Festivities!
Dec 2, 2017 19:20:10 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2017 19:20:10 GMT -5
One of the best things about exploring new areas and new cultures was finding the new things that people celebrated. Meow Mix had always assumed that it was a human thing, but here in this new land, she'd been delighted to find out that the urge to party was more or less ubiquitous all over the multiverse.
Did you know that it was Universal Fried Food day?
Apparently it was Universal Fried Food day.
Different species from different worlds had slightly different variations of this that they celebrated, of course- on Earth, it'd been "National Fritter Day," some slender green goblin-like entity had called it "the Day of Burning Oil" and some somber, rocky-skinned humanoid- clad head to toe in elaborate and clearly special ceremonial robes- had grimly declared it "the Zenith of the Sacred Ritual of Zikbalm," but heck- Mixie knew fried foods when she saw them. It was definitely Fried Food day.
The chilly weather notwithstanding, it felt like everyone had come out of their assorted caves and scattered homes. There were tents and booths set up, colorful banners flying in the brisk wind, and some enterprising individual must have scoured the countryside for literally miles to gather enough flowers to chain together into garlands this late in the season. Since early morning, the rough paths that counted as streets had been filled with the smells of baked goods and hot oil and roasting meat and sugar- an exciting blend of sweetness and smokiness and delightful, delightful fat that set mouths watering and arteries clanging shut. There were different people of different species setting up... well, Mixie assumed they were instruments. They were certainly playing a fascinatingly discordant mix of rhythmic noises. There were crowds and laughter and sweet and salty fried things as far as the eye could see.
Mixie was pretty sure she'd died and gone to heaven.
Several hours into the festival, she'd given up and wandered to it's outskirts, finding a convenient rock to lean against that blocked most of the chilly breeze. Her mecha's arms were filled to capacity with a large, flat tray, piled high with an array of foods that the fuzzy little mechanic wasn't even trying to identify. She herself was perched on the mecha's shoulder. In one hand was some kind of sausage dipped in batter and deep fried, and on a paper plate balancing at her side was something that resembled funnel cake but was bright purple and tasted of honey and hot curry powder, and tucked into a crevice in the mecha's neck joint was a paper cup of something sweet, fizzy, and liquid, that Mixie kept taking swigs out of with the thimble-sized cup she'd made herself (from a thimble).
So far, she hadn't found any kettle corn, but still. Life was good for a rat.
Did you know that it was Universal Fried Food day?
Apparently it was Universal Fried Food day.
Different species from different worlds had slightly different variations of this that they celebrated, of course- on Earth, it'd been "National Fritter Day," some slender green goblin-like entity had called it "the Day of Burning Oil" and some somber, rocky-skinned humanoid- clad head to toe in elaborate and clearly special ceremonial robes- had grimly declared it "the Zenith of the Sacred Ritual of Zikbalm," but heck- Mixie knew fried foods when she saw them. It was definitely Fried Food day.
The chilly weather notwithstanding, it felt like everyone had come out of their assorted caves and scattered homes. There were tents and booths set up, colorful banners flying in the brisk wind, and some enterprising individual must have scoured the countryside for literally miles to gather enough flowers to chain together into garlands this late in the season. Since early morning, the rough paths that counted as streets had been filled with the smells of baked goods and hot oil and roasting meat and sugar- an exciting blend of sweetness and smokiness and delightful, delightful fat that set mouths watering and arteries clanging shut. There were different people of different species setting up... well, Mixie assumed they were instruments. They were certainly playing a fascinatingly discordant mix of rhythmic noises. There were crowds and laughter and sweet and salty fried things as far as the eye could see.
Mixie was pretty sure she'd died and gone to heaven.
Several hours into the festival, she'd given up and wandered to it's outskirts, finding a convenient rock to lean against that blocked most of the chilly breeze. Her mecha's arms were filled to capacity with a large, flat tray, piled high with an array of foods that the fuzzy little mechanic wasn't even trying to identify. She herself was perched on the mecha's shoulder. In one hand was some kind of sausage dipped in batter and deep fried, and on a paper plate balancing at her side was something that resembled funnel cake but was bright purple and tasted of honey and hot curry powder, and tucked into a crevice in the mecha's neck joint was a paper cup of something sweet, fizzy, and liquid, that Mixie kept taking swigs out of with the thimble-sized cup she'd made herself (from a thimble).
So far, she hadn't found any kettle corn, but still. Life was good for a rat.