yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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metamorphosis2012-12-16 10:15 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2012-12-16 10:15 am
Entry tags:
479;
Title: content content
Characters: m. mage, f. mage
Rating: G
for the prompt "describe your ship doing something domestic".
“It’s a recipe I found in one of Kate’s cookbooks.” She pours the milk into a separate bowl, peeing at the instructions. “Do we have any vinegar?”
“Shouldn’t you check that before you start?” He picks through the cupboards anyway, taking a bottle of it from the back. He studies it, looking for an expiration date, and looks over his shoulder. “Does vinegar go bad?”
“Who cares? It’ll sour better. Put a little in the milk and don’t touch it.”
He frowns at her vague measurement - not that he’d know the measurements anyway, he suppose; criminals didn’t bake - and puts in a little. When she moves to fetch another bowl, he surveys the other ingredients. Flour, sugar, salt, and some sort of powdered soda. She pushes him out of the way before he can look at the cookbook, shooting him a look that could shave years off his life.
If he had one, anyway.
She mixes it all together and he sets his chin on her shoulder after she moves closer to the stove. There’s already a heated pan on it, something he hadn’t noticed before. The eerie burning smell should’ve tipped him off, in retrospect. She spoons the batter into the frying pan, making sure they formed small puddles, and he blows in her ear while she tries to cook.
Her shriek is definitely worth the elbow her gets in his ribs a moment later.
It isn’t worth the strange-looking discs on his plate ten minutes later. He pokes at them with a fork and looks up when she clears her throat. Her hands are on her hips, and her fingers are tapping a heart’s rhythm.
“They’re pancakes,” she helpfully supplies when he doesn’t immediately dig in. “They’re supposed to be light and fluffy and really nice.”
“They look the exact opposite.” But they don’t taste too horrible. He manages to get it down without choking, but he pushes the plate away afterwards. She slumps against the table and groans, propping her chin on her palms.
“I’m never gonna get a hang of this. How’m I supposed to keep us alive when Kate’s out?”
“By not cooking?”
Characters: m. mage, f. mage
Rating: G
for the prompt "describe your ship doing something domestic".
“It’s a recipe I found in one of Kate’s cookbooks.” She pours the milk into a separate bowl, peeing at the instructions. “Do we have any vinegar?”
“Shouldn’t you check that before you start?” He picks through the cupboards anyway, taking a bottle of it from the back. He studies it, looking for an expiration date, and looks over his shoulder. “Does vinegar go bad?”
“Who cares? It’ll sour better. Put a little in the milk and don’t touch it.”
He frowns at her vague measurement - not that he’d know the measurements anyway, he suppose; criminals didn’t bake - and puts in a little. When she moves to fetch another bowl, he surveys the other ingredients. Flour, sugar, salt, and some sort of powdered soda. She pushes him out of the way before he can look at the cookbook, shooting him a look that could shave years off his life.
If he had one, anyway.
She mixes it all together and he sets his chin on her shoulder after she moves closer to the stove. There’s already a heated pan on it, something he hadn’t noticed before. The eerie burning smell should’ve tipped him off, in retrospect. She spoons the batter into the frying pan, making sure they formed small puddles, and he blows in her ear while she tries to cook.
Her shriek is definitely worth the elbow her gets in his ribs a moment later.
It isn’t worth the strange-looking discs on his plate ten minutes later. He pokes at them with a fork and looks up when she clears her throat. Her hands are on her hips, and her fingers are tapping a heart’s rhythm.
“They’re pancakes,” she helpfully supplies when he doesn’t immediately dig in. “They’re supposed to be light and fluffy and really nice.”
“They look the exact opposite.” But they don’t taste too horrible. He manages to get it down without choking, but he pushes the plate away afterwards. She slumps against the table and groans, propping her chin on her palms.
“I’m never gonna get a hang of this. How’m I supposed to keep us alive when Kate’s out?”
“By not cooking?”