Simspiration Post: Miranda Legacina

[profbutters]

 I wanted to do this right away, but it took a while, as you'll see.

Miranda Whedonberry checked the pie in the oven.  “Oopsitude.  Don’t want this all burniyucked up.”  The doorbell rang.  “Ash?  Ava?  Could one of you get the door?”

Miranda and Dean’s twins, Ash and Ava, darted into the kitchen.  Ash barreled into his mother, hugging her l around the waist.  “Can’t, Mama, ‘cause Ava doesn’t want to.”

Ava looked down.  “Not . . .not don’t want to . . . “

Ash went right on.  “Doesn’t WANT to because she says it could be some stranger, so it’s MY job.”

Miranda frowned.  “Well, it could be, but it won’t be, because today—“

Ava lit up.  “It’s the Uncles coming over!  Yay!”

Ash shrugged.  “They’re just a bunch of boring grownups,” he said unconvincingly, but he scampered after Ava.  Some of those boring grownups played some cool games or brought neat toys, or sometimes . . .

“Miss me, kids?”  said a slightly built green man with large liquid eyes.  

. . . sometimes they just plain loved them.  Pure and simple.

“Uncle Farny!”  screamed the twins, burying him in hugs. 

“Watch it, guys, you’re getting big, and I’m a bleeder!”

“Are NOT,” said Ash, who could be very literal. 

“Kidlies, you will climb down off Uncle Farny so Mama-san can hug him first.”  Miranda hugged Farnsworth Gibson, her red hair brushing his green cheek.

“Is Dean home yet?”

“No, he’s going to pick up some things on the way home, he said.  I’m so glad you got here first, Worthiness.”

Farnsworth lit up.

“Because I’m going to put you to work.”

His shoulders sagged.  She handed him some cutlery.

“Set the table in there.  Now scoot!”  The doorbell rang again.  “Mama-san will get this one.  You run off and play with Aunt Louise.”

Ash made a face.  “OK.  We didn’t want to play with the Numb-Ni.”

Miranda opened the door.

 “Hello, lovely lady,” said a dark and interesting gentleman with brilliantly colored streaked hair.  A slightly sullen looking man with a beard hovered behind him.  “Did you miss us?”

“Knightly!  You brought flowers!” 

“I couldn’t resist.”

“Can’t stay off the flattery, can you, ‘Knightly’,” grumbled Dwight Familiar, as he followed the extravagantly courtly Lancelot Locks into the hall and handed Miranda a bottle of wine. 

“You’ll excuse me, Miranda?”  said Lancelot, gracefully slipping from the room.  “Now, where was. . .”

“Aw, no, he’s going to get in the hot tub again.  I’ve gotta go remind him to keep his swim trunks on,” Dwight said, eyebrows knitted.  He began to follow Lancelot out.

“Not so fastinaceous, Lite-Dwight,” said Miranda, giving him a large hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I, well. . .aw,” said Dwight shyly, the blush barely visible under his beard as he left the way Lancelot had gone.

Farnsworth’s voice floated in from the dining room.  “The Numb-Ni?”

Miranda laughed.  “Oh, that was Jelly-Dean.  He called the dinners the ‘Alumni Association’, and Ash couldn’t pronounce it, so he calls you the Uncles, or the Numb-Ni.  All done? Good, ‘cause there’s more work in the kitchen.”

“Wait wait wait!”  spluttered Farnsworth.  “I brought cheese.  You didn’t even give me a chance to show it to you, let alone get it in the fridge!”  He showed her a nice creamy wedge of Brie.

“Scrummiacious!  Not in the fridge, Worthiness, that’s not cool, it’s supposed to be a little warm. Here, put it on this plate, and put some crackers around it . . .and here’s some veggies, you’d better cut them up and put them on, too. . . “

“You and Dean are SUCH Pop Sims,” grumbled Farnsworth.

“You are, too,” Miranda pointed out.

“Yes, but . . .but you’re SUCH Pop Sims.  MEGA Pop Sims,” said Farnsworth, but he didn’t really mean it.  He was sociable but shy, and it was much nicer to work with his hostess in the kitchen. 

“I do have to hand it to you, Miranda.  You’re probably the only Bachelorette ever to have an Alumni Association of her own Challenge.”

Miranda looked surprised.  “But you’re all my friends!  Dean’s friends, too, now.”

He smiled at her fondly.  “That’s what I mean.  You’re both such Pop Sims.” The doorbell rang again.  “Go get the door,” he added, waving her away with a vegetable knife in his hand.

Miranda opened the door to a boyish redhead with eyeglasses that made him look a bit like a science professor, which was sort of what he was.  “Scott-Free!” 

“Hi, Miranda,” said Scott Penguino shyly.  “Better put this in the freezer, cause it’ll melt.”

“Home-made ice cream!  Scott-Free, you are the best!”

“Well, no, I’m not, because technically I came in third and . . .kidding, kidding.”  Scott followed Miranda into the kitchen.  Shy people always head for the kitchen. “Hey, Farnsworth!”

“Hey, Scott,” said Farnsworth.

“Lipschitz! said to give you his apologies, he’s off somewhere with Hello Goodbye this weekend.  Sorry I could only bring the vanilla, I meant to make some rum ice cream too to go with the pie you said you were making, only. . . “  he broke off.

“Scott?  Did Marla have the baby?” squeaked Miranda.

“. . .yeah,” he said, blushing.  “ A girl.  We named her after my sister Jennie.  Oof!”  he added, as Miranda squeezed him. 

“You bring Marla all the goodies back, you hear, and you invite me over to see the baby.  And you thank her for letting you come when she probably needs you at home.”

“I will, Miranda.  She said it was fine.  She said she knows you’d do the same.  She wants you to come to dinner as soon as possible, only it might not be right away, because she’s so busy with the baby.”

“We’ll bring dinner, Scott-Free, don’t be silly.  I’ll call Marla tomorrow.”   Scott’s cellphone buzzed.  “You might want to answer that.”

“I was going to,” said Scott mildly, leaving the kitchen.  “Hello, honey,” he said, his voice going soft.  “Really? She did?  Already?”

“I noticed you have seven plates.  You’ll have to take one off, if Lipschitz! isn’t coming,” said Farnsworth.

“Yes,” said Miranda.  “What?  I knew Lipschitz! wasn’t coming.  He called last week.  Gardez la pointe,” she added, as Farnsworth sneakily cut a piece of Brie.

“Huh?”

“Keep the point.  Don’t cut the Brie straight across.  Keep it pointy.”

“Who cares about stuff like that?  It’s cheese, Miranda, it comes from cows.  Well, mostly from cows.”  He paused to slice some Brie.  “So you knew Lipschitz! wasn’t coming, but you’ve got seven plates out there.  Why?” 

There was a pause.

“No.  Not seriously.”

“Well. . .”

“Miranda, not seriously.”

“I’d just feel so bad if someday he showed up and there wasn’t a plate out for him.”

“Miranda, Cecil’s the only one who didn’t want to stay friends with you.  Do you even know where he is?”  Miranda shook her head.  “Unbelievable.  He can’t have any idea you and Dean have anniversary dinners for the Bachelorette Alumni. “

“I guess not,” said Miranda.

“He probably doesn’t even know where you and Dean live.”

“Oh, no.  I’m sure he does.”  Farnsworth stared at her.  “That’s the way See-saw thinks, see.  He doesn’t want to be friends, never that.  But I’m sure he knows where I am.”

“That’s . . . really creepy.”

Miranda shrugged.  “It’s just the way he thinks.  Oh, and gardez la pointe.” Farnsworth carefully, deliberately, cut the cheese straight across.  “Worthiness!” 

“I am only going to say this once, Miranda.  I will not eat cheese Cecil-style.  The only person who is going to eat a French cheese, cutting it in prissy little points while talking about the points in French, is Cecil.”  He put some Brie on a cracker and handed it to her. “Here.”

Miranda sat down at the kitchen table.  “Thanks.” 

“I just don’t like you getting upset because one person, one immature, lousy person, didn’t want to be friends with you.”

“That’s not what bothers me,” said Miranda.

“No?”  said Farnsworth.

“No,” she said.  “What bothers me,” she added sadly, “is that, in his way, he really did.”