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Post by mierce on Oct 7, 2009 22:47:17 GMT -5
It was another afternoon in yet another hot July, one during which the sun played peek-a-boo with the earth below as a smattering of thick fluffy clouds leisurely floated between the two entities. And as with most other afternoons, the aroma of cooking food billowed outwards from the large cooking area, the cacophony of smells rolling down the cliffs and inching along the canyon floor. It was still a whiles from the usual time most weyrfolk and riders take their evening meal, but the drudges were already busy with preparations and the like. It would thus be a surprise to find anyone but drudges working the fires, but lo and behold Evrgarde had managed to sequester one of the smaller stoves for herself.
She normally ate in the Main Hall or ordered something to be wrapped up and taken out of the Weyr, but after her run in with that overgrown weyrbrat Iorath suggested she just eat some feline and get the murderous streak out of her system. So that morning she had hunted, killed, prepped, and skinned a feline for a relatively small section of meat; the rest Iorath most happily consumed. One thing led to another and she now found herself working a frying pan as some haphazardly seasoned meet sizzled in animal grease. Sure, she had been a drudge for two years while at Southern Hold, but it had never been in the capacity of a real cook. Her forte in the kitchen was cutting things up and that she still did very well. Everything else……
A frown creased her expression and she clumsily flipped over the meat. How long has it been cooking? One of the cooking drudges suggested she only try consuming the meat well done, but was it? The outside was nearly burnt by now. Taking the pan off the fire, she walked a few steps to a stone counter and picked up a carving knife. Slicing the tip into the seared surface she anxiously awaited a response! And… was quickly met with red liquid bubbling out from the cut. The frown deepened, and she found herself back at the stove again, poking awkwardly at the meat with a metal spatula.
Fortunately, she had the foresight to return to her weyr first (but of course as she had new skin to prepare for tanning) and leave her armor there. It was already bordering on unbearably hot next to the open flame with only a small pan to distract the heat, and she had already undressed down to just a tunic and britches. Her brows furrowed. The next time she decides to take up cooking as a new skill, she would do it during the winter.
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Post by rii on Oct 7, 2009 23:21:02 GMT -5
"Weren't you just here?" An inquisitive drudge peered at Rulven, arching an eyebrow up his rather sheepish grin.
"Not really.. " The smith pressed his hands together, the palms flat as he nervously wrung his calloused fingers. He continued to smile against her harsh look, silently pleading that she not try to eject him from the kitchens. Not his fault his metabolism caused him to.. well, eat. One large hand made it's path up, ending behind the smith's head–clearly nervous. An odd sight really, being as tall and built as he was, and being stared down by one well narrowed glare from a tiny woman. "That was a while ago. I promise not to take much.."
With a dismissive shake of her head, and a mutter under her breath, the woman turned to go back to her duties. "Thank you." Rulven called politely after her retreating form. They didn't really hate that he came there often enough to be well known, but the problem laid in that he.. fed every fire lizard, salamandyr, feline, canine–so on and so forth, that happened to be near. And for some reason, any hungry critter followed Rulven around. He ended up making the kitchens into a petting zoo. Much to the drudges dismay–all unintentionally done on his part; the smith couldn't turn down a hungry creature. He was just being nice, and he didn't know how they found him all the time. Likely because the smith was little more than a large voracious beast himself–of the puppy sort, of course.
And, good to his word, Rulven only gathered a couple of meat rolls and a piece of red fruit before taking up a seat at the counter. At perfect ease in his seat. The day's heat was nothing to him, and being around the fires actually made him feel more at home. The forge he worked at seemed to run in his blood, and the hotter the weather, the better. As he thoroughly enjoyed his small snack, his bright hazel eyes strayed to the cook off to his left, she seemed to be having troubles. Really, the smell of burned meat wafted up and he didn't really want to say anything, but it was kind of making his meal taste funny with the combination of smoke. Not really a problem but, he glanced around at the other drudges, wouldn't they help her?
Rulven poked idly at his second meat roll, glancing repeatedly in the small woman's direction. Oh.. fine, the smith couldn't seem to stand to watch her struggle. Mustering up a friendly smile, Rulven stood and edged near the woman without looming–which, was more difficult than it seemed, if at all possible. She was a bit.. tiny. "Excuse me." A hand was raised, palm out in greeting. "I couldn't help but notice you were.. er.. having trouble?"
He took a cautious step forward, eyeing the charred piece of meat in the pan. "Couldn't help but smell it really." The joke was nervous, and he couldn't seem to chuckle at it himself. Didn't want to insult the woman, so he hoped she wouldn't take it badly–females could be odd about comments like that. "I think you're cooking it too hot.. need less heat. Otherwise the outside is going to burn and the inside is still going to be raw.. "
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Post by mierce on Oct 7, 2009 23:48:42 GMT -5
Deep in concentration attempting to will the slab of meat to cook properly, Evrgarde nearly didn’t hear the big man’s approach over her own internal swearing. In fact, she might have totally ignored him had his shadow not completely block the sun from her section of the kitchen. Aggravation burned in her eyes as she snapped her head sharply in Rulven’s direction. His sheepish grin was a bit jarring, however, and she found herself momentarily confused between her boiling rage (made worse only by the insufferable heat) and the wholly childish smile plastered on a face that looked far too mature for it.
“Wut?” Shards, she was so mad, she slipped into something worse than a Bitran accent (and even that she had managed to keep under control after 18 turns in the South).
Clearing her mind, she finally let his words filter through so that her brain to make sense of them. With an audible sigh, she yanked the pan back from the fire and jerked it towards Rulven’s direction. “I do believe the outside is burns to charcoal already.” She glared at the black lump in disbelief that a dead animal had outdone her. It was probably worse because she had been trying to personify it as that brat. On second thought, it’s not so bad. Burning the boy to a crisp hadn’t been one of her fantasies, but it seems to not be a bad idea.
She eyed the meat with an intensity that would have sent a woodland animal fleeing for their lives. That moment passed fairly quickly however, and she plopped the pan on the counter, splattering a bit of grease in the process. Carving knife in right hand and a fork in the left, she began working to slice off the burn outer shell from the meat. Fortunately (maybe) it was a rather chunky piece so even after removing the burnt portions there was still a sizable piece left.
Pan back in hand again she turned to the tall man and for the first time realized how far back she had to tilt her head. No matter. “As you were saying… less heat?” She gestured towards the stove, which was little more than a grill set over an open fire. “How to do that?”
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Post by rii on Oct 8, 2009 10:52:46 GMT -5
Rulven lifted both of his hands as she spun on him, that murderous look in her eyes. His smile wavered and he leaned back while silently praying for her not pour hot oil on him. A following retreating step was taken when the pan thrust his direction. Hands remained firm in the air to suggest his harmlessness–he didn't look it, but once people got to know him they usually were quick to pick up on his pacifist tendencies.
His gaze drifted down to the contents of the pan. The meat looked.. pitiful, and Rulven gave it a sad frown–almost to the point he felt sympathetic toward the poor slab of meat that should have been withering under that look she gave. Cooking wasn't that bad, just took some practice; like anything else. The smith slowly lowered his hands to his sides when she turned, taking the hot pan/weapon with her. As she carved away, Rulven chuckled softly. "I think it may be a lost cause.."
Again Rulven's arm came up, defensively crossing low over his torso to guard himself from the pan. A bit of hot grease spit up at him, splashing against the white scars that made a lattice work over his lower arms–he didn't even flinch at the burning sensation. "Ah well, first.." With a nervous smile, Rulven reached down to grip the pan handle just above Evrgande's grasp. He gently turned her back around and set the pan on small mat placed on the counter. "Let's just put that down."
Once the pan was safely aside, Rulven knelt before the stove. "They build up some of the fires differently to suit other means of cooking–such as stuff they want to stew on low heat for the day, or others that just needs a quick searing. This one is too hot.. but I'll fix it.. I don't think they'll mind... much." With that said, Rulven opened up the protective grate to the stove's fuel chamber. He used a set of long, thick metal tongs–meant for setting the wood–to manipulate the coals around. He pulled out one half-burned log–using the metal to bring it to the edge before simply grabbing the end of the wood with his free hand. It probably should have drawn a pained shout from the smith, but he merely set it aside, out of the way, next to the stove. The inner warmth felt right to him. Working at the forges for so long gave him enough practice to properly gauge a heat by just how it licked over his skin. "That should be a little better."
The grate was closed, and Rulven smiled at the woman–who he hoped was not glaring daggers at him nor pondering the use of the pan as a clubbing device. Normally the smith didn't feel so nervous around females, but this one.. well, he felt a little worried. Mabye she was just having a bad day. "I'm Rulven, by the way." The smith extended his hand, then upon noticing the black soot marks on his fingertips, grumbled and dropped his hand to his side to wipe away the coal dust against his pant leg. "Sorry."
A quiet clearing of throat before he continued, "If you keep the pan off to the side instead of over the center, it should cook uh... better?"
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Post by mierce on Oct 8, 2009 14:53:00 GMT -5
Lost cause? Psh! She'd show him. The outside may have been burnt, taking the seasoning with it but there was still a huge chunk of clearly undercooked meat inside. Yes, she'd show him that this failure could still be turned around! ... As soon as he fixed the fire, that is.
She let Rulven guide her to the mat on the counter and relinquish the pan from her posession. He went to work then, chattering on about fires and that they're built to different temperatures. Well, obviously she knew that, but he didn't say much in terms of how to fix it. Lowering herself to a crouch behind Rulven, she watched what he was doing--or tried to at any rate. His broad shoulders and wide back were very much in the way. Her eyes flickered to the log he removed from the fire pit and found herself vaguely questioning whether it shouldn't be too hot to handle barehanded.
Eventually he deemed the fire properly modified and she stood up with him. Her eyes were still intensely staring at him, glaring almost, but the anger had decreased to simple frustration. She glanced at his offered hand in a moment of cluelessness before realizing that she ought to take it. It didn't matter though, because she had barely a lifted her own before the tall man--boy?--pulled his hand back to clean the soot marks and apologize. How trite.
No no, she shouldn't be so harsh in judging him. The man seemed decent enough, and maybe she could learn something from him. "Evrgarde," she said sharply, then caught herself and softened her voice. "Thank you. For the... help. I've never actually tried a recipe before."
She peered around his huge frame and tilted her chin towards the pitiful pan. "So, what can you do with that?"
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Post by rii on Oct 8, 2009 16:17:35 GMT -5
Rulven kept the smile going strong, though by this point it was little more than a faint curve at the corners of his lips. The woman certainly made it difficult to be friendly. He was only being nice, no need for her to leer so accusingly at him. It didn't make sense to the smith, why people got so upset over others trying to be helpful.
Numbly Rulven nodded to the short woman, "Nice to meet you Evrgande. Do you normally cook in the kitchens?" He already knew the answer was no to that question, being a regular visitor there and familiar enough with the staff to know which ones would feed him, and which ones would shoo him out under the threat of wooden spoon and roasting fork. If she was going to be a new cook.. it seemed she would be the latter of those two groups.
Recipe? Rulven glanced once again at the piece of meat. He didn't think much went into the.. cooking of meat, but hey–he wasn't really a cook. Knew enough to make his own meal if necessary, but he preferred eating the creations of others–tasted much better than the food made by his own hand. Politely Rulven stepped aside and swept his hand toward the pan. "It's not what I'm going to do, but what you are going to do. Just.. well.. set it on there and.. be patient."
It wasn't hard, really, sort of like heating up metal until it was the perfect temperature to manipulate into a desired shape. Rulven folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter back near where he had been sitting. "And you're welcome. I hope I haven't.. offended you in some way." Because her expression and sharp tone gave him reason to question. "What are you cooking anyway, smells different than the usual herdbeast.."
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Post by mierce on Oct 9, 2009 3:01:00 GMT -5
“No, I don’t normally cook in the kitchens.” That should have been obvious enough even without asking.
It was a little disappointing that Rulven wouldn’t/couldn’t show her how to properly cook the meat, but it did give Evrgarde an opportunity to redeem herself. In whose eyes was debatable but she would go with what she could get for now. Firming setting her jaw in determination to get things right this time, she approached the counter again with a measure of trepidation. She looked first at the pan, taking comfort in seeing that although the meat had burned, it hadn’t stuck too terribly to the bottom of the pan. The grease did seem unsightly though, as if it had already begun to cool and harden after such a short time away from the heat.
She stabbed the meat with a fork and lifted it onto a plate, then set the pan back onto the stove. No wait, to the side of the grill for the grease to melt into something resembling a fluid. While the grease liquefied, she directed her attention to the assortment of labeled jars on the stone counter. Within each jar was a single type of dried spice or herb, either ground or crushed. Some had flip-tops while others clamp-on lids perforated with holes of varying sizes so that the contents could be shaken out.
Pursing her lips, she scanned the labels and eventually settled on salt and black pepper, the exact same spices she had used previously. A cook had highly highly advised her to not put anything else; in light of her fantastic failure of a first attempt, it seemed wholly prudent of her to heed the warning. She held the salt jar above the meat, ready to start shaking when it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea how the seasoning job went in her previous attempt. There were still a few pieces of terrifically burnt meat on the counter, so she picked up one and bit into it.
The world seemed to have stopped for a few seconds as the taste filled invaded her mouth. Then as soon as time started moving forward again she spat it right back out onto the ground, then continued to spit and sputter saliva. Shards, it was so salty it was bitter. Well, obviously she shouldn’t use as much this time.
With tongue dangling pitifully from her slightly parted lips, Evrgarde took to gently shaking out a thinner and more even layering of salt on both sides of the meat, then moved onto the black pepper. By then the grease had already turned clear so she carefully set the meat into the pan and was met with a hissy sizzle.
“It’s feline,” she said somewhat distractedly as she watched the grease bubble around the meat.
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Post by rii on Oct 9, 2009 12:38:25 GMT -5
"Don't worry, you'll get better at it." Rulven smiled cheerily, his words nothing less than encouraging–even if he thought Evrgande was little more than a drudge. She was a woman, a tiny thing really–not the smallest around, but her looks didn't strike him as those of a dragon rider. He didn't consciously acknowledge it, but Rulven did think seeing the woman in front of the cook fires was more a fitting picture. He was holdbred, after all, and there the gender roles were very clear. Though she was very unpracticed in the arts of cooking–perhaps she was on some other duty until now. "Have you been here long?"
Plucking up his remaining meat roll, Rulven happily munched on it while keeping an eye on the curious woman. Grinning with restrained mirth when she sampled the crispy flakings of charred meat. Rulven almost choked when she spit it out. The smith coughed roughly a few, hand pressing to his chest as he regained his composure. "Why did–" another cough, his voice sounded rough. "-do–" Talking seemed impossible. He made an vague series of motions with his hands before walking off toward another area in the kitchen.
He returned a moment later, two cups in hand with water. One to help him regain his lungs, the other he set beside Evrgande–for her to wash out the taste of the meat. What had she said before he had walked away, that it was feline? Rulven gave her a rather probing look, brows lowered and hazel eyes narrowed with question. "Who brought in feline to cook?"
Eating.. predatory animals just didn't sound right. Rulven had never sampled it himself, but it didn't strike him as an appealing notion. People normally ate animals that were meant to be prey–as animals in the wild also ate animals that were seen as prey. There had to be a taste factor in there, somewhere. "Who would want to eat feline.."
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Post by mierce on Oct 9, 2009 14:21:19 GMT -5
Evrgarde pushed the meat slightly to the side and was greeted with a renewed sizzle. Should she flip it ove-- her deliberations were promptly cut short when Rulven broke out into a coughing fit and she turned her head slightly to watch him lumber off and return shortly with water. She eyed the cup set down besides her then gave him a somewhat questioning look before picking it up. The first two mouthfuls she used to gargle away the overwhelming taste of lingering salt (again, spitting the water into the ground--they were outdoors anyway), then finished the rest in a few unsightly and very impolite gulps.
She held the empty cup up towards him in an appreciative manner before setting it down. "Thank you, again."
Redirecting her attention to the pan, she noted that the cooked portion of the meat was slowly creeping up the sides. Deciding that it looked about the right time to flip the meat over, she did. The meat flopped over with a gratuitous splatter of oil, some of which landed on her hand and exposed wrist. Hissing, she reflexively lifted hand to mouth and lightly sucked on the various injuries. It probably wouldn’t be enough to inflict blisters, but it stung nonetheless.
The pain subsided in a few seconds, and she lowered her hand slightly. "Been here about ten turns," she answered, voice tinged with (milder) annoyance.
After a few more prods to the meat with the spatula, she set her cooking tool down on the counter and turned to face her “guardian”. She met his questioning gaze and held it for a few moments, then jabbed a back-handed thumb towards some crumpled and bloodied sheets of waxy butcher paper and a few loops of string. “I brought in the feline this morning. A naggy blue dragon thought it would be a good idea for me to try some.”
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Post by rii on Oct 9, 2009 21:21:05 GMT -5
Rulven watched Evrgande while idly sipping at his own cup of water. Her manners were rough, if there were any there to judge from in the first place. Just spitting the liquid aside, even Rulven wouldn't have done that. There was a strange thought swirling somewhere in the back of the smith's mind, but he couldn't seize it to make it a conscious stream of thought–just continued to give Evgarde a rather.. curious stare, as if he couldn't make sense of her.
Ten turns she said, and Rulven let his head cant to the side as he pondered over that piece of information. She didn't look too terribly old, but ten years working at the Weyr, and she didn't know how to cook–how decidedly odd. Maybe because she obviously couldn't was the reason they kept her out of the kitchens. Rulven gave a curious glance around at the other drudges. Oh yes, but she had sounded annoyed by the fact she had been there for ten turns–or so the smith guessed. "Sorry." A disarming smile. "I've only been here about a turn myself. I'm still getting to know everyone."
Expression going blank, Rulven blinked at the small woman a few times.. then looked over her head at the gestured paper. The words didn't seem to make any form of connection nor did they form a proper understanding in his head. So.. someone had killed a feline and given Evrgande the meat.. because their blue dragon wanted her to try it.. ? To him it sounded as if someone was playing a joke on her.
"Why would they want you to try it.. ? I'm sure it doesn't taste nearly as good as the other stock available." Rulven cast a searching glance around the room, maybe to find whoever was responsible tittering in the corner or such. Evrgande was a ten turn veteran to the Weyr.. obviously unable to cook.. who had put it in her head to try feline of all things..
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Post by mierce on Oct 9, 2009 23:53:40 GMT -5
It was now Evrgarde’s turn to stare curiously at Rulven. This is not to say that she wasn’t the slightest bit curious about him before, but more that the accumulation of swirling questions about him had reached tipping point. For starters, “Why are you so apologetic?” The question came out almost like a statement. Almost. But it wasn’t intended to be such. She had seen people conditioned into submission and self-depreciation many times while in Bitra and also after arriving in Southern Hold, and wondered if Rulven was one of them.
“Like you said, you’ve only been here a turn. There is a lot to get used to.” She could have laughed at her own words; somehow, it felt like advice she could be giving to herself during her compulsive moments. Luckily, Iorath was not close enough to tease her hypocrisy.
Rulven’s subsequent question about why anyone would have her try feline meat was dripping heavily with bewilderment. For his massive size, the man was shockingly soft spoken and… well, naïve. His eyes also spoke volumes as to how baffled he was, though of what, Evrgarde was likewise confused. Sure, feline meat wasn’t exactly standard cuisine in the Weyr but was wanting (or not) to try it so bizarre?
Of course, it never occurred to the bluerider that the man may have already assumed a drudge mold for her and was futilely trying to fit her into it. Not only that, but her behavior was unsightly and downright befitting of a ruffian rather than a woman. She was the way she was, and if people didn’t like it she wouldn’t give half a rat’s ass about their opinion. Exception might be made when trying to impress upon a personage of importance or influence, but there hasn’t been many opportunities for such brown nosing and she tried to avoid them if at all possible, anyway.
A popping sound form the pan behind her drew Evrgarde’s attention and she quickly took to checking whether the meat had burnt again. With a bit of effort she forced the metal spatula under the sticking meat and flipped it over again. Well, it didn’t smell burnt, so maybe it’ll be okay this time. Taking the pan off the stove, she sliced into the center with the carving knife again and was most delighted to find that the meat was no longer spewing blood. In fact, it looked to be almost done!
She set the pan back onto the side of the stove and pulled out a clean plate, fork, and knife. Her hand hovered near the utensils cabinet as she debated for a moment. “Would you… like to try some?”
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Post by rii on Oct 11, 2009 18:57:30 GMT -5
Rulven only smiled and gave a smooth shrug in response to her question. He had grown up with five sisters, and if he had learned anything, it was to smile and nod to their words. Apologize, even if he wasn't wrong. Compliment, never insult. Women could be quite odd, but if he followed the simple guide lines he took to dealing with his sisters, every thing usually worked out just fine. Evrgande, however, was not fitting into the mold of the typical woman. "You seem angry about something. I don't know if it's something I said, but I'd rather not have unknowingly offended you."
The smith nodded to her statement of having to get use to a lot of things. Hold and Weyr lifestyles differed greatly in many areas, and Rulven had yet to fully adapt. Not that he had a choice in going back to the Hold–even though in his heart he wanted to return to Hyphen. The smith really felt as if he did not fit in.. and it went beyond the fact he towered over nearly all of the other weyrfolk.
"No thanks," He said with a chuckle, brow creasing as if not even taking her offer seriously. "I'll stick to the normal meats."
The smith idled with the cup, turning it around between his fingers. It seemed lowering the temperature of the fire had done a the trick to help cook the meat.. that or Evrgande's hacking it into a smaller piece had helped it to cook more evenly. "See, nothing to it. I guess I'll leave you to eat before–"
As if on cue, a fire lizard popped in from between and made a straight path for the tall smith (they really had an easy time recognizing him). The blue landed on his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head while chirping expectantly. Rulven gave a near panicked glance around at the kitchen staff, hoping none of them had noticed.
"Shh.." He shushed the lizard, rubbing it's head while glancing around at the counters.. nothing to feed the little critter with. Hesitantly he plucked up one of the burnt pieces of meat and offered it to the small lizard. At first it happily accepted.. but within a second it spat it aside and flared it's wings and angrily started to lecture Rulven with an endless chittering. Grimacing, Rulven tried to calm the thing down while searching for something proper to feed it..
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Post by mierce on Oct 12, 2009 15:24:19 GMT -5
“Ho!” Evrgarde gestured her fork in Rulven’s direction, prodding the space between them with decisive jabs. “That’s even worse! Apologizing for something you aren’t aware of; not even taking a gander at the reason, either. Pfft. Some show of sincerity.” She waved the fork airily, as if miming the lack of substance behind the young man’s words. Was she only teasing him? Maybe. Most likely in fact. But for Evr, all she had to show for the effort was something of an awkward grimace.
When Rulven declined her offer as if it were the most incredulous thing he’s heard (or so it sounded to her), she snorted. “Not the adventurous kind eh? Well, I’ll tell you how it taste.“ She was ready to cut into the meat when the firelizard showed up, providing an immediate distraction for her task at hand. The smith’s reaction was something of a oddity, considering his size. It was as if he were outright terrified of what the little thing could possible do to him. She followed his gaze around the kitchen, then snapped her head back towards the man as he tried to sooth his unexpected companion.
“Heh.” Almost a laugh. She was very much not fond of firelizards or any of the pest pets other riders have taken to owning for whatever foolhardy reason, but the sight was amusing nonetheless. She pointed a finger towards the blue and winked. “I’ll tell you what this tastes like, too.”
Clearing her throat, she directed her attention away from the chittering to examine the feline steak… thing. With only the barest hint of hesitation, she sliced into the meat, separating a bite-sized chunk from the mass. Clear juice came out, which to her seemed like a good sign. The meat itself was striated in a manner similar to that of other red meat. She turned the fork over to examine the outer faces, then cautiously opened her mouth so that she could press the meat against her tongue with immediate preparations to spit it out again should it taste as foul as before…
She arched an eyebrow when nothing happened, then cautiously closed her mouth. Her tongue curled around the bite as it slide it off the fork, then sent it to the molars for some deliberate gnashing. A few seconds passed, but the desire to expel the mashed up piece of meat never made its entrance. She swallowed, lips pursing in thought as her tongue swished about the insides of her mouth to figure out what it thought of the taste and aftertaste.
Gamey, that was for sure. And bland. It wasn’t bad though. She tried another bite to confirm that the first wasn’t a fluke before slicing off a slightly smaller piece and holding it out towards the firelizard.
"Could use some more salt or something," she said to man and lizard alike.
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Post by rii on Oct 12, 2009 21:42:49 GMT -5
Rulven gave the woman a curious cant of his head, hazel eyes flickering over her expression as he tried to extract a meaning from her words. The Smith was not the brightest fellow out there–in fact, the term brawn over brains did often enough apply to him. Not a simpleton, no, but Rulven maintained a simple view on things. He preferred to keep it that way too. "My sincerity is not false."
Affectionately he rubbed the lizard's head until it was no longer lecturing him about the foul piece of meat he had tried to feed it. It was not his, and he couldn't understand it, but he translated the chirps and flutes well enough. "I chose to apologize in advance, rather than let a person stew internally until they decide to snap at something that was nothing more than a misunderstanding." His tone had slowly leveled out, not quite the pleasant demeanor he held once more. A temporary thing. Her fork jabbing at his mannerisms had annoyed him. "What is the problem in that?"
He kept his snips to himself, though he wanted to comment that Evrgande looked pissed off at the world and to him someone needed to apologize for only Faranth knew what. If she didn't want to hear it, and keep that expression, than so be it–but she didn't have to call on him for being polite.
The blue craned his neck around, tilted it side to side as he examined the finger pointed in his direction. Seeing no food there, the lizard peeped questioningly at the smith. Rulven, in turn, shrugged in response to the creature. "I know, no manners, she's going to eat right in front of you." Seeming to understand the smith (really not, it was just common sense that the darter was there for food.. and expected only one thing.. food, food, food). The blue began to flutter his wings in agitation as Evrgande took her sweet time in devouring the chunk of feline.
The lizard was positively crying by the time Evrgande finally sliced him off a piece–the blue instantly forgetting his cries of woe in favor of fluttering over to her shoulder. Good, Rulven thought, her problem now. The lizard gobbled down the meat and began to chirp for more.
"It always starts out like that.. " Rulven mused with a poorly concealed grin. "You feed one.. just a piece.. and it wants more.. and he starts telling his friends that the lady in the kitchen is feeding them. Soon enough you'll have a following and the drudges will be chasing you out."
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Post by mierce on Oct 12, 2009 22:31:45 GMT -5
My, the man seemed ruffled. Rather than presuming that it was because of a poorly executed attempt at teasing him, Evrgarde assumed that Rulven simply did not take well to teasing in general. A strange thing since she recalled her had dropped a few mocking remarks to her when they first met. “No need to get your feathers up in a knot,” she chided as she cut another slice for the firelizard on her shoulder. “I was only messing with you.” She wasn’t too concerned about gaining an entourage of critters crowding around her. Firstly, because she didn’t quite understand just how out of hand the situation can get, and secondly because she was already making plans to cook in the jungle or someplace shady at least until winter time. The open kitchen with its many stoves and the summer heat were too much for her right now.
“No problem with apologizing, but to do so without knowing why is as bad as not at all.” She sliced a larger piece of meat for herself, deftly ignoring the chirping near her ear. The taste was still a big strange, but it was definitely growing on her. If she didn’t end up doubled over a chamber pot with food poisoning, she may just try to improve on the dish.
Another bite before she set the fork down, much to the blue’s chargin. No matter, though. It scampered down her arm towards the plate, barely closing its maws around the meat when she nonchalantly flicked her arm to the side and sent it wailing to the ground. “Anyway, there is no need for you to apologize to me. Unless you are in cahoots with a certain blond wherhandler, then we may have a problem.” Her right hand reflexively went to rest on her baton—except it was back in her weyr so it seemed like she was simply doing a weird roll of the shoulder instead.
“So then,” she quickly said, realizing how silly she might have looked. “Now that both your lizard over there—“ The blue appeared on the counter again, but still not fast enough to launch at the meat before she whisked the plate away and held it (along with a fork and knife resting on it) to the smith in offering. Partially eaten yes, but it wasn’t like she had more meat to cook up otherwise. “—here, rather-- and I have taste-tested feline, have you changed your mind about trying some? I promise it is not repulsive.”
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