" he asked, not making the connection between the term typically used to refer to female beings and the -- as far as he knew -- male Uriel. "And what does that have to do with this, anyway?"

War sighed. "She is. Uriel. Oh, that's backwards. Uriel is now female. And it's her who's the cunning bitch. I can't believe Pestilence was just using her... yes, he likes illness, of course he does, but not enough to be willing to fight you for it! Somehow, he - she - Uriel tricked him, and hurt him - presumably why he left."

She flexed her fingers anxiously. "You might as well know. Uriel's pregnant. So...either it's his, and she cast him off, once she'd used him to get a child... or she cheated on him."

"Uriel's pregnant?" Mictain's eyes flew wide. "Bloody Heaven. I wasn't sure they'd even got past kissing, given Uriel's usual behaviour... Are you sure?" He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No, of course you're sure. You wouldn't say so otherwise. But still..."

He took a moment to try to sort out his thoughts. In the six millennia he'd known Uriel the archangel had never, to his knowledge, made an effort. He'd been shocked enough to learn that he would know as far as kissing and presumably making an effort. But this? Being actually pregnant? This was... un-Urielish.

"Somehow, I can't believe either of her," he still said, "and I do think I knew her better than anybody else. But yet... it must be one or the other, mustn't it? With the way Pestilence reacted, I don't think he would have left her voluntarily. And if he was still with her and had got her pregnant, he would visibly support her -- if she let her. He hardly would just abandon her after threatening to attack me just because I called the angel names."

He sighed, again running a hand through his hair. "So, either Uriel's quite a bit different from what I figured... or Pestilence is just about suicidal. Somehow, I think the former is the more probable option." He narrowed his eyes. "I'll find out the truth yet. I can't imagine why she would want a child, though... So she must have cheated on him, then. Or maybe she got pregnant by accident and deserted him because of it. But it doesn't make any sense, either..."

War clicked her fingernails. "None of it makes sense," she said, "and yet I just can't believe that Pestilence would have got her pregnant and abandoned her, not from what I know of him and from what you've told me of his behaviour."

"I'm not sure what my opinion of Uriel is, but from what I'm seen and heard, I'm not overly inclined to make it a positive one. If she is so mentally ill, could wanting a child be linked to that, somehow? I could understand her leaving him if she got pregnant and he rejected her but then regretted it... but I can't see that, quite, either."

Twisting her hair round her fingers, she continued, "I don't understand what could have happened. The bare facts, though, are that Uriel and Pestilence were clearly together, and PEstilence cared about Uriel deeply. Now, Uriel is female and noticeably pregnant, and Pestilence has disappeared. Clearly, something odd has happened - and neither of us really know what."

Mictain nodded thoughtfully. "It doesn't make sense, no," he said. "I'd really like to figure it out, though. This is rather disturbing -- it just goes plain against my usual view of the world." He sighed once again. "Ah, well. Most probably Uriel has just got even crazier than she used to be."

He grumbled, "I am going to make sense of this -- if not otherwise then to prove that Uriel is completely crazy. And besides, if the kid indeed is Pestilence's..." A sudden thought crossed his mind, and he smirked. "Can you imagine what a fuss it'd cause Upstairs? It'd be pure chaos. The pure and untouched perfect archangel is pregnant, unmarried, and the father's a horseman. I can just imagine the look on Metatron's face when he finds out..."

War burst out laughing in spite of herself. "Oh, but that would be a picture...!"

Her amusement subsided, though, as she said, "I'd like to know too. Pestilence has been around as long as I have, more or less, and he's a Horseperson, like me. And whether he is the one at fault - which I doubt - or whether Uriel has completely lost it - which I consider more than likely - then I'd like to know. Besides, if the child is his, then it's practically family! I've got a vested interest... even if it has got a rather interesting family tree."

She clicked her nails again. "Seems it would make sense for us to work together on this one - after all, we both want to find out... What do you think?"

"Well, Uriel has never been too far from losing it completely," Mictain said with a small smirk, "especially after coming to the Manor. So, yes, I do consider that more likely, too."

His smirk got even broader at War's mention of a family tree. "Just think of the things the poor kid would learn!" he laughed. "I could always claim to be its uncle. Even if it's only to see the look on the angels' face. They need to be reminded of me before they succeed in their goal of forgetting about me entirely, and what would be better for that than such a shock?"

He didn't have to consider her suggestion for long. "Sure. Between the two of us, we should actually find out something."

War grinned. "I'd be its aunt, in that case. Sakes... "Auntie War", can you imagine it? Still, I imagine I - and you - could teach it something useful in the fighting line... I imagine that would shake the angels up a fair bit, too."

"And you're right. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of it..." She held out her hand. "Shake on it?" she said with a laugh, and a raised eyebrow.

Mictain grinned at the thought of teaching a half-angel kid to fight. Yes, that should be satisfying -- even without angels around to be shocked. Uriel was good enough of a warrior, so the kid should be more talented than the usual oafs he'd had to train in Heaven. "The kid'd kick anyone's butt in no time," he said, confident that it would indeed happen so. How could it not, with both him and War teaching it?

"Sure," he said, grasping on her hand and shaking it. "We'll find out the truth yet."

Still grinning, War said, "It would indeed."

Then, raising her eyes to his and gripping his hand firmly, "Yes," she replied, before letting go of his hand.

"Now, feel like joining me in sleuthing down some food? I'm sure Duckie will still be able to find us when he gets back."

Mictain smirked. "Food sounds good." He couldn't help asking, however, "Why do you call E.T. Duckie?"

War put a hand up and rubbed her aching neck. Truth be told, she didn't usually give people nicknames, especially not ones as strange as 'Duckie'.

"You, I assume, call him E.T. because he is an extra-terrestrial, an alien?" She'd picked up on that bit of human culture, at least. "Well, when he arrived in the lobby, there was a bit of a ... situation. He was waving something around which he called a 'screwdriver', but it looked more like a weapon to me, so I told him to put it down so he couldn't use it. He refused, and said, "it is no more a weapon than I am a duck." She laughed wryly. "I thought that if he was an alien, maybe his true form was a duck-shape, and so it was a weapon, and the connection just stuck in my mind. He doesn't seem bothered, though - not that that would stop me."

She quirked her eyebrow. "Satisfied? Can we go get food now?"

"The explanation is more than satisfactory, my dear lady." Mictain smirked. "Food it is, then."

"Here you are, then!" said the Doctor, running into War from behind and only just managing to stop a collision. He waved the laser around. "One laser gun. Sorry it took me a while to find; I'm going to have to clean out the TARDIS at some point..."

He grimaced at the thought. When it came to cleaning, he was a teenager at heart.

"Anyway," he said quickly, "four settings. The first one gives whoever you're shooting at a numb limb, the second makes them extremely dizzy, the third knocks them out for five to ten minutes and the fourth for half an hour to an hour. You just aim and shoot." He smiled. "It's really simple. Can't remember where I got it..." He frowned, trying to find the gun in his memories. "Ah well. If it was too dangerous, the TARDIS would have said.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the Doctor said, "I think I'm going to see about finding some jelly babies. See you, Mickey, Ruby..."

War spun round on her heel. She'd heard the Doctor a vfraction of a second before she felt him run into her, so he didn't get a fist in the face - which was just as well, all things considered.

She put out a hand and took the gun from him. It looked both similar and dissimilar to other weapons she'd seen, but she could sense something different about it as she held it, something less destructive about it, which made sense.

"Thank you, Duckie!" she called after him, as he hurried off in search of jelly babies, or whatever it was he'd said he wanted. She held it out to Mictain. "Care to take a look?"

Mictain took the weapon from War, turning it in his hands. It seemed very finely made, and he was sure it would also be effective. Although he was lacking War's more fine-tuned senses for this kind of thing, though, he could also tell it couldn't kill. It simply wasn't that kind of a weapon.

"It's pretty," he commented, grinning. "Definitely not from this age -- or possibly even this planet, mind you. It does make me wonder, though, what other, more destructive weapons could be acquired with that spaceship of his. If he were to allow it, that is, which I very much doubt."

He gave the laser gun back to War. "This is one bloody cool toy," he said. "Let's hope nobody mistakes it for something actually dangerous and confesticate it."

She grinned. "Bloody cool pretty much sums it up. And if anyone does try to confiscate it, I've got the Doctor to act as expert witness that it isn't dangerous - and it can be demonstrated, if necessary."

She thought about what he'd said, about other times and other planets. "I know this is from the future, and quite possibly another planet. It just makes it more interesting in itself, really. Tempting as it is to go travelling to add to my collection, I really don't think Duckie would let me. Plus, I'm not sure Adam would be too keen on it, and I'd really rather stay in his good books right now."

She took it back from him, and ran her fingers over it. "I'd like to test it out sometime, but I'm not sure I'd get any volunteers. I guess rabbit hunting or something might be ok, though, don't you think?"

Mictain grinned. "Staying in Adam's good books is important, yes," he said. "I had to get almost killed before I could get back after angering him. But I guess rabbit hunting couldn't hurt anyone. As long as you remember to check that the rabbit in question isn't just one of the Manor inhabitants in disguise, anyway. Sometimes it seems like there are more of those capable of shape-shifting than those who can't do it."

War smiled wryly. "Seems nothing around here is ever simple, doesn't it? How am I supposed to check, anyway?"

She put a hand up to her aching neck and rubbed it. It felt hot, and like it was starting to swell a bit. She hoped it wasn't going to be too bad, or the next few days realy weren't going to be much fun. "Is this starting to bruise, or am I going to get away with it?"

"Well, I wouldn't know. Shout a warning at them, maybe?" Mictain smirked. "If they don't turn back at that point, it's their own fault."

As her question apparently required an answer, he decided he should take a look at whatever was wrong. Looking at her neck, he grinned. "Yes, looks like that," he said. "What's this, Rugy? Are you starting to slip? Back in the old days you would have never let a mere human girl ot give you any mark... Ah, but I forgot, she beat you once already. It should be easy for her to bruise you."

Of course, most sensible beings would have never even considered teasing the personification of all war and battle. However, Mictain wasn't most beings, and he definitely wasn't sensible half of the time. Thus, he didn't really hold back.

War grit her teeth. She should have expected this, really. "She had help that time, if you remember, and she certainly didn't beat me this time." I should have given her the chance to even try, she thought to herself.

"Besides, it's been a while since I had a proper fight myself. All the more reason for us to have these training sessions, don't you think?"

She grinned. "Besides, I still think I'm quicker on my feet than you are," and stuck her tongue out as she spun on her heel so she brought her knee up into the small of his back.

"Proved my point, don't you think?" she said into his ear.

"Hey!" Mictain exclaimed. "No more fighting, remember?"

Smirking at her, he hooked his foot behind her ankle. "At least not when the other is not prepared!" he continued, kicking her feet from under her.

As she felt his foot catch round her ankle, War grabbed Mictain's shoulders with both hands, pulling him down with her as she fell. Her hair had fallen over her face, and through it she said, "That wasn't fighting, it was agility testing!"

Mictain laughed as War pulled him down with her. He'd expected nothing less from her.

"And what's this, then?" he asked then, grinning. "Just a proof of your desire to lie with me?"

War blew her hair out of her eyes and into his.

She'd always been fond of Michael, and she was still fond of him as Mictain. He was one of the reasons she hadn't sided with Hell in the run up to the Not-Apocalypse. He understood her in a way a lot of other people didn't - and he had a swords fighter's physique to match it...

"Maybe," she said, eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Or maybe...a test of body tension?!" she exclaimed, flicking an arm out to grab his wrist and bring it up tight behind his back.