semi-open

[queenofseers]

WHO: The residents of Maurtia Falls #004 and many friends
WHERE: MF4
WHEN: Late September
WHAT: Family Dinner: The Return. After a long hiatus, it has returned. If you are a friend of any of the residents, assume you're invited to eat!
WARNINGS: None now, will add if needed.


[ The last time there was a dinner in this house, there were different stresses, slightly different residents, and no one had died yet. Perhaps you can't blame anyone for not planning another group meal soon after that.

Since then, though, things have been...mostly quiet. Comparatively. Yes, the world is still a shitshow (in Cassandra's own opinion), but the residents of the house are back into a fairly domestic routine, and any threats to reality are ambiguous enough that one can occasionally pretend they're on the periphery rather than clearly encroaching. So friends are finally being invited to Maurtia Falls #004 again, in the hopes that performing normalcy will allow it to be retained.

Or...something like that. There's also something nice about ordering a bunch of takeout and letting other people bring over food.

For any new guests, the building is the epitome of cleanliness- Rex lives here, after all- and nondescript to the point of it being a little surreal. Plenty of alcohol in the fridge, though, and a mysterious cupboard marked "Martin's Things." Maybe don't open it. Besides that, the only other thing to call out is a goldfish in a tank in the living room.

In any case, even if the building is a little boring, the people don't seem to be that way. Then again, maybe boring's what you're here for? Better than chaotic around here. ]

Comments

[killtime]

It's not. [ Her voice is a little wry, but mostly fond. ] Come here.

[ She waves him closer to her, taking a full head of garlic out for each of them. Even like this, covered in layers of skin, the little bulbs smell pretty strongly. She sets one in front of Martin, and leaves one for herself. Digging her fingers in, she starts to peel each individual clove apart. Once she has them all separated, she takes a kitchen knife and lays it flat on one clove — pressing the heel of her palm against it and leaning until she hears a good crunch. ]

There. [ The loosened skin seems to flake right off the clove with a bit of coaxing, exposing the smooth texture underneath. ] See? Easy.

[darkov]

[he stirs a bit at the sound, blinking as the smell fills the space. he knows this smell -- it comes from a lot of good things he's had before, and it does much to compensate for the nastiness of having tasted all that chopped-up grass. parsley. whatever.

he'd been attentive to the way she held the knife, how the clove was peeled, and what's left. if he's good at anything, it's at watching for details and patterns. whether or not he can replicate it with his untrained hands, though...]

Al-alright. Umh...

[even so, she'd asked him to try, so try he will, mirroring her movements, down to counting the seconds it took her to each step, onto that final crunch.]

[killtime]

[ She watches him, less interested in whether he manages to do it right and more just enjoying this opportunity to observe the attempt. It's charming to her, somehow. Much in the same way that it's charming when Rex does the laundry, or makes the bed. Maybe that's just how it is when you love someone — all the small, ordinary things they do fill you with a certain fondness.

Crunch. He copies her well, an able student. ]

Good. [ Brief, but sincere praise. Turning away, she goes into the cupboards for a little bowl, which gets set down in front of him. She puts her own freshly peeled clove of garlic in there with a light plunk. ] That's your job now. Think you can handle it?

[darkov]

[he nods, giving a soft affirmative as she sets out his next target. this is his job now, and he can take to it without complaint now that he's seen and done the gist of it. should there be any abnormalities, well...he can think about that when it happens. or just quietly worry about it while being well on his way through the next clove.

crunch, crunch... it's not perfectly mechanical, but methodical enough that there's a consistency to hearing it when her back is turned from the action. Martin himself finds a lot of quiet satisfaction in how repetitious it all as -- almost like one of those factory machines he's transfixed by on the TV.

it's not long at all before, when reaching for the next, there's no more to grab. it snaps him out of the trance with a little concern, but sense settles in not long after.]

...All done.

[killtime]

[ Meanwhile, Andy keeps adding things into the pot. A few more pinches of salt and pepper. The dreaded parsley. Some more chopped up vegetables — carrots, celery, and the ever familiar potato. Things that need time in the heat. At the sound of Martin's voice, she glances back over to see that he's dutifully completed his task — and managed to keep all his fingers besides. Good. ]

Alright. [ She reaches into a nearby drawer then, drawing out a funny little handheld contraption. Another small bowl gets set out beside the one holding all the peeled cloves. demonstrating, Andy takes one of the cloves and puts it into the device — a garlic press — and when she squeezes, a strong smelling garlic mush appears on the other side of grid, forced through by the piston. She scrapes the small glob off into the bowl. ] Now you do this. We'll put it in the stew, after.

[ A small pause, as she leans her hip lightly against the kitchen counter. ]

What did you used to eat? Before.

[ They don't talk about it much. "Before." They didn't even talk about it much after she saw the compound. ]

[darkov]

[before.

he's only just started to get a feel for the new task before her question gives him pause; he can't rightly do a good job and think back to answer her question, after all.

he stands still and quiet as he thinks back to meals in the mess hall with his sister and his cousins -- that bleak, stone room that Roland had the opportunity to deface in frustration, unbeknownst to Martin.]

...Lots of potatoes. Carrots. Chickens...Beets and goats...

[they come out as quickly as he thinks them, in no real order beyond what he remembers seeing in his dish.]

[killtime]

Goats, huh.

[ A noncommittal echo of a reply that doesn't betray much of what she's thinking as she stands there, watching her son — how his hands still as he becomes thoughtful, searching his memories for the answer to her question. ]

Did you cook for yourselves?

[ She isn't sure she thinks so. Maybe he had older cousins that did. Or his sister? ]

[darkov]

No, not really.

[he can manage a bit of work between that before having to stop again.]

The Lumas cooked, but...we could help prepare things. Cutting vegetables or plucking the birds... But we aren't allowed near the living animals. It scares them.

[that bad blood of his. he remembers a time when Danielle tried to sneak into the hen house to see the birds for herself and caused quite the cacophony...and a couple chickens dying by way of being pecked to death by its sisters out of fear and anger.

that would've been fine if anyone got to eat any of those extras, but, no...]

[killtime]

[ The Lumas. She remembers the quiet rage she felt in the pit of her stomach when she and Archie first explored the compound. She remembers watching Archie tear the room apart, destroying furniture and papers in the absence of any Lumas to punish — and she'd just stood there, still and unreadable, knowing inside that she would have drawn blood, if they'd encountered anything living that day.

It's probably a blessing that they didn't. ]

Just as well. [ She answers in a mild voice that betrays nothing of her thoughts. ] People don't butcher their own animals much in America anymore. Everything comes cut apart already.

[ She gestures at the garlic press in his hands. ]

Keep going. We'll get it in the stew. [ A half-beat then, as she considers him. ] ...Next time, you can do the cooking yourself.

[darkov]

By myself?

[he sounds a bit incredulous, glancing her way before looking back down at the press.]

O-only as long as you watch and...make sure I don't mess up.

[that's not a complete refusal, which is something. better than saying i can't do it right off-the-bat, especially in light of his previous cooking failures.]

[killtime]

Nothing wrong with messing up.

[ That's not a complete refusal either, though it miiiiiight imply that, while Andy's more than willing to watch him do it, she might be inclined to let him fumble a little. Nudging her fledgling out of the nest a bit, so to speak — at least where the stakes are no higher than a few wasted vegetables.

Mildly: ]

It's only stew.

[darkov]

Yeah, but...I don't want anyone to get sick, or...or anything...

[he thinks of poor Rex, keeled over in the bathroom. what a mess that was -- and that wasn't even his fault! it just sort-of felt like it was, especially with the action he took to try and help.

recreating scenarios like that, just for trying...that's the last thing Martin wants.]

[killtime]

If it's that bad, we'll just pour it down the drain and start over again.

[ She shrugs a little. Anything you can do-over as easy as stew can't be considered a serious problem, not in her book. And if anybody knows serious problems, it's her. She's nothing if not an expert in absolutely fucking up. ]

It's only stew. [ She insists again, a bit wry when she goes on: ] It won't really matter in the long run if you don't do it right.

[darkov]

[while Martin still feels reluctant to be given so much power, Andy's doing a pretty good job at paring down those mountains back into molehills.

but Martin is still Martin, and too much of a good thing is something he can't openly take without exceptions:] ...As long as you watch...so I don't mess up.

I THINK WE CAN LEAVE THIS ONE HERE NOW?

[killtime]

[ ...After a moment, she just exhales lightly, something a little fond softening her face. ]

Sure, kiddo.