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epicbasher65685 · 4 years ago

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(Soo yeah a few people wanted to read this so here it is. sorry I can’t write for anything but I tried my hardest to get my head cannon across)

TW: descriptions of blood and gore, abuse

“What a fantastic song! No one could ever go wrong with the brilliant song “Let’s Misbehave” by none other than the darb Cole Porter!” Alastor exclaimed excitedly with his powerful transatlantic accent into the microphone. “Truly a marvelous performance. Anywho! The bayou killer strikes again! That’s right folks you heard it here first! The bayou killer claims their 11th victim! Oh the tragedy! There seems to be a pattern in this killer’s cycle. The moon cycle! Who would’ve guessed? And who will be the twelfth on the full moon? What kind of monster from hell could possibly cause this much pain and torture to both the victims and their families?” He questioned the listeners. His smile grew bigger at his sarcastic yet genuine sounding empathy. Deep within him he knew there was none. If he tried to look any deeper in himself the only thing we would find would be the rumbling of his stomach and it’s almost snickering like sounds, laughing mischievously and knowingly at his sarcastic line of questioning. Alastor reached over and closed the report he was reading from with a resounding thud, a look of accomplishment graced his face. The listeners were shocked with the news, seeing that the killer is still at large and could pounce on them or their loved ones at any moment. “Lock your doors and stay safe ladies and gentlemen! This concludes tonight’s broadcast. Oh oh! Almost forgot the regularly scheduled joke! Just to lighten the mood a bit. What happened when the cannibal was late for dinner? He got the cold shoulder! Ahahahahaha! See you tomorrow folks, stay safe!” He said brightly as he ended his radio broadcast, turning off his equipment and microphone.

The streets were full of Ebullience and joyful spirit. The year was 1933. New Orleans, Louisiana was really quite a marvelous and interesting place to live. Alastor McCarthy walked down the sidewalk in his clean white shirt and suspenders, shoes polished so thoroughly you can see the bright sun and the blue sky reflecting off of it! All the Cadillacs and Buicks cruised down the smoothly paved road. Almost everyone in this town knew Alastor. And Alastor knew almost everyone just as well. The lovely people waved as they saw him walk by, and he of course would wave back with a friendly smile on his face. He was always smiling! One happy fellow indeed, everyone would imagine. He walked down the sidewalk with a pep in his step softly humming to the bustling jazz that played from the gramophones in the nearby shops. He was making his way home now, it was almost supper and he needed to help his mother prepare it! Oh yes, Alastor loved his mother dearly, she was a true light in his life. People like to tease him sometimes and call him somewhat of a mama's boy. He would be lying if he protested this though. He truly loved his mother. His father, however, he did not. Just the thought of him made Alastors smile falter, just a smidge. He was a real goof, and a drunk. Alastor despised him, but only put up with him because his mother still loved him. Alastor could never see what an amazing woman like herself could ever find in a hunk of junk like him.

The noise of the streets died down as he started to approach his neighborhood. The walk from the radio station to his house was only a 30 minute or so walk. He figured it was good exercise and also an efficient way to build up his appetite. When Alastor wasn’t doing his radio broadcasts, he would find himself hunting deer in the nearby bayou. His father showed him how to hunt when he was a young boy. He had mastered the art of hunting and butchering the creatures he captured. Whether it be deer, rabbit, boar… human. His mother taught him the culinary arts, which he soon too mastered. He would help his mother prepare jambalaya, his favorite dish, when he was younger. He reminisced about those good ol’ days. Well, most of it at least. He had finally arrived home.

“Hello mother! Father.” He called out into the calm house. He took his shoes off and saw his mother appear from the kitchen.

“Oh! Alastor, how I’ve missed you dear.” She said lovingly as she ran toward Alastor to hug him. “How was your day? Anything exciting happening down in that ol’ radio station? I completely forgot to tune in today. Silly me. Apologies!”

“No need mother, it was just business as usual, quite copacetic! We had our top music hits and, well, a quite shocking report on the bayou killer.” Alastor explained

“Oh? Was he murdered? Oh oh! Caught by the fuzz? Hot dawg!” She exclaimed in excitement.

“...No mother, he was not. Always jumping to conclusions! Ahahaha. My, that’s just like you!” He said. Her words pained him only in the slightest. She obviously disliked this killer. Yet she unknowingly loved this said killer more than anyone else. He felt a sick giddy because of this. Why, he found it quite humorous! How twisted. “He’s claimed his 11th victim, unfortunately.” He said with a softer voice.

“Oh dear… how horrible. I can’t believe he’s getting away with this! Someone has to stop him eventually.” She said with sadness in her eyes. Alastor didn’t like to see her like this, not ever!

“Yes I know, quite the tragedy I’m sure. I heard he was a rude man however, a real dewdropper as some may say! The man had nothing going for him anyways.” He explained, or rather explained himself, for that matter.

“Darlene, when the hell is that dinner going to be finished?” Gus, Alastors father, yelled from the living room couch. He had just finished his twelfth beer of the day. Alastor could hear the subtle clinks of the glass bottle against the cup holder. Indicating that yes, he had indeed gotten drunk again.

“It’ll be ready in about half an hour dear!” She yelled back, Completely forgetting about the news of the bayou killer. An audible groan sounded from the living room in response.

“Alastor, would you be a dear and help me peel the potatoes for dinner?” She questioned

“Of course mother! Let’s get started then shall we?” Alastor asked joyfully.

Once dinner was prepared and the table was set, Alastor’s mother called for Gus to come and eat. Another audible groan sounded from the living room as Gus managed to stand up, very blotto from all his drinks. Without anyone seeing, Alastor was quick to drop a pill into Gus’s drink at the table. He then turned away and started to whistle an innocent jazz tune.

“Oh, Alastor, I almost forgot about the pie in the oven. Would you mind taking it out for me and cutting it’s pieces?” She asked him kindly. Alastor responded with a quick ‘yep!’ and put on the oven mitts. He took the pie out and put it on the stove. He took his mitts off and placed them back on the counter, only to replace them with a knife. Without hesitation he stuck the knife into the steaming pie. It smelt like delicious baked cherries. The pie oozed red juice and covered the knife. He continued to cut even slices into the beautiful pie. He stared longingly at his work, admiring the precise cuts and the knife dripping red juice. He licked the knife clean and saw his father's reflection walking into the room when he looked at the knife. He stared for a moment, then put the knife into the sink. Gus finally arrived at the table as everyone sat down.

“So what do we have here?” Gus questioned as he occasionally hiccuped. He had messy black hair and his eyes were half lidded. He wore a black vest with his tie sloppily tied.

“Well I made venison, mashed potatoes, and beans for tonight. That damn venison was quite tricky to cook, but hopefully I got it just right.” She explained

“I’m sure it turned out great, mother.” He smiled at her. Alastor eyed his father as he sat down. Gus started digging in with the slightest amount of politeness. Hungrily shoving the food into his mouth. Alastor sighed and picked up his utensils to start eating.

“What is it boy? You’ve got something to say?” He snapped at Alastor. Glaring at him with whatever amount of sobriety he had left.

“No, sir.” Alastor responded while staring at his plate. He hated this. He hated his father and he hated how he treated both him and his mother. Not to mention how rude he was. All of the bayou killers victims reminded him of his father. What a coincidence huh? No, he chose them very carefully, and he planned out every bit of it. Every time he killed them he imagined as though the person was truly his father. It gave him satisfaction and it quenched his thirst, for the time being. But this thirst would always reappear. He could never get rid of it through these involuntary murders of his, and he knew this. He knew it would only be a matter of time before… he would claim his final victim. That’s all Alastor thought about when he looked his father in the eyes. The twelfth. The twelfth. The twelfth. The second full moon. It will complete his design.

“Whatever,” He sneered at Alastor. Gus downed his drink in a few gulps. Alastor watched with a smile. Then Gus began to cut into the venison, and suddenly there was an irritated look on his face. “This venison is overcooked.” He started while he looked up at Darlene.

“Oh, yes I was afraid that might happen…” Darlene quietly said with a look of disappointment appearing on her face.

“Isn’t that just perfect? Maybe you should learn how to cook properly instead of having a gay ol’ time dancing swing like a flapper at the club down the road. Dumb-Dora can’t do anything right can you? Darlene was taken back by his sudden outburst. She apologized and told him it wouldn’t happen again with a tinge of fear spreading on her face and tears threatening to breach her eyes.

“Well, actually, I do have something to say,” Alastor said as he interrupted his mother’s apologies. “Maybe if you stopped getting bent everyday like a normal person, maybe people might actually like you! You’re such a flat tire and a real boozehound. You think it’s ok to treat us like this? For crying out loud you’ve been doing this for years! You just futz around and do whatever you want, when you want, and how you want!” Alastor exclaimed loudly at his father while eyeing him with a scornful look. He wasn’t going to let him talk to his mother that way, no sir! Enough was enough. Darlene looked at Alastor in shock. She really can’t believe he said that to him. A wave of panic hits her knowing what’s going to come next.

“Why, you little! How dare you talk to me like that? I come home after a long day and this is what I get? A cheap meal and a disrespectful family?” Gus’s voice grew louder and louder with every word he spoke. He pointed to Alastor. “You… I’ll wipe that stupid smile off your face permanently!” Gus stood up and walked over to Alastors side of the table. Alastor and Darlene stood up quickly, knowing this situation is about to become physical.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Darlene shouted as she grabbed hold of Alastors arm. Alastor backed up while the adrenaline started coursing through his veins. Gus took hold of Darlene and threw her against the counter. She fell on the way down with a yelp hitting her head on the edge of the counter. Darlene’s vision started to blur and soon after she drifted into unconsciousness as she heard the faint yelling of Alastor.

“You absolute madman! Now look what you’ve done. You’re some real tough guy hm? Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy my next show, you’re the super important participant, after all!” Alastor said with a growing smile. His creole accent slipping out for only a moment as he yelled. “Aren’t you excited?”

“What are you… talking about..?” Gus talked as his words became sloppy and quiet. The once calming and peaceful kitchen warping and turning in place as his vision grew cloudy and dark. His eyes lidded fully, the last thing he saw before he fell to the ground was Alastors prideful smile. Alastor thought Gus would pull something like this. All this commotion, that is. Yet it was in the back of his mind as was planning out his demise. He stared at Gus for a good while, lying there helplessly. Although this isn’t exactly how he planned it out, he was still ultimately satisfied with the outcome. That is, until he remembered his mother lying on the ground. Her nicely combed and silky brunette hair in a bun was now frizzing out everywhere, the bun loosened from the altercation. Her lids shielding her innocent blue eyes to what has become of her husband, and the truth of her faithful son. Alastor slowly picked her up and placed her on the couch. He took an ice pack from the kitchen and placed it on the noticeable bump on her forehead.

“Do wake up soon, won’t you?” He whispered to her. He kissed her forehead and made his way into the kitchen. He managed to pick his father up with a few strained breathes, grabbed the knife out of the sink, and walked out the backdoor.

It was about 8pm now, and the sun had already cast its final flare. Only to replace it, was a thoughtless moon. Alastor navigated his way throughout his backyard and soon into the bayou unseen. Gus remained unconscious and hung over Alastors shoulder. Once Alastor traversed deep enough into the bayou. He tied Gus up to an old bald cypress tree. It’s leaves spaced out enough to let the moonlight fall and flicker between them. A few moments later, Gus finally awoke to a conscious state. Confused and dazed to where he was, and how he got there.

“Hello lucky contestant! Welcome to my show!” Alastor exclaimed in a cheerful announcer voice.

“Al? Where.. where the hell am I?” He said in a choked voice. He tried to move his arms, but they were restrained by a tightly tied rope. “What the hell are you doing?” He said as his voice wavering. Alastor took out his knife and walked slowly up to Gus. Gus watched every little movement Alastor made, his adrenaline rising with each step.

“Oh you poor thing. Haven’t you realized what’s happening by now?” Alastor teased as he lunged playfully forward, causing Gus to gasp and defensively lean back in the tree. ‘How pathetic’ Alastor thought to himself. “What? Don’t tell me your giving me the cold shoulder! Ahahahahahaha!” Alastor laughed at his silly little inside joke. He lowered himself to Gus’s level on the ground and pointed the knife at his chest. “Boy that thing must be pounding! I think I’ll eat your heart first!” Alastor exclaimed once again. Gus’s face was pale with fear as the knife slowly etched its way inside of his chest, blood soaking his already stained shirt. He screamed in excruciating pain as Alastor carved all the way down to his waistline. Exposing his organs and blood to the everlasting moonlight. Gus writhed in pain as he looked Alastor in the eyes.

“Y-you…killed them?” Gus managed to choke out. Disbelief filled his eyes.

“Hmm? Oh! That’s correct!” Alastor said while he backed up, admiring his work. Alastor looked down at his hands and his cuffed sleeves. The blood dripping off of his hands was much more black then the usual dark red.

“My! The mother was right! Blood really does look black in the moonlight,” He said. His smile unwavering and as prominent as always. That was the last thing Gus saw as his vision started to melt away for the last time. Alastor kneeled beside Gus and pulled out his heart behind his rib cage. He took a big bite from it without hesitation, just like how one would eat an apple. He noted that it tasted almost the same as a deers.

Soon after, a sudden rush of panic struck Alastor as he heard a males voice calling close by. He quickly turned toward the sound and saw multiple men in the distance holding flashlights pointing in Alastors direction. He hopped to his feet in a frenzy and ran deeper into the bayou. It was dark and he could barely see where he was running, but all he knew was that he needed to get away. It was only a matter of time the cops had found him. The pattern was quite obvious, Alastor knew. Yet, he thought it was orderly and scheduled, and that was something he’s always taken to heart. As he was running, he recalled his fondest memories and previous murders as the cops chased him on his tail. He knew this was it for him, unless he could throw them off somehow. Quickly, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a figure. It was a lone deer. It looked him in the eye without movement. The deer eyed him knowingly. The full moon shining between its broad antlers.

Suddenly, the night and day remembered how they came to be. Alastor glared back at this deer, his smile wavering as he was shot dead in the forehead with a rifle. He fell to the ground as his smile fell completely. A hunter had missed the deer, accidentally shooting Alastor killing him instantly. Surely it was too dark for the hunter to have seen him. There was no hope for him. Then, the deer quickly ran off into the deep bayou startled from the shadow of nobody there.

#um chile anyways so #alastor #hazbin hotel #heres my poorly written head cannon #fanfic #human alastor

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carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years ago

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Blue Moon - Evelyn and Alain

Where: Evelyn’s house, Harris Island

When : Dinner time, 08/05/20

Summary : Alain learns more about Evelyn. This can only get them to grow closer.

Searching through the drawers and cupboards for a whisk, Alain’s mind was focused for once, not on his nightmares, nor on his thoughts, and he had had a lot of thoughts lately. Staying awake, or being forced to stay awake had left him alone with his thoughts too often, and his stream of consciousness had brought him to mental places he had not visited in a long long time. The whisk was found, and brought to the mixture of mascarpone and batter. He frowned. This was not what he wanted to do. He wanted to whisk the egg whites first, to skip cleaning the whisk before he put it in the mascarpone and yolks. Heading to the sink to wash it once he was done with the cheese, he got lost in his thoughts, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. You have to tell her, now. She has a right to know, his mind told him. Part of him knew that this was the right thing to do, but quite frankly, he had yet to figure out how you were supposed to tell a person that you hunted vampires at night. The whisk now dry, he headed back to the bowl of egg whites, his gaze wandering to glance at the golden hair that lazily rested on Evelyn’s shoulders. He caught himself grinning and turned back to his baking.

She’d never been one to especially enjoy baking. Certainly, Evelyn had spent many hours in the kitchen in her father’s home (her home too, she supposed, but it had never felt quite like home, not when she had to be human always) with her cooks, observing carefully and taking samples of whatever they were making that day. However, in the months since she’d started dating Alain, she’d started to properly enjoy it. Find pleasure in it, even. She still of course did not prefer to eat human food, but the experience of it was now one she enjoyed. She caught his gaze as he looked over to her and she grinned before making her way over to him, tapping her finger on one shoulder and running it along the back of his shoulders before she made it to the other side of him. “I mean, I know you like to look at me, but do tell, is there anything I can do to help with this? I like to think I can be more trusted in the kitchen now, right?” It was nice how normal this felt, even though she was still pretending to be incredibly human. Even if she was following in her mother’s footsteps more than she’d ever have expected to. The fact that she was dreaming now was fine - it was something to worry about at a different time. Not now, when things felt so right and good and normal, even.

“I like to look at you? Me, I do that?” Alain snorted sarcastically, shaking his head. “The ego of this person, I swear,” his frown vanished in a matter of seconds, and his hands reached for the towel tucked in his belt, wiping them clean. “Well,” he looked around. His tiramisu was almost done, he only had to make stacks of cream and biscuits now. Vanilla beans caught his eyes and the frown came back. “Do you know how to extract seeds from those?” Obviously he had forgotten about something. If his sleep had improved, he now had trouble falling asleep and his nights were shorter than before, which meant that his focus was far from optimal. He reached for a flat knife on the kitchen drawer behind him (having spent so much time with Evelyn, he now could say that he knew the location of nearly everything in her kitchen - the rest of the house, being so big, was another story), placed it on the counter near the beans. Before he picked up another knife to cut the Cuillère biscuit to fit the dish he had planned to use, he reached for her waist, tilting his head to the side as he smiled, “unless of course you would rather look at me. I know you like to do that,” his eyebrows raised in playful mockery.

“On occasion, or so I have observed.” Evelyn shrugged. “I mean, I do know that I look good, and that people appreciate that. You appreciate that, even if you still will not tell me when you first had a crush on me.” She winked at him. “Which I will get out of you sometime.” Though not right now, she supposed. She nodded in response to his question. “Well, I cannot say that I have done this before, but I figure it cannot be all too hard.” She certainly wasn’t any sort of master cook; however, she had learned a decent amount through watching her cooks as a child, and more recently, through watching whenever Alain came over. How hard could extracting the beans from the pods be, after all? She watched him find the rest of the materials that they would need for the dessert and couldn’t help but let a small smile cross her face. “Careful, or else I may have to test your memorization of the layout of my kitchen. Perhaps I ought to give you another tour of the rest of my house. Though I suppose you know my kitchen and my bedroom quite well, and really, what more could one ask for?” As he pulled her toward him she grinned, grabbing the knife from him. “I mean, I do like to look at you, and I am happy to admit this. I would also like to help you out though, so hand over the vanilla beans, please.”

“Bragging is not a good look on anyone, Ms. Hoffman,” Alain did not seem to find it so bad however, as he said it with a smile. “Bold of you to assume that I would feel embarrassed about this,” his smile dropped and his face got a lot more serious. He took out a cutting board, figuring that a knife against the stone countertop couldn’t be a great idea. Putting the knife and beans on top, he moved aside to let her do her part. This wasn’t too hard, and if he recalled correctly, she had told him before that she used to spend time in the kitchen as a child. Now it was time to see if she remembered those things as much as the things Alain had said a month ago. “Try not to lose a finger,” he did not have to glance down at his hand for her to see that this was a joke. At least he hoped so. Leaving her side to get the biscuit from the cooling grid, he turned his back on her and started cutting into the cuillère biscuit. Having done that, he grabbed a brush and started smearing coffee and Amaretto on it. “Everything going alright?”

“It may not be, but I can pull off things that others might consider to be a poor look.” Flashing another wink to him, Evelyn gave a small shrug. “Well, perhaps you can tell me later tonight then.” Not that she cared all too much, she’d noticed how he’d relaxed when he came by her bar that one night many months ago now, noticed how he smiled around her, and that was enough. It was also beyond strange to have that be enough, but perhaps it was not so awful. “I promise to do my best. I like all my appendages just as they are, not everyone can pull off the nine finger look.” She pressed her lips against his for a moment before she picked up the knife and one of the beans, holding them both carefully in her hands. This’ll be nothing, she told herself. It was just like dicing onions, which she’d done countless times for different pasta dishes. Just involved a little more precision, but she was good at that, and besides, if she was able to be more precise, Alain would perhaps ask for her help on even more cooking. For all that she certainly did not consider herself an expert (and never would, most likely), but it wasn’t so terrible to know more about human food. Evelyn held up one of the beans and carefully cut it in half, before she slid the knife along the edge, pulling the seeds out and into a nearby cup. One down, a couple more to go. She picked up another one and cut it in half, though as she moved to cut a slit down the middle she felt the knife slip just slightly and she could feel it cut into the palm of her hand. No. She glanced down, a few dots of blue fell onto the countertop before she pressed her opposite hand against the now-slightly-injured one. Looking up at Alain she offered a weak smile. Did my father find out in a way similar to this?, she had to wonder for a moment. She was practically positive that something about this had been in her mother’s journals, but she couldn’t bear to make complete eye contact with Alain, her thoughts already too jumbled. He’s human. You’re not. Then why didn’t she feel the sense of pride that she was supposed to feel? Why did she feel concerned instead, worried that not being human would make him think less of her? She wasn’t supposed to truly worry about the opinions of humans. “Sorry, just a small hiccup in the cooking process, I just need to find a bandage and I will be ready to go again.”

“See, there are some looks you cannot pull off,” an unconvincing smile accompanied his banter. You could not say that he kept great memories from that day, although he did make himself a good friend then. This reminded him that he would have to check on Erin sometimes. With Regan, and then this whole nightmare business, he didn’t really have time to take care of his relationships with people, and while he was naturally rather aloof, it was not in his habit to completely go silent. Speaking of the silence, he no longer could hear the sound of Evelyn’s knife on the counter. He turned to check on her, and his eyes were drawn to the blue stains on the stone. Qu’est-ce que c’est que ces conneries? “I’ll go get you a bandage,” he corrected her, his voice stiff. Alain, dropping his own knife on the counter and leaving the room with haste, headed upstairs to get to the bathroom. He had a good idea of where she kept those plasters, although right now, this was not exactly what his mind was focused on. What the fuck was that? He did not open the drawer to get bandages, but instead, took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, so he could stop pacing around. It had hit him in the face almost immediately : this could only mean one thing. Not human. Of putain de course. He was not sure whether he wanted to fucking laugh or cry right now, and quite frankly he was too fucking tired to be asking himself these kind of questions. He covered his face and his shoulders started to shake, followed by nervous laughter. What were the fucking chances? She was not even from this town. Really, what were the chances ? He wiped tears from tired eyes and leaned his head against the cool tiles, wondering if he was capable of walking back downstairs, and act normally. Could he ? Should he ? Maybe he should just leave. Well that wouldn’t be suspicious at all, his mind seemed to reply. His inner monologue must have gone back and forth like this for a few minutes. His decision taken, the hunter walked back downstairs.

“Okay.” She nodded, her opposite hand still placed firmly against the cut, though more out of a need to hide it over anything else. Which was perhaps useless at this point, given that she hadn’t quite caught herself in time. She noticed how stiff his voice became, when they’d been joking just moments before. Evelyn tore off a paper towel using her fingers and began to wet it, carefully cleaning up the small mess she’d made. She could hear her father’s voice echo in her ears, stiff and firm, yet far too loud, always. Best to make sure nobody sees, you understand that, right? She could see herself, young, with hair that almost hit her waist, nodding in response. Of course, father. She bit her lip as she waited for Alain to return, fighting the urge to pace around the kitchen. Fighting the urge to go up and try to find him, to use one of the dozens of explanations that her father had used over the years. Did Alain even believe in this sort of thing fully, she had to wonder. Certainly, he knew something about banshees but all that took was an interest in fantasy - it didn’t guarantee anything further. He was human, she was not, and part of her had to wonder how much of everything was going to fall apart. She knew that she was the only reason her father hadn’t left her mother right away. That, and public image. It wasn’t the same, here. He would be no worse for the wear if he broke up with her and as that thought crossed her mind, her chest and throat felt tight. Releasing her hands from the tight grip that they’d had and placing a towel on the injury - where was he? it was not as though finding bandages took so very long, was it? - she took a sip from a glass of water on the countertop. Reminded herself to breathe for a moment. Looked up to see him entering the kitchen again. “Hi.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.” She didn’t dare move a step closer to him.

The fact that she was panicking was entirely clouded to him by a thick fog, one that often had allowed the hunter to pretend that he was just your completely normal, friendly neighbor/shop owner, but one that also meant that Alain never really was too much in touch with reality. Rare were the people who knew who he was, and rare were those who could judge him for that, as a part of them was hunters, another part was things he didn’t care for their opinions, and the last part, was people like her, Erin, Skylar, etc. . Those were the people who were often disappointed when they heard what he did. This was why hunters mostly kept to themselves. You couldn’t expect civilians to understand why what they did was necessary. Soon enough, you were being called a murderer or ironically so, a monster.

Now clearly, Alain knew that blue blood only meant one thing : not human. But not human could mean too many things. As far as he was concerned, it did not mean that she was undead, and it also meant that he could not reveal to her that he was a hunter yet. Clearly, he had no idea of how she would react to this if he were to tell her this right now. Was it reassuring to know that he was not the only one who had not been completely honest? He wasn’t sure. Quite frankly, from his current state of panic, you could probably say that no, this was not one bit reassuring. Still, he kept his composure. Pretending that everything was okay was something he was used to do. “I would make sure this doesn’t get infected if I were you,” this was the kind of advise you could give to a stranger, and his tone was a bit too neutral to be really warm. “I’ll finish making dinner,” he barely looked at her as he picked up the knife and finished what she started. He remained quiet as he assembled the tiramisu. Silently, he wondered if staying was the right decision. Looking over his shoulder, he watched her take care of her wound. There was a certain kindness in his eyes, still, but there was worry too. Was this why this mara had decided to give him nightmares? They knew about Evelyn’s nature, feared for her safety ? It had to be it. He did not notice that he had been clutching the wooden spoon a bit too tight as he thought of his nocturnal visitor. It was only when he heard the wood crack that he snapped out of it. Great. Time to change the subject. It was clear that neither of them wanted to address the elephant in the room anyway. “If your cut isn’t too bad, perhaps you can help me making risotto?” He offered. His voice sounded a bit warmer than a few minutes ago, more convincing too, but he had doubts on whether or not this would suffice.

She loathed the fact that she still cared what others thought. That Evelyn cared what humans thought. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d been told for so long that everything she was was wrong. Despite the fact that she’d never outwardly believed that, she had to wonder if her father’s words had gotten to her more than she believed that they had. We have to keep this under wraps, you see, my darling, don’t you? What would the press think? What would everyone think? Specialized doctors, a specialized diagnosis that seemed to change monthly, some years. She adored what she was, but she’d gotten too similar to her mother and fallen for a human, and she could only imagine any of the thoughts that could have been running through Alain’s head right now.

This was only confirmed by his practically sterile tone as he reminded her that she ought to keep her injury clean. “Of course. I am good at taking care of myself.” Formal, clipped, yet too eager. Too willing to say just what he might have wanted. To comfort him somehow, still. Yet she just continued to bandage her injury. That taken care of, she nodded at his next comment. “Okay.” She whispered. Practically begged in her thoughts for some sort of divine intervention of guidance from her mother - not that her mother had been entirely successful - had her mother survived, Evelyn knew very well that her father would have separated from her within weeks of Evelyn’s birth - but her mother had gone through this too, and it made her body ache to watch someone she cared about react in such a formal way. All of a sudden there was a snapping sound and Evelyn jumped - not out of fear, but she had been startled and that in and of itself unnerved her on another level entirely. Alain’s not going to hurt you, she had to tell herself and she did her best to regulate her breathing. “My cut is fine. It was surface-level, nothing too bad.” Just enough to out the fact that I do not exactly have normal human physiology. “Anything you want.” She moved back over to the countertop and looked over to him for a moment before looking back down, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Alright, that’s good to hear,” whoever or whatever she was, Alain did not want her to get hurt, and while he was very confused, he knew right now that he still cared for her and he felt bad in his core for being unable to reach out and hug her. He simply could not find the will to do something as simple as that. He had joked about this with Kaden, after he found out that Regan was a banshee but not for one moment did he imagine ending up in the same situation. He wondered how Kaden had found out, and what his reaction might have been. Clearly, he could have used his input right now, because he was feeling completely helpless now. Maybe if he had a distraction, he could pretend that everything was normal. After all, he had spent the past few months completely avoiding mentioning his night hobbies to her. Not letting people see or know things he wanted to keep hidden was something he was good at, and this could not be too different, right? Usually, feelings were not thrown into the mix however. “Well, obviously you are staying away from knives for now,” he turned his back on her and took two shallot, putting them before her. “You can peel these. I’ll cut them and get the bouillon started while you’re busy.” Leaving her with the two bulbs, he moved to the sink to fill a pot with water, and put it on the stove with a cube of broth in it. “Are you done peeling them?”

Please do not leave, she wanted to say, but the words were caught in her throat. Evelyn wanted to go over to him, wanted him to tell her that everything was okay. The fact that he wasn’t, that he wasn’t even joking any more, made her feel sick. She didn’t want him to think any less of her, because of what she was. “Obviously.” She said, her voice still quiet, willing to say anything to placate whatever worries he might have had. He didn’t even casually touch her - brush away hair from her face or hold her hand. She had to wonder if he’d ever want to touch her again - if he was so put off by the fact that she wasn’t human (she could explain away her lack of proper appetite but she wasn’t certain if any sort of explaining about her blood would do this situation any good. She picked up the shallots and made quick work of them, finishing peeling them just as he’d turned back around to ask her. “Yes.” She’d never been so stilted with him. “I am sorry.” The words came from her lips before she could stop them. Never apologize for what you are, she could see her mother’s handwriting. Hear her words, even - thanks to the dreams. She should not have had to apologize, and yet here she was. “The broth already smells nice.” Formal once again. “Is there anything else I can do?” Can I please kiss you?

His eyebrow shot up. Apologies were not something he was expecting of her, and he couldn’t remember seeing her apologizing to him about anything in the past either. “What are you sorry about?” Alain tried to stay focus on what he was doing, while his mind kept thinking about that damn blue blood he had just seen. Bordel de merde. He reached out to get the shallots from her, but instead took the hand she left resting on the kitchen counter, briefly, giving it a squeeze before he let go and went back to cooking. Heading back to his saucepans, he hummed as she tried to make small talk. Glad that she could not see him frown about it, he shook his head and took the broth off the heat. “I don’t know, there is not much to do here,” he was not even trying to be unpleasant or to push her away, but he had literally nothing that she could do. “I guess you can set the table, or clean up the counter,” he finally said.

“Worrying you.” The fact that I am not human and you are and that you have to find out this way. Sorry for the very fact that I feel any guilt about what I am. Evelyn wished she could talk to her mother about this. Ask her for advice on just what to do. He grabbed her hand and she practically jumped - not because she’d expected him to do anything but because it was so unexpected. But instead of the usual consistent casual touches they had, he dropped it as suddenly as he’d picked it up and she nodded at his remarks. “Of course.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She knew she should have told him about what she was before, but there had never been a good moment for it - and now - now she couldn’t bring herself to explain what she was. Especially not when he’d spoken of his nightmares. Ones that she was mostly positive she wasn’t causing, but he hated them. She was a living and breathing one, and she knew that she was more gentle in person than was her nature - sometimes, at least - but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t get pushed away even further. “I can - I cleaned a bit, I will set the table.” She grabbed a few dishes and knives and forks, and made her way over to the dining room, placing each one with purpose and care. Taking more time than she usually would. Give him space, she reminded herself, even though she wanted to do the exact opposite. Finally, after a number of minutes - more than it should have taken her - passed, she returned to the kitchen. “I can do the counter now.” Grabbing a cloth from by the sink she wet it and began cleaning the countertop.

“Worrying me?” He pinched at his nose, covering his mouth as his face went through a whole spectrum of emotions. Those two words reminded him of how much he had grown to love her since they had met on that beach, but he was also annoyed, not worried.

And so, Alain had to hide the small smile on his face as he remembered why he was still standing in her kitchen while his instincts demanded that he left until he knew more. He could not believe that, her secret now partially revealed, she would show whatever true nature she could have possibly been hiding. This did not change who she was, right? He tried to reassure himself. She left the room, he remained by the stove, lost in his thoughts as he blankly watched the rice drown then reappear from under the broth once it had soaked it all up. Before she walked back into the kitchen, he had had the time to transfer the risotto into a nice dish she had picked earlier. “Alright,” he let her clean the counter while he walked to the sink to let the pans soak in water. “Dinner’s ready,” he said. There was something bland about the way he spoke, but he felt like if he tried to convey emotions, those same emotions would control him. “I’ll open the wine,” he glanced at the dish then back at her in silence, before he headed to the dining room, the bottle of Chablis in his hand.

She was well aware that it was even cliché to think such things, but in the silence now present between the two of them, she almost felt as though she could hear a pin drop. Certainly, Alain was far from the most talkative person she had ever met but usually there was something. A wry chuckle when Evelyn made a remark, or the humming of some song that she was fairly certain he didn’t always realize he was doing. Then he spoke and all she could do was nod. Since when was he the more talkative one? Not that this is very much at all. “It smells nice.” She didn’t look at him. His voice flat, and hers matched it. No gentle lilt to the way she spoke as there usually was. Giving another nod at his remark about the wine, she followed him into the dining room, grabbing a few more cloth napkins along the way. Just to have something to hold onto, even if there were already some at each place setting. She didn’t wait for him to pull out a chair for her, instead quickly and quietly sliding into her space, taking a small spoonful of the risotto. She waited for him to sit down before she took a small bite. Looked up at him briefly before she glanced back down at her plate. This was worse than her father’s rejection - twofold - her father had never properly accepted her, and so there had been something hanging over her for her entire life, and she loved Alain. She’d cared for him from before they became involved and even though he hadn’t said a word against her yet, his body language had changed in every way she hoped she’d never have to see. This is why you have to stay at home, my love - think of all the questions people will ask, she could hear her father’s words after a small cut. Age seven, too eager on the outside concrete sidewalk. Torn white stockings, stained blue. She’d watched her father give her nanny at least a thousand pounds, with hushed whispers. Don’t say anything to anyone. He’d patched her up but she saw the stern look on his face. One that clearly said: I would have liked you better without these extras.

She’d hoped that whatever happened with Alain, he’d never look at her like that. Even though Evelyn had explicitly avoided telling him that she wasn’t human. She took the wine glass in her hand and took a careful sip. “How did this turn out when compared with other times you have made it?” The most she’d spoken since cutting herself. She still didn’t look at him, not for a long period of time - occasional glances. At least he hadn’t left. Yet. It had to be a “yet”, didn’t it? She knew humans didn’t understand what she was.

Alain sat down at the table in the silence, took the cork out of the bottle in silence, and poured the wine in silence. Heavily sighing was what he would have done had he been alone but for now, he would just have to wait. He could feel a ball forming in his stomach, and the anxiety running back to him. This was a feeling he had not had the misfortune of feeling lately as it was hard to be anxious when you knew happiness was just a message or phone call away. There was not a day when he did not at least speak for a moment with Evelyn, but right now, he couldn’t manage to speak just one word. Just like he could feel anxiety running back to him, he felt his appetite running off, as if the two bites of food he had eaten were going to be enough to sustain him. He did not notice that he had started to fidget with the scar on his ring finger stump until he went to reach for his glass of wine. Great. Taking a long sip, he looked at her from over the rim of the glass, his brows furrowing for a split second. So they were doing small talk now. “It’s alright, although you were right about the rice. Yours is better than the one I used to buy,” maybe a compliment would help ease the atmosphere a bit, and he hoped it would, because he did not have the energy to be more social than this right now. His chest felt heavy, the ball in his stomach weighing him down. “You wanna go for a walk after dinner?” He offered, wondering what her answer would be. Considering he was not necessarily talkative on walks, this sounded ideal to him.

Her lips trembled for a moment and Evelyn cursed herself internally. This was not her fault. Being something other than human was not her fault. It made her special, it made her better than some others, sometimes - or so Melanie had said. Yet right now she felt almost sick. Certainly, she knew that of the two of them she was always the more talkative one, but she usually would catch him smiling at her or making a small side-remark. None of which was happening now. She took another sip of her wine, mostly pushing her food around on her plate. She normally would have ran her foot against his leg, made some sort of remark to lighten the mood or anything else. “Well, I may not know much about cooking, but I am rather decent at understanding my staples.” She felt her cheeks grow hot and she looked back down, taking another sip of her wine. That was easier than the risotto, right now. The risotto felt too heavy. “A walk?” She looked up at him. “I would lo - I would enjoy that. If you would.”

Normally, Alain would probably have made a snarky comment about her cooking and how well balanced they were in the cooking area, but he did not really feel like it right now. In fact, he did not feel like anything, not even that walk he had just offered her to do later. It all felt bland, tasted bland. He finished his glass of wine, glanced at her nearly untouched plate then back at his. Yeah, no one really had an appetite tonight. Still, he finished his plate, making small talk as best as he could, he mentioned how his dogs loved those covers she had gotten them, how business was going well lately, but no matter what, they both looked and sounded like they wanted to be anywhere but here right now. “I’ll clean up. You probably want to get changed to go out?” He asked, figuring that she would enjoying some alone time as much as he did, and already bracing himself to be with her again.

They had never talked in such a formal way as they did now. Not even when they were first getting to know one another. As he ate the rest of the food she couldn’t bring herself to eat more than another spoonful. It is not like I need it, anyhow. Not like I should bother playing pretend. The one thing she did finish was the wine, and that felt too much like the hundreds of parties she’d attended - both before and after she could legally drink. The wine was palatable, at least. She had a high tolerance, at least. “Okay.” Evelyn wanted to speak louder. Though she had never been the loudest person in the room, she felt herself opening up around Alain, typically. Save for the glaring items that she’d never talked about. Which, in retrospect, she knew that she should have - but she hadn’t wanted him to look at her just like how he was now. “I should change.” She walked quickly, though quietly, out of the room and made her way up to her bedroom. Stripped off her clothing before pulling on a different dress and a loose sweater, pulling her hair up and into a halfway messy ponytail. Adjusted the covering on her incredibly minute and yet entirely damning injury before she made her way down the stairs. “Whenever you are ready, I am.” She pulled her sweater closer to her body. “If you, you know - if you still want to go out.”

Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, the table was cleaned up, and the kitchen tidied up, Alain sat down on the porch that faced the seafront, waiting for Evelyn to join him. As he waited, the hunter raised his chin to stare at the night sky. Yet, tonight, this peaceful sight in which he could so easily get lost, did not manage to make him think of anything that was not Evelyn and her blue blood. The sound of her voice startled him out of it, and he glanced at her from over his shoulder, an air of melancholy in his eyes. Would things ever be the same? “Let’s go.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yIuePXvgus

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #para evelyn #blue moon

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michael-radi-the-glamorous-life · 5 years ago

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Why Does He Endure?

Last Sunday evening was the 90th Birthday Celebration Concert for Stephen Sondheim - put together and produced by Raul Esparza, and starring a jaw-dropping list of Broadway celebrities and personalities.

Despite the technical glitches - which had Twitter abuzz with some excellent Sondheim-related humor - the evening was beautiful.

The performers had recorded their songs ahead of time from their quarantined homes and still, somehow, the music and performances were just as emotional, raw, delightful, and revealing as they might have been with more theatrical conditions.

Why?

The music, the lyrics, and the marriage of the two.

Stephen Sondheim has to be one of the most polarizing musical theatre writers, having been lauded as the most important to live and also berated for being too high-brow and difficult to perform or understand. And yet, he is known as “the master.” Not a master - and we do have many - but the master.

Why? What is this legacy? Why does Stephen Sondheim endure?

Content Dictates Form

Now, I could write an entire life-long dissertation on Stephen Sondheim and the brilliance of his work (and some of my friends and family would probably say I’ve been doing it verbally for years), but I want to boil this argument down to its basics.

In his lyric anthology Finishing The Hat, Sondheim writes of the three writing principle truisms:

"In no particular order, and to be written in stone: Content Dictates Form Less Is More God Is in the Details all in the service of Clarity without which nothing else matters." -- Stephen Sondheim in "Finishing The Hat"

Let’s begin with “Content Dictates Form.”

What does that mean?

One of the reasons that Sondheim’s music endures - and specifically within the context of the shows for which it was written - is because of this first principle.

You cannot easily remove one of his songs to be performed outside of its show for an audience that is unaware of its context. Sure, they may enjoy the music or find the piece entertaining, but the song would not have its full impact outside of the show. And this is something that used to be common with theatre music, but (with the exception of “Send In The Clowns”) not with Sondheim’s music.

Why is this?

The content of Sondheim’s writing - the time, the setting, the plot, the storyline placement, the characters and their individual personalities, the opinions, and the messages of the piece - define the formation of the songs. Every piece of music he writes is entirely wrapped up within the world of the play, and taking it out of its context can therefore be quite difficult.

You can absolutely, out of context, have:

A group perform “Sunday” from Sunday In The Park With George

Two people duet on “A Little Priest” from Sweeney Todd

A devastating rendition of “Send In The Clowns” from A Little Night Music

You can do these things out of context and have them be appreciated for their craft and beauty. But something will be missed.

There are layers of enrichment that come from knowing:

“Sunday” is a musical representation of the pure beauty and tranquility that George Seurat finally feels in blocking out the chaos to finish his masterpiece painting.

“A Little Priest” is the unadulterated and insane giddiness of two brilliant, yet disturbed, people figuring out how to bring their goals into alignment - aka murder barber customers for practice and bake them into pies for money.

“Send In The Clowns” is a moment of stillness and deep self-reflection for a character who has never faced what she has always known, which is after we’ve watched her flail around her desires for two hours.

Sondheim takes these moments in the stories and crafts them into music perfectly appropriate for the situations and characters:

“Sunday” is a brief group vocal number based mostly upon quiet unison, which blossoms briefly into exuberant dissonance before returning to a quieted and major harmony in the end.

“A Little Priest” is a seven minute comedy number based in grotesque wit and delightful one-up-man-ship.

“Send In The Clowns” is a conversational, lilting, and dynamic solo ballad, which purposefully does not develop in either melody or harmonic structure.

Extraordinarily different pieces. All very Sondheim, but all utterly specific to their content.

Less Is More

I already hear some of you at home saying:

“But Michael, he’s known for his complexity and wordiness! How can Sondheim believe in Less Is More?”

Well, believing in and succeeding at are two entirely different things. And Sondheim acknowledges all over the place that he strives for these principles, knowing that he often falls short (as do we all).

But if you were to look at the songs of his that most endure - the ones that really cut to our emotional and intellectual centers - these are often the ones that follow this mantra the most.

Every Sondheim show is filled to the brim (if not overflowing) with music and lyrics, and many of these are immediately forgotten upon leaving the theater or skipped when listening to the albums. But the ones that cut through universally for performers and audiences alike tend to be wrapped up in the simplest of ideas:

Finishing The Hat

No One Is Alone

A Weekend In The Country

By The Sea

Anyone Can Whistle

Being Alive

Everybody’s Got The Right

I’m Still Here

And this is but a tiny fraction.

If you know any of these songs, their titles alone will evoke a sense of time, character, emotional state, and a wonderfully tuneful hook. And everything else about each of these songs is built specifically around these simple and effective ideas.

Do the lyrics often spin off into ambitious wordplay, complexity, and depth? Yes. But all of it centered around these simplistic and easy-to-follow ideas - he never strays.

God Is in the Details

Details come in all shapes and sizes, so it would be difficult to discuss the full breadth of the kinds of details Sondheim has mastered. There are too many.

So I will leave you with a few.

1. Correct Stress

One of the reasons performers love to sing Sondheim music - and audiences are able to take in as much information from his wordiness as they can - is because Sondheim takes great care to place words on his melodies so they are stressed precisely as we would say them.

There are many songs out there in the world that people say are difficult to sing - “it’s almost like it’s impossible to sing it well!” Usually, this is because of mis-stressed words. They’re tricky to spit out.

But when they stress is correct, you can speed through an insanely wordy line and still be entirely understandable (see “Getting Married Today” from Company).

2. Musical Development

I wrote a 10 page paper in college about the first half of one song in Sweeney Todd, dissecting the musical development and how it related to the characters and tone of the piece. And I had much more to say.

Sondheim takes great care to build a musical world, build a tune off a singular idea, and then to break his own rules only when the story calls for further movement or development. And every time he does it, it’s wildly effective.

For just a minuscule example, in Into The Woods, Little Red sings a song called “I Know Things Now,” which is the story of her encounter with the Wolf. The main melody is almost garishly major, since Red is both a kid and dreadfully annoying.

But when she gets to the part of the story where she starts feeling fear, Sondheim alters two notes in her now-familiar melody to make them minor. Just two. And then we understand her state of mind clearly.

Details.

3. Wit

A lot of people are witty. But few people are as appropriately witty as Sondheim.

It’s one thing to write your face off and be clever at any and all times - this is a great showcase of the writer and their talents. But it’s an entirely different thing to be witty in a way that’s 100% appropriate to the character, their language, and their situation.

My favorite example of this is in Sweeney Todd during “A Little Priest.”

Mrs. Lovett is a cooky delight of a character who is clever, insane, and good at wordplay and word association. However, all of this gets kicked up a huge notch during “A Little Priest” when Sweeney starts playing the word games as well. Suddenly, she has to up her game.

Prior to “A Little Priest,” in which they wittily discuss how they could cook different people into pies to sell, Mrs. Lovett would likely not have gotten to the point of being able to put together:

“Or we’ve got some Shepherd’s Pie peppered with actual shepherd on top”

A brilliantly witty line, but also perfect to Lovett in this one moment in the show.

Clarity

So why does Sondheim endure?

Whether you love him or hate him, or are somewhere in between, Sondheim’s mastery of the craft of musical theatre writing is both capturing and stirring.

His craftsmanship is the rock on which his talent sits, and it has made for some of the most exciting and interesting musical storytelling for performers and audiences alike.

Sondheim is who inspired me to do what I do. His principles guide me in everything I write. And all I can hope is that, at the end of the day, I have achieved a level of excitement and clarity that Mr. Sondheim could be proud of.

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home. Cheers everyone!

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

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It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... (part two)

A/N: Back to Benjamin. No golden rings for Day 5 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics, sorry. Have some golden biscuits instead. And a dose of sweetness. And also some truth.

Word Count: 3,144

Prompt from: @malionnes

"Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

Benjamin had been watching you from the doorway to the kitchen as you pressed hard into the dough you were working, the wooden rolling pin flattening it out over the flour-sprinkled counter top. A few strands of your hair had fallen free of the loose ponytail you’d gathered it in, framing your face and catching the sunlight through the window. Stunning. “Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

With a smudge of flour streaked across your nose, you looked up at the sound of his voice. You blew the hair away from your eyes and it fluttered gently back down as you smirked at him. “Oh come off it, I’m a mess.” You rolled your eyes as he stepped away from the door frame, unable to keep himself from filling his hands with you any longer. Letting go of the rolling pin, you allowed him to pull you away from the counter, revealing more flour smears and streaks running down your thighs. You used the back of one powder caked hand to swat your hair away, leaving a new smudge on your forehead.

You are a mess. Benjamin reached for your hip with one hand, slowly bringing the other up to wipe the newest mark away from your hairline with his thumb. He let his fingers comb through your hair, brushing the strays back behind your ear and out of your face. “Not to me.” He’d seen you with plaster in your hair, with paint stains on your jeans, with ink and dye and bronze polish underneath your fingernails after a long day of work. “I’ll take you dunked in flour and rolled in sugar any day.”

You let out a loud burst of laughter, your eyes warm atop your rosy cheeks as you fell against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, surely leaving white hand prints on the back of his sweater. I don’t care. “Well, you’re in luck then,” you said, your words slightly muffled as you spoke into the soft green fabric. I sure am. He pressed you closer, smiling at the way it felt to have you in his arms as his lips found a sugary spot near your eyebrow.

It was different, holding you, than it had been with anyone before, even Julia. Especially Julia. He’d never felt so sure in his bones as he had with you, never felt like he had to be anyone other than himself. With his ex-wife, he was constantly challenged to prove himself- prove that he was more than his shortcomings and less than the malicious intentions that Julia’s oldest son Patrick refused to let go of. With Allie there was a never ending race to prove that he’d be able to give her more. What next, what else, what then- she was never happy enough with him to spend a single minute in the moment, always looking for more, which she eventually found in someone else. But with you, he felt relaxed for the first time in decades. With you, he thought that maybe there was a chance that he could tell you everything, open up all the closets and free the skeletons he’d conditioned himself to hide. Right after the holidays. No need to ruin Christmas.

You sighed, giving him a squeeze before unwinding yourself from around him. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on you, palms sliding down your arms to stay connected as long as possible. You rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to the birthmark beneath his eye, a habit you’d formed that made him feel known on a level he’d never felt before. Flattening your feet back out, you returned to your normal height before turning back to your biscuit making, moving the pin aside and picking up a snowflake shaped cutter. “Did you finish what you needed to?” You asked, pushing the metal form into the gingerbread dough.

“I did.” Benjamin leaned back against the counter, crossing his ankles and gripping the edge of the granite. “I’m all yours until after Christmas.” He’d been waking up early to get his work done so that he’d have the day free to help you with the cooking, baking, wrapping and everything else that comes with hosting family members for the holidays. Classes had finished the week prior, but Benjamin had been given a work-study position with the head of the History department. Dr. Kesting was writing a new book on the Russian Revolution, and he was in need of a research assistant to fact check and compile lists of dates and references. Benjamin had been all too eager to accept the position, as it was the only way he had been able to resume work towards his Masters degree once the Julia Day Scholarship was no more. He’d taken two semesters off following the divorce, and was starting to lose hope of ever being able to continue his education and the subsequent debt that it would put him further into. He admired Dr. Kesting, and though he didn’t talk about it much, he hoped to continue on the path to his Doctorate, so getting to work closely with his mentor was a gift in more ways than one.

“That’s great,” you paused halfway through pressing the snowflake into the last inch of usable dough and looked up at him. “You should be proud of yourself, I hope you are.” You finished cutting the shape and then worked your fingertips beneath the excess dough to lift it away, leaving a dozen or so perfectly cut snowflakes behind. With the same careful precision that he’d seen you use to peel back layers of paint or plaster with a spade, you slid a thin spatula under each shape and gingerly transferred them onto a waiting parchment lined tray “I am.”

Before his heart could swell at your words of encouragement, he felt his insides twist. Will you still be proud when you know everything? Do I deserve you to be? He tried to assure himself that you would understand, that you wouldn’t blame him for the cards that he kept close to the vest. Hi, I’m Benjamin. I did time in a juvenile detention center for a murder that I covered up for my older brother, and then I changed my name, moved away and pretended that I had no family. Not exactly the greatest conversation starter. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t make you love him less, and perhaps more importantly, that it wouldn’t make you trust him less. But despite the fact that he was sure that he wanted- no, needed- you to know everything, he found himself afraid to actually bring it all up. His phone vibrated in his pocket and brought him back to the kitchen and back to your flour streaked cheeks and the smile you were treating him to.

You smashed the excess dough between your hands, combining it all to be rolled out again for another round of snowflakes, your brow furrowed at his lack of a response. “Benjamin?” You smacked the ball of dough again before dropping it back on the counter and wiping your hands on your pants. “What’s wrong?” Your frown took the light right out of your eyes.

He shook his head and pushed off from the counter, reaching for your forehead to smooth the worry lines back out. “Nothing. Nothing at all, love.” Yet. “I’m... sorry, I was distracted.” He felt you relax under his touch, your lips falling into a more neutral set. “My phone went off and I was thinking about…” He shook his head again. “Never mind.” Picking up the ball of dough and the rolling pin, he turned to face the counter top where you’d been working. “Should I..?”

You nodded. “Yeah, sure, if you want.”

“I want to help you,” He insisted, leaning in to kiss your nose. When he pulled back, all the signs of worry were gone from your face, and you smiled again.

“Alright then, roll away.” You grabbed the full tray of unbaked cookies and turned your back to him to open the pre-heated oven. “I’ll get this batch in, and then we can-” When you turned back around, he was leaning on the counter again, his phone in his hand. “Benjamin.” You let the oven snap closed, the sound drawing his attention to you. “What’s going on? You’re...something’s up.”

Shit. He gaped at the screen in his hand and then back up at you. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s…” he pointed to the phone. “It was an email from Dr. Kesting...I figured it was just him thanking me for the notes that I sent over this morning.”

“But it wasn’t?” You asked. He shook his head. “Okay...well, what was it about then?” You set the timer on the oven before swiveling to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Benjamin took three deep breaths through his nose to combat the dizzy, tingling sensation that was creeping into his brain. He rubbed his fingers against his sweaty palms, thinking about how to answer you. It had been an email from Kesting, that was true. And he had thanked Benjamin for the notes, as he always did. But he’d also let Benjamin know that he’d gotten a phone call from a man claiming to be his brother, asking how to get in contact with him. Goddamnit Kieran, can’t you let me have a life? He hadn’t noticed that his hands had started to shake, but you had. You took them between yours and he looked down at you, wide-eyed.

“Benjamin,” you said his name softly, trying to coax some words out of him. “Hey, come on, you’re scaring me here. Spit it out, what happened?”

Okay. Now or never. He recalled the way that Julia looked at him when she found out the truth about Kieran, about him; utter distrust and a hint of betrayal. No, she’s not like Julia. It will be different. Closing his eyes he swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat, blowing out a breath when he opened them again. You were waiting patiently, your hands still around his, your thumbs caressing the cup of his palm soothingly. “I really didn’t want you to find out this way, I-” He pulled one of his hands free from yours to drag it over his mouth and chin leaving his beard dusted with white from the flour. “Have you ever had a secret that just...that just got so big it became a part of you?”

You pressed your lips together, confusion etched into your face again. “Sure, I mean, everyone has secrets…” You shrugged. “But what-”

“I need to tell you something. Now. Right now. Because I should have told you already, and now I…” That dizzy feeling was coming back, but he fought it by focusing on your eyes. “Just promise me it isn’t too late. It can’t be…”

“Benjamin...it’s not. Whatever it is, it’s not too late.”

“I just… I don’t want you to...Look. There are things that you don’t know about me. Bad things. Things I don’t...like to think about, or...or tell people, because it’s better for everyone if I don’t.” Shit, this is not how I… “I waited too long to tell Julia these things, and it made me look like I was lying to her, that I was purposely keeping things from her, and with her son already in her ear about me, it almost...we almost didn’t go through with the wedding because of it...and we shouldn’t have, because she never really trusted me afterwards and I just…” He paused, taking a breath and reaching for you, pulling you tightly to his chest without warning. “I can’t let that happen again. Not with you. I can’t lose you for him, I won’t.” He stroked your hair and spoke quietly into your ear before leaving a kiss there and pulling back just as abruptly as he’d gathered you up.

“Who, Benjamin? What are you..?”

“I have a brother. Half-brother, really, our mum she… well she wasn’t around much, she’d rather be out with her,” his lip curled as he thought about the men his mother used to bring home, and you moved to sit on the counter while he continued. “Her boyfriends. And she’d leave Kieran and I alone alot. We grew up looking after each other and… and, well I guess that was a good thing because she…” He sniffed, looking away for the briefest of moments. “She died young, left us on our own. We were hard, but we were just kids. Couldn’t stay fed off Kieran’s job at the petrol station, so he had this...this idea that we could knock over a corner store. You know, grab all the cash and run. He’d staked it out, checked, made sure there weren’t cameras. It was before everyone’s mobile could record, so he figured what could go wrong, right?”

He looked at you, quietly sitting amongst the mess, Christmas lights twinkling from the next room and the smell of baking gingerbread wafting through the air. This is not at all how I saw the day going. You looked sympathetic, concerned, saddened for the lost little boys in the story he was telling, but you kept listening, you didn’t run, didn’t tell him to get out or start throwing things around the room. You sat there, waiting for the rest.

With a sigh, he continued. “Keiran told me he’d take care of the shop owner and that I should wait outside, keep an eye out for the police or...or anyone. He said he was just going to knock the guy out and that he’d wake back up before we got home. He said…” Chest going hollow, he remembered the look of fear on his brother’s face when he ran out of the store, wads of quid stuffed in his pockets, grabbing him by the arm and urging him to run. He looked up at you to see that your mouth had fallen open, one hand suspended midway to covering it. You know where this is going, don’t you. He knew you did. You were smart. “The man...the shop owner...he didn’t wake up. He...Keiran didn’t mean to...but he…”

“He killed him.” Your voice was paper thin.

Benjamin nodded, trying with everything in him to keep tears from his eyes. “He killed him.” He echoed your words, their truth scratching at his throat on the way out of his mouth. “He was already 19, but I was a few years younger...young enough just to get juvenile punishment, so…” He let the sentence trail off with the lift of one hand.

“Oh, Benjamin...you…”

“Yeah… so…” He rid his lungs of air with a huff. “So when I got out, I…” He stepped closer to you. “I changed my name. My name’s not really Benjamin it’s...It’s Sean. Or it was...I” It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know if Sean still existed, if there was any piece of that person left inside of him. “I changed my name and moved...put all of that behind me and...and I just… I invented a life for myself. One that I would have wanted if I could have it...and…” He looked at you again, a wave of nausea rolling through his belly. “Can you say something, please?”

You sighed, sliding from the countertop and taking a few steps toward him. Your arms came around his neck and you pulled him against your body. “I’m so sorry, Benjamin.” Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails slowly scratching his scalp. He closed his eyes and finally lost his battle, tears slipping silently from under his lids. “I wish I could take that from you.” Your other hand came behind his neck as you pressed your lips to the exposed skin above the collar of his sweater. “I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner, I do…” You do? “But I’m glad you told me now.” You...are? Pulling back, you used the bent crook of your finger to rid his cheek of the single salty drop that was falling down. “I want you to be able to tell me anything, Benjamin. I love you,” his heart stopped as you said the word, starting back up again with a different rhythm. You still… “I love you, and I want us to be a team.”

He surged forward and kissed you then, taking your face between his palms and pouring every ounce of himself into that kiss, tilting your face to get a better angle and feeling like he could fly from the soft little moan that you let out against his lips. When he broke apart you were both gasping. “I love you.” He nodded, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “So much.”

You let out a burst of air that took the form of an emotional laugh. “So much.”

“I wanted to tell you...I was going to, after Christmas. I didn’t want to keep this from you...but I also…” He breathed your name. “I didn’t want this… Keiran, my past… I didn’t want any of that near you. Near us. But now…” he gestured at his phone and the email that Kesting had sent. “Now I guess he’s found me again… I couldn’t...I...you needed to know. I couldn’t risk him coming here or...or looking for you. Kesting didn’t give him my number or our address or anything, but...when Keiran wants to find someone, he does, and I didn’t want you to be caught off guard or...and I don’t want you to think I’m...It was starting to look like I was lying and...I’m not...there’s nothing else that you don’t know, now and…” he sighed. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Now?” You asked. Yes, please, I… “Right now?” He nodded. “Right now, Benjamin Greene, I think that I love you. I think that you’ve been through so many unfair situations. I think that you’ve come out on top of all of them, and I think…” You scooped up some powdered sugar from the bowl behind you before wiping both hands down the front of his shirt, pulling a genuine laugh of surprise from his heart. “I think that flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

How did I get so lucky? The thought melted into thin air as he held you down and rubbed his hands all through your hair, turning it white from the flour, turning your face red from your squirming laughter. By the time the day was done, the kitchen was a disaster, the biscuits had all been baked, and you knew the truth about him. And you loved him anyway.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @malionnes @becs-bunker @warriorqueenofnarnia @elanor-of-imladris @traeumerinwitzhelden @songtoyou @michellemybelles-world @obscurilicious please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tags!

#benjamin greene #gold digger #gold digger fanfic #benjamin greene x you #benjamin greene x reader #the sugarplum gets sugary #12 days of christmas #12 days of christmas fics #it's beginning to look a lot like...#part 2 of 3

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blackth0rntree · 5 years ago

Text

Main 6 cooking for MC

Some cheesy HCs no one asked for 🙃

Asra

to tell the truth, he’s rubbish at cooking and actually prefers take-outs

but he collects recipes everywhere he goes during his adventures, so it comes in handy once he decides to surprise you with a dinner

he’s a whole bunch of them �� spicy, sour, sweet dishes and so on

he smuggles the ingredients without you noticing and then one day he just asks you to go to the palace to check on Nadia or uses any other excuse to get you out of the house

when you’re out, he starts cooking

generally he’s following the recipe, but he adds his personal touch with spices

lots of spices, actually, because if the food’s good, there’s surely lots of spice involved

totally burns the meal on the first few attempts because he keeps forgetting he’s cooking

and when you come back home, you find him in the middle of remembering

he’s busted and he knows that but he starts over, and he asks you to just sit back and relax

you lightly tease him about his absentmindedness and he laughs at it along with you

when food’s ready, you’re entrusted with the task of having the first taste

it’s quite delicious, to your mutual surprise, and when you say so, you actually don’t know whether Asra’s cheeks are blushed because of all the heat or because he’s flustered

it’s probably both, so you press the lightest of kisses on his nose and start serving the table, still complimenting him on his cookery

since then, he’s not a big fan of takeout food anymore, he prefers homemade meals now

Nadia

she decides to surprise you with a dinner when you gift her with hand-made present once again, because she values and adores the amount of thought put in something made by one’s own hands

she heads to the kitchens along with Portia who is eager to teach the countess

she learns to cook your favorite dish that you’ve had like a hundred times already

but this time it’s decorated better than ever with delicately carved vegetables, sprigs of greenery, and nicely matching colors

when you take the first bite, she frowns a little, waiting for your reaction

you ask if there’s a new chef in the palace because this dish never tasted so insanely good

she laughs melodically and confesses that there is, not the full-time one, though

you’re puzzled, and she elaborates, explaining that was she who cooked the dinner for tonight

you are very surprised and grateful, and that warms Nadia’s heart

she knows time spent at the kitchens wasn’t at all wasted

Julian

he’s the type of guy who’d totally execute those lists of “50 first date questions” except that he asks you those questions on any date, whether the first or one-hundred-and-first

so as soon as he learns your favorite dish, he knows he absolutely has to cook it for you

the kitchen is a mess, with flour scattered everywhere, covering every inch, Julian’s face and hair included

cuts his fingers no less than four times because why is this so hard and different from scalpel work????

lots of swearing

but he’s genuinely happy during the whole process because he’s doing it for you

when he manages to do things right, he murmurs a cheesy song whilst putting the tray in the oven

checks the insides of the oven every other minute

surprisingly, the result looks and smells delicious

when you come home, he’s sitting at the set table with lit candles, steamy tray in the center

he holds his breath while you’re tasting

“oh my, it’s delish!”

as you exclaim so, he melts

he’s so pleased with your reaction that he may consider cooking like every other day if it makes you happy

Portia

she’s great at cooking, especially pastries and vegetable dishes

but she doesn’t have much time to do so, although she totally cooks to celebrate your anniversary

she’s fast and precise with her movements and actions, and those meals are so good

with golden crust and fantastic flavor

you can smell it far from her cottage, and this odor makes your mouth watering

when you enter the door, she’s making the last preparations

she sits you down the table and ties a napkin around your neck because trust her, with this delish dinner you’re gonna need one

it tastes so good you can only mumble the variations of “mmmmmmm”

she’s very happy and thinks to herself she should treat you with meals cooked by her more often

Muriel

he’s experienced at cooking, nothing posh, just plain meals, but he mastered it

so in order to surprise you he decides to bake your favorite fruit and/or berry pie

he puts all his love and gratitude into that pastry, carving all those little dough ornaments, kneading for a good hour to make it rise, slicing the fruits/berries

when you come home, he greets you with a freshly brewed herbal tea and this pie

his cheeks turn the same gold-pinkish color as the pie crust is when you gasp at the sight and smell of it

he secretly smiles when you let Inanna take a bite of the pastry whilst complimenting his baking skills

when you reach for yet another slice of this insanely delicious pie, you grab the emptiness

upon seeing your upset face, he blushes and suggests that you two bake another one — together

it becomes a tradition: every Sunday you get up really early and bake a cake together to share it later over the breakfast

Lucio

he doesn’t know how to marvel this time you so he decides to perform something you’ve never thought he’s capable of doing

so he heads to the kitchens

he wants to cook the most exotic dishes, so the chef helping him is really having a hard time

when everything’s done, and you’re invited to the dinner room, Lucio is already there, inpatient and on nettles

food looks good, decorated lavishly, but it tastes... well, horrible to say the least

because Lucio’s been ignoring all the suggestions the chef made as count thought he knew better

but you eat a little bit anyway because you appreciate his efforts

“I’m delighted and thankful, love, I really do appreciate your work, but what about next time we’ll cook together? I believe that would be quite, erm, romantic.” you say, not desiring to offend him as well as not wanting to eat his cookery again

you successfully conceal the fact his fudge wasn’t that good, and he eventually agrees to try cooking with you

over time cooking becomes his hobby, and it’s the cutest thing you could ever imagine him doing

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katastroficwriter · 6 years ago

Note

I have a headcanon that Kokichi loves baking gingerbread men and gingerbread houses on Christmas, and that Kiibo has never understood why. Later Kokichi reveals that the reason is because he used to make them with his older brother, who he doesn't get to see that much anymore, and it reminds him of the time when they were younger.

Humans are fond of asking strange questions in the hopes of getting a glimpse of how other humans view them. One such example would be, “If you were food, what would you be?”

“I think Ouma-kun would definitely be an eggplant,” Yumeno declares. “It’s purple, and its name is misleading–a lie! Eggs are not long and purple, yet it’s called an eggplant.”

Kiibo somehow found himself trapped in such a discussion. And since Ouma wasn’t around, they were the ones trying to find a fitting food that best describes the supreme leader.

“Actually Yumeno-san, it’s called an eggplant because in its earlier stages, the plant clearly resembles an egg before growing elongated and turning purple. That’s how it got its name,” everyone stared at the robot, who never spoke during the discussion until now. “Though I agree with you, it does resemble Ouma-kun to some extent. Like how it seems like it’s deceiving people, when in truth, it’s just hiding its honesty.”

“Honesty? Him? I seriously don’t understand how you could see something pure like that in a degenerate male like Ouma-kun,” Chabashira huffed. “I thought you of all people would know how terrible he is since he targets you the most.”

“I suppose that’s precisely why I can say that much about Ouma-kun since he hangs around me frequently,” Kiibo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You noticed such a detail yet you didn’t do anything to assist me.’

“What’s this, what’s this? Am I being summoned?” Ouma popped from behind the android, grinning when the latter almost fell off his seat from shock. “Man, you guys really can’t go one day without calling my name, huh~”

“Ugh…speak of the Devil…” groaned the magician.

“Don’t you dare pull any more of your nasty shit, twerp!” Iruma pointed an accusatory finger at the newcomer.

“Oh wooow, pot calling kettle black. At least my entire existence isn’t a crime against the universe like yours is!” Ouma sneered at the inventor with disgust.

“Y-you didn’t have to put it that waaaay–!!!” whined the blonde.

“Knock it off Ouma, you just got here and you’re already pissing everyone off!” Momota slammed his hands on the table.

Ouma tapped his chin, smiling such an innocent and sugary sweet smile that would no doubt trick anyone who didn’t know him. “How are you so sure that that’s what everyone else is feeling, Momota-chan? Stop assuming everyone shares the same opinion as you all the time!”

“Now, now, let’s not fight,” Akamatsu raised two placating hands. “It’s almost Christmas after all–”

“Pfft, Christmas? What are you acting all goody-goody for exactly, Akamatsu-chan?” Ouma tilted his head to the side playfully. “…Is it Santa? How embarrassing! You’re already a high schooler but you still believe in a big faker like Santa Claus?”

“N-no, that’s not–”

“Alright, that’s it! C’mere!” The astronaut got out of his seat and charged his way towards the supreme leader’s general direction.

“Uwaaah! Momota-chan’s turned into a BULL-Y!!!”

“Ghhrk! I’m not a bull OR a bully! I’m Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars!!!”

“So you keep saying ad nauseam. Don’t you have other voice lines? Then again, I guess I can’t expect too much from a side character! Nishishi~!”

“Who you calling side character?! I’m the hero!”

Kiibo observed his two classmates run around the limited space of the dining hall until Ouma eventually got bored of the chase and decided to run out the exit that led outside of the school building, leaving Momota tired and out of breath.

“Idiot,” Harukawa uttered under her breath before heading out the other door.

“Hey!” huffed the astronaut.

Once the commotion had settled, everyone left the dining hall one by one, unknowingly leaving behind their robotic classmate, not that the latter minded. Kiibo leaned against his seat, closing his eyes.

“If they asked me, I’d say that Ouma-kun resembled a gingerbread man more,” he murmured to himself. “…Small, fragile, yet proud and untouchable.”

– [Run, Run, Run, as fast as you can. You’ll never catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!] –

Usually, Kiibo spent nights cooped up in his room just reading the books he retrieved from the school library. His learning is composed of developing his social skills through his everyday interactions with his peers, and the other one pertains to diligent studying through research. However, he was feeling rather rebellious tonight, that’s why he decided to take a tour around the school instead. In the day, he frequently finds himself getting swept along his classmates’ pace, so he never really had the time to just roam around and observe the environment on his own. That’s one of the advantages of being incapable of sleep, he supposes.

He was blindly following the path that led to the dining hall after making his rounds in the courtyard.

“Hm?” He carefully climbed the steps and noticed that light was spilling from the cracks of the door. ‘Is someone in the dining hall? What could they possibly be doing up this late?’

The android silently pushed the door open so as not to alarm the room’s occupant, and was surprised to find no one in the room. He shut the door behind him just as silently as he had opened it and walked towards the middle of the room. That was when he heard the sound of metal against metal. Perhaps a whisk lightly scraping against a bowl?

‘In the kitchen, huh…’ Kiibo carefully made his way towards the kitchen. He opened the door just a crack, and was surprised to find the supreme leader whisking a white mixture with practiced ease.

His hair was pulled back in a small ponytail and his bangs were kept out of his face by a set of white barrettes. Instead of his usual tattered white gakuran or his pajamas, Ouma was wearing a plain white shirt, a pair of black basketball shorts, and a light blue apron to keep the mess off of his apparel as he whisked away.

“Get in and close the door, it’s bothering me,” Kiibo hit his face against the door from shock. He was being completely stealthy, yet somehow he got found out anyway.

“S-sorry…” murmured the android as he entered the kitchen. “How did you know I was here?”

“I felt like I was being watched,” Ouma made a show of tapping the white and fluffy mixture out of the whisk before continuing. “Also, I saw you walk out the dorms earlier. I knew you were the only one out there gallivanting around the campus while everyone’s asleep.”

“I wasn’t gallivanting, I was taking a stroll,” huffed Kiibo. “What are you doing in the kitchen this late at night? Preparing a late night snack?”

“I suppose you can call it that. It’s actually meant to be a surprise, but you ruined it the moment you entered the kitchen. Then again, you can’t exactly read the atmosphere since you’re just a robot. ” the supreme leader moved to pour the white mixture into separate and smaller bowls evenly. “Anyway, since you’re already here, you might as well give me a hand instead of standing around being all useless.”

“You didn’t have to be so rude about it,” Kiibo frowned, but made his way towards the shorter teen regardless of the other teen’s robophobic statement. “…What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Print photos of our classmates.”

“What for?”

Ouma raised his head from his task of mixing purple food coloring in one of the small bowls and rolled his eyes. “Gee, Kiiboy, I wonder what? What could I possibly need our classmate’s ugly mugshots at 2 am, some bowls of thick icing and a bunch of food coloring for?”

Kiibo wanted to call him out for his rude behavior, but that was when he noticed that there was tray of faceless gingerbread men and women on Ouma’s left. “…Oh.”

The supreme leader snorted before covering the purple icing with plastic wrap and moved on to the next bowl. “Good to see that you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“I take offense to that!” Kiibo crossed his arms in indignation. “Anyway…I don’t need to print a photo of you, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Got it.”

Whirrrrrr.

Out comes a clear photo of Chabashira, Yumeno, and Yonaga meditating inside the aikido master’s dojo from the android’s lips. “Here. I thought it would be more efficient to take photos of my memory where more of our classmates would fit in the frame.”

Ouma let out a whistle, “So you really can be useful when you put your mind to it. Good job. Anyway, place it where I can see it so I can mix the colors right.”

Truth be told, the unexpected praise from the trouble making supreme leader took him off guard and made him feel rather conscious of himself. He looked away in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Alright.”

He moved to the other side of the counter and placed the photo right in front of his companion, but not too close to the bowls so as not to dirty it. He started printing more photos while watching Ouma mix more colors into the bowls he had laid out.

“You’re not going to just run out of batteries after printing everything, right?” Ouma lifted his eyes for a moment before going back to mix blue food coloring in the icing.

“Of course not. I have long since optimized my energy efficiency after I–”

“After your batteries died while climbing up the stairs?” Ouma snickered as he was reminded of the day where everyone found the robot passed out by the dormitory staircase while making a ridiculous yet inhumanly possible pose.

“…Yes. That. Let’s never speak of that again,” Kiibo shuddered at the shameful memory. “A-anyway, what I mean is, using my functions will no longer take up too much of my power like before.”

“Great! Then that means you can help me load these piping bags with these suckers,” Ouma grinned as he lifted a bowl of colored icing. “You gotta be quick though, this thing hardens like concrete.”

Kiibo wasn’t really well-versed with cooking or baking, so it took him a while to get a hang of filling the piping bags with icing without getting some on his fingers. He thought the supreme leader would mock him for his clumsiness, but it seems like Ouma was completely focused with the task. It didn’t take them too long to finish, thankfully.

“Gimme your hand.” Ouma beckoned the android with a hand.

“Huh?” Kiibo stared at him in confusion, his ahoge curling into a question mark to reflect his curiosity.

Ouma rolled his eyes before pulling the robot’s hand to his mouth and licked the icing off his fingers.

“I don’t like wasting ingredients.” Was what he said before directing his attention to the tray of gingerbread, not even giving the albino time to process what had happened.

‘W-what was that all about?!’ Kiibo inwardly screamed as he inspected his hand.

“Hey! Earth to Kiiboy, work’s not over!” Ouma easily dragged the android back to the present with his usual demanding tone. “I intend to work you down to your last percent for ruining the surprise.”

“Y-you’re saying that as if I did it on purpose,” Kiibo grumbled. “I didn’t even expect that you would be the one inside the kitchen. I wasn’t aware that you were skilled with baking either.”

“Mmmm… Not really,” Ouma hummed as he passed him a macaroon yellow piping bag. “I’m not good at baking in general. I only learned how to bake gingerbread because of family.”

Aquamarine lenses lit up with interest. “Family?”

“Nope. I’m not going to say anything more until you start decorating,” Ouma stuck out a tongue as he waved a white bag. “That said, you handle the girls, and I handle the guys.”

Kiibo stared down at the piping bag in his hand before nodding. “Fair enough.”

– [I ran from the baker and his wife too. You’ll never catch me, not any of you.] –

Decorating gingerbread men, or in his case, women, was surprisingly fun and fulfilling. With the photos as his guide, it was as if he were giving life to a coloring book. And seeing his classmate’s faces staring up at him with a pleasant smile somehow made him feel warm in its metaphorical sense.

“Mmm, that looks impressive coming from a newbie,” Kiibo met the other teen’s gaze, eyes wide from mild surprise. “Have you seen gingerbread men somewhere before? I thought that since you were a robot, you’d try to copy the photo exactly as you see it.”

“Oh, um…” the albino found himself looking at the tiny Akamatsu on the tray before responding. “Back when I was still in the developing stages–a child, so to speak, the Professor would leave the television on a kids’ channel for me to watch while he worked on his other projects. It just so happened that one of the songs that played for me was the Gingerbread Man.”

“Heeeh, is that so?” Ouma moved to grab a green piping bag. “So you learned things appropriate to your ‘age’ just like a human.”

“Yes. My development was purposefully modeled after a human child’s. Though the only difference is that I was able to walk as soon as I was active,” Kiibo smiled, pleased that he was finally able to have a decent conversation with the other boy. He set the piping bag on the counter since he was already finished with his own batch. “Hey, Ouma-kun.”

“Mmm? What is it?�� the supreme leader still had his eyes on his handiwork, decorating the gingerbread men with utmost precision.

“…About your family…is it okay for me to ask about them?” Kiibo fidgeted, ahoge drooping nervously.

Ouma paused to glance at Kiibo’s tray before heaving out a resigned sigh. “Eh, you did your work. So I don’t see why not. What about them do you want to hear?”

“Umm…I hope I’m not being rude by saying this, but…” Kiibo averted his eyes before continuing. “I’ve actually heard from the others that you were actually orphaned, so…”

The android flinched when the shorter teen suddenly threw an empty piping bag against the counter. But despite this, his voice remained calm when he spoke. “You mean since I’m orphaned, I wouldn’t have a family to speak of right?”

“…Y-yes…” Kiibo found himself staring at the ground, wondering if he’d triggered a mine.

“Technically you’re right. But let me tell you something–family isn’t restricted to blood relations. You should know this by now, since you’re a robot,” Ouma puffed his chest. “Yeah. I'm an orphan. But everyone in the orphanage was my family. Just like how you and your Professor are family too.”

Kiibo’s eyes widened with awe. That’s right. He and Professor Iidabashi…they are family. He’s referred to him as his father from time to time, but called him by his title out of respect. Perhaps…he should start calling him as ‘father’ more frequently.

“…That being said, I really do have a family…now, at least,” Ouma turned his head to flash the android a rare sincere smile. “I got adopted by a baker. Their son–my older brother, I guess, taught me how to bake gingerbread houses and gingerbread men since that was the only thing he knew how to bake well at the time. It was his way of bonding with me I suppose.”

“Oh!” gasped the android. “How are they like? Your family?”

“They’re good people. I like them.” Ouma hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Big brother was kinda annoying though. Whenever it was Christmas, he would annoy me until I finally agreed to bake some gingerbread with him.”

“So it has become some sort of a family tradition,” Kiibo smiled. “…I’m glad that you were taken in by such a loving family, Ouma-kun.”

Ouma looked away in an attempt to hide his blushing face. “S-shut up. I wasn’t joking about big brother being annoying, you know! Always talking about baking and studying abroad to improve his skills…”

“Where is he right now?”

“…France,” Ouma set another piping bag on the counter, gently this time. “Would you believe that? He actually went abroad to study more baking techniques just like he wanted.”

…

….

The supreme leader suddenly grabbed the hem of his apron to hide his tears. “We…we haven’t baked together in a long time. It’s annoying. But I actually missed it. Those annoying days…”

Kiibo hastily searched for the roll of paper towel Ouma had prepared earlier and pulled two sheets from it, which he handed the supreme leader. “Ouma-kun, here…”

The raven-haired Ultimate simply nodded his thanks and dabbed his eyes with the paper towel. Kiibo wasn’t sure how to react in this situation, so all he could do was rub comforting circles on his classmate’s back as he cried. It took a couple of minutes for Ouma’s crying to die down. He left the android’s side in favor of washing his face by the sink in order to hide the evidence of his vulnerability.

“You saw nothing.”

Kiibo nodded. “I didn’t.”

Ouma flashed him an appreciative smile before re-tying his hair. “Anyway, enough of that sappy talk. We still have a house to assemble. Let’s get working!”

As he listened to the leader’s instructions, Kiibo couldn’t help but smile to himself. He’s gotten to understand more about him…their class’s very own gingerbread man.

– [They were all hungry and ready to eat, but the gingerbread man was quick on his feet.] –

“Huh? Isn’t this…me?” Akamatsu regarded the miniature version of herself, which was standing by the gingerbread house. “The attention to detail is amazing…!”

“Ah, Gonta’s here too!” the entomologist cheered.

“Ku ku ku…It seems everyone is here,” Shinguuji chuckled. “Wonderful, truly wonderful!”

When everyone entered the dining hall, they were surprised to find the gingerbread display on the table. They couldn’t help but crowd around it with wonder and amusement as they admired the accuracy of the gingerbread men and women’s designs.

“Did you prepare this, Toujou-san?” Amami turned to look at the maid, who was standing just behind him.

“That’s…”

“Uwaaah! What’s this? Gingerbread?!” Ouma boisterously barged into the room, eyes sparkling with delight. “Toujou-chan made this didn’t she? I don’t think anyone else here can cook besides her!”

Toujou regarded the supreme leader with a neutral look before bowing slightly. “…Yes. Since it is almost Christmas, I believed that preparing gingerbread for everyone would fulfill everyone’s wishes of having an enjoyable Christmas.”

“As expected of the Ultimate Maid! Only she’s capable of pulling this off!” Ouma praised.

His smile widened when Toujou offered him another bow. “It is my pleasure to serve.”

It was probably unhealthy, but they decided to just have gingerbread for breakfast and warm cocoa or milk to go with it. Kiibo, who was unable to eat, found himself staring back at his smaller, more edible version in interest.

“Toujou-chan’s really nice, huh! She even baked you one even though you can’t eat~” Ouma took a bite out of his gingerbread version’s leg as he sat himself beside the lone robot. “Or maybe that’s actually more cruel. Giving you something that’s meant to be eaten, yet you couldn’t eat.”

“I can at least enjoy its scent,” Kiibo huffed. “The smooth blend of spices and sweetness…it’s quite pleasant.”

Ouma shook his head, “Stop. You’re making me feel bad.”

“I didn’t mean to put it that way,” Kiibo rolled his eyes. “Though I would appreciate it if you could explain to me how eating this feels like.”

“Mmm…” Ouma mercilessly bit off his gingerbread counterpart’s head this time with a crunch. “Although it breaks off with a loud crunch, but it’s actually pretty chewy–melts in your mouth too. As soon as you open your mouth, you just get hit with the spices, and the more you chew the sweeter it gets. You can taste the spices but it’s not spicy at all.”

“Thank you for your input.” The android nodded, taking in the information. “Umm… why did you lie about it earlier?”

“Wow, I wasn’t aware that we were playing 20 questions, I’m leaving–”

“Ouma-kun.”

The supreme leader blinked once, twice, before heaving out an exasperated sigh.

“…I ordered Toujou-chan to help me hide the gingerbread dough while I had it cool overnight over the past few days before I was able to bake it last night,” Ouma popped the remaining body parts of his gingerbread self in his mouth. “No one would eat it if they found out I was the one who made it, after all.”

“Oh…”

“Mmhm! Besides, it’s more entertaining this way,” Ouma yawned. “And needless to say, if you dare speak a soul about this, I’ll have you assassinated by my men.”

“There’s no need to go to that extent,” frowned Kiibo. “If you wanted me to keep it as a secret, then all you have to do is ask.” He passed his gingerbread to the sleepy supreme leader to represent the metaphorical olive branch.

“You’re giving me your share?” Ouma regarded the android with amusement. “Not the others, but me?”

“You’re already here anyway. I don’t see the need to go anywhere else,” Kiibo shrugged. “And although I can’t eat this, I still appreciate that you took the time to make one for me.”

“Mmm, is that so?” Ouma nibbled on the cookie’s ahoge. “It’s actually quite rude to return gifts, you know. Well, since you’re a robot, I guess it can’t be helped. There’s one thing you can do to show me how grateful you are, though! I’ll let you guess what it is~” He completely bit off the ahoge, giving the android a mischievous smile.

“O-oh! Yes, you’re right,” Kiibo shifted into a more erect sitting position and gave a small bow, smiling as he said: “Thank you, Ouma-kun.”

– [And that was the end of the Gingerbread Man] –

Rrrrrring! Rrrrrrrrrriiiing!!

Click.

“Kiibo? Did you need something?”

Hearing the Professor’s voice on the line made his metaphorical heart swell with gratitude and adoration.

“F…father,” Kiibo’s grip on the phone tightened, willing his blush to go away lest he gets caught. “I’ve called to greet you a Merry Christmas.” His forehead creased with worry when the line went silent. “Father…?”

“…M-Merry Christmas, son.”

Kiibo stood in a more confident manner and wore a wide smile. He and his father ended up having a long conversation, with Kiibo just sharing his experiences the past few days with his only family. Iidabashi on the other line was resisting the urge to cry as he listened to his son speak with much excitement.

#ndrv3 #kiibouma #kiibo #ouma kokichi #katastrofic writing #katastrofic reply #crybabysapphire #winter kiibouma

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blastron01 · 6 years ago

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Ascendance of a Bookworm – 089

Educating the Cooks

The kitchen was cleaned thoroughly over the course of several days so that it was usable for handling food. While that happened, I had cooking utensils and tableware delivered and had firewood and raw ingredients brought, bit by bit, into the cellar. Also, through Benno, I managed to arrange for cooks to come to my kitchen to work.

Starting from the day I saw the kitchen, I started work at home to cultivate natural yeast. If I'm going to have professional cooks baking for me, then I want to eat fluffy bread.

With Benno's guidance, I went to a store that deals in glassware and bought a container that I could put a lid on, thinking that I could make natural yeast from lutebelles, which are currently in season.

I first sterilized the bottle by boiling it. Then, I washed and roughly cut up several lutebelles, put them in the bottle along with some water and sugar, and sealed them in. Over the next few days, I shook the bottle thoroughly once a day, opening the lid briefly to let outside air in, waiting for the day when I could use it as liquid yeast.

It took about five days to finally finish fermenting, but now that I've filtered it out, I'm left with a liquid that's full of usable yeast. If I mix this together with whole-wheat flour and water and let it rest, I should be able to make a bread starter.

It seems like fluffy bread is rare even in noble houses. At the guild master's house, I had some bread made solely of white flour, but even that wasn't as soft and fluffy as the bread I've been craving. If I properly ferment natural yeasts and can use them to make a truly fluffy bread, I think it'll have a strong appeal. On top of that, if I can keep control of the knowledge of how to ferment natural yeasts and make bread starters, then bread will be the one thing that will be my restaurant's forte, that few people will be able to quickly copy.

Whether or not this will actually go according to plan is another matter, though.

As soon as I let Benno know that the bread starter is finished, he immediately mobilizes the cooks and brings them to my rooms at the temple. He brings two people: a young man, not even twenty years old, and a young girl in her early teens who is clearly his apprentice. If these two can learn the recipes to a reasonable degree, then we'll be able to bring more people in.

"Hugo," says Benno, very politely, "here you will be able to learn recipes used by the nobility. Please do your best to learn them well. ...Madam Maïne, allow me to introduce to you Hugo, a cook from my establishment, and his assistant and apprentice, Ella."

As Benno just introduced his cooks to me, I really would like to introduce myself to them in return, but instead I stay silent, nodding once, and let Fran reply for me. After all, I am a blue-robed priestess, so I need to behave like a noble.

"Hugo and Ella, is it?" he replies. "Now then, I shall lead you to the kitchen immediately."

I've been told that even instructing the cooks should be left to Fran, so he will be reading cooking directions off of wooden boards that I've written recipes on. Gil can't read yet, so I have to entirely entrust Fran with dealing with the cooks.

"The first thing that you must learn is hygienic discipline. Your cookware and utensils must be kept clean and sanitary. This kitchen must be kept in the polished condition that it is now. Before coming here, you must ensure your bodies are clean and your clothes are washed; if you arrive dirty in figure or dress, you will not be allowed into the kitchen. Do you understand thus far?" "Y... yes!"

If we can beat proper hygienic practices into their heads here, then when they're told to do the same things in the Italian restaurant, they won't put up much resistance there.

In the Italian restaurant I'm making, we won't be serving food on hard slices of bread. We won't be dropping unwanted food on the ground, and we won't have a dog running around to eat it up. I've heard that that's unfortunately just the culture around here, but in a high-class restaurant where food fit for the nobility is served, I have no use for such a culture.

What I really want to get these two started on is consommé, but Benno said that he wanted them to be able to finish making something for him to eat in time for lunch, so I'm going to leave making consommé, which takes a considerably long time, for tomorrow. Today, in order to use the oven for the first time, I want to start by making pizza. Or, more accurately, I want to eat pizza.

"Now then," says Fran, "today we will be making pizza. To begin, please light the oven." "Yes, sir."

At Fran's direction, the two cooks retrieve firewood from the cellar and fire up the oven. Since a wood-fired oven takes a fairly long time to heat up, starting the fire has to be the first step. Lighting the oven here isn't much different than anywhere else, so the two of them are able to get it going quickly.

"Before handling the ingredients, please wash your hands."

As Benno and I, seated at the table in the room used for servants, look on, they start working on making the dough for the pizza. Since Fran and I had already gotten all of the ingredients ready and set them out on the counter, it feels like I'm watching a cooking show. Into a bowl of flour, they mix in some of the natural yeast that I'd brought, then some salt, then some sugar, and finally some lukewarm water, before kneading it thoroughly and setting it aside to rise.

Hugo looks up, letting out a heavy sigh. "This takes just as much work as making bread," he says. "It would not be unwise to consider this to be essentially the same sort of thing. Now, after kneading, you must leave it alone for some time to let the dough ferment. In the meantime, we shall make pommé sauce, then chop the ingredients for the pizza and the soup."

They blanch and peel the yellow pommé fruits that we are using in place of tomatoes, cut them down to size, set them to simmer over a low flame, and then start to chop up the vegetables.

"Mister Hugo," says Ella, "I'll handle prepping the liga." "Please do," he replies.

She skillfully wields the large kitchen knife, one that I still can't even hold, and quickly prepares the small white radishes with the garlicky smell. Hugo, as instructed, chops up some bacon, some onion-like lanierres, some carrot-like mellens, and a variety of different kinds of mushrooms. His knife technique is just as fast and precise as you'd expect out of a professional chef. I let out a sigh of admiration.

"Master Benno," I say, "these cooks are even more excellent than I had expected."

The instant I speak, Hugo and Ella turn to look at me, startled. I'd been trying to praise them, but when I see how stiff and frozen they've become, I realize that saying anything had been a mistake.

"Your praise is most gracious, Madam Maïne," says Benno. "...You two, she thinks well of you."

Benno's follow-through thaws the frozen atmosphere. Hugo and Ella both look visibly relieved, and after telling me how gracious my praise is, they return to their chopping, a serious look in their eyes. Benno glares slightly at me, making a gesture to indicate that I should shut my mouth. I nod emphatically.

I'm really sorry. I had no idea that words of praise would cause that kind of reaction.

After they finish chopping the vegetables, Hugo starts preparing the chicken meat next, slicing breast meat into thin strips and soaking them in oil. Ella works on readying some herbs that would taste good with the meat.

"Next, we will be making soup," says Fran.

The recipe I've written down is for a salty vegetable soup that's boiled together with slices of sausage to bring out a rich savoriness. I want to know if thoroughly boiling the vegetables will actually bring out all of their umami.

"Please boil the soup like so. We will not be discarding the broth." "You want us to leave it like that?"

The two cooks look at Fran with dubious expressions on their faces. Despite that, even though they look bothered by it, they still can't go against the instructions of a noble, so they continue cooking with sour expressions on their faces. My mother made the same face as I watched her try my kind of soup-making.

"Ella, please skim the lye from the soup. Hugo, the pommé sauce has boiled down, so please thoroughly mix that liga and some of that oil into it. That will finish up the sauce. Ah, and it seems that this is excellent timing for the dough."

Hugo, given direction after direction, punches down the dough to let out the gas, divides it in half, and starts to stretch it out.

"After spreading the dough into a circle, coat it with pommé sauce, then top it with these ingredients."

As Fran requests, Hugo spreads pommé sauce over the surface of the dough, then tops it with bacon, onions, and mushrooms. On the other piece of the dough, he spreads the sauce, then adds chicken breast, onions, and herbs. Then, he sprinkles a generous amount of cheese over both pizzas, and puts them in the oven.

I notice that Ella has been staring at Hugo as he works, watching with great interest. She's wearing the same expression as Tuuli when she's talking with Corinna about sewing and as Ilse when she's looking at a new recipe. When I see how closely she's watching, full of an aspiration to better her skills, I can't help but cheer her on in my mind.

Since we have some time, I want them to make mayonnaise and use that, since we can't make potato salad, to make kalfe salad, but since this is the first time they've been in this kitchen and are making food they've never made before while a noble is watching them, they're obviously very stressed, so I don't have any choice but to cut that short. I stealthily signal to Fran to cut back on the number of dishes, and he nods slightly at me.

"As the soup has now been thoroughly boiled, please test its flavor in order to adjust its saltiness."

Hugo spoons a small amount of soup into a small dish, then timidly raises it to his mouth. As soon as he takes a sip, he freezes, his eyes flying open wide. It takes him a while to swallow, as if he spent extra time letting the flavors roll around his tongue.

"...What is this?" he murmurs, sampling it again.

And again. As soon as I realize that there's not going to be much soup left if he keeps sampling so enthusiastically, Ella slaps Hugo smartly on the back.

"Mister Hugo, you're eating too much! How's the seasoning?" "Huh?! ...Ah, right."

Hugo frowns sharply, looking between his tasting dish and the pot. I'm guessing that this is the first time tasting anything like this. Figuring out what to add to that flavor must be very difficult.

"Just a little bit. Just the tiniest bit of salt will do."

Trembling with stress, he hesitantly adds a single pinch of salt, stirs it in, then takes another sip.

"Perfect," he says. "Let me try too, please," says Ella.

When I see her pick up another small dish, looking like a dog that's waiting for her dinner, I have to fight back a giggle. If I start cracking up now, I'm going to ruin the mood again.

Hugo spoons a little soup into her dish, and she drinks a mouthful of it. Her face immediately lights up brilliantly.

"Whoa?! What's this?! This is really good! That's the vegetables I'm tasting, right? It's got some sweetness to it, and the taste of the sausage has disappeared into the rest of the soup... I can't believe you can make a soup this good with so little salt!" "Calm down, Ella!"

Hugo tries to restrain Ella as she, speaking very quickly, excitedly describes how delicious the soup is. He glances briefly at me, then back to her, trying to convey a warning with his eyes, but it does not reach Ella at all through her excitement at discovering a new flavor.

"I can't calm down! This is a huge discovery, isn't it?!" "Please, I'm begging you, calm down. You're before nobility." "...Ah..."

All the blood drains from Ella's face as she looks at me. I didn't even say anything this time, but everything's frozen up again. I really just want to say that it's okay to be so excited, and that she should keep trying hard, but what exactly would a noble say at a time like this?

Fran comes near, and I whisper to him. "Could you please tell them that I'm thankful to have cooks with such enthusiasm for their job, and that I'm looking forward to what they'll be cooking for me?" He nods. "Understood. Sister Maïne, Master Benno, your meal is nearly ready. If I may, I would like to ask you to please be seated at the table in the other room."

Fran motions towards the door. As he does so, Gil, who has been standing there, quickly opens it for us. I get down from my chair, trying not to mope over how I'm being kicked out of the kitchen before everything's done, and Benno reaches out as if to provide me an escort.

Since Fran is giving directions, he can't leave the kitchen, so Gil is the one to show us to my room. He closes the kitchen door behind us, following closely behind me. I try not to smile when I see the triumphant expression he's wearing, as if he's trying to say "look at me, I'm doing my job."

Just like I had asked, the table in my room has been set with a vase full of flowers, place mats, and cutlery, as well as a pitcher of juice to quench our thirst. All of this was put together by Gil while the rest of us were busy in the kitchen, observing the cooks as they worked.

"Thank you, Gil," I say.

Grinning, he gets down on one knee. Over the past few days, we've developed something of an unspoken agreement that, when it's time for praise, he takes this stance. "You did a great job," I say, patting his head. "Thanks for your hard work." He smiles widely back at me.

Yesterday, he used rinsham on his hair so he could look presentable for the cooks that were coming in from outside the temple today, so his hair is silky smooth. It really does feel good to the touch.

I reach the table, take a drink, and let out a tired sigh. As a powerful awareness of my own heritage sets in, I slump my shoulders exhaustedly.

"Being a rich girl is exhausting. I want to talk with them! I just really want to help them cook..." "Give it up," says Benno. "To those two, they're in a noble kitchen, cooking noble food, in an environment full of nobles. Everything they're doing is to study. And while they're here to practice cooking, you're here to practice how to carry yourself like a noble. Don't let your guard down when you're in the temple, idiot." "Urgh... I'll do my best."

I take a deep breath, straightening up in my chair. At about the time I put some energy back into my rich girl act, I hear the kitchen door open from downstairs. As Fran brings our food upstairs, Gil quickly moves to stand by the wall.

"Fran," I say, "for dessert, I believe I would like a lutebelle." "Of course, Sister," he replies.

The sugar in the kitchen here is sugar that I had to bring from my own stash at home. Benno hasn't managed to acquire any yet. Until he manages to secure a route through which he can get a supply, our pastry is being held back. Unlike during the winter, right now fruits are sufficiently delicious to serve as dessert, but I very much hope that we can procure sugar by the time the restaurant is ready.

Fran sets the two types of pizza and bowls of soup down on the table. The pizza looks like it may have been baked for just a little too long. There are a few burn marks on the crust, and the steam gently rising off of each pizza carries with it the faint smell of burnt cheese. The faint sound of the bacon still crackling reaches my ears, and I can see the oil glistening on the surface of the chicken. Both of the pizzas look like they'd be delicious. The smell of the cheese is enrapturing. Benno, sitting across from me, looks with great anticipation at the pizzas, his eyes glimmering.

"To the supreme gods who rule over all in the high, lofty skies, to the great gods who rule over all in the wide, vast earth, to all the gods who grant sustenance to the thousands upon tens of thousands of lives of creation, we offer this heartfelt prayer of thanks for this meal."

I recite the blessing that I've spent the past few days memorizing, then just Benno and I begin to eat. The other two people in the room can't eat until they are granted food as the gods' blessings. Even though I want to eat with them, and even if the concept of granting someone food isn't really something I'm comfortable with, this is what it means to be a blue-robed priestess, and I can't work against that.

With Fran by my side, serving as my waiter, I eat my soup. The savoriness of the meat and the sweetness of the vegetables are tied together by a faint saltiness to form a gentle flavor that matches the soup I make at home. I'd personally prefer if it were a little bit saltier, but that's something I can hope for next time.

"...This is pretty tasty," says Benno. "The flavor of the vegetables has truly been highlighted, has it not?" I say. "Even Ilse expressed much curiosity about this." "Hmm? Is it truly so rare a thing?"

When I obliquely hint that this soup isn't something found in noble recipes, he responds like he understands, staring fixedly at the soup.

"This is pizza. Please think of it as something like a bread."

I pick up a slice of pizza, using a fork to cut off the thick, goopy strands of cheese that come along with it, and then try a bite. Benno matches me, taking a slice of the bacon pizza, and has a bite as well.

"Does it suit your tastes?" I ask. "...This tastes even better than what I was expecting."

I take another slice for myself, and Benno slides two onto his plate. Then, I look up at Fran.

"Fran, I give you the gods' blessings. Please, take your leave until it is time for dessert." "I am truly thankful," he says.

If I say things like that, then the cooks and my attendants will be able to eat while it's still warm. Fran and Gil pick up the leftover food, heading downstairs, and after a moment I hear the sound of a door closing. A moment later, Ella squeals in delight, her voice echoing up the stairs. It seems like they started sampling everything right away. I can hear the faint sound of a fun, lively conversation happening downstairs.

While the others are busy being enthusiastic about their cooking, now is the perfect time for a private conversation.

"Mister Benno," I say around a mouthful of pizza, "do you think this pizza and this soup will sell?" Benno nods, swallowing. "It will. This is the first time I'm having it, but it's delicious. ...I feel like this pizza is more tender than the bread I ate when I dined with nobles, though." "It's thanks to my wonderful little yeasts," I reply. "What do you mean by that?" "It's something that means that other shops can't get ahead of us on this. ...Like, even if the cooks that we've trained get hired away by someone else, this is a secret that will make sure we're still on top of the market."

This Italian restaurant is going to be something I'm going to be able to get some money out of. If it isn't profitable, then I'm going to be in some trouble.

"Since the soup only really brings out the flavor of the vegetables, if someone really wanted to copy it, I think it wouldn't be hard for them to do so. Once they start copying us, then we're going to fight by having a variety of different flavors of soup." "Huh... We don't have many cooks, though. How's that going to work?" "If we offer courses whose flavors match the season, then even if we don't have very many cooks, I think we should still be okay."

When I answer, Benno groans, scratching roughly at his head.

"...Man, I feel like an idiot for worrying about things all by myself. Using you to solve some of my mountain of problems would really clear things up." "What problems are you having?" "Let's not talk about it here. Stop by my shop."

The two of us finish eating, and I ring the bell that's been left on the table for us. Shortly thereafter, Fran and Gil come up the stairs bearing our desserts. They tidy up our used tableware, then set our dessert plates in front of us.

"Fran," I say, "did you find the taste to be satisfactory?"

Out of all of us, the person who understands noble cuisine the most is Fran. All I'm doing is making the food that I want to eat, so it's still going to be different from actual noble cooking.

"...It was very delicious," he replies. "It was not traditional cuisine, but I believe that the flavor is such that any noble who has an interest in novel foods would find it appealing." "I see," I reply, nodding. "The cooks have taken a profound interest in this as well, and have expressed a burning desire to try again after reviewing what they have made so far, so I believe that they will continue to work hard from tomorrow on."

I'm very happy to hear that everything is coming along nicely. On the other hand, though, I suddenly feel like I've forgotten something important.

"Does something seem to be the matter, Sister Maïne?" asks Fran. "...I think that there may be something that I am forgetting about. Fran, might you have any ideas?" "Something... you're forgetting about?" "Yes, something about the temple. I can't quite put my finger on it..."

As Benno eats his dessert, and Fran and I contemplate, a huge crash sounds from downstairs as the front door is flung violently open.

"Everything is all your fault!!"

Ah! I remember. I forgot about Delia.

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#honzuki #honzuki no gekokujou

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visceralcoma · 5 years ago

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MEA CULPA, Chapter 1

Relationships: OC/Felix Alexius, OC/Clemence

Story Summary: The first time Paloma felt like she might make a difference, was purely an accident. In all her years on Thedas, it took accidentally steeping the wrong flowers into a tea for her to feel like her life here had meaning or worth, or that she remotely had any power to change anything of what she knew to come.

Chapter Summary: When the Grand Enchanter began negotiations with Magister Alexius, it resulted in the Arl and their servants being run out of the castle. Leaving the running of the castle to the apprentices, tranquil, and Tevinter slaves. Apprentice Paloma and Tranquil Clemence happen to be tasked with running the kitchens when Paloma has to cover for her an ornery mage in delivering breakfast to one Tevinter mage suffering blight sickness.

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When the servants of Redcliffe castle refused to serve the Tevinter Magisters that had all but invaded in their attempt to “talk” with the rebel mages, they were dismissed as quickly as Arl Teagan and Arlessa Kaitlyn had been kicked out as well.

Grand Enchanter Fiona was subsequently too quick to offer the tranquil and apprentices in their place for the remainder of the Tevinters’ stay. Anything to appease their would be allies.

The problem, however, was very few mages had experience on such domestic tasks, as the Circle made them reliant on tranquil and the Templars. Those that did were few and far between. A fact they learned when the mages retreated to Andoral’s Reach, many mages had to take up the task of domestic duties. There were few who had the forethought to grab recipe books from the archives, a few who remembered their youth in their family homes, and those who had lived as apostates. There were the tranquil that came with them of course, but hunting was a necessity in order to supply meat and well…that’s where the apprentices came in.

Nonetheless, mages and tranquil were now tending to Redcliffe castle.

Paloma just so happened to be one of those assigned to kitchen duties. As an apprentice a few years off from her Harrowing when the rebellion began, she had little practical purpose beyond preparing herbs and rote memorization.

“You are awake early.” Clemence greeted as he walked into the kitchens. Clemence had been her mentor on alchemical procedures in the circle. The Tranquil were often used to guide the young apprentices.

The smell of freshly baked bread and a morning stew so the Tevinter guests could break their fast had wafted into the main hall.

“More like I haven’t slept.” Paloma sighed as she kneaded the last batch of dough. She huffed a stray lock of hair from her face, not wanting to stop what she was doing to tuck it back. It persisted to hang in her face.

Clemence came around to her side, expression muted and neutral as ever. He reached and tucked the lock back. His fingers lingering over the curve of her ears, tracing the scarred flesh where he once remembered they were pointed.

“Thanks.” Paloma smiled brightly at him. His face showed nothing, no response, but Paloma didn’t need a physical reaction to know the nod was his form of acknowledgement.

“What kept you from your slumber?” Clemence asked. “Was it the new tincture draft?”

“You read my mind.” Paloma aggrieved as she tucked the dough ball neatly before quartering it, tucking them until they were smooth balls, and setting them into their own bowls for rest with a towel over them. “I think my dried arias are losing their efficacy. The tainted mice didn’t respond as well as the last batch. Plus I need to collect more Andraste’s Grace, but with the kitchen duties…” Paloma tossed the dough on the counter roughly.

“And the increasing level of mage and templar skirmishes.” Clemence reminded.

“Yeah. A lil difficult to head to the Kocari wilds, not to mention the darkspawn alone. You think they all would have fled back underground with the Breach.” Paloma wiped her brow with her forearm. The stray lock coming loose again.

“It would be negligible to allow you to venture that far south with the increase in darkspawn raids.” Clemence taste-tested the stew and added a pinch of salt and a few more herbs and spices. He stirred once and tasted a sip.

“Hey, that’s going to be a bit too strong.” Paloma came around to stop him.

“Tevinter cuisine preferences are heavily reliant on spiced sauces and stews.” Clemence informed.

“Really?” Paloma came to a pause beside him. “Can I try?”

“If you wish.” Clemence intended on grabbing a second spoon to allow her to taste, but she grabbed the one he had sipped from. He blinked in surprise. “Ah.”

“Ooh.” She moaned. “That’s got some heat! A much better addition.”

“Is it?” Clemence looked down at the vegetable stew.

“Yes! It’ll go perfectly with the rice.” She praised.

Clemence was unused to receiving praise. The Templars only cared for when his potions and cooking was done. A tickle in the back of his mind had him wishing he could smile in return, even if he did not feel the same excitement. But alas, the Rite prevented that.

The kitchen door opened with a disgruntled grunt from Linnea as the milk buckets sloshed and barely remained upright as she slammed them down. “Next time, you’re collecting the ram milk.” Linnea hissed at Paloma.

“Hey, you drew the short stick.” Paloma tutted as she grabbed the buckets to fill the milk churns. One for the larder and one for butter.

“I wasn’t joking.” Linnea growled as her hand lit with flame. “I’m not getting near that thing again.”

Paloma shared a disbelieving look with Clemence.

“Perhaps I should inform our Tevinter guests of your unwillingness to cooperate as a cohesive kitchen unit?” Clemence didn’t blink, merely continued to stir the stew with his monotone voice even. It wasn’t a threat if you heard it in passing, but Paloma knew it to be a threat. There was no tone or inflection, but the words were clear enough to her. And thankfully to Linnea.

“Tell your Tranquil pet to be quiet.” Linnea barked and left the kitchen.

“Hey! He’s not my pet! And you’re supposed to be bringing up the young master’s tea!” Paloma called out the door into the hall, yet Linnea turned a corner down the stairs. “Shoot.” She eyed the tray she had prepared for it. She still had another batch of dough to prepare.

“I will deliver the tea.” Clemence stated. “You have much to do and you arrived before us.”

“No you don’t. The last time you showed yourself in the great hall, they took great offence. I can’t imagine if you did in Magister Alexius’s private quarters.” Paloma tutted and pushed Clemence back to the hearth. “Just begin preparing the servings. I’ll be quick.”

“If you insist.” Clemence stepped to the iron stove where a cauldron had been sat filled with freshly cooked rice. He carried it closer to the hearth and besides a stack of wooden bowls. With a wooden spoon he quickly filled each bowl. Half with rice. Half with stew. It was packed and set on the serving carts.

Paloma on the other hand was opening a jar with a dried tea powder concoction. She measured out according to a tacked up piece of parchment, exactly three scoops into a parchment pouch and tied it off before adding it to a kettle. As it boiled, she sprinkled in lyrium dust and stirred. It took five minutes to prepare, then she let it simmer for ten before serving it into an enchanted teapot to keep it warm. She set it on a special tray, where Clemence also placed a bowl of rice and stew, freshly baked bread roll, a cluster of grapes, sugar cubes, and lemon slices.

Paloma eyed the grapes, plucking the withering and wilting ones, before nodding. Utensils and linen napkin set on, it was ready to deliver.

“I’ll be back down.” Paloma pushed the door to the stairs open with her hip.

“I await your return.” Clemence watched her go. He stared at where she’d been kneading dough long after she had left. If the efficacy of her arias were waning, it would do well to jar them for preservation, much like they did the berries and fruits.

“Clemence.” Lysas knocked as he entered the kitchen, beside him was another elven mage who was slight and young. “I bring you Banon. He will be assisting you in the kitchens. He has only just arrived. Grand Enchanter Fiona requests he be given simple tasks for now until we can place him in the library.”

Banon stepped in after Lysas. Clemence took one look at him, and then down to his hands. Soft skin, ink under his fingernails, and paper cuts.

Where was a mage still performing archival duties as to have ink under his nails? He squinted but nodded.

“You can assist with the fruit preparation.” Clemence nodded and directed Banon to the precision knives.

“Fruit preparation?” Banon asked with a frown.

“The Tevinters prefer the fruits are presented for breakfast as such.” He pointed to the image Paloma had drawn. A cornucopia of grapes, assorted imported bananas, mangos, and berries.

“How queer, so much effort when you can just grab the fruit from a pile.” Banon huffed.

“They are particular in their aesthetic appeal of their foods at banquets and in personal.” Lysas smirked. “Some would say they are worse than Orlesians.”

Banon shivered. “No one can beat the Orlesians in that respect.”

“You will be surprised.” Clemence droned.

“I leave you in his care, Clemence?” Lysas’s gaze flicked toward Banon’s hands with meaning.

“Of course. Be sure to wash your hands thoroughly, including under your fingernails before handling the fruits.” Clemence stared long at Banon.

Banon looked down at his hands.

“You don’t really expect me to take orders from a Tranquil?” Banon spoke up.

“I expect you to aid where you can in these trying times while the Grand Enchanter negotiates with the Tevinters on our behalf.” Lysas leveled him with a stern look, daring Banon to talk back.

“Hmph.” Banon frowned before moving to the sink where he cleaned.

“Besides, Clemence gives no orders.” Lysas smiled softly.

Clemence pulled the other needed fruits from the larder.

“Oh…” Banon looked between them. “Well good.”

“I only remind of that which needs to be done. Be it by you, me, or the others.” Clemence expressed. “It matters little on who performs it, only that it is done.”

Banon wiped his hands dry. “Right…”

“Here are the fruits. Please prepare. The breaking fast banquet will begin soon.” Clemence set the fruits down and returned back to plating the rice and stew, with bread set.

They lulled into silence as they worked. Clemence noted Lysas’s continued presence. He was looking around the kitchen and then down the hall.

“Is there anything else, Enchanter Lysas?” Clemence questioned.

“Where is Linnea?” Lysas frowned.

“Linnea left in a fit of rage after having had to milk the rams this morning.”

Lysas looked down the hall. “And where is Paloma?”

“She has gone to deliver the young master’s tea.”

Lysas frowned, his body rigid as he quickly paled. “Oh dear.”

Paloma ascended the steps carefully, slowing when needed. She reached the third floor of the castle and walked down the hallway. She didn’t know exactly which room only that it was the one opposite the library in the royal wing. Paloma adjusted her grip on the tray as she passed a Tevinter slave standing guard. She wore little save for the spiked collar around her neck, some cloth underneath that leading down to her chest in a criss-crossed fashion, a belt and long loincloth, leather gloves, and her shoes. Her sun darkened torso and thighs entirely on display. She stared ahead without a helmet to hide her face.

“Um…” Paloma tried not to stare as she passed. They slaves were not allowed to speak to the mages, so she knew not to ask them. But that didn’t mean the slaves didn’t stare. “I need to find the library.” She squeezed out around a held breath.

The slave stared long at her. Paloma considered just opening each door, until the slave turned her head and stared at a door three down from where they were.

“Th-thank you.” Paloma smiled and plucked a few grapes from the tray and held them out to the slave. As soon as the slave grabbed them, Paloma was quick to keep moving. Else the slave end up in trouble.

She found the door and peeked inside to confirm it was the library. Lifting the tray again, she went to the other door, feeling that slave’s gaze hard on her as she knocked. It was quiet, until she heard a faint invitation to come in.

Paloma pushed the door open and walked into the dark stale smelling room. The only light being from the hearth and a bedside candle. She didn’t dare look, instead wishing to drop the tray off at the table and retreat, but a cough had her looking toward the bed, toward Felix.

He was a lot paler than she recalled.

He let out a wheezing cough as he caught her gaze with his incredulous one. “You’re new.”

“Oh- I…” Paloma wanted to apologize but the young man devolved into a coughing fit as he tried to climb out of the bed. He gripped a bedpost to steady himself.

Quickly she poured his tea and crossed the room to his side. “Please sit, drink your medicinal tea.” She gently guided him back into bed.

“You shouldn’t come close.” He wheezed as she set the blankets over his lap.

“Why?” Paloma already knew why that was. “Are you sick?”

He gave an amused huff. “Yes, very much so.”

“Oh dear.” Paloma deadpanned, looking from his pallid complexion, reddened nose, and bloodshot eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Felix’s grin was wide as he laughed, which turned into coughs as he clutched his chest.

“Drink your tea.” Paloma tutted as she helped raise the cup to his lips. His grimace told tale of how awful the taste was, but he drank it all. “Yes, I’m sure it’s quite bitter.”

“But its taste is a marked improvement from the powders.” Felix sighed as he settled back on the bed. “I find I can’t quite stomach to swallow them without liquid.” He muttered. “The tea’s texture is much more preferable.”

“You should consider having the powders pressed into capsules.” Paloma suggested as she stepped back finally. “Are you wishing to break your fast in bed or the table?”

“Bed please.” He spoke automatically but was caught on one word.

Paloma grabbed the tray. Her fingers working quick to pull the legs out to prop it up on the bed.

“Capsules?” Felix squinted.

“Pardon?”

“What are capsules?” Felix questioned again.

“Oh.” Paloma froze. Had she mentioned something they didn’t have yet? “Ah… using the uh powders, if you press them tightly with binding agents, they’re much easier to swallow whole instead of ingesting powders.”

“Huh.” Felix squinted. “I don’t believe my father has tried that yet.”

“Well I certainly hope he may. Will that be all for this morning.” Paloma wanted to return to the kitchen quickly.

“No. Uh…” Felix looked at her and then smiled. “I must say you are certainly a sight better than the last serving girl.”

“Linnea does take some getting used to.”

“She was rather brusque.” Felix mused. Silence lapsed between them.

Paloma looked toward the door. She had so many more duties and things to bake for supper and then evening meal. And she desperately wanted to discuss with Clemence alternative methods of prolonging the efficacy of her herbs. “If that is all?”

“I don’t believe I caught your name.” Felix asked at the same time.

“Pardon my manners, sir! I am Paloma Belpre.” Paloma gave an overly formal bow with a playful smirk. Felix chuckled at her antics.

“I am Felix Alexiu-” He introduced himself but stopped when Paloma’s smile grew wider. “And you already knew that.”

“Almost all the rebel mages are aware of who you are and…” She trailed off and winced.

“Ah I take it my condition has been the subject of gossip?”

“Well...I don’t wish to get anyone in trouble, but...the walls have quite a lot of ears.” Paloma didn’t want to get anyone in trouble just because she knew many facts of things to come and things that are.

“And they whisper quite readily.” Felix sighed and eyed the tray of food. “Thank you for the morning meal, and my tea.”

“It was no trouble, sir.” She nodded, gave a quick bow and left.

Paloma walked down the hall quickly only to see Lysas coming down the other way hurriedly.

“Thank the Maker, there you are.” Lysas huffed as he jogged to her and checked her over.

“What’s the issue? Is something wrong?” Paloma asked.

“No...I…” He paused and looked at the female slave watching them. “I just need to make sure you return back to your kitchen duties.”

“Oh. Of course.” Paloma eyed him. His shoulders tense and his skin paler than normal. They walked down the stairs and back toward the kitchens. “Care to explain?” She asked once they were within eyesight of the kitchen.

“While the Grand Enchanter negotiates our potential alliance with Magister Alexius, she has urged that no apprentice, especially an elven one, be left alone with any Tevinter magister.” He spoke lowly.

Paloma stilled. “I am not an elf.” She stated simply. “But I do see the danger in apprentices being alone with any magister.”

Lysas bit his tongue, not wishing to correct her initial reaction. He was well away of her self-disfigurement. But it was neither the time or place to handle that. “Thank you. I will speak to Linnea on her abandonment of her duties. In the meantime I will have Keili assigned to the kitchens with you.”

“Keili?”

#dragon age fanfiction #modern character in thedas #modern girl in thedas #felix alexius #clemence the tranquil

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eknowledgetree2015 · 5 years ago

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12 Of The Coolest Kitchen Gadgets Needed for Your New Kitchen

Description: Read throughout this post to find out the top gadgets that you must have in your new kitchen. Plus, you’ll find out the importance of having these kitchen gadgets in the kitchen, or if you want to be a master one in cooking. Continue reading below and learn more! For those who plan to move, or have already moved to a new house, one of the best areas you might be too excited about in the kitchen. In fact, you might have a lot of plans on what to do in your new kitchen and that includes the basic, essential kitchen tools or gadgets. Well, in this post, you’ll get to know some of these best kitchen gadgets that you should have in your new kitchen. Having the most essential tools or even the small kitchen gadgets for cooking in the said area would make your life a lot easier. And take note that the most basic tools are what you need to begin cooking those delicious meals for the family. So, what are the latest kitchen gadgets you must have?

Food Processor

Definitely, this one is the first absolute kitchen gadget that you must have in the kitchen. It should come along with switchable blades or disks. Using a food processor, you could shred block cheese or you can slice stick pepperoni. Plus, this gadget could allow you to make peanut butter, mayonnaise, or even whipped cream. Use this as well to slice or chop any number of veggies faster and easier. Food processors are known to be among the coolest kitchen gadgets for many essential things that you need to do in the kitchen. They are as well easy to clean and also these would save you loads of time. As you start using the food processor, you’ll discover more uses of it for saving your time in cooking.

Rice Cooker

And this is another must-have item in the kitchen! Rice is indeed a staple of cook’s pantry and is usually used often. Rice cooker is the best and also the most energy-efficient way in order to cook rice whether brown or white to absolute perfection. Imagine those times wherein your rice has boiled over or rice has been burned because it has been cooked for too long. Or the rice dried out having lesser liquid or it took up valued burner space making you wait to cook another part of the meal. Well, all these obstacles will never be experienced if you have a rice cooker. Plus, this gadget comes with precise measurements that are plainly marked on its cooking vessel, so you wouldn’t have to guess at all. Rice cookers can also be used to make oatmeal and you’ll be amazed that there’s more you can do with these electric kitchen gadgets.

Slow Cooker

Of course, you must also have a slow cooker or referred to as the crockpot. You can definitely save energy by using this and also this is a great item used for leftover vegetables and meats. Most crockpot dishes like soups to beans could offer many meals. Crockpot cooking could also easily fit into a busy schedule of the family, wherein different family members might eat at different times too. With the use of such a simple cooking method, each could eat a hot meal without having to put in the effort of cooking many times.

Blender

This gadget doesn’t need to be expensive. You can find cheap yet efficient ones out there. It would provide a multitude of uses like making smoothies as well as blended cocktails and even making sorbet from frozen juice and fruits. Blenders are indeed great help to save your time in the kitchen, as well as it is a fun way to make variety in the menu experience every single day. So, these seem to be among the fun kitchen gadgets that you definitely must-have.

Juicer

Juicer is also a must-have item in the kitchen, as it is not just great for squeezing lime, orange, and lemon juice once needed for a recipe, but it could also juice vegetables. Using a juicer could save you muscle and lets you extract the most juice as possible. It also allows you to extract juice coming from plants. Besides, you don’t need to worry about the pulp or the seeds.

Stainless Steel Grater (Four-Sided)

Having a good grater will not just save your time to quickly grate cheese, but it could also be handy in grating almost all kinds of vegetables like potatoes, radishes, carrots and more. A grating is a lot faster than chopping with the use of a kitchen knife.

Rubber Spatulas

You will save more time and money in the kitchen if you will have a good set of rubber spatulas in at least three sizes. Food will not be wasted if using the last of the mayonnaise, or if you are pouring batter from the baking mix. Also, rubber spatulas are among the amazing kitchen gadgets once spreading condiments on toasted sandwiches or bread. Compared to butter knives, they spread so much more nicely and could do the job in a fell swoop.

Colander

This is also an efficient and fast tool if you are to drain vegetables or pasta and even your sliced potatoes for your homemade French fries. With this kitchen gadget, you can avoid holding the cover and pouring the water which might also lead to burning yourself badly. It might take some time to deal with an injury or burn, so better use a colander instead.

Non-stick Frying Pan

Indeed, every household would need a non-stick frying pan, especially for breakfast duty because pancakes and eggs are made best on this kitchen tool. This one is also a versatile and one of the quirky kitchen gadgets which can be used for sautéing vegetables, searing meats, and making sauces. It is recommended to buy a two-piece set for you to have two sizes around and you could also cook two things simultaneously.

Knives

Once you are cooking, you would be using a knife of course. Getting a chef’s knife is best if you have money and space for one knife. You will surely use this kind of knife for almost 90% of food preparation, so better buy a nice one and take good care of your kitchen knife. Also, it is recommended that you get a paring and a serrated knife since they serve different purposes. Parking knives are for more delicate and smaller jobs, and serrated knives are for slicing tomatoes and bread easily. You can also look for kitchen gadgets for men that suit best their preferences.

Cutting Boards

And to go along with your new and sharp knives, there is a need for you to have a cutting board. These boards come in almost sizes, shapes, and varieties. These are among the unique kitchen gadgets that many shouldn’t ignore as they help a lot in preparing food meals.

Food Storage Containers

These airtight food storage containers would save both your money and time since you could neatly store your pasta, rice, snacks, rice baking ingredients, and more. You can even organize your meal mixes and spice packets. Having such storage containers would help you find what you need in the pantry easily and they would keep the ingredients fresh.

Conclusion

There you have it – dozens of important kitchen gadgets that you must have for hassle-free life in the kitchen. Taking advantage of these latest kitchen gadgets and items would not just save your time, but your money as well. Indeed, you will find both cooking and clean-up time to be greatly reduced. These useful kitchen gadgets will surely make you master in your own kitchen! Author’s bio: Rich has unquestionable when it comes to both expertise and experience in writing great articles to help readers learn insights about the latest kitchen gadgets needed in one’s kitchen. He is known to be a reputable and credible one who is passionate and smart enough to address the need for knowledge of his readers. Read the full article

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policecarrot77-blog · 5 years ago

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Reflections From A Trip Through A Canadian Culinary Paradise

Maybe it’s the water unfurled below it, a glassy lake that compounds the cerulean atmosphere to even bluer depths with its shimmering surface. Maybe it’s how the gently sloping mountains frame its edges. Either way, you’ve never seen sky like that, sky that goes on and on in an uninterrupted expanse of blue.

The city of Kelowna lies just over the U.S.-Canadian border, perched in the heart of British Columbia’s famed Okanagan Valley, where lush vineyards roll for miles and the churn of orchards mark the seasons. Chef Ravi Kapur has come to bear witness to this hidden culinary gem of the North, to taste through the streets of the city where farm-to-table is less of a choice and more a basic facet of life.

Back home in San Francisco, he’s known for his precise and free-wheeling palate at beloved Hawaiian outpost Liholiho Yacht Club, with its homemade spam and tuna poke and elegantly cheeky pineapple Baked Alaska. He and his team hone in on funky and refined wines from all over the world to highlight the food of his heritage, from pét-nat to orange wine. It’s a playful lens on the unlimited possibilities between the glass and plate, something that has come to define Kelowna’s own culinary scene, entwined as it is with the terroir that informs their wines.

Here, Kapur is a stranger. A culinary clean slate.

A STROLL THROUGH DOWNTOWN KELOWNA.

A few days into his stay, he meanders through the crowd of Chef Meets BC Grape, a gathering of 150 wineries from across the region. He meets Canada’s youngest Master of Wine, Rhys Pender, who explains that wine-wise, the Okanagan is a bit like covering a big chunk of France—that people are just beginning to scratch the surface of the exciting things the Valley can do. The varietals, the microclimates, all laying the groundwork for greatness. Christa-Lee McWatters Bond, Director of Sales & Marketing for TIME Winery, Evolve Cellars & McWatters Collection, points out that most people don’t even realize BC produces wine. It isn’t sold elsewhere, she says. You have to come to it.

That exclusivity makes the food scene something of an infinite loop; a pristine sustainable system that bigger cities can only dream of. Farmers live next door to their customers; the wine on the table comes from a patch of vines you passed on your way in.

DINNER AT DUSK, QUAILS’ GATE WINERY.

“Our wine list is 100% local. Our food is hyper-local,” says Rod Butters, the prolific chef and co-owner behind local spots RauDZ Regional Table, Micro Bar and Bites, Terrafina, and Sunny’s. Butters is what you might call a legacy player in town, and he reminds Kapur a bit of the dreamers who built the Bay Area plate by plate. “When I moved here, there weren’t really restaurants or accommodations to partner with the world-class wine being produced,” Butters says. “You need to have that connection.

“The landscape reminds me of Italy,” he adds. “The sunshine, the light on the mountains and the hillsides, the amazing lake… I felt very alone here when I came 17 years ago, but there are so many chefs here now. So many talented people.”

A STOP AT SUNNY’S WITH CHEF ROD BUTTERS.

Kapur soon joins one of those talents, Aman Dosanj of pop-up dinner series The Paisley Notebook, on the trails of Knox Mountain on the edge of the city. Fields of vibrant wildflowers slope down towards the lake, while dark evergreens lean towards the peak. It’s marigold yellow and olive green and rusty red dirt all around.

“The landscape is so edible,” she says, loose wisps of hair framing her face in the breeze. “When you’re a cook you’re working with the seasons, yes, but you take it for granted. I love wine because it’s a reflection of the previous season.”

AMAN DOSANJ AND KAPUR TAKE IN THE VIEW FROM KNOX MOUNTAIN.

Kapur thinks about the ocean in San Francisco; how one day it’s mammoth and crucial and salts the air, and the next it’s as if it’s not there at all. Where, oddly, nature’s very existence is determined by your schedule, not the other way around. In Kelowna, life revolves around those transitions. The food grants you the immediacy of the moment, and the wine provides hindsight.

The closest thing to a local keeper of those seasons is Jennay Oliver, the fourth-generation owner of Paynter’s Fruit Market. Everyone in town knows Paynter’s, and so everyone knows her. They can see her family’s touch in the peaches, in the melons warmed by the sun, in the thousands of tomato plants she babies each spring.

JENNAY OLIVER AND HER ORCHARDS.

In the early 1920s, Oliver’s pioneering great-grandfather took dynamite west into the mountains in search of water. The resulting flow powered the family farm, and then in 1951, a fruit stand. In the 80s, her mother took over with her aunts and uncles, and ten years ago, Jennay took her place in the line.

“When you grow up on a farm, it’s always in your blood. It’s pretty hard to get away from it,” she says. “We have so much support from our neighbors. It’s really neat when you’ve got chefs that do these long table dinners and all the producers are right there. There’s the winemaker, the meat producers, and the egg producers…pretty much everything you need to be kind of self-sustainable is here. It’s pretty amazing.”

That enthusiasm is no small thing. Access to beautiful product is one thing, demand for it is another.

A STOP AT OKANAGAN LAVENDER & HERB FARM.

“People are finally finding out that this is an amazing place to live. Our community has grown so much in the last 20 years,” Oliver says. “You can go hiking for hours and not see anybody, or you can just go to downtown Kelowna and be right in the heart of our city. It’s really good for us as humans just to go out and get some fresh air, to be more connected to our food sources, to get our hands dirty.”

She laughs a little devilishly. “So maybe don’t tell everybody!”

A few weeks after his return, Kapur has yet to shake that sky, all that refracting clear blue. “The hardest thing to forget is the water,” he says. “You cross that bridge from West Kelowna to Kelowna…I still think about it every day. It’s wild.”

This post first appeared on Chefsfeed.

Source: http://www.foodrepublic.com/2018/08/23/reflections-trip-canadian-culinary-paradise/

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mydelightfuldonut · 5 years ago

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How Ukrainians celebrate Christmas

You might wonder after reading the name of this post: Why is she writing about Christmas? It's over. Done. Wait till next year! Well... it's not over yet if you live in Ukraine. Surprise! In Ukraine Christmas is celebrated after New Year, on the 6th of January we have Christmas Eve and a very special Christmas dinner. On the 7th of January, we say to each other instead of regular "hello" or "good morning/afternoon" "Jesus was born", and a traditional answer is "Glory to him!". But let me start from the very beginning. I bet you would like to know why Ukrainians celebrate Christmas after New Year and I am sure that some of you will wonder whether it's "real Christmas". So the roots of celebration on the 6th of January go back to the times of the Roman Empire and Julian calendar. Sounds cool, right? But the question is "what is this Julian calendar about?" That was a calendar proposed by Julius Caesar and obviously called after him, and was used in the Roman world, most of Europe and by European settlers in the Americas. In the 16th century, it was replaced by the Gregorian calendar (here you can read more about it https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregorian_calendar) that was more accurate and reflected more precisely the Earth's rotation around the Sun. However, in some parts of the Eastern Orthodox Church and in the parts of Oriental Orthodoxy the Julian calendar is still used which creates this 13-day difference in celebration of Christmas on the 24th of December by the most part of the world and the 6th of January in Ukraine. So that's the first big difference - the calendar, though I have to mention that due to our current President, Mr Poroshenko we got closer to the rest of the world since last year he signed a document that acknowledges the 25th of December as a Christmas day. Of course, a lot of families will continue celebrating Christmas on the 6th of January including mine since changes like that don't happen quickly. The big difference number 2. We do not exchange presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. "Poor Ukrainian children", you might think. No worries! Ukrainian children get plenty of presents (if they behaved) on St. Nicholas Day which we have on the 19th of December (unfortunately again according to that outdated Julian calendar). During the times of soviet union, we used to exchange presents on the New Year's Eve. Well, it was not an exchange, actually, if you were a kid. You were supposed to prepare a small performance: dance, sing or recite a poem in order to get our present from Ded Moroz, a guy dressed somewhat similar to Santa Clause thought his coat was not red but blue. While we were one of the 15 republics Christmas was actually banned along with any other manifestation of your religious beliefs. Any religion was proclaimed "opium of the people" and any kind of religious buildings were turned into warehouses or even trash disposals except those in big cities that could be used as museums or art galleries. So back to the celebration of Christmas in Ukraine. The big difference number 3 is our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. We take this dinner pretty seriously, at least in my family. It can differ depending on where in Ukraine you are, but the general idea is that you are supposed to prepare 12 Lenten dishes that symbolize 12 apostles of Jesus Christ. Why the dishes are Lenten? Because according to Orthodox church rules you are supposed to keep 40-day Lent before Christmas so that your body and soul get ready for the great event of Jesus Christ birth. So all day of the 6th of January Ukrainian women are busy cooking 12 dishes that in the evening they will put in front of their families. Some of the dishes are pretty unique. I will try to go through their list and explain to you a little bit about each of them. The first and the most important dish is kutia (koo-tia - I will try to provide some kind of transcript here). This is basically well-cooked barley mixed with raisins, crushed poppy seeds and honey. Doesn't sound too complicated but the trick is in cooking barley so that it's soft but not mushy. The importance of kutia is huge: it's the dish that you will start your dinner with after the eldest in the family says a short prayer. The origin of kutia is not very Christian, actually, you will find nothing about it in the Bible or in some other religious book. But Ukraine has a very long history and before Christianity that came to our lands in the 10th century, we had a religion that worshipped many gods, most of which were associated with this or another natural phenomenon. We used to have a god of the sun, a god of thunder, a god of harvest and so on. A lot of our Christian celebrations still have features of old times that interwove with younger traditions that resulted in a real fusion. Just like Santa Clause has more in common with old Scandinavian legends and myths rather than with St. Nicholas so does have our Christmas a lot in common with ancient rites. Other dishes on the table include varenyky (that's a kind of dumplings, Ukrainian ones are bigger than Chinese though) with fried sour kraut or potato, Lenten borshch (red beetroot soup with lots of other vegetables served with sour cream), beans or green peas puree, cabbage rolls (cabbage leaves stuffed with rice and meat if it's not Lent time) stewed in tomato sauce, some kind of fried fish, marinated herring, mushroom sauce, baked or boiled potatoes, uzvar (ooz-var - a drink made out of dried fruit), yeast rolls, stewed sour kraut with onions. Of course, in every family the set of dishes can slightly differ, for example, my mom makes amazingly tasty pancakes stuffed with poppy seeds. Kutia can also slightly differ depending on where in Ukraine you are, but it will definitely be on the table. There are many more traditions related to Christmas on a bigger scale. I will name just a few here not to bore you too much. So before the family gathers around the table on the Christmas Eve, children are usually given a task to look for the first star in the night sky which we call the Star of Bethlehem, the one that heralded the birth of Jesus Christ, because the dinner should start after the start sparkles in the sky. Then the master of the house should go to the barn and feed all the animals there (if a family runs a homestead). Father of the family then brings a didukh (dee-dooh - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Didukh) a special Christmas decoration made out of wheat straw that symbolizes prosperity and abundance. After the dinner is over not all the meals are taken away from the table. In my family, we always leave some kutia on the table for our deceased family members will come for Christmas dinner at night. The next day we usually have a festive family breakfast during which a lot of meat dishes are served. During all the 7th of January we eat, talk, host family and friends and in the evening we expect carol singers. Carol singing is a very good business for children during the Christmas holidays because people give them money and sweets for singing carols. Usually, kids go to their neighbors and relatives but since Ukraine is a pretty safe country in small towns and villages children go to as many houses as they can. Of course, the most profitable audience is your own grandparents )) I was lucky to visit my father's mother who lived in a village where half the village were our relatives. So we were rehearsing with my cousins all day long and in the evening was our "hour of triumph". In many families, it is traditional to visit godparents on the 7th of January. You are not supposed to come empty-handed and the most traditional thing to bring is kalach (a round-shaped shortbread sometimes with raisins or poppy seeds). Bread is of great significance in Ukraine whether you give it to somebody or somebody gives it to you. It always means prosperity and abundance. That's why we are very careful with bread and try not to have any leftovers or throw it away. Of course, there are a lot more things I would like to tell you about Christmas traditions in Ukraine. But they say that eloquence is the sister of talent. I will pretend that it somehow refers to my writing ))) Have a great time of the day

#Ukraine Ukrainians Christmas celebration holidayseason traditions history

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superfriedstudent-blog · 7 years ago

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Buying A Cigarette smoker.

These goofy potatoes are a preferred comfort food that I have been enjoying typically for many years. Inside the Digest Diet, you will certainly likewise locate a 21 time meal-plan, FIFTY fat releasing dishes along with full different colors pictures, a 12 minute fat deposits release exercise, a body fat release workout calendar, just before and after results tales, laugh that off" sidebars that can help keep viewpoint and also sanity, and also a totally free online destination for pointers, video recordings, shopping lists and also daily food items as well as physical exercise publications in order to help make your weight reduction targets attainable as well as easy. 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On her blogging site she shares greater than 600 great tasting as well as healthy recipes for any person which is functioning to losing weight. He is a member of the American College of Athletics Medication (ACSM), the International Culture for Sports Health and nutrition (ISSN), the National Toughness as well as Conditioning Organization (NSCA) as well as the International Affiliation for the Study from Weight problems (IASO). This is probably exactly what many of you imagine when you think about a wonderful potato - pale tan skin layer, slightly yellow inside. You may prepare it over a grill (charcoal chosen) or simply in an oven along with a griddle. First, create health your highest possible value and also alone will definitely go a very long way toward maintaining you far from the following trend weight loss diet. If your flowerpot roast is as well completely dry, make certain the pan you are using has a limited fitting cover and also you are actually cooking at the lowest feasible warmth to keep the low simmering. I poured this right into a well-buttered loaf pan to make sure that this made a level regarding 3/4 in deep as well as cooked it until set (concerning 10 minutes), oven heat level declined to 400 ° F, after all the tarts were actually out. One more research study in the Publication from Nutrition found that adding avocado to salad enabled participants to absorb three to five times a lot more carotenoids. I loooooooooove your recipes, they create me healthy and balanced as well as happy, and when I have folks over, I mislead all of them into believing I'm a cooking occultist. I served that along with barbequed salmon, a lovely healthy meal that needed nothing at all else! Transfer the clams as well as the cooking liquid to a huge offering bowl as well as serve with items of toasted breadstuff to soak up the cooking food liquid and extra lemons on the edge. Likewise, thanks for uploading healthy dishes to begin the year ... I absolutely overdid this on the sugary foods this vacation! So as for an unusual to derive any type of health and nutrition off us, they 'd must be actually biochemically identical. But adding some entire surface flour to delicious chocolate smokes as well as rainbow-colored loops does not create the grain a dietary all-star. I complied with dish precisely, used the extra buttermilk and invest oven for 5 mins. Leftovers are actually just as delicious reheated in the stove or even eaten chilly, my child will certainly verify this! This was such a alluring as well as rewarding holiday season treat which experienced totally mild, and yet was actually stuffed with healthy and balanced active ingredients! I would really love to view a crepes recipe with the Glow" spin that creates cooking satisfying and also delectable! It's thus heavy and I would certainly just fear that your buns will rise extremely well or even be light as well as airy. You might probably write a recipe book named Smitten Cooking area's 110 Best Recipes for Cooking food Cardboard" as well as I will still purchase this. Why the Dutch Oven functions: You could roast the chickenÂ in thereÂ then maintain all the extracts coming from the poultry in the container as a bottom for the stock - no need to clean the flowerpot after roasting the poultry! So I do not make all of them either, but individuals stand by the dish in Mastering the Craft of French Preparing food by Julia Child. I was stressed they will come out from the oven brown, however they remained wonderful and eco-friendly. Bake tart in the preheated oven for approximately 50 minutes, or till the tart as well as shell are golden brown. http://egeszsegeseletmod-blog.com/eco-slim-velemenyek-gyors-fogyas-fogyokura-nelkul-ar-velemenyek-hatasok-vasarolni-az-amazon-vagy-a-gyarto-honlapjan/ favored smoothie goes a little something similar to this: 1 fruit, 1/2 c. blueberries, 1 packet from on-the-spot oats (dry out), 1/2 c. mango puree, top off along with 1% milk and a well-balanced drizzle from natural honey. If you're utilizing (thin decrease) chick busts, minimize cooking time by 10-15 mins or you'll find yourself with completely dry chicken. If I am actually creating rice crispies or even granola clubs that need to stick together I'll often select brown rice syrup considering that it aids bind them. Sprinkling multicolored furikake (rice seasonings) or even garnishing along with diced parsley and green red onion gives great tones to overall presentation. Each item takes 10 hrs to create and fifteen individuals are actually engageded in the making from each Dutch oven. Combining genes, nutrition, medication and folklore his strategy to our consuming routines and also prepare for how to eat towards wellness are actually believed provoking and also consist of tips worth incorporating into our lives. This is actually such a supplement to Angela's initial recipe book-- even more usable and also well-balanced recipes that will definitely enter into your day-to-day preparing food. I had no suggestion about the reasoning behind eliminating the green little bits yet I rarely utilize garlic without preparing food this (mainly simply guacamole). Staying healthy and balanced is good for your wallets also, in the form of reduced medical care costs and also medical insurance premiums. I make use of home made flour tortillas and also load them along with fifty percent black bean blend, and also half mushed up delightful potato (plus a little bit of cheese), close up the tortilla, as well as package them individually in aluminum foil to ensure that I may throw them right into the stove when I am actually rushed or even too idle to prepare. I made use of to think the only way to be well-balanced was actually to fast glucose and also restrict on your own to mundane, boring meals, yet after trying each one of your amazing dishes, I can view that being well-balanced could be great tasting! Full Lettuce wrap nutrition info every providing: 264 calories, 17 grams from carbs, and also 114 grams of protein!

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