DragonsFire - Azarin -
Sunday, May 12, 2002, 1:51 AM
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You head into the Kitchen.
Kitchens
The kitchen area is large but dim, occupying one of the larger caverns off of the main living area. The complex scent instantly impresses you - baking bread, fresh klah, roasting meats, the tang of herbs hanging from the rafters. Through the bustling crowd of cooks and drudges, you can see the small alcoves which notch the southern edge of the cavern, some serving as storage rooms for food, and others for general supplies. One tunnel leads below ground, to a medium sized cold-storage room, lined with ice. The northern edge of the room houses several immense hearths, spits, and baking ovens, at which the Weyr's food is prepared. A warming hearth near the entrance to the living cavern always has a meal set out for a rider who might be on an odd schedule, as well as a fresh pot of klah. The eastern wall contains what candidates and drudges affectionately refer to as 'tuber corner' - a series of sinks, the entrance to the dry goods cavern, and a careful arrangement of worktables for food preparation of all kinds. The cheery room is busy and loud, but you can usually be heard over the general hum of activity.
Avi and Tamyka are here.
Avi has gathered together an impressive array of bowls, spoons, and mixing whisks; a veritable army of cooking utensils, most of which aren't even in use. She also has several eggs, a bag of flour, a clove of garlic (it's best not to ask about that one) and a rag-tag group of ingredients. Avi frowns at her collection and chews her lip thoughtfully. "Right," she murmurs, ignoring the glares of the cooks as they go about their business, "This never looked all that difficult when -Mum- did it..." The food stares dauntingly at her. "Which goes in first?" Her brow furrows as she eyes the flour uncertainly.
Azarin lumbers into the kitchens from the stores, burdened by a large sack of flour. "Where d'you want it," he asks the cook who'd sent him on the errand and is pointed toward the baking area of the kitchen with a disdainful look from the man. "Over there a'course, what'd you think?!" Moving on the candidate, weaves through tables and the odd stool until he finally set the sack down with a sigh, giving Avi a lopsided smile. "What're you making?"
Avi
Muddy brown, an indiscriminate chocolate shade mixed with khaki green and ending in a tenuous compromise between the two. Dark lashes fringe carefully around them and arched, almost sarcastic brows shoot upward in perpetual surprise or excitement. Her face is round; her thin-lipped mouth quirked at the edges. A short, button nose, a feature that seems too cute and personable for the contrary face, rests squarely in the center of her features. Flyaway brown hair hangs around her face to the shoulders, going every which way in proof that she doesn't take thorough care of it. Avi's body is boyish: she's not slender but bony, constructed out of elbows and knees and extra joints. She lacks any sort of womanly grace. Avi is, at best, in the awkward stage of her life.
Avi wears a white knot on her shoulder -- oh, god -- she's an Istan Candidate.
Avi has finally managed to find some clothes that fit her. Leaving her arms unhindered is a cap-sleeved light-green shirt, which in turn tucks into dark-brown short pants, which end at the knee, leaving lanky, skinny legs exposed to the warm air. On her feet are a pair of light, comfortable sandals.
Avi is 14 Turns and 11 months old.Azarin
At a height of nearly 5'10 this young man is hardly one of the shortest people on Pern. His cool gray eyes look out from underneath dark, straight eyebrows. A fairly straight narrow nose lies right in the middle of his face, a minute scar on one side only perceivable because it is lighter than his tanned skin. High cheekbones make his cheeks look hallow, giving him an almost gaunt appearance, which his sharp chin does nothing to amend. Wiry muscles of arm and leg, and a slim overall figure gives him an rather menacing look, though the light in his eyes is quick to turn warm. Dark hair, growing longer again after a brief encounter with shortness, falls limply around his ears and across his eyes, a constant annoyance that he will not admit to.
A simple knot of three cords twisted together hangs from his left shoulder. Orange, black and white announces him to be a Candidate at Ista Weyr.
The sleeves have been ruthlessly ripped off Aza's maroon tunic, to account for the heat of the Istan summer. Open at the neck, it shows a bit of a nearly hairless chest, tanned from hours spent in the sun (without a shirt). His trousers are in no better shape. Black-dyed canvas has been cut off just above the knees, the loose strands of thread caressing his bronzed thighs. Held tightly to his long feet by black leather straps are thick-soled sandals, well worn and scratched several places.
Azarin is 19 Turns, 11 months, and 13 days old.
Tamyka stumbles in to the kitchen from the lower caverns, a large bag of salt carried carefully in the petite arms of the candidate. Steps swaying slightly, the weight of the bag largely effecting her ability to walk correctly, Tamyka mumbles something inappropriate under her breath. "Excuse me, sir. Where d'you... Sir? /Sir/? /SIR/?! Thank you. Where do you want the salt?" Trying her best to watch the Head Cook over the large sack doubled over in her arms, the candidate waits impatiently. This is ridiculous. Who really needs this much salt?
Tamyka
Soft locks of red-hued brown drape around Tamyka's face and around her shoulders, providing a nice contrast to her rather pale skin tone. Her face has considerably thinned since her younger turns, her facial features becoming more defined and attractive as she ages. A slim nose, rather petite compared to her other features is placed most delicately above rose petal soft lips. Round eyes are colored a pale aquamarine blue, ringed precisely with sooty gray, and framed with long, dark lashes. Tamyka's femininity has definitely become more apparent, her chest and hips shaping into the curves of womanhood. Her thin arms usually drape in some manner about her chest or rest on her hips, trying to hide the obviousness of her growth. Her legs, short as they might be, make up most of her 5'4 frame.
A simple dress of pale blue drapes Tamyka's petite frame, adding a nice wave of color to her rather dull persona. Resting upon Tamyka's shoulder is a simple knot, a single cord with a single loop in Ista Weyr's colors of orange and black. A thin strand of white carefully weaves itself in and out of the faded colors of Tamyka's knot, denoting the young woman as an Ista Weyr Candidate.. Jelly regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Flizard regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Sorceress Polgara regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Commando regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder. Ganso regards you, perched atop Tamyka's shoulder.
Tamyka is 19 Turns, 5 months, and 1 day old.
Carrying:
Ganso
Commando
Sorceress Polgara
Flizard
Jelly
"Weeeell," Avi says, hesitating, "It's supposed to be butter cookies. Except they're not going very well." Reaching out bony fingers, she tears open the bag of flour, sending a -puff- up in the air. Avi sneezes, fluffing a further cloud of white into the air. "As you can see..." She picks up a whisk uncertainly, and then peers at Tamyka curiously. "...I don't think he heard you," she offers helpfully, "You could bring it over here, though, I'm sure the cookies will need salt eventually?" Avi's brown eyes widen with the possibility... man, I would -not- want to touch anything this girl manages to cook..
"Salt...? In cookies.." Aza isn't sure that sounds right. Shoving his flour-sack over to the wall where it's out of place, he sits down on it, awaiting more orders - or hiding from them - while watching Avi. "I don't think salt goes in cookies, Avi..." he says again, shaking his head with a doubtful look on his face. "Maybe in rolls, though..."
Tamyka eyes the cook with expectant eyes only a moment more before retreating in the direction of Azarin and Avi, bobbing her head quickly at Aza's comments, "There is salt in cookies, actually. Though, how much, I have no idea." Dumping the large bag onto the cupboard, attention swirls toward Avi, a smile on her face, "A handful or two might be enough, I'm not sure exactly what it's used for." Just a little fib, as salt won't really hurt anyone. And besides, it'll make Avi look like a complete nutcase!
Avi shakes an admonishing finger at Azarin. "Of course salt goes in cookies, Azarin. You can't -taste- it, of course, but... I'm almost positive it goes in cookies, at least." She frowns at the garlic. "I'm not sure when to add -that-, either. D' you know anything about cooking?" Avi wants to know. It's a stab in the dark. Hey, she doesn't need Tamyka's help, she's already a nutcase. "...oh, all right, then," she says, and dumps several generous handfulls into the bowl. "It does seem a shame to waste all of that perfectly good salt, though," the girl says thoughtfully. "And all that flour, Aza."
Azarin blinks, a look of mild surprise crossing his face. "Really...?" he mutters, eyes darting from Tamyka to Avi as he shakes his head, grinning crookedly. "No.. But I can make wine," he offers, nodding enthusiastically, "at least the basic kind.." He'd never stuck around the vintners long enough to learn how to make the good stuff.
"Well, Avi, think
of it like this.. we have /plenty/ of salt in that bag, and it needs to be put
to good use. Making cookies, wine and bubblies with salt, as they should be,
will help to use it and also feed the members of the Weyr, will it not?"
A nod is given toward Azarin, the young woman smiling stupidly if not a bit
mysteriously, "I say that we surprise the Weyr with a wonderful feast for
dinner, a lot of special food... salted fish and those things that require salt.
Cooking really isn't that bad." Cough.
OOC: Tamyka says "Yeah, that was me."
Avi wrinkles her nose at Azarin. "Well, there's not much to make wine with," she says slowly, "Unless you find some sort of wild grape in the forest." The girl frowns, twisting her mouth. "That is a nice skill to have, though. I can't even seem to manage cookies." She tosses the clove of garlic, whole, into the bowl, and peers thoughtfully at it. "Hmm..." As Tamyka speaks, Avi slowly begins to smile, one of those large grins that travels along the entire line of her face, showing white teeth and crinkling her eyes shut. "Oh, wonderful!" she says, clapping floury hands together, "Beautiful opportunity. What d' you think, Aza? Are you in?"
Azarin's eyes dart from one girl to the other, then past them to the cooks scurrying around the kitching preparing the /real/ dinner. "Are sure that's a good idea? We'd get in trouble, don't you think?" Might take some convincing to get Aza to help out with this enterprise. "And why just salt?" he suggest, not aware that he's supplying fresh ideas, "why not pepper... Or chili?"
Tamyka raises an eyebrow inquizitively in Azarin's direction, nodding, "Pepper is alright, though salt is good because we have an excess amount of it /and/ you can't see it in most foods, unlike pepper. Some riders strongly dislike pepper, so when you can actually see it, it doesn't work. Chili might work, because we can use it to look like other spices." Clearing her throat, the candidate tosses a glance toward Avi, and then turns her gaze back to Azarin, "How about we just start cooking and throw in what we think is necessary?"
"Oh, -Azarin-," Avi says severely, waggling a finger at him. "Being a candidate is an experience! You have to enjoy it, and enjoying it involves breaking a rule or two. Right?" Her voice takes on a wheedling tone. "It'll be fuuun to see their faces, right?" Avi folds her arms over her chest, and smiles smugly. "See? You're getting into the spirit of it now!" The garlicy cookies are forgotten as she glances from candidate to candidate. Slanting a glance at Tamyka, she suggests, "You can use some of my garlic, too. It's strong even when it's in bits, and if you chop it up in little pieces..." she waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
"Just... Be careful the cooks don't see you," Azarin says as she gets up from his perch on the flour sack, leaving a dent in it. Grinning crookedly, he /does/ start to get into the spirit of things, strolling along a counter set along the wall. "Mayyybe.. We could slip something into those stews they're cooking." Without the all-seeing cooks spotting them, of course. The were already starting to attract attention from one greasy-looking cook with narrowed eyes.
Tamyka smirks in Azarin's direction, throwing a playful, flirtatious smile in the direction of the greasy cook in which Azarin mentioned. Walking slowly, the former healer apprentice grabs a small jar of coriander, not exactly sure about the purpose of the substance, and careful to make sure that no one is watching, drops a handful in each of the stew pots currently boiling, and also into the fruit mixtures for the bubblies. Running her tongue across her lips as she returns, the small jar replaced to it's home between the thyme and tarragon jars. "Yum!"
Avi raises an eyebrow and shakes her finger at him. "Make sure they don't see /us/," the girl insists. "We're in this together, at the moment." She sidles over to one of the other boiling stew pots, bag of salt in hand, and tips generous helpings into the stew. Several generous helpings. "What's that you're using, Tamyka?" the girl wants to know, curious. She's not... exactly current with happenings in the kitchen. "Don't even look at him," she mutters, referring to the cook, "Just ignore him, I suppose."
Azarin finds the ground-up chili pepper easily, having help put it away not long ago, and slips it off the shelf and hides the jar in the crook of his arm. Glancing over at Greasy Cook, he makes sure he's not looking in his directions and quickly shoves his hand into the chili, pulling out a large handful and dumping it into the soup, stirring the ladle to dissolve it. "It burns...." he whispers as he joins the girls again, shaking his red-stained hand. "Why does it burn?"
Tamyka blinks several times as she looks at the jar that she just had her hands on, looking rather perplexed, "Oh.. it's carmeander, some sort of herb that's supposed to sweeten foods up when it's ground and used in plenteous amounts." She might sound like an expert, but in truth, she's not. Coriander, a spice, is used to liven up typical Mexican dishes - so you know it's not used to 'sweeten things up'. Giggling lowly at her fellow candidate, Tamyka says, all knowingly, "Because, chilis are /spicy/ and they penetrate the skin, just as they would the tongue. So, instead of feeling spicy on your skin as on your tongue, it just burns. Or at least it has the same sensation."
[GlitzyCandies]
Avi sighs and has to go. Bye!
Avi looks distracted.
Avi has disconnected.
Azarin stares at Tamyka, taking in everything she's saying, almost forgetting about that burning sensasion on his hand. Until it gets to be too much. Disposing the jar on the nearest counter he heads straight for the closest sink, pushing aside a drudge doing the dishes there. "'cuse me," he mutters, and plunges his hand into the soapy, greasy water with a sigh. "Much better..."
Tamyka frowns in Azarin's direction as Avi sets about to dumping more salt in the food about the kitchens, "When you're finished nursing yourself back to health, come help me with these cookies!" That, of course, is just her sentence-disguise that can really be interpreted as 'Come help me add some spice to our cuisine with these spices!' Beaming innocently at the Greasy Cook sends a dirty, curious glance in her direction. Shaking her hips happily, the young woman sets about to the further destruction of Avi's already-ruined cookies. Delicious.
Azarin is just helping the drudge with the dishes, see? At least that's what he hopes Greasy Cook is seeing. Pulling his sore hand from the dirty water, the candidate eyes the drudge setting a finger to his lips. Shhh. Don't tell. Sneaking back to Tamyka, he graps a towel on the way drying his hand thoroughly, grinning at her as he comes up next to her. "I never thought cooking might be fun," he says, catching onto the fun in pranking. Don't remind him of the concequences of being caught now.
Tamyka nods her head vigorously, mahogany locks bouncing giddily about her round face, "Oh, yes.. It can be quite fun. As long as you can find the humor in it, that is." Barely reaching, the girl manages to wrap her thin fingers about the container of thyme, pouring a rather overbearing amount onto the counter and chopping the leaves into miniscule pieces. "A delicious addition to the cookies! And, they add a minty, lemony flavor!" Won't that taste just great with the garlic?
"D'you think it needs more now...?" Those cookie'd taste awful as it is, and Aza wasn't sure he wanted to torture the poor weyrfolk any more than necessary. Shrugging, he gets the jar with cinnamon in it, showing it to Tamyka with a raised eyebrow. To make the cookies taste even more odd, you see. A nice mix of bitter and sweet. Oriental, y'know.
Tamyka offers the large bowl to Azarin as she manages to find a nearly empty jar of rosemary in the greedy grasp of her fingers, and a handful of even more salt in the other. Finding a small, empty bowl, the former apprentice mixes the various herbs, spices and additives into the bowl, quite satisfied when her result is a peppery, grainy looking mixture. Stepping lightly, the candidate sprinkles a bit of the mixture atop /every/ piece of fish on the counter, smiling in spite of herself. Hey, it may not be the same incredients that the cooks use, but it sure looks the same.
Azarin gapes at Tamyka and the efficiency with which she performs the operation. Standing over the bowl with spiced cookie dough, the candidate's eyes follow's the other's progress with a look of amazement shining in them. "Wow," he whispers, then remembers his own mission and adds a healthy dose of cinnamon to the cookies. Mighty interesting cookies to come out of this dough he tells himself and takes the bowl and a teaspoon to the baking plate and begins the meticulous procedure of creating the cookies. Oddly shaped cookies. A dead give-away that these were created by a candidate with no knowledge of cooking.
Tamyka skips past Azarin, quite happily at that, and whispers as she goes along, "You can use your hands, it's alright.. They should be clean, afterall, you did dip them in the dishwater." Clean? Right. Deciding that she's finished with the further destruction of the stews on the ovens, the candidate dumps a tiny bit of granulated sweetening, a large amount of flour, five handfuls of salt, a half-cup of margarine and water into a bowl and quickly begins to mix, forming the dough for the bubbly crusts.
Use his hands. Aza frowns at that, turning to make sure if he'd heard her right, then look down at his clean? hands. With a shrug he digs his finger into the dough and spreads it onto the baking plate, making a more rounded cookie this time. "This works," he says, with obvious pride in his voice, beaming a smile at Tamyka as he licks a finger. Wince. Grimace. Eww. Not a good idea that.
Tamyka watches Azarin lick his finger out of the corner of her eye and can't help but smile in an ammused sort of way at his reaction, "Az, hun, it's really not /your/ job to taste the food. They get to be the first ones to try our creations, not us. That way, if they die or fall incredibly sick, we'll know not to eat it." Kneading her concoction into a small ball, she begins to separate it into chunks to flatten each one to hold the fruit center. Yum, demented-Tamyka-bubblies.
"Right," Aza croaks, blinking tears from his eyes, produced by the horrible taste of the dough. "I'll try 'n remember. I just always liked cookie-dough, so I guees it's just a habit..." Licking his fingers, that is. Even if he's never actually /made/ cookie dough himself. "They'll know it was us... That Greasy Cook's been keeping an eye on us," he says, nodding toward the man, who's in turn eyeing the candidates.
"It's not as if we could do anything about it, though. I mean, /they're/ the ones who gave us kitchen duty. Naturally, we'd have to help with the cooking, and it's not really our fault that we don't know how." That's right, Tamyka, blame it on the candidate coordinators! "As for the the Greasy Goat over there, he's just jealous of our amazing ability to liven up food with lots of flavor and.. zest." That's right.
Azarin nods, a slow smile spreading on his lips. "Yeah, I really /don't/ know anything about cooking," he says with a shrug lifting the last bits of dough carefully onto the plate, then carrying the plate with some ceremony to the oven. "How long should they bake? If we want them to eat 'em they shouldn't be burnt, should they?" See, he really is starting to get the whole point of pranking, isn't he?
Tamyka can't help but smile at Azarin's cooking stupidity, "That's right. You never want to burn cookies. If it's a prank, you want people to eat them, so you want them perfectly golden brown... If they're normal, you still want them perfect. Burning cookies just goes to show that you really didn't care about them in the first place and you were distracted with something meaningless." The optimistic one, Tamyka is. Smiling helpfully at her fellow candidate, she drops spoonfulls of the berry mix into the centers of her dough, then closes them at the edges, forming small pockets.
"Yeah," Aza mutters, still standing with the plate in front of the oven. She hadn't really answered his question had she? How long should he /wait/ until taking them out? Shrugging, he puts the plate on the conviniently placed rack next to the oven, opens it and put the plate inside. "Hot in there... I s'pose I better find some kind of pot holder to get it out again.. Don't wanna burn my fingers.." Talking to himself, the candidate crosses to a table across from the oven and finds what he's looking for, along with a small plate of already baked cookies. Snatching one, he stuffs it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Not spiked with anything, thank Faranth.
"Azarin! Don't /do/ that. You're not allowed to actually eat in the kitchens. Like I said, they eat first, not us. You should know that. It's not something I made up, it's universal Bakers code." Not that Tamyka was, or ever will be, a Baker. But, as always, she knows everything. The glances toward the oven, pondering for a moment, "Just check on them every ten minutes or so... The length of time for them to be in there really depends on the heat of the fire."
Startled by Tamyka's exclamation, Azarin stumbles back against the table nodding. Swallowing hard, he gets rid of the evidence then brushes away the crumbs on his libs. "I was just having a taste...." he says, his voice small and befuddled. "I mean.. We have to know that it tastes alright, don't we." A pause, and then he realizes what he'd said and adds a wink and a grin. Well, maybe it /was/ for the better that the cooks didn't eat before the others..
Tamyka coughs appropriately, "Oh, stop being so dramatic," Azarin really isn't being dramatic, but Tamyka says so for her benefit. "Don't taste, don't lick, and be careful about what you touch." Giving a single, reassuring nod, the candidate takes her own bubblies to a separate oven and sticks them inside. "How is your robe coming along, Azarin? I thought I had heard something about difficulties with yours."
Oh, good. Change of subject. "All done. I finished my robe a sevenday ago," he says, beaming a proud smile at her as he approaches the oven again, opening the door at a slit to peek inside. Slamming it shut again, he shakes his head, "not done. And I did most of it myself too. The stitching anyway.. " Leaning against the table across from the oven, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, grinning at Tamyka, "how 'bout yours? I bet it's nice."
Tamyka stares at Azarin for a moment, looking confused, almost as if she didn't hear him, "My robe? Oh... ahh.. It's good! I've had to redo it a number of times, and I'm having a heck of a time trying to get the bloodstains out. Except for the stains, I'm finished with it." That's right, Tamyka's vicious with a needle, and she has the scars to prove it.
"Bloodstains? You mean you didn't make yours from scratch?" Looking almost disappointed at that, Azarin's eyes falls to the floor while his fingers wring the pot holders. Shrugging, he looks up again and beams a smile at her, "well, I s'pose it's not so bad getting a used one. I bet most of 'em are nicer than mine, anyway. It's been real hard sewing the pieces together after I got Emmie to help me cut them." Even though Aza might like to believe it, his robe might not pass for a robe in an inspection, though..
Tamyka shakes her head, "Oh nonono, I made this one myself. The bloodstains are my own, the ones that I got from poking myself with the needle." Pausing the candidate twists her lips into an awkward smile and then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Y'know, getting poked in the finger repeatedly with a needle really hurts." As if she really had to say it outloud, "It's a good expierence, though."
Azarin chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement and sympathy. "I know," he says and wiggles his fingers, "I kept poking myself too." Stepping across to the oven, he peers inside, waving Tamyka over for her to have a look. She's the expert, after all. "D'you think they're done now?"
Tamyka pads slightly closer, bobbing her head as she takes a quick inspection, "They look wonderful. Perfect timing. They should be nice and gooey and warm," or whatever happens with cookies after adding all of the different herbs that the candidates put in them. Giving her fellow candidate a proud smile, she sidles over to her own oven, giving the bubblies a once-over between switching her gaze back to Az's oven.
Azarin smiles broadly, opening the oven fully taking a step back to avoid the blast of heat coming out of the opening. Then he carefully wraps the pot holders in a manner so that he won't burn his fingers and slides the baking plate out and over on the cooling rack. Closing the ovendoor, he stands back to admire the spiked cookies. Looked like plain, normal cookies, didn't they. Nothing at all wrong with them. "Just remember not to have any cookies tonight," he reminds himself in a mutter.
Tamyka shakes her head, "I think that when you come back into the caverns tonight, there will be such a fuss about the disgusting nature of them that you'll remember not to." Giggling softly to herself, the young woman waits a few minutes more before removing her bubblies from the oven, using potholders in the same manner as Azarin did to set her batch on the cooling sheets.
Azarin chuckles, his eyes displaying a certain amount of wickedness. "I'll have to remember to be there to see the reactions," he whispers, leaning closer to Tamyka so that Greasy Cook won't overhear. "Maybe we should duck out before they set us to serving as well?" he says, tossing his head toward the caverns and the activity of the drudges. Not even Straight-and-Narrow-Aza would want to have both kitchen duty and serving duty in the same evening.
[GlitzyCandies]
Tamyka can't pose out.. I gotta go like.. now =)
Tamyka rolls herself into a cute ball of slumber.
Tamyka has disconnected.
*** Disconnected ***