Edwin Jarvis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
edwinjarvis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2017-05-23 11:32 pm
edwinjarvis) wrote in driftfleet2017-05-23 11:32 pm
Entry tags:
THE MELTING POT. A Catchall.
Who: Jarvis! But also anyone at The Melting Pot! A Mingle!
Broadcast: N/A
Action: at the new cafe/bistro, on the Iskaulit.
When: May and June catch-all? Or something.
Feel free to make open and closed threads here! Or if you're looking for Jarvis, feel free to add that information in the subject line. If you'd like a character to come in and look for work, feel free, Jarvis may set them up with work! Likewise, those he told he would help learn to cook dishes can stop by, too.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: at the new cafe/bistro, on the Iskaulit.
When: May and June catch-all? Or something.
Feel free to make open and closed threads here! Or if you're looking for Jarvis, feel free to add that information in the subject line. If you'd like a character to come in and look for work, feel free, Jarvis may set them up with work! Likewise, those he told he would help learn to cook dishes can stop by, too.
no subject
[:) 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
... 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.]
no subject
[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?]
no subject
... 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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.