driftfleet | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Cara + You
Broadcast: Text
Action: SS First Breath
When: Now!

Apparently many people on the Fleet seem to be suffering from sadness. I have come up with some suitable solutions for you.

One: Crying. (This works for many)
Two: Drinking. (I'm less sure of this)
Three: Cuddling.

These usually work from what I've seen of people with . . . feelings. Hopefully you will all recover soon.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That is a lot of feelings to have for food.

Certainly, but if it makes people feel better? It's a worthwhile option.

The food in the Fleet is barely decent.

Unless it's homemade. You'd be surprised by what we've managed to achieve.

[Like space pizza.]

Such as? I assume you have something in mind.

Space pizza, baklava, ma'amoul, halfway-decent tea... the list goes on.

I don't know what any of those are.

Seriously???

We're fixing this right now. How soon can you get to the Paisley?

Not long, I suppose. Is it truly that pressing?

Yes. Unless you want to keep believing that food only serves as nourishment.

It's not as though I hate food.

Fine. I'll be right over.

Doesn't sound like you love it either. :P

Sounds good! See you soon.

[Or, more likely, the fragrant smell of his cooking would the first thing that greets her. Details.]

[ Cara wrinkles her nose because the smells are strange (but not bad). She clears her throat to make her presence known. ]

[He glances up from the pizza dough he's been spreading, giving her a wave and motioning for her to come over. Stefan's laid out everything: pizza sauce, powdered milk + vinegar, various chopped vegetables for toppings.

Space pizza > everything else, right now.]

Hey. Have you cooked before at all? Or is this all brand new?

Zedd and the others don't let me cook.

[ And rightly so, since Cara's cooking is awful. ]

Oh. [ . . . ] In that case, um, just take a seat and I'll show you how it's done.

[ She pulls up a chair, not particularly enthused. ]

Aw, come on. Even if you're not allowed to cook, you can still keep me company.

[He reaches for a ladle, gently spooning that tomato-y sauce all over the dough. He's clearly done this before; he doesn't even have to look down.]

So to clarify: you've never had anything that looks like this?

I know what sauce and dough is. Most of our cooking was done by servants, which is why I don't know much about it.

Ah. See, I learned how to cook because I had to. Didn't exactly have servants in college.

[Or the vast majority of his life, though he'll keep that to himself.]