Lewis and/or the other Mystery Skulls, attempting to cook with his fire powers -- Gallifreya
The downpour, unforecasted by the weather bureau, continued to thunder down diagonally.
"App still says it should be clear."
"The app can bite my non-corporeal ass," growled Lewis.
Arthur sat staring out of the plastic window, "Don't pack the primus," he said in a mocking falsetto, "the weather's going to be fine. We'll cook everything on a campfire. It'll be fun!"
"Okay," sighed Vivi. "So I was a little wrong about that."
Both men in the tent fell to clearing their throats in a meaningful manner.
"Fine. I was a lot wrong! Okay? There's nothing we can do about it."
"I wanted to make Smores," grumbled Lewis.
Arthur, in the absent, dreamy state that meant that he was not thinking things through, speared a marshmallow and held it over Lewis' flaming hair. "Hey, it works!" he chirped. "We can do Smores after all!"
Lewis began cursing under his breath.