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( thoughtformed ) WELCOME to the New Moore social network - March 9th, 2011
09 March 2011 @ 09:32 pm
Who are the patron saints of pastry chefs? ("Belgium" doesn't count)
Classic gianduja is a combination of which two flavours?
In making a mousse, the cream should be whipped to what consistency?
Not seeing Carnaval this week kind of makes it feel like it shouldn't be Lent yet. But it is — so Caffè Sospeso has rolled out an entire Lenten-appropriate menu, with fresh seafood on Fridays, available from now until Easter!
For the record, I'm refraining from being meddlesome this Lent. It would have been easier if my brother hadn't shown up...
09 March 2011 @ 11:56 pm
Who Tim & whoever you want! Seriously, like, everyone. If you'd be out on the street at night.
What! Fighting crime, snooping, stalking, being the world's smartest and most talented failget.
When? Starting at about 11 PM, possibly running through the Dark Hour.
Fighting crime on a budget, Tim decided, sucked. Sewing up his own uniform; kit-bashing together a belt full of crime-fighting tools, trying to pay for even the cheapest parts on a stockboy's budget, and keeping it all hidden from his roommate... well. Some nights he came very close to giving it up and accepting the New Moore status quo. After all, it wasn't as though there was some sort of Gotham-like surge of violent crime and dangerous lunatics to keep him busy. Mostly it was surveillance, scouting. Giving himself time to think, to try and explore what the Hell was going on on this island, where it came from, what it meant, how it worked. To ponder the deep weirdness of being in a place where the government, the law itself, was the target of his investigating.
There was some action. At least once every night he'd stop a mugging, or interrupt a B & E -- not exactly a challenge. Usually all he had to do was show up out of nowhere and loom threateningly, and people broke and ran. He wondered if it had been this easy for Bruce in the early days.
He missed Bruce. Missed him enough that some nights he wanted to go looking for Jason, just to have a familiar face, a connection, someone he didn't need to keep secrets from. Sometimes he even thought of it like an undercover assignment: win his trust, find out what he knows, play things his way for just a little while... then turn the tables.
He knew it wouldn't be like that, if he let it happen. Which he wouldn't. When, finally, he heard someone moving, saw the flicker of a shadow passing down on the street below, it was a positive relief to cut off his train of thought and run silently along the edge of the roof to get a better view. Probably it was nothing. But you could never be sure...
What! Fighting crime, snooping, stalking, being the world's smartest and most talented failget.
When? Starting at about 11 PM, possibly running through the Dark Hour.
Fighting crime on a budget, Tim decided, sucked. Sewing up his own uniform; kit-bashing together a belt full of crime-fighting tools, trying to pay for even the cheapest parts on a stockboy's budget, and keeping it all hidden from his roommate... well. Some nights he came very close to giving it up and accepting the New Moore status quo. After all, it wasn't as though there was some sort of Gotham-like surge of violent crime and dangerous lunatics to keep him busy. Mostly it was surveillance, scouting. Giving himself time to think, to try and explore what the Hell was going on on this island, where it came from, what it meant, how it worked. To ponder the deep weirdness of being in a place where the government, the law itself, was the target of his investigating.
There was some action. At least once every night he'd stop a mugging, or interrupt a B & E -- not exactly a challenge. Usually all he had to do was show up out of nowhere and loom threateningly, and people broke and ran. He wondered if it had been this easy for Bruce in the early days.
He missed Bruce. Missed him enough that some nights he wanted to go looking for Jason, just to have a familiar face, a connection, someone he didn't need to keep secrets from. Sometimes he even thought of it like an undercover assignment: win his trust, find out what he knows, play things his way for just a little while... then turn the tables.
He knew it wouldn't be like that, if he let it happen. Which he wouldn't. When, finally, he heard someone moving, saw the flicker of a shadow passing down on the street below, it was a positive relief to cut off his train of thought and run silently along the edge of the roof to get a better view. Probably it was nothing. But you could never be sure...