driftfleet | The Way to a Blue Fish's Heart...

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The Way to a Blue Fish's Heart...

Who: Blue Fish crew and visitors
Broadcast: Maybe some accidental, but not overall
Action: The Blue Fish kitchen
When: All Day, Feb. 7

[It had been a rough month for a lot of the Blue Fish crew. From blenders to family members and lost friends and blocked credits, they'd been soldiering on through a lot. And while Jilly was new enough to have skirted by most of the drama, she was keenly aware of the underlying stress of her crewmates. She wants to help.

Sometimes, though, words aren't enough...and so she sets about taking advantage of her augment to the best of her ability. For the past month she's been collecting recipes from the datary and experimenting with the supplies provided by the Atroma. And, in the days leading up to the 7th, she quietly recruits Beverly for a pair of extra hands with some Station grocery shopping and behind-the-scenes planning.

It's not announced, but on such a small ship it's hard to miss that something is going on that day. Forgoing her usual trip to the Station for job hunting and people watching, Jilly gets up extra early and sets the kitchen in motion. Recipes are taped up on the cabinets, ingredients are gathered, and so begins a marathon of food.]

[Between the combined forces of Jilly and Beverly, the two "cooks" for the Blue Fish will be setting out food all day as a bit of a much needed holiday for their crew (and any visitors who stop by). Volunteer as a taste-tester, grab food on the run, help clean dishes between baking bouts, or simply sit and relax with your crew mates. Food therapy is a go.]

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[Allen and Sokka only could eat a whole squadron's worth.]

Very well. I'll admit, it's been some time since I've done this.

[And that was in the great outdoors, washing dishes in a river or lake. She's never done this in a proper kitchen setting before. But it doesn't deter her as she turns on the faucet, letting the water warm up while she grabs the sponge and plops some soap on it.

...Okay she put a little too much on it and now there are suds. Oops. But at least it's not a giant mess of them. Yet.

With the water warmed, she grabs a pot and begins scrubbing it. She makes quite a face when her hand brushes against whatever food residue is in there.]

[Robb shrugs.]

That matters not, my lady. It has been a while for me as well. [He flashes a grin.] But with the combination of soap, dishes and a washing cloth we might come quite far.

[When she starts to scrub a pot Robb interferes.]

Are you sure you want to do the pots now? We always did those last.

An unbeatable team, if ever there were such a thing.

[At Robb's interruption, she raises an eyebrow slightly, though she hardly seems annoyed.]

Really? I always understood it as washing the pots first to get the bigger items out of the way. But you are the one drying, so if you prefer I can start with the smaller dishes.

[Robb chuckles and nods.]

That is exactly how I see it, my lady.

[Her words make him think for a moment. He is no kitchen maid, of course. And dishes and cleaning is not something he knows much about.]

Well, if the smaller things are out of the way you can start on the big pots. Also, is there sand here? I remember the maids scrubbing them with sand before they added water. [Just after asking that he is quite sure he won’t be any sand in space.]

[She turns on the water to fill up the big pot anyway, to at least get it soaking. That will help. Meanwhile, Robb's question makes her pause and look around. Not that they have a sand supply, no, but perhaps they had something akin to it amongst the kitchen supplies.]

I... do not know, actually. Surely they have something similar to it? Unless they expect us to scrub at pots all day. [Now she's made it a bit of a mission. She opens up cabinets around her, looking for something that might help. Eventually she stumbles upon a bristle brush. It's not sand, but it might work. She shows it to Robb, shrugging. Yes? No? Maybe? He seems to have a better grasp of this dishwashing business than her.]

[Robb fills the sink with water when Riona is done filling the pot. In one hand he holds a small piece of fabric and in the other one, one of the many, many dirty plates.]

That brush looks fitting. [He guesses. Really, he is not as much as an expert on dishes as she thinks he is.] I truly hope I do not have to play the kitchen maid for the rest of my time here. Dresses do not fit me well, my lady. [Robb is joking a little and sniffs the liquid soap when he is done with joking.

Gods, that scent is amazing. He could use it for the stables.]

[Nope, sorry Robb. You are now King of the Dishes.]

No? Oh, then you must have had a terrible seamstress. We'll have to fix that.

[No, that's totally not a snicker under her breath as she takes the first dirty plate from Robb and begins to let the water run over it to get some of the food residue off. She smiles and gestures for him to hand the soap over so she can get to work.]

[At least the Game of Dishes is one he could win.]

That will not be necessary, I have no teats. [He flashes her a grin, letting her know he got the joke there.
Eventually he hands to soap to her and grabs a cloth, ready to wipe those dishes dry.]

And I am afraid my hair will not become as long as yours, my lady.

[And one that is considerably less dangerous. But more soapy.]

Ha! Perhaps not, but my lord, do not underestimate the power of well-fitted breeches. [She points the brush at him for emphasis before grabbing the soap and squeezing some into the water and on her brush.]

And it'll never be as long as mine if you keep cutting it, silly. [Another tease, punctuated with a smile as she begins to scrub at the dishes.]

[Robb can win that. Even when things will be done in a soapy way.]

Breeches are not dresses. [But he will not deny they are not fitting for a woman. The ladies of House Mormont mostly stood by him dressed like men. After all, fighting in a battle would be hard when wearing fancy silks and lace.] And I know how important they can be. [His own were mostly made of leather or wool.]

I have no intention to grow my hair to such lengths. [Maybe half-long. Like it is now.] And when fighting a war there is no time to fuss over the length of my hair. [When he fusses about his looks it is mostly the utter lack of beard.]

No, of course not. They are not as pretty. But more practical. still, a good pair can still make or break a first impression. I've seen perfectly respectable lords all but laughed out of the room for a terrible pair of breeches. [A bit of an exaggeration, but she's heard of so many men being the subject of gossip because of terrible fashion sense. And it holds more true in neighboring Orlais than it did in her kingdom.]

[He's met with a raised brow as she rinses off the plate and hands it to Robb to dry.] A war? Mm, that is not much a time for fashion and such.

Then what do you consider a good pair of breeches, my lady? [He is actually quite curious about the answer. Robb himself is rather fond of boiled leather. It is sturdy at the outside but soft on the inside and it does not itch like wool can do.] I think the breeches are not the most remarkable part of a lord's outfit.

[And during war breeches are the last of a man's worries.]

Aye, indeed. The strength of a man's armor....that is what truly counts.

Well, it does depend on the situation. For extensive time outdoors, leather of course. But indoors? I typically would lean towards a good woolen weave. In flattering colors, of course. [She begins to work on another dish.] What would you consider the most important part, then?

[She thinks of her armor set in her room, sitting in a rather undignified pile. Terrible, but what can she do without an armor stand?] But not here, sadly. Not unless we're suddenly boarded and invaded by some freak chance. Were you brought here to the fleet in your armor?

I rather not wear woolen breeches that itch. [Still, they all did.] At times I wear woolen ones underneath my leather ones. The cold can be merciless, my lady. [Robb takes the plate from her and moves to dry it quite sloppily.] I do not care much for colors. Gods be good, I am not some Southron lord who wish to dress in the finest silks while prancing around on the battlefield.

[Robb shakes his head and chuckles.]

Actually, in my finest clothes. I was attending a wedding. There is no need to wear armor during a wedding feast.

[Riona throws her head back and laughs. Maker, Robb, you're going to be the death of her.]

Not on the battlefield! You can very easily make a good impression there. Lop off some heads and survive. [She knows it's a lot more complicated than that, but it's hardly the point she's trying to make.] But in halls and castles, you might want to reconsider that stance. The right color that matches your eyes? Think of the swooning women.

A wedding? Now that's exciting. Whose wedding did you attend?

[When she laughs Robb snorts loudly.]

Gods be good, my lady, you make it sound as if it is a simple thing! Just lop off some heads and receive praise. Mayhaps they will make songs about me taking heads instead of winning land. [He remembers beheading lord Karstark. That has been an awful mess.]

I am a man wed. I do not need women to swoon over me. [Jeyne will do nicely, actually.] So my breeches would not matter much. I am of the North, believe me, we do not care for the latest...fashion.

My uncle Edmure’s. He is going to wed the lady Roslin of house Frey. [The woman he used to be betrothed to.] I believe they get along quite well. [That is something he did not expect but his uncle had been laughing with her. And eventually she had stopped crying for a bit.]

[Oh, she knows it's not, but she knows too many who think that way. And she really doesn't want to talk too seriously about the subject. She's heard enough of it and frankly, today is too light-hearted a day for that sort of conversation.]

Well, to be fair, it's easier to win said land when you lop off the right heads. And of course the strategizing and whatnot that's tedious but extremely important.

[But enough about that.]

Oh? You're married? [Now that gets a real smile out of her, not a teasing one.] That's lovely! Oh, but you must tell me about her. What's her name? What's she like?

[...okay despite liking swords more than dresses, Riona's enough of a noblewoman to want to know these details. SPILL, ROBB.]

Well, you first need to get your hands on the owners of those heads. [Robb shrugs.] But again, it is not wise to take the heads of your prisoners. Some are worth quite some coin. [And even though gold is not something Robb cares for, war does cost some.]

[Robb nods at her question while he slowly polishes a plate.]

Her name is Jeyne. [She is far, far away and he misses her greatly.] Jeyne Westerling. It is quite the story. I married her for honor. [And broke a very important vow.] But I lost my heart to her anyway. Love can do that. At times. [Robb becomes a little melancholic.] She is very kind and dutiful. Also quite beautiful. I consider myself a lucky man.

[Riona listens attentively as Robb tells her about his wife. She washes some cutlery before handing them over to him.]

She sounds like quite the woman. And a lovely one at that. You are quite lucky indeed. But do tell me the story of your marrying her. I'm curious now.

I miss her. [He speaks the words softly.] But I have my family here... It will make it less difficult.

[He puts the dried plate on top of the other. Would it matter if he told?]

I have been betrothed to another. And I married Jeyne. [It was the reason why he stood in front of lord Frey making apologies for something he did not feel sorry for.]

Perhaps she will show up here. Atroma hardly seems biased about who they bring here.

[As he dries, she grabs more plates and bowls and places them in the sink to soak.]

You broke an engagement? [She's not sure if he's got spine or if he's half out of his mind. That is not something you ever do lightly.] Your parents and your betrothed's family must have been furious.

I hope not. [Still, it would be quite amazing to see her again and to wake up next to her.] This would not be a place for her. [Robb shakes his head firmly.]

Aye, I did. [He should feel regret but he knows he married for honor...and now that marriage has become one of love. He considers himself a lucky man. Despite the problem it caused. Despite all the groveling he has to do in front of lord Frey.]

They were. But at times...it is good to be able to make a choice for yourself instead of...the entire realm. And I have been able to make amends. My uncle has been willing to take the lady Roslin for a bride. Lord Frey accepted that. My uncle is the heir to Riverrun and most of the Riverlands. It is a good deal for the Freys. [Not as good as a marriage to a king, though.] It is the best I can give them. And Roslin is a fair maid, it seemed my uncle liked her.

[You won't get a say if it happens. She's been there. But she will not press the matter. It may not ever happen, anyway, so there's little point.

She purposefully looks down at her plates, washing them with a firm purpose as she listens to Robb talk about this Lady Roslin. Seems like the poor woman's been passed around like a sack of potatoes between men. Somehow, she doubts the girl had a say in any of it. It's not entirely different in Ferelden. Marriages were often arranged; they were treated like business transactions. It's nothing new to her. Yet, it always seemed like the women's feelings were ever taken into consideration. So long as the men were happy with what they gained.]

And does Lady Roslin like your uncle? [Asked lightly, afforded by how hard Riona grips the dishes.]

[Robb tries to envision her. A skinny girl but quite beautiful. And she has been crying, her eyes puffy and her cheeks reddened.]

She has been crying a lot. [The smile around his lips is a little apologetic.] When she smiled, she smiled at my uncle... [Gods be good, it has been odd when he finally met her and noticed that she had cried.]

I had hoped... [Finally he sighs and leaves the matter be. Robb had hoped a lot of things and he wanted even more things. But in the end it is never about his own wants, hopes and needs.]

[Her mouth forms a grim line as she listens, though it softens as he goes. At least Robb seems to feel some sympathy for her. That's more credit than she can give a lot of men.]

Perhaps there's a chance for happiness, then. I hope so, for her sake. It's a terrifying thought for a lot of women, especially of noble birth, of not knowing who we might wind up with. Too many don't get a say in the matter.

The Way to a Blue Fish's Heart...

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