WE'RE ALL WEIRD PEOPLE & WE LOVE IT

[mylegacy]

Who: the caprine shitshow
Broadcast: none.......
Action:
When: right meow

[when life gives you lemons throw them at your crew]

[specifically the captain]

[actually just throw everything at the captain he's got a hard skull he can take it]

Comments

[shoujoreject]

[As usual, Qing is keeping mostly to himself in the ship. Things are a little quieter without Mal (though not much, definitely) and he's not sure what he thinks about that.

When he's not checking up on lab supplies and/or reading medical books, he's usually in his room sewing. Or reading. Or drawing. Actually, mostly sewing or drawing at this point. He can also be found in the kitchens, inspecting the new upgrades.

Once or twice, he can be found muttering in Cantonese about the oven, as he works to make something sweet for the crew. There will be (less angry, though it's hard to tell sometimes) muttering too when he's working with what foodstuffs he's got, creating a suitable dough for potstickers and the like.]

[mylegacy]

[COOKING ...... EYEZOOMS]

[Or, more descriptively, here is Caesar poking his head into the kitchen when he gets a whiff of that telltale dough smell, not to mention hearing that frustrated muttering. He's been quiet so far, but food though.]

. . . Do you need a hand?

[shoujoreject]

[What is--oh. Qing looks up at Caesar, giving an awkward little smile.]

Ah. I'm just having a little difficulty getting the consistency on this pot-sticker dough right. I wouldn't turn down help.

[He tugs at the edge of the dough again, which is too thick and bread-like currently. Not nearly enough stretch. He figures it must be a water ratio thing, but it keeps doing this. :c]

[mylegacy]

Mm, I've never made it before but I can try.

[He steps into the kitchen, a little less tentative now that he's been given permission.]

What's not right about it?

[shoujoreject]

It's too... [He mutters something in Cantonese, shaking his head.] Doughy. It needs to have more stretch.

[He gestures a little as he speaks, plucking off a piece of the too-thick dough and stretching it in his fingers - well, as best as he can.]

They're like... ah, what are they called again... pasties? You fill them with meat and vegetables, fold them over, seal and fry them.

[mylegacy]

Oh.

[He smiles a little, bright and optimistic for a change.]

I can help with that, then. I'm better with breads than pastries. Here — push it over, I'll see what I can do.

How big are they meant to be? [And then, almost immediately:] What language was that? I don't know it.

[shoujoreject]

Ah... about the length of a hand--

[He pauses as he pushes the dough over, laughing.]

Well, my hand. I guess it's about 12 centimeters? [And then he blinks at the question.] Ah, Cantonese. I get a little tripped up when talking about food, since mother and father never really spoke English in the kitchen.