Logs:Impression Expectations and Cookies
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| RL Date: 13 February, 2014 |
| Who: Ebeny, Finne |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Finne is on kitchen duty while Ebeny decorates Turn's End cookies. They chat about what /you/ want to do after Impressing, if you do. |
| Where: Kitchen, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 13, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| After the lunch rush and before the dinner one is not so bad a time to steal some counter space in the kitchen, even if the preparations for Turn's End are underway alongside the usual pre-meal chopping, stirring and slicing. Ben has /tried/ to be as unobtrusive as possible, choosing one of the counters on the outskirts of the arrangement of islands, and, for the most part, she seems to be being left alone and to her own devices. It's just as well really, since both the countertop and greenrider herself are covered in a variety of colours of icing, smudges here and there ignored as the work in progress continues. On said counter lie a number of cookies in various shapes, stars, snowflakes and eggs among them, some of them successfully iced, some not. Kitchen duty is what Finne's been assigned to today. She's helping wash dishes and wipe down the counter tops for the cooks to have clean spaces to prepare for Turnover on. When a cook says jump, she doesn't even stop to ask how high -- least that's how she's scampering around. But then there's a breather, and then the rush is over, and then... /then/ she notices the mess in the corner and tiptoes on over with her cleaning rag slung over her shoulder. The spritely girl is attempting to be a silent watcher the edge of that counter top, staring avidly at... well, Ebeny's mess. There might even be a hint of drool at the corner of her mouth. Though it looks like Ebeny is in The Zone as far as far as focus on icing the nearest cookie goes, she's not entirely oblivious to Finne's presence or her staring. Still, she can't afford to look up at the very moment that she senses someone there, and so she continues piping an icy-blue outline at the edge of one of the snowflakes, until the beginning of the trail meets the end and she can stop without creating a broken line. "Don't they feed you for helping out?" she asks, tipping her muddy-green eyed gaze up to look over at the much smaller girl. It'd be a more dignified question, were she not to smudge icing along her sleeve as she sets down the piping bag. Finne smiles, and for her it's quite the shy smile. Those bright, interested eyes flick from Ebeny to the smudge of icing on her sleeve and then down to the mass of half-decorated cookies. "Did you bake /all/ these?" Awe breaks through that shine. The candidate reaches to scoop up a tiny bit of frosting dropped on the table and bring it to her mouth to lick it noisily. "Are you decorating them all? What's it for? Who taught you to do this? I'm so sorry, that's a lot of questions. Freid says it's off putting. Do you think it's off putting. Oh, there I go again. This is really good by the way." She looks around dodgily for another misplaced smudge of icing. "Well, I started with two, but they bred and things started to get out of control, and now I'm stuck with this lot." It's not sarcasm, but a fanciful tale, delivered brightly and accompanied by a rueful smile. "I'll decorate as many as I don't mess up. I don't suppose it really matters; it's not as if anyone'll be admiring them before they're eaten." The outlined cookie is set aside and the next drawn nearer, which she attempts to ice while talking, which could just be a recipe for disaster. "They're for my kids. Turn's End. And I taught myself through a /lot/ of trial and error. Don't know if anyone in my family can really cook, or if they'd be bothered to." Ben glances up again and blows a stray strand of wavy hair from her line of vision. "Who's Freid? And who're you, I guess?" "Freid's a friend. He has a real name, but that's what I call him. It's easier. His real name is this mouthful. His parents are riders. I think," Finne purses her lips and licks some more frosting off the table, via her finger, and tries to recall. "I thiiiiiiiiink he said his name was Efreidaminen? He wants to shorten it to F'dam if he Impresses but I told him that's a ridiculous name. Why not E'nen, or Fr'nen, or something else, you know? /Boys!/ This is /really/ good by the way, did I mention?" Give her an opening and she doesn't stop. "Oh, right. I'm Finne. And if you don't mind, could I help decorate? It looks like a lot of fun and I've already finished everything I need to /for now/." That'll certainly change in a few hours. "F'dam?" Ben does not look convinced, brows lifted in dubious reply. "Sounds like you started to say a really bad word and then settled for a less bad one," she decides, shaking her head. "Can you tell him that it's /definitely/ a ridiculous name? I don't want to be shouting that in the bowl. Tell him it's Weyrlingmaster's orders." A shrug of her left shoulder follows, as she says, "Maybe I should just hope for him not to Impress instead." But even /considering/ the thought turns out to be too cruel for her, and regret settles into the lines of her features not a moment later. "Not that that would be very nice." The Weyrlingmaster regards Finne for the span of a breath, then slowly hands over the bag containing the blue icing. "Pipe some diamonds or something on this one," she invites, nudging the newly-outlined cookie towards her. "I'm Ben, Laurienth's, though you should probably stick to my rank within earshot of others." "Laurienth. Ben." Finne's brow furrows for a brief second, "Oh. Ebeny. Green Laurienth's. Transfer from High Reaches Weyr. The records room doesn't carry hatching records from other Weyrs." Else, surely, she'd have a lot more information to spout out. "Weyrlingmast- oh! Yes, ma'am." After a pert salute, the much shorter woman reaches up and over for the bag. "I can try. Just like this?" Her teeth quickly gnaw on her lower lip and the brow furrows again as she concentrates intently on the cookie and the blue icing coming out at the end. "Like that?" It's passable. To say that Ben looks nonplussed at being branded a transfer would be an understatement, and with that comes a distance and a glassy absence to her gaze, even as she reaches to secure a bowl containing a different texture of icing tinted a bright, starry yellow. "That sounds about right," she murmurs, not rude or unkind, but not particularly eager to confirm or deny anything at all. Her eyes remain unfocused as she darts a glance over to assess the icing situation, approval given in the form of a quick nod and a not disparaging note from the back of her throat. "What're you planning on then, if you Impress? Not name-wise. The rest of it." "I," Finne's concentration breaks and she stops staring at the diamond patterns she's creating and looks up to Ebeny. "I don't really know. I wish I did. I wish I knew exactly what I wanted to do and who I wanted to become cause so many people here seem to know /everything/ and all I know I get from what I can read and what people tell me. I don't think I'm asking the right questions." The small woman shrugs, self-effacing and finishes up the last diamond on the cookie. "I think that one's done. This is pretty hard work on the eyes. Did... did you know what you wanted to do if you Impressed?" "I got Searched the night before the eggs hatched," Ben answers, hands steadier than her voice, as she begins to smooth the yellow icing across one of the stars. "/I/ didn't think about anything and I don't pretend to have done." From across the counter, she picks up a clean spoon and offers it to Finne, along with one of the star cookies, nudging the bowl of icing a little more towards her. "Just... cover the whole thing," she supposes, nodding towards that first, experimental star she's in the process of icing. "There isn't one particular answer that'll make you understand, and even if there were, you'd only understand /one person's/ version of it all. One dragon isn't like another. One Impression isn't like another." "I don't know what I want then." Finne says honestly. "But this seems like an opportunity not to be missed. But I would be lying if I didn't say I'm wary and uncertain. I don't know what would be in store for me if I Impressed. Part of that unknown is soooo exciting and tantalizing. A lot of it is just down right scary." The candidate looks down at the cookie she's working on and lets out a loud, very audible, and kind of comical sigh. "Not the right answer, is it?" She laughs, sheepish and with that hint of complete well, complete discomfort. "Oh, I see someone flagging down another dishwasher. It was nice to meet you, ma'am. I'll have to think more about what I'd do if I Impress." Ben gives a quick shrug. "What's the right answer? After all, you could end up paired with a scary dragon." There's something more there, a dark undercurrent to her voice that insists that it /is/ a possibility and no idle musing. "/I/ don't mind what your answer is. If you Impress, I'll train you regardless. I don't need a 'right' answer." She's honest in that, her manner easier in that declaration than the one before. There's not much that she can /say/ (and remain honest) to ease Finne's discomfort, but she can, long after giving a nod of farewell, leave behind the two cookies that the Candidate has iced, with her name written in icing next to them on the countertop. What's a girl to do when there's no ink and hide about? The cookies are at least edible, if incredibly sweet. |
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