"And you promise me that this is actually a thing people do to food?" Jane sent an eyebrow as high as it could go, fixing an inquisitive, perhaps slightly accusatory stare upon Daria.
"Boiling leftover chicken bones?" Daria dipped her wooden spoon into the simmering mixture and gave it a gentle stir. "You have my word. Where did you think broth came from?"
"Cans," said Jane. "Boxes, if you're fancy."
Daria had tuned her shiny new Encom phone to a retro station, and Orbital's "Halcyon" was bubbling up through the kitchen's speaker system. She took a deep whiff of the steam over the stock pot, rising up on her sock-toes to do so.
"Soup tomorrow?" Jane asked, hopefully.
"Soup tomorrow. And I'm going to turn some of that ten-kilo chocolate brick into mousse."
"But what about squirrel?"
"Oh Lord," Daria deadpanned. "The Internet has rotted my best friend's brain."
"A Womantime Original Movie of the Week!" Jane took a frosted molasses cookie from the pile that Daria had made earlier that afternoon. "Hey, that reminds me. I found this fanfic where someone is rewriting Buffy one episode at a time, to be as feminist as they remember it being."
"Huh. See, that's the thing I admire the most about fanfiction. When it follows through on a premise, it can really follow through. Sherlock and John adopt a clone baby: two hundred thousand words! A gritty reboot of Dave where 9/11 happens during Kevin Kline's presidency: one hundred fifty thousand words and counting!"
"You seem to know your way around."
"You should see my bookmark list sometime."
"Truhhff," said Jane. She swallowed the bite of cookie and tried again. "Trust," she said, "is the foundation of any solid friendship."