driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Eugene Woods (

survivalistcookbook) and Stefan Salvatore (

stefanged)
Broadcast: n/a
Action: the Wonderduck
When: Now

[Working with a deep-freeze full of real meat that he stocks at every available opportunity, Eugene's usually followed the routine of thaw meat, drain blood, cook meat. But having a friend who is evidently a vampire, and still having the routine of waste-not ground into his bones, he's found himself with an increasing volume of isolated and retained blood that he can't quite bring himself to throw away, but feels weird just presenting in a jar, when all of his other culinary offerings are a significant step higher.

The resolution comes after a good day and change of testing, culminating in inviting Stefan over with a quick message of come to the Wonderduck tonight, I made something you might want to try. He tries not to be too nervy as he waits, fiddling with garnishes and final touches, double-checking the pot on the back burner.

Worst case scenario, they still have bread.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Normally, when Eugene texts him about food, Stefan expects some new culinary wonder. Space pizza; homemade pita bread; and even those sourdough starters had been legendary. Now, even routine jars of blood were on the table - and Stefan couldn't find the heart to say no.

(He needed that sustenance, after all. Fresh or chilled blood always tasted better than the supplements.)

As he steps into the kitchen this time, though, he's thrown by the overwhelming metallic stench that he knows far, far too intimately. He draws in a breath, furrowing his brow as he surveys the area.

No injuries that he can discern. Eugene looks as healthy as usual, and ditto for the crew he saw on his way in. Cautiously, he gestures towards the stove - ]

Is everything okay? I thought I smelled something.

Oh, yeah! Come on in, sit down.

[He disarms the concern with a smile, gesturing at the galley table. This is presentation time, and he's not going to ruin it by showing zero confidence in what he's worked on.]

So. [He claps his hands together gently, nerves barely peeking through at the corners of his smile.]

Do you want the whole chef's dissertation on the menu tonight, or do you want to go straight to the hors d'oeuvres?

[ The air is filled with a delicious yet dangerous undertone of blood, and Eugene wants him to sit down? Stefan's skeptical look only worsens as he reluctantly takes a seat at the table.

Maybe Eugene forgot to clean the knives or something. That's likely, right? ]

Um. [ He laughs, clearly caught off-guard. If Eugene isn't bothered, then maybe Stefan shouldn't worry about it either. ] What do you feel like? I'm up for anything.

[That is not usually the doubtful look that Eugene gets from Stefan when he says he's made something new, and he releases a breath, smile turning rueful.]

Okay then. Explanation time.

[He does go to the refrigerator as he talks, though, taking out a bowl and bringing it to the counter behind him.]

Every time I get access to blood, I've just been giving it to you in a jar. And one day, I thought - man. If I had to meet my nutritional needs out of jars? I would not be excited about eating, at all.

[He reaches up to the cabinets for two shallow saucers, bringing them down and spooning something quickly into each. A dash of something from a bowl on the countertop follows, just a little to each dish, before he's on his way back.]

I know we're in space, but food is supposed to be interesting. Food is supposed to be social. When the only point of it is getting it into your system to survive, that's just . . . rations.

[He comes back to the table, and in the dish he puts in front of stefan is a pink-red, dusky blob a bit larger than a sizable egg yolk, wobbling slightly in a shallow layer of speckled, clear liquid. It smells of spices, vinegar, and - even chilled - of heavy, oily iron.

His own holds a much smaller but identical blob, and there are handmade crackers on the table, irregular hand-broken things jutting out of a small bowl.]

So here is my long-overdue attempt at treating your food like real food. The hors d'oeuvre tonight is a take on the classic raw oyster, a poached and chilled portion of spiced blood with a lightly seasoned rice wine vinegar.

[He releases a short breath, taking a seat and smiling a little sheepishly.]

Let me know what you think. Of any of it. These are all going to be works in progress.

[ Eugene's got a point: Stefan can't remember the last time he was excited about sustenance. Unless he's cooking for other people or punching out his meals, he doesn't take much joy in it.

He leans forward, observing Eugene with newfound curiosity. Sure, one blob for him makes sense but then there's one for him and one for... Eugene. As if he's also going to eat whatever he's put in front of Stefan.

Stefan swallows, suddenly realizing that his world's turning into a Gaussian blur. ]

You really didn't have to. [ His voice cracks as he reaches out for a spoon and some crackers, trying to treat this with the reverence it deserves. ] Thank you, I mean - you really didn't -

[ He takes a bite, half intent on stopping his broken record and half intent on trying this. It tastes as delicious as it smells, and although he'd meant to just sample it, he ends up taking another, and another until it's gone completely. ]

[Eugene shows mercy only, in all likelihood, because he's so invested in Stefan enjoying this meal that he'll forego his usual ribbing in the interest of making that happen. He downs his own portion exactly like he would an oyster - a single shot, just enough of a chew to get the taste but not enough to linger on it. It tastes like he'd intended - which, to him, is mostly like heavily-seasoned liver. Not unpleasant, but dramatic all the same, and he gladly nibbles at a cracker while he watches Stefan chase down his significantly larger portion with growing satisfaction.]

Well, if you're repulsed, you're doing an awesome job hiding it and sparing my feelings.

[ As grateful and honored as Stefan feels, he still can't prevent himself from rolling his eyes at Eugene and letting out a small scoff. Please. ]

Like I'd be repulsed by anything you make. [ . . . ] Um, is there any way I could have some more?

[ He's even licked the spoon clean, and Stefan's usually not one to shy away from a (human) meal.]