Much laughed at her grossed out face; she could be so prissy sometimes. Gutsy and fearless and incredibly headstrong and then the image of cheese could take her out. It was very funny.
"I'm not gonna sneak in anything weird, I didn't even bring anything weird!" Much protested his innocence, plating up. "And no that is not what I'm telling you, hold your sweet horses, here," he dropped down on the sofa beside her, passing her a plate but putting his own down on the coffee table so he could launch into the story with both hands. "You should've seen me last week, Marce, I was growing this majestic beard. Proper, high quality facial hair, you know? Little John came back from a stint in the woods and his was, mwah," Much chef kissed into the air. It was true, about Little John's beard. It wasn't quite so true, about Much's. "It was so good, Will got jealous. Chased me all over the house with a razor and a can of shaving cream. Honestly," Much said, in deep lamentation, "man's a menace."