Disclaimer: "Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is my very own Fai- who by the logic of the universe should come with his very own Kurogane... so I can charge the millions of drooling fangirls to watch them do naughty things." :) Obviously I didn't create, nor do I own, Tsubasa Chronicles or our favorite couple. They are product of numerous and bountiful plot bunnies belonging solely to the wonderful women of CLAMP who I love and worship with constant envy.

Author's Note: A drabble for Keiyou. Please don't shoot broccoli out your nose this time as you might disturb the cats. ;)

Warning: Do not attempt at home. I'm serious folks.

"What the hell happened in here?"

"The toaster ate my chocolate chip pop tart."

"So you killed it?"

Fai didn't look up. "No."

Kurogane looked at him warily. It was unnatural for the mage to be so calm. "So what did you do?"

"I tried to get it out."

"You idiot, you can't stick a fork in a toaster while it's-"

"I didn't stick a fork in it." He interrupted quietly.

"Then what'd you use?"

"A spoon."

Oh, how he was tempted to slap the little blond man. He clenched his fists tightly, willing his anger at the other man's idiocy to simmer down until he figured out what was going on. There was something about how... normal the mage was that just screamed danger.

"That explains the scorch marks. Why's it in pieces?"

Pieces might have been too loose a word. Literally. There were 'bits' of toaster everywhere.

The mage finally looked up at him, smiling. "It committed the ultimate blasphemy."

He swallowed, unsure if he really wanted to know what brought on such wrath but unable to stop himself from asking. "And that means?"

"It singed my hair." He took a sip of tea. "So I beat the shit out of it with a rolling pin."

Prompt: The words I choose for this little piece were; toaster, blasphemy, roller.

Author's Note: For those of you more familiar with my works, especially Revenge of the Kuro-tan, you'll know I hold a firm belief that Fai is secretly very scary about his hair. I wouldn't call it obsessive- not in the least, but more like you mess with it and he -beeps- you up. Get my drift?