"And, for once, I have actually succeeded in creating a meal without burning it. I am proud in the extreme, and I'm sure you all are too, because this is a minor miracle that has been produced solely for the sake of your amusement. And, you know, health."
"That sounds very rehearsed."
"Yes, Clarabelle, because I'm rehearsing it."
"Well, that's kind of silly. Speeches should be spontaneous. Spontaneity is a good thing. Besides, everything's burnt, like always. Shouldn't you be working on the actual food as opposed to the speech that's meant to accompany it?"
"The speech is more fun."
"Fletcher, I am going to either set fire to your ruined food or whatever pathetic remnants of hair you have left. It's entirely up to you, but I'd go for the food, if I were you."
He blinks at her. "You're bullying me."
"I know."
"It's mean."
"It's meant to be."
"I don't like it."
"You're not meant to."
"I'll tell Skulduggery on you."
"Great. Now, get back in the kitchen or your hair gets it." Her grin is sweet, with the malicious edge to it of the razor in your lollipop that's just itching to tear your throat out.
A/N: I like writing psychotic Clarabelle. It's kind of amusing.
~Mademise Morte