"Lay table, right.... Pwuk pwuk pwukawk!" Bond giggled. It was an old joke she and her mother shared, related to the free-range hens that roamed her mother's garden. She began pulling knives and forks and plates and a couple of the mismatched beakers from drawers and setting them on the table. "You know what would go well with that? A nice bottle of chianti or rioja. If it were steak, I'd say claret, but a topside roast doesn't quite rate that class of wine. A decent riserva or classico would go down very nicely though... She grinned and went  back to her bag, remembering her uncle tucking a couple of bottles in it.<br/><br/>"Ah, shame, I only have a Côtes du Rhone Villages. Not even a Chateauxneuf, Uncle James you are such a cheapskate! Oh I also have a Petit Chablis in case you want to break tradition and go white with red, but it's not exactly chilled." She shrugged, set the red on the table and popped the Chardonnay into the fridge. She rummaged through the drawer, failed to find what she was after and sighed, went bac to her bed and pulled the Swiss army knife from the Q-bag.<br/><br/>"You've heard of Gibbs' rules, from NCIS? Number 9 is 'Never go anywhere without a knife?', well Bond rule number one is, 'Never go anywhere without a corkscrew!'"<br/><br/>A few minutes later they were sat on opposite sides of the small table, plates of steaming meat and veg in front of each and a plastic beaker of wine in hand. "Well, this is romantic...," Jasmine quipped. "All we need is a candle. Here's to room-mates." She lifted her 'glass' and tapped it against Tracy's with a soft click.