Logs:An Actual Cook
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| RL Date: 27 September, 2009 |
| Who: Ezalea, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla only briefly mistakes Ezalea for a cook; the goldrider is magnanimous, and invites the healer to lunch, instead. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. While it's yet sunny outside, and most of the Weyr is enjoying the breeze and warmth of Rukbat despite the cooller temperatures of autumn, Ezalea is in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up her arms and a dash of flour streaking her cheek. It only took a little bit of sweet talking, especially considering the hour: it's after lunch, and there's a few hours still before dinner, so she has claimed a corner of the kitchen all to herself, and a wide spread of various kitchen items lay littered around about her; small bowls of measured ingrediants, ceramic saucers and pots, and currently, the woman is intent on chopping up a leafy green vegetable with efficient, neat motions. It's a tired looking Madilla pushes past the swinging doors that lead in from the Inner Caverns, too late for a proper lunch but still, evidently, in search of food. The candidate makes her way past the look alcoves towards the counters and cooktops, a passage that takes her conveniently (but coincidentally) towards Ezalea, perhaps as the first person she's seen at work. Though her mouth opens with obvious intention to beg a meal, it halts halfway down, as two plus two equal four, and it becomes to the healer obvious that this is not, in fact, a hitherto unmet cook. Awkwardly; "Weyrwoman!" The fact is is, indeed, too late for a proper lunch is precisely the reason Ezalea is currently scooping her minced parsley into an awaiting dish, and that she's being interrupted -- called by title, even -- seems to come as a surprise, judging by the way she spins on one heel, arched eyebrows lifting higher. Despite her visible startlement, Leah is swift to put down her knife, patting the handle neatly once it's on the countertop and safely away; her salutation is amiable and polite, if a bit hesitant. "Good afternoon, miss!" Madilla blushes profusely in the presence of such startlement, head ducking, shoulders turning inward, looking for the life of her as though she'd rather have sunk into the floor already. Her apology is a stammering one, brought forth after a deep breath; "I'm so sorry, I-- I thought you were a cook, and then--" Another deep breath, and then she adds, hastily, "Good afternoon. I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone now, find an-- actual cook." The young healer takes a step backwards. "Oh, no, no." Extending one hand as if to catch at Madilla's wrist, although she stays the motion far from actual contact, Ezalea laughs brightly. "Please! If it is a meal you're looking for, I am just about finished, and there should be plenty for two. Would you like to stay and help? If you trust my cooking, of course." Blue eyes sparkle gaily, and Leah lifts one hand to brush at her cheek; ducking her head as she discloses in a lowered, laughing voice, as though it were some great joke, "Although I will understand if you would rather find another cook. An, as you say, actual cook." There's hesitation from the young healer, and another blush, as she lifts her gaze to examine Ezalea in a gesture of silent consideration, as though she's determining whether to take the invitation at face value or not. It's a long pause that follows, though in truth, that only means a couple of seconds, and then, shyly, "If you're sure. I only intended to beg some leftovers, but... I can't imagine you'd eat your own cooking, if others couldn't trust it. You... do mean the invitation? You're not just trying to be polite? Because I really can go--" Ezalea maintains an expression of open accord, even perks her head forward encouragingly with a nod and spreads her hands wide when she becomes the object of Madilla's scrutiny. "I'm sure," her voice is bright and reassuring, and even before the younger woman has a chance to decline, the weyrwoman makes a motion towards one of the nearer stoves, smile warm over her shoulder as she turns back to her food preparation. "I most certainly would not extend the offer if I did not intend it. And, in fact, if I could have you fetch the fish in that oven, it would be a great help of you." Her voice turns up at the end, tone hopeful: a request and by no means an order. A beat more, and then Madilla seems to have decided herself, more confident, now, in the sincerity of her soon-to-be mealtime companion, managing even a warm smile in Ezalea's direction. "The fish? Of course." She turns, fetching heat mats for herself, and recovers the fish from the oven with the air of one who has done her share of cooking over time, if not perhaps recently. "Where do you want it?" is her next question, more confidently asked than previous questions. "Is this-- do you often cook for yourself?" Even though her head is ducked over her cooking, she manages to flash a brilliant grin over at Madilla when she returns with the fish and gestures with one hand at the countertop. "Anywhere is fine. And unwrap it too, if you please." Inside, loosely enclosed by a waxed parchment, the fish is a pale pink, white about the edges, and smells richly roasted in onions and pepper, inspiring Ezalea to half-close her eyes and lean closer with a deep breath. "Mmm, yes. I rather enjoy it, although I always prefer sharing. And you? Do you cook?" A pause as the weyrwoman glances over, looks up Madilla's length and breathes a laugh. "Ah. Do you cook /often/, rather. Few people know where those mitts are." Madilla, too, can't seem to help but give the fish a good, satisfied sniff, though she certainly doesn't linger over it, not when the dish is so hot, even through her mitts. Setting it down, she bobs her head quickly to confirm her instructions, setting to unwrapping it with healer-practiced hands. She looks up, pleased, with the weyrwoman's surmise, and nods. "Not /so/ often, not anymore; I'm so busy, and the cooks do a good job. But I'm holdbred, so I've certainly... learned my way around a kitchen. I work with herbs, primarily, which is a little like cooking, I suppose. Satisfying, in the end. This," she adds, "Smells delicious." Neatly stepping out of the way - hot fish, hot dish, incoming! - Ezalea has just finished with a shallot, now in fine pieces and Leah blends it in with the parsley. "Would you pass me the, uh," two fingers twitch at a sieve just out of arm's reach. "It is almost done, I promise," the woman adds, quirking her mouth up at the edges. "You are busy." It's just a statement, but accompanied by a searching glance at Madilla, perhaps seeking out a telling knot, as she deftly stirs cream in with those chopped vegetables. "So you work here, at the weyr. Ah. Hmm." Brow furrowing. "Don't tell me! Let me guess. -- not tailor. Archivist? No, certainly not. Do you work with the headwoman, perhaps?" Madilla steps forward, grasping the sieve and then handing it across with another of those warm, if still slightly shy, smiles. She's knotless, for once - perhaps she was wearing it attached to some other piece of clothing, now discarded for the afternoon, and the consideration the weyrwoman gives her occupation makes her smile all the more. "No," she says, shaking her head, "I do not work with the Headwoman. Do you want a hint, or shall I tell you?" A beat more, and then she adds, "I've been frightfully rude, not even introducing myself. My name's Madilla." Accepting the mesh bowl from Madilla, Ezalea hums cheerfully as she stirs the cream sauce for a moment longer and then strains it through the sieve, pouring it into a small dish. Both hands curve around the ceramic bowl, and, presenting it to the other woman to hold, Ezalea gathers the cooling fish and says gaily, "Walk with me." Her steps towards a near table set with a single plate slow only for a pace as she makes a low thoughtful hum and finally concedes, "Okay. Give me a hint. All the others suggestions I can think of are ridiculous and simply unsuitable for you. Madilla." The name is repeated carefully and slowly. Setting down the fish at that table (how quickly is it set with two places, now!) the weyrwoman executes a faint curtsey. "Ezalea. Sit, if you will - but only after my hint!" Madilla accepts the bowl, holding it carefully with both hands, as she follows Ezalea to the table, setting the bowl down again carefully once she reaches it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ezalea," she tells the weyrwoman sincerely, smile still creeping even broader about her face, though her response to the curtsey is more bob and tilt than actual curtsey. "My work is... sometimes similar to cooking, as we've said, only most people don't terribly enjoy my concoctions." She waits a moment more before seating, eyes focused brightly upon her companion with brows lifted: is that enough to guess? For her given hint, the weyrwoman listens carefully and with a particular intensity in her brown eyes. "You are," Ezalea decides firmly, tucking herself into her seat and motioning for Madilla to do the same, "a bartender." Tipping a look across at the healer, Leah can contain her bursting laughter for half a heartbeat and no longer: she exclaims, one finger held high and her grin as wide as it might be, "A healer! I am certain of it!" Without waiting for her late-lunch companion to sit, she is dishing out the fish, drizzling the sauce over it in modest zig-zags, producing a spring of parsley with which to garnish the dish. "Sit, healer-Madilla. Enjoy the food. And - tell me of how you find your job, yes?" A bartender! That makes Madilla laugh, a merry, warm sound that leaves no question as to the veracity of the conclusion. Her mouth opens, but before the words can escape, Ezalea has indeed come to the correct conclusion, for which she earns an enthusiastic nod. "A Senior Apprentice," she confirms, as she takes her seat and, with obvious enjoyment sets towards her plate. And so begins an enjoyable late-lunch, in which Madilla can talk at length of how much she enjoys her job, not to mention gleeful reference to her Journeyman's newborn, and-- oh, it turns out she can talk quite a bit, once comfortable. Needless to say, too, her enthusiasm for the meal itself is heartfelt. A merry lunch, then, before it is time to head back to various occupations. |
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