There was no shortage of bad ideas in the Dorian household. The majority of those bad ideas dwelled within the testosterone filled heads of Troy, Finley, and I. While the women had their fair share of plans thwarted and schemes gone wrong, the three of us boys participated in events that generally were for the books. Take Finley's microwaving a fork, for example. Before we lived in Georgia, not many of us had seen or used a microwave. Why would you blame the experimental young boys for putting things in a machine? Hey, the machine was cool looking, it beeped, and did a handful of other functions that were fascinating to three boys who already had a preoccupation with electronical things. No one explained to us that there were guidelines about what one can and cannot microwave. While Finley was our test dummy, handed hundreds of objects to stuff into the kitchen appliance box, none of us could have prepared for the wonder that was the fork. Grapes had been cool, but the fork was a whole, entire other level... Completely. The blue light that had seared from the metal was one of the most mystical occurrences we'd ever seen, and after that we had never been able to let Finley down from the pedestal of test dummy. Mostly because who the fuck microwaves a fork? And we didn't want the blame on us as unsuspecting, incredibly intelligent teenage boys.

Maybe the fork zapped whatever cooking talent he may have had. Come to think of it, he was at an impressionable age.

As if to pull me from a microwave-laden reverie, Finley looks up from a take-out menu that had been left on the countertop as if some Divine right had placed it there, knowing the morning would be a disaster. Why did Dominoes open so late? With a very sharp, indignant snort I shook my head and wiped some of the recently dripped batter off of my forehead. His voice cuts through the phone to order the largest pizzas that the store has to offer and bids them to deliver to my address which finds me satisfied, casually grabbing the sponge to utilize it's magic powers to wipe the batter from Finley's face while he finishes the order. Hey, it worked far better than paper or the back of my hand, right? As the gooey liquid would drip down his nose, a content and amused grin settled itself home on my lips. It wasn't until he brandished the notebook did a curious look replace the impish expression that had been festering on my features. Brusquely did I nod to the couch, bidding him to follow me to the couch to look at its content.

Originally, I had been loathe to hear of his time away. Finley had become disjointed from my life abruptly, to a point where the pieces didn't meet when I had thought of him. I didn't like how he left, I didn't like how he didn't keep contact while he was gone, and I didn't like how he simply materialized. Our initial conversation had been like a dulled knife, nudging itself into wounds that hadn't securely scabbed. The book he handed me was a dull knife, remnants of some kind of material snagged in the serrated edge. The breath held in his lungs I felt swell, and I felt him begin to worry that I wouldn't want to see through the window he was presenting me. Surprisingly to both of us, I took the book from him to look at the drawings and was met with a fantastical display of an artistic ability that I didn't know my brother had. That I didn't know my own brother had.

What else didn't I know?

"This is..."

Talented, yes. It was all I could do to force a smile that didn't quite meet my eyes but would let Finley know I was, indeed, proud of his work as the door sounded with a knock that penetrated the room.

"...That was fast..." I offered to him, very thoughtfully curious as to how the pizza arrived at such a speedy pace. Maybe Dominoes went up scale... I felt his presence beside me as I opened the door to be affronted with something that was not pizza. Instead of a steaming hot box of deliciousness, a plate of something small and ... suspiciously delicious looking was cast towards both my brother and I from the hands of a woman that should be familiar.

Trixie worked for Dominoes?! Since when did they deliver cookies... Oh. With a sigh, I pushed the door back so she could step in and join us in our cavern of ... pancake batter doom.

"... If you work for Dominoes, where is our pizza...?"

Sorry pretty lady, but... I have priorities.