driftfleet | Heron mingle

Entry tags:

Heron mingle

Who: Heron and visitors
Broadcast: N/A
Action: the Heron
When: April

[Hello birdies! We've got new bunks and a quieter engine, and possibly some rumours stuck to the fridge. What are you getting up to this month?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, you aren't normally awake to ask.

That sounds like a jab at my sleeping habits.

Not a jab - an observation.

[There's amusement in his voice though. Turning to the cupboards, he retrieves some of the rationed supplies.]

I suppose you would know.

[ He moves his chair around to help. ]

[Humming his thanks, he divides the goods up and shifts half towards Charles.]

You haven't made a request yet, though.

Hmm. How about French toast?

French toast... [He crosses his arms, surveying the supplies on hand.] I should be able to make that. The bread might be closer to a pancake, but if you don't mind that?

It's fine, Erik, especially since you're indulging me already.

The lack of bread just means I need to adapt something else.

[He gestures to the supplies.]

We'll need the flour and egg substitute from those.

I'm positive we stocked up on flour. Let me take a look. . .

[ He purses his lips, assessing the cabinets before his expression brightens. He raises his chair to open the cabinet, pulling out the sack of flour. ]

Ah, you're right. [They do tend to hoard basic staples when they can. Erik had forgotten that one particular stash. He goes back into the fridge to retrieve the butter substitute, and then fishes the potato flakes from the cupboard.] If this ends up tasting like French toast at all, I'll consider it very successful.

[ Charles steadies his chair once more as he lowers it. ]

I imagine any of our culinary work here can be a hit or miss.

Using alien ingredients does add a larger margin of error than I'm used to.

[He clears the bench, and lays down those new flimsy cutting boards the kitchen now has.]

Entertaining errors though.

For you, perhaps.

I say it out of love.

[The comment makes him pause, but his smile is brighter for it. He begins measuring out the flour with steady hands.]

As long as there's no outright laughter, I suppose I'll make do.

[ His expression softens at that. ]

I'll be sure to restrain any mocking comments.

I'm sure you will.

[He sets about making the french 'toast' in earnest. The mixing bowls come out, as does the whisk and measuring cups. Erik directs Charles to liquefy the egg substitute in a bowl, as it does no good to anyone in its weird flaky form. Meanwhile he works on the batter for the toast-slash-pancake, mixing it vigorously before lighting the stovetop to cook it.]

[ Charles works quietly and diligently. It's a comfortable atmosphere and he finds himself sinking into it without further thought. ]

[It's a rhythm Erik seeks out every day, at least once. The act of making food is repetitive and calming, and there's always an end result to prove what you've done. It's little wonder this was one of the first habits he returned to, when he started to inch out of his depression.

Eventually, Erik flips the goods in the pan one more time, and slides it onto a plate.]

Definitely more pancake than toast. Still, it will do.