driftfleet | THE MELTING POT. A Catchall.

[All told, it's a rather impressive set-up that Rip finds himself walking into. Certainly more comfortable than Rip would expect to find, given the nature of the other ships, but then again, that's likely the whole point, isn't it?

Of course, the clearly well-thought-out nature of things aside, there's a touch of awkwardness Rip can't help but feel as he steps further into the restaurant. He's not there to sample the menu (although he's already decided he clearly will be, at some point). Rather, Rip's shown up for a cooking lesson of all things. It's perhaps the truest step he's taken towards acknowledging his so-called position within the fleet, and one that's unavoidable now that Peggy's recruited him to her own ship.

Yet that doesn't mean the notion has settled comfortably down within Rip's thoughts. It likely never will, not fully. Not when it's based on some blasted mechanic installed at the back of his head.

Still. Here he is, and when he catches Jarvis' eye at some point while the man moves about, he'll raise a hand in greeting. Rip's the one who is being accommodated; seems only proper to wait until the man has a spare moment for him before they chat.]

[Jarvis is quick on his feet, moving through the small but homely eatery with skilled speed. It's only when he at last looks up from his work that he notes Rip's appearance, and with a friendly but formal smile he approaches the man as he carefully wipes his hands on the half-apron he's wearing.]

Mr. Hunter, a pleasure! Have you decided to begin some cooking lessons today?

[When it seems that Jarvis is headed over, Rip takes those last few steps to meet him partway. He doesn't quite manage a smile, but equally, Rip's not being purposely unfriendly in the wake of the rather warm greeting.

It's about as casual as he tends to get, most days.]

If you've got time to spare for them, yes. I'll more than understand if you're too busy, however.

[Said only to be polite, of course. Unless Jarvis truly is busy; what with the typical fare available, Rip finds it not surprising at all that the little place he's set up would prove to be quite popular.]

[He waves a hand, dismissing the thought.]

Nonsense, Mr. Hunter, you're made excellent time and I've a light schedule for the evening.

Come along, we can start with something easy.

[So there truly would be no escape for him, would there?

In which case, it's best to get on with it. He follows easily in step behind Jarvis, slipping his hands into his pockets as they walk through the diner towards the back. It gives him a chance to take a glimpse at some of the offerings currently be enjoyed by the people there, and after a beat or two he looks back to his soon-to-be teacher.]

Have you been cooking long, Mr. Jarvis? [Asked out of honest curiosity. The man seems quite exceptional at it, if what Rip has observed tastes nearly so good as it appears. More so, given the rations it's likely made from.]

[He moves to hand Rip a cute little apron; do be clean, thank you.

Everything's already set up for the day, too. Egg substitute supplies, some strange space vegetables of sorts, whisks and bowls, and so on and so on. He rolls his sleeve with a little smile, pleased with the conversation.]

Oh, yes, since I was a very young boy, I suppose. My granny would let me sneak behind my father's back and cook with her; very kind and patient, my granny was, god rest her soul. It's an important skill set to have, knowing how to prepare for yourself.

[The apron, at least, he takes without fuss. Rip's honestly worn far more ridiculous things in the name of completing a mission before. Something to help keep tidy hardly qualifies as a hardship.

A look around the station makes it relatively clear what they'll be up to: some sort of "egg" dish, which seems a decent enough place to start. Better, none of that damn gel Rip despises the idea of in sight.

Once he realizes what Jarvis is doing, Rip copies the motion, turning up his sleeves quickly. It also gives him a moment to watch the man himself, speaking of his grandmother with such obvious fondness.

It really is rather sweet.]

Indeed it is. [An important skill set, that is--although when Rip had been a young boy, other things took priority. Stealing, haggling with the few merchants who would take knicked coin, protecting himself and what he'd managed to gain.

Ah well. No time like the present to learn, is there?]

Where would you like me to begin?

Firstly, make note of what you have available in any kitchen you have. It's best to know what limitations you may have, albeit ones you can overcome at some point. Egg and dairy substitute is available on most all ships if I recall correctly — but should you need anything from the gardens or even this kitchen, you'll need a bit of a bartering system put into place.

[Nodding he glances to Rip.]

You may need to learn a bit of gardening on the side, too. Have you ever tried your hand at gardening?

[The advice is sound enough, and Rip is able to confirm with a nod the presence of the powders mentioned. There's also that weird warm stuff that's meant to resemble milk, he thinks, but he's not had the will to even try that stuff yet, much less consider sneaking it into anyone's food.

What ultimately earns Jarvis a bit of a skeptical look, however, is when he mentions gardening, of all things. Of course it makes sense when thought through, but--still.]

Not even remotely. [Food synthesizers, Mr. Jarvis. They are wondrous things. And to reemphasize the point, he offers up the simple half-truth he's settled on for when people ask Rip about his past.] My background is in captaining a spaceship with significantly more advanced technology than what's available here, at least where food preparation is concerned. Gardening wasn't really part of the process, I'm afraid.

[And Rip's not sure how much more of his pride he can manage to swallow at this point to change that fact.]

[Tut, tut, Mr. Hunter. He shakes his head.]

You must clear your mind of everything you've known. I know it's quite the task, but we're all in the same boat here — scrambling to re-learn, that is. Now — I'm more than happy to help you with the process of at least maintaining living plants in the garden, in the meanwhile.

You'll learn to absolutely adore the fact that it exists.

[Clear his mind--except the last time that happened, Rip had wound up a poor film student struggling to create his thesis who found a great deal of his inspiration in recreational drugs.

He'll assume that's not quite what Jarvis has in mind.]

While I'm willing to adapt as needed, Mr. Jarvis, I won't be letting go of everything I was prior to coming here. [Of course he understands the concept in general; half of Rip's problem at least is his own stubborn pride. But there's a fine line between trying to make something of this arbitrary assignment, and surrendering himself to it.

Rip's well versed in doing what's necessary to survive. He refuses to go beyond that.]

I'm not sure if that's assumption or optimism on your part. [Believing that Rip would be so enamored with the garden.] Considering that we hardly know each other at all.

Clearing your mind is simply not applying your world's rules and regulations to this one, Mr. Hunter. After all, if I were one to let go of everything I was, I wouldn't be in suits from the 1940's.

[:) He adjusts his tie.]

And I say that you'll adore its existence because of the terrible space slop in all of the ships. We wouldn't be able to make most of what we do here without a little help from the gardens -- spices, herbs, vegetables, hey're all crucial to a decent meal.

Unless the person you're cooking for loves jello.

Then I suppose you're completely set.

[For a moment, Rip has to wonder if this is perhaps what the Legends felt like talking to him from time to time. If so, he may owe one or two of them an apology.

Adjusting his tie indeed.

But there's still value in the advice, even if it rubs against the wrong nerve. Rip looks aside, mulling it over—it's all a process of deciding where to draw the line, of what can be compromised and what must not be. There's an undeniable logic to what he says—particularly given how much Rip has already complained about all things gel textured.

Still. Despite all the dourness, some amusement manages to break through.]

Given that even the jello is at best off-brand, it's highly unlikely.

[The silence regarding the rest? Is likely as close as Rip will come to admitting the man might perhaps be right about it.]

[Jarvis quirks his brow as he watches the man go through the mental loops and curves. And... Alright, well. Let's just get this out of the way, fellow. You've already seemed determined to be a bit of an Eeyore about this whole affair.]

... Mr. Hunter, you're the one who agreed to assistance in how cooking works aboard the fleet. And I'm more than happy to tell you all things I know to make your time here as smoothly flowing as possible. But if you're less than eager to receive my advice or you find my method of delivery sub-par to your standard, you certainly don't have to follow through with it.

[Read: If you're gonna be a negative nancy who fights change and learning, we're gonna have problems, mister. He's not gonna help someone who drags their heels across cooking lessons.]

[Dear lord; Rip may have never been more grateful to not have any of the Legends brought into this mess along with him as he is in this very moment. He can only imagine their amusement at seeing Rip, so often the one to have delivered lectures, be on the receiving end of one of his own.

Particularly one that's in some ways deserved; Rip knows he's not exactly being charitable about this, and his eyes shift to look aside—not unlike he had as a child when chastised by his mother.]

It's not that, Mr. Jarvis. [Not precisely.] I'm not typically the type who makes the most of any given situation—and these particular circumstances grate in a rather personal way.

[Being assigned a role against his will, through an augment buried at the base of his skull, pumping whatever knowledge the Atroma wish into his mind: it's all too reminiscent of the recent past, filled with altered memories and manipulated wills, and horrific actions he would never forgive himself for.

Questions of identity he has yet to find answer for in the aftermath.]

But that is hardly your fault, now is it? [He can at least admit that much by means of apology.] And you certainly don't deserve my ire. So the least I can do, I suppose, is to temper my attitude and accept your lessons a bit more graciously.

[Fair?]

[He scans Rip's face, arms folded. Perhaps to make sure there's complete earnestly and genuineness in it. He gives a small, assured nod. A very serious fellow, and there's clearly far too much bouncing around in his head at the moment. He supposes the fleet does that to people.]

... Very well.

I think that's something I could compromise on, Mr. Hunter.

[Jarvis is certainly one to not give up, if the other doesn't.]

... Shall we?

[To be entirely fair, Rip always has too much bouncing around in his head. It's hardly the Fleet that's done that to him.

But his apology, as it is, seems to be the proper offering. Now Rip simply has to stick to it, rather than let his temper flare again.

Easier to do, perhaps, with a task to keep his attention on. He nods at the prompting.]

By all means. Breakfast to start, I take it?

Mm, indeed.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I suppose. It starts you off on the right foot.

[He demonstrates the proper measurements of substitute, writing down the amounts on a pad for the man to keep.]

The eggs are surprisingly close to the real thing, if you prepare them just right.

No sunnyside up I'm afraid, though.

[Rip thinks that Jarvis should perhaps put greater emphasis on the word surprising--but given that they've just agreed that Rip would try not to be so dour, he keeps the thought to himself. Instead, he observes, both the measuring and the taking of notes.

How thoughtful.]

If you'd like to continue a bit more freely, I can make my own notations. [Although he supposes there's a practical side to this as well, one which Rip doesn't know if he's expected to begin immediately.

Not five minutes into the task proper and Rip's already well on his way to overthinking things. Oops.]

[Oh! He seems pleasantly surprised, as he hands over the little notepad.]

Excellent! Now —

Let's go ahead and see your hand at it, Mr. Hunter.

[And because Jarvis enjoys small talk, he'll continue:]

What is your preferred breakfast, anyway? Since we might as well consider it for the future.

[…Well. He had promised to show some level of commitment to this, hadn't he?

Rip glances briefly over what Jarvis has recorded, and jots a few extra bits; just the last little dregs of information Jarvis hadn't had the chance to note himself. The reminder is well-timed; this isn't merely meant to be a demonstration, after all. The pad is brought over, placed carefully next to the secondary station for Rip to glance at while he works.]

A fry up's always good. [British breakfast at its best, he thinks—though the thought of it with scrambled eggs instead of over easy, with properly runny yolks is a bit sad. Besides, he doesn't think there'll be too much of the assorted bits to be found about; stuff like real bacon is likely a rarity.

He mulls it over, all the while measuring the assorted components; his detail oriented nature works in his favor, as this part is easy enough—and ultimately, inspiring.]

But if I had to pick one thing? French toast. [Something that has even a dour man like him nearly showing a smile. Evidence of a sweet tooth aside, he's got fond memories of the stuff—especially since it'd be a treat for special occasions in Mary Xavier's house.]

Ah, I see.

Then I'll have something made up that simulates it as much as possible.

[He'll just observe Rip in the meanwhile; good lad, don't you forget that seasoning.

Boy, he's happy for the herbs they grow here. Makes a world of difference.]

Best thing to do on waystations and planets is keep a look out for bread; it's a great commodity.

It shouldn't be too hard, should it? The basic ingredients are the same.

[Though Rip doesn't know the proportions, he knows what goes in it: egg, milk, sugar, flavoring—all of which they have. But then comes the mention of bread, and he pauses, going over a mental list that shouldn't be there:

The stores in the kitchen where he's meant to work. Turns out he knows everything he has on hand, at least that's been provided.]

Right; bread. [Which, again, could almost be made from what's in the kitchens on the ships—save for the yeast.] That's a rather unfortunate commodity to be lacking, considering most would see it as a basic staple.

THE MELTING POT. A Catchall.

For Jarvis

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...you just had to pick an icon with a gun in it.

:^]

such a demanding cooking master

oh always

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