One of my editors challenged my writing group with a “getting to know your characters and their relationship” kind of writing exercise. The instructions were simple: write a brief scene in which your characters have to negotiate and/or compromise to decide on a begetable to cook for dinner. Below is what I came up with. Chronologically, it’d probably find itself set somewhere mid-Book 2, if you remember that people have breen canning vegetables without electricity for decades. There are no spoilers, wherever it’s set. It’s just a one-off bit of fun, wherein I confirmed that Mike is doomed because Andie and Lex are probably always going to team up against him. >.>
Written from Lex’s POV
“I vote for spinach salad,” Andie says, hopping up to sit on the counter and giving Mike a bright smile.
“Salad?” Mike looks skeptical, probably because salad implies more work chopping the other ingredients.
“Cooked spinach is gross outside of omelets,” Andie opines, stealing my wine glass to sip from.
“I don’t think we have enough other stuff to put in a salad,” Mike tells her, sounding eminently rational. “Why not carrots?”
“I already have superior sight,” she counters. “And am not a rabbit shifter.”
“You’re the one talking about salad,” Mike says, voice dry and unimpressed.
I steal back my wine glass from Andie who might as well be in her leopard form, she’s so puffed up.
“I thought like with strawberries or something,” she says, persisting even when it’s clear the man is not going to make her a salad.
“We don’t have strawberries,” Mike tells her. “We have carrots.”
“I don’t like carrots.” She might have grown up, but there’s a trace of the girl she used to be in her pout.
“I don’t either,” I chime in.
“Since when?” Mike demands.
“Since ever,” I tell him, tilting my head at her. Someone has to be on her side, obviously. Also, he knows perfectly well I haven’t liked carrots since Mom started giving them to me instead of cookies in first grade. Now in my head they’re always just…not cookies, even when cookies aren’t expected. Sure, maybe I’ll eat them dipped in something tasty, but I still don’t like them. I don’t even know why we have them.
Mike rolls his eyes and steals my wine glass from me. I could’ve sworn I poured them both their own glasses. Oh, right, I did. They’re sitting right beside them.
“I can go get strawberries from the garden,” Andie offers, and she’s got my wineglass again.
“Spinach is kind of gross, even raw,” Mike tells her.
“But green vegetables are the most important,” she insists.
I’m not sure she’s right, but I go to the pantry to see what we have.
Coming back with a quart mason jar, I set it down and retake my wine glass, finally. “How about we compromise on green beans?”
“How is that a compromise?” Mike asks, a little indignant-sounding and scowling at me. probably still due to the carrot issue.
Obviously, because they’re green, and I know none of us think they’re gross. Honestly, anyone could follow that. If he can’t, maybe I need to appropriate his full wine glass, too.
“Green beans are fine,” Andie says, finally reaching for her own wine glass.
Mike makes the green beans.
I drink his wine.