Their Amy; His Liebling (pt. 4)
(Sorry, everyone! I know I usually post something by now, but it’s been a rough morning! Have some adorable, Ego domestic life!)
It’s lunchtime, and some of the Egos are already gathered in the kitchen in search of sustenance when Mark walks in. To say they all stop what they’re doing to stare is a bit of an understatement. Silver actually drops his freshly baked pie, and Bim pours milk until his glass is overflowing in his hand.
The Host steps in behind Mark and sighs. “Not again, Silver.”
The superhero Ego finally stops gaping at Mark and looks down at his ruined pie. “Oh, I guess I wasn’t really paying attention.” He leaves to get the mop and bucket.
Bim finally stops pouring milk and looks down at the soiled cuff of his suit before sighing and setting the glass aside. “You didn’t bring Amy with you, did you?”
Mark shakes his head a little. “Sorry.”
Wilford, head stuck in the refrigerator, stands suddenly. There’s a muffled bang when his head hits the inside of the fridge before Wilford spins around. “Who ate the last of my lasagna?”
“You ate it yesterday, Will. Remember? No one else would touch your food.” Bim pulls a box of Poptarts down from the pantry and starts nibbling on one while he sips his milk. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of food.”
“It’s fine,” Host says, pulling Wilford away from the refrigerator by his suspenders. “I’ll make something.”
This has quite the effect on the other Egos, Mark notices. Bim’s eyes go wide. “Are you going to make enough for everybody?”
Host shrugs. “Sure, I don’t see why not.” The Host gestures towards Bim. “Get the skillet. I don’t know where it is anymore.” Bim runs to find the skillet. Usually they have to hide if from Wilford after he watches “Tangled,” so it’s most likely in Google’s office. “And you,” Host gestures to Wilford, “get me a big bowl, some milk, two eggs, and the cinnamon. I swear if you try to snort it again, I’ll let Red incinerate you.”
Wilford starts rustling around for the necessary ingredients, and Mark stands back as Silver reappears with a spatula to scrape up the pie and the mop. “I’ll take that,” Host says, plucking the spatula from Silver’s hand, “Please, don’t use my spatula to scrape food off the floor.”
Host narrates softly as he searches for something and then smiles triumphantly when he finds a loaf of bread. “How do you feel about French toast?” he directs the question towards Mark.
“It’s… good?” Mark answers, not meaning for it to come out as a question.
“Good,” Host says. Wilford hands him the bowl full of ingredients, and Host begins carefully mixing them together. Bim sets the skillet on the oven and turns up the heat. Without even asking what he turned it on, Host reaches over and turns the eye down a bit. “Bim burns everything,” he explains to Mark before he can even ask.
Silver finally gets the remains of the pie cleaned up before Wilford can start eating it off the floor. “Can I be of any assistance, Host?”
Host starts soaking the pieces of bread in the bowl and nods towards the formal dining room off the kitchen. “Sure, go set the table for everyone. I can hear the Doctor coming now.” Host places two pieces of bread carefully in the sizzling skillet, avoiding burning his fingers. “And don’t forget the syrup! Keep it away from Wilford until I get the toast done!”
Wilford makes a face at the Host’s back. “I can sense you doing that, Wilford. Go have a seat while I finish up.”
Mark laughs a bit to himself as Wilford stalks off, and he grabs some plates for Host to put the French toast on when it’s done. “Is this normally how lunch goes around here?”
Host shrugs. “We don’t always have breakfast for lunch, if that’s what you mean.”
The Doctor walks into the kitchen a moment later. “Host, French toast, really? That’s not very healthy.”
“It’s got eggs in it,” Host argues. “Besides, you can put fruit on yours, if you want.” Dr. Iplier shrugs and goes to find a spot at the table.
Mark watches him go and then looks back to the Host. “I didn’t know you could cook, Host. This is impressive.”
“If you want extra pieces of toast, you can just ask. No need to butter me up,” the Host replies flatly as he begins to plate the food. “Speaking of butter, grab some, will you? And please,” Host says, flipping a piece of toast in the skillet, “don’t eat it.”
Mark gasps a little in surprise as he reaches into the fridge for the butter. “Host! I didn’t know you watched my videos!” He can’t even imagine how the Host would watch his videos, but he thinks it would be rude to ask.
The Host shakes his head. “Shut up and sit down before you make me burn this.” But as Mark leaves, he sees the little smile on Host’s face, and it makes him smile, too.