How to Make Vanilla Ice (Ambrose)

Bowen

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Jul 20, 2015
950
He had had no intention of getting drunk, and perhaps one day he would realize that that was what he was. He didn't at the time, but all that really meant was that he stuck with his initial thought:

Vanilla tastes good.

The realization was entirely accidental. He had been craving pudding. How hard could it be to make pudding? Plain vanilla pudding. Except there were no mixes in his dorm kitchen-thing. He had turned his attention to the internet, and met with initial success. He had a recipe. He even had the ingredients, as there was nothing outlandish required.

Except for the vanilla extract. Of course vanilla pudding needed vanilla. That made complete sense. So he'd followed the recipe, made the pudding, and went to use the vanilla. It smelled very much like vanilla, and honestly it was the vanilla side of vanilla pudding that he'd been hoping for. He was also running on about a half hour of sleep over the past few days, started classes in a few more if his health check went as it undoubtedly would, and was a little more reactive than proactive. The vanilla smelled good and he wanted vanilla.

Half a bottle of cheap vanilla extract later, he was sprawled on the floor, kind of leaning against the wall, eating his slightly burnt pudding out of the pot with a wooden mixing spoon and trying to keep his tears out of the pudding. He wasn't even thinking about anything in particular; recent events were just swirling around in a giant, unrestrained mass of EMOTION in his head and he couldn't touch it or poke it or push it back and it was there.

He needed more pudding. And not hot pudding studded with lumps of ice, because that was just weird.

@"Ambrose"
 

Ambrose

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Jul 1, 2014
134
Ambrose was just laying in bed, having a peaceful night's sleep. Of course, that's how it appeared on the surface. However, in reality, Ambrose was having a terrible nightmare, people crying everywhere around him. He looked around to try and find the source, but he just...couldn't. It was emanating from everywhere, every wall every direction. And there was nothing Ambrose could do to stop it. Gah, this sucked. Majorly.

Trying to follow the noise, Ambrose would slowly start walking towards where he thought the source of the noise was. The noise seemed to lead him in a wide U-Turn, keeping him on his toes. There seemed to be various...things in his way, that he couldn't see. He tried to navigate these as best he could, but the blindness he was struck by proved to increase the difficulty.

Slowly, Ambrose reached the apex of where the crying was, and it was at that moment his eyes snapped open and a million things rushed into his head. Number one, he was standing upright. Number two, there was a dude sprawled all out on the floor a good 10 feet from him. Number three, he was still in his sleepwear, sweatpants and a wifebeater. Number four, this was not his room . This wasn't right. What in the everloving hell from which he had been birthed was going on? Wait... the nightmare, the crying...

Ambrose had left his door open, seeing as it was an unusually hot night. He had been sleepwalking recently. Bad combo, idiot... And now he was in this kid's room, and he was crying and on the floor and god knows what else. Maybe...maybe the kid hadn't seen him come in. Maybe he could sneak out. Or maybe he could...

Taking another look at the guy on the ground, Altar silently cursed himself for being such a soft fuckin' demonkin. Letting out a sigh, Ambrose would walk forward slowly, crouching down by the kid on the ground. Resting a hand on his shoulder, Ambrose would give him a once over, then look him in the eyes. He didn't seem to have any injuries, save some scars that looked healed for the most part. In his hands he was clutching a bowl of what looked like some kind of burnt yogurt. Custard or pudding maybe? Not important. Next to him there was a half empty bottle that reeked of vanilla. So the kid was probably drunk off his ass. And finally, his eye was... milky, and crystalline. Not paying it any mind, he would start to talk, his voice low and slow, trying to calm the kid.

"Hey, calm down. I'm from the room next to your, what's your name? Are you okay, are you hurt at all? Can I help?"
 

Bowen

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Inactive
Jul 20, 2015
950
((I wholeheartedly apologize for the lateness here. There is no excuse but life and distraction))

Aiden kept poking blankly at his pot of pudding for a few moments after the stranger arrived. Poking at it was easier than just about anything else, but it only did a mediocre job of poking everything away. Talking to people wasn't as easy as poking at pudding, but maybe it would do a better job of distraction. If he couldn't hope for that right now, what else was there?

"I'm fine," he said petulantly, and made a point of not rubbing his eyes because that would just make it obvious that he was attempting to lie. He was bad enough at lying without weakening his attempt further. He had neighbours? He supposed that was true. He had made a negative effort to meet them before now. As such, he had no idea if this random person was lying, telling the truth, or something in between. Or who he was. The whole 'neighbour' label wasn't very descriptive.

"I'm Aiden, and I'm trying not to think," he said, awkwardly blunt in his drunkenness. "If you can't help with that, then you can... I dunno. Which next room did you come from?" That might clarify the whole neighbour thing.
 
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