Author's Note

Here, you'll find a bit of the story that didn't make the cut: An alternate scene depicting Sunset's bizarre kitchen priorities in a different light. There's also an alternate version of Wallflower's dialogue with Ray that Soup Boy wrote.

Omake - Missing Pieces

Everybody Fears Raymond

"Hey, little guy." Wallflower wiggled her fingers in greeting. "I'm Wallflower. Call me Wally."

Ray looked vacantly at her.

"Yeah, I guess you can't call me Wally. Being a lizard, and all, you don't have the capacity for human speech. I'm sure you can't really understand what I'm saying, either. Am I right?"

"DOES THAT THOUGHT BRING YOU COMFORT, PRIMATE?" asked a deep, booming voice that echoed through Wallflower's mind, causing her to gasp and clutch her head. "DOES YOUR ARROGANCE, YOUR CERTAINTY IN YOUR UNIQUENESS, YOUR SUPERIORITY, HELP FIGHT BACK THE FEAR WITHIN YOU? THE DAY IS COMING, WHEN MANKIND WILL NEED TO GIVE ANSWER. THE STARS SHALL CAST NEW LIGHT ON THE LOST CHILDREN OF THE UNDERCITY. ALL SHALL BE JUDGED. THE HIGH SEATED. THE CURSED. THE SERVANTS. THE UNBORN. A TIDE OF BLOOD SHALL WASH THE EARTH BUT NOT CLEANSE IT, AT THE CLOSING OF THIS AGE. THE ELDERS WILL KNOW. AT THE HEART OF THE FORSAKEN LAND, YOU WILL BEAR WITNESS TO THE FALL. ONLY ONE MAY BE SAVED. MAKE YOUR CHOICE."

The Pastalanche

"We can still have a good night, Sunset. We can order out, or... or we could cook something else." She crossed to the cupboard and reached up to pull the doors open. "Let's see what we can—"

"Wally, no!"

Sunset's cry came too late. The moment Wallflower pulled the cupboard open, a bag fell out and smacked her in the face before falling limply to the floor. She glanced down at it.

Egg noodles?

She looked up, and blanched: The cupboard was stuffed with pasta, bags and boxes of every cut, brand, and variety imaginable. They'd been packed in there, tight as can be, secured in place only by the noodly pressure created by so much pasta pressed against one another.

But the bag of egg noodles that fell on Wallflower's face changed everything – it was the first pebble, presaging the rockslide.

Wallflower cried out and shielded her head with her arms as, all at once, a torrent of plastic bags and cardboard boxes fell onto her. Lentil spaghetti and spinach rotini; textured tagliatelle and smooth penne, durham ziti and cavatappi and egg noodles, so many bags of egg noodles, cascaded from the cupboard.

"Why do you own so much pasta, Sunset?" she called over the noodly din.

Over the crash of plastic and cardboard, Wallflower heard Sunset's reply: "It's easy to make and keeps forever!"

If it keeps forever, Wallflower thought, then why do you need so much at once?

The pastalanche was tapering off, thankfully, so she wouldn't suffocate beneath pasta like some sort of savory, noodly Herculaneum. More to the point, Wallflower could hear herself without shouting. She realized that she didn't need to shout her last remark, and further, that Sunset might be ill-at-ease with so much shouting, so she decided to stop shouting, while reserving the right to shout more in the future.

Wallflower shrugged and rolled her shoulders, sloughing away some of the pasta, enough to free her arms. She heard plasticky ruffling and pasta-like crunching – Sunset was wading through the mess to free her. She held out her hand; bypassing the hoof-mitt, Wallflower took her forearm. She let herself be pulled up, grateful to be back on her feet, even if she couldn't see them. Or, really, anything below her knees.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Then, Sunset, looking away, spoke up. "If you wanna just go, I'll understand."

"What? No! I—"

Wallflower grabbed for Sunset's hand, but her fingers closed around a hoof-mitt instead. Grumbling, she pulled the mitt off Sunset's hand and tossed it over her shoulder, where it made a crunchy splash in the pastalanche.

"I meant what I said, Sunset. We can still have a nice night together! We can order out; we can cook something—"

"Yeah, we'll cook up twenty-four pounds of bucatini. Real romantic." Sunset scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Wallflower didn't think Sunset would believe her if she insisted that splitting twenty-four pounds of bucatini was actually the most romantic thing she could think of.

"I mean, we... it doesn't have to be..." She looked around, internally flailing. "You really don't have anything to make besides... pasta?"

"There's another bottle of olive oil. And there's the stuff you brought. We gonna toss pine nuts with fruit-by-the-foot?"

That, also, sounded kinda good, but it wouldn't be Wallflower's first choice. Still... maybe there was something to it. What had she brought? Pine nuts, basil, a can of cheese...

Something went off in Wallflower's noggin that made a smile spread across her cheeks. Sunset, noticing, cocked her head.

"Wally?"

"Random question. Do you own a blender?"