strangetrip | [OTA] comfort foods

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[OTA] comfort foods

Emma had spent more of the last four days in front of a fire with her cards than she wanted to admit to herself. She wouldn't even let herself think what Sabine or Dani would've said if they'd seen her. When not there, she'd been curled up in a blanket nest she made in one of the twin beds upstairs, crying until she felt dryer than the desert outside. It still felt too empty to sleep until exhaustion didn't leave her a choice, but it was better than the king bed would've been. She'd left that for her roommate. He'd been back sometime while she was upstairs, gotten his bag, and left again. That was okay. She didn't really want to people, and she'd only hurt him with her face, and her not knowing what to say or not make things worse just by existing.

Four days of only leaving the room long enough to get a bite to eat she wouldn't even taste was ridiculous, and when lying there unable to sleep got to be too much, she showered and dressed. Chop vegetables, boil water, Dani would've said. Shortly before dawn, the hotel kitchen was empty. Emptier than the castle's would've probably been that time of night.

With no appetite, she looked at what was available to decide where to start. Plenty of venison... a confit maybe, since it was so early, and would take time to cook. Once that was in the oven, she was lost for a moment, and grabbed a bag of onions. If a few tears formed as she sliced them thin, it was just the onions, that was all, and once she started them caramelizing, she felt steadier, and maybe ready to think of eating herself eventually. Soup later, from the onions.

Aligot. That was what she wanted. So she gathered her ingredients, and started to peel potatoes, dropping them whole into water with lemon juice. By the time sounds of the inn started to filter through, and others came into the kitchen she had more potatoes than she had any need for, and she started thinking of all the ways she could use them, each dish sounding as welcome as the last. Putting the peeled potatoes in the walk-in to keep cool, she went looking for a small chalkboard she'd seen in the café. In neat even letters, she wrote:

Today's Specials

Potatoes All Day

Latkes
6-11AM
Gratin Dauphinois
11AM-3PM
Raclette
3PM-7PM
Tartiflette
7PM-10PM
Aligot
12N-1PM, 8-9PM
Disco Fries
all day, made on order

DINNER SPECIAL

Confit de Venaison, Pané

Soupes du Jour
Potato Leek
French Onion

She added some scrolling designs in the margins and looked over her work. That would keep her busy. Busy was good. Feeding people, feeling like she was doing something useful, that was even better.

((OOC: Find Emma in the kitchens or the café, any time throughout the day. She's shy and sad, but always willing to talk about food, and willing to take requests.))

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Sunny nodded and made a sound of acknowledgement in the back of her throat as she got to work. While she had her eyes on the task of grating and not on Em--for both their sakes--she began. "Basics. My name's Sunny Nwazue. Born and raised in New York until I was nine, and then my family moved back to Nigeria. I have two older brothers. Catholic. Lapsed." She paused a moment before just adding, "I'm a witch. My family doesn't know." Officially, anyway. They knew something was different about her.

Fair was fair, and Emma knew things didn't always stay close to the same from one world to another. So after listening closely to Sunny's introduction, hearing the parallels under their very different lives, she offered in return, "Marie-Ange Colbert. Emma, usually, but Em works too, whatever is easier for you. Born in France, moved to New Orleans with my grandmother when I was five. Convent school – also lapsed – to carny fortune teller, to traveling around Europe with my cousin. Traveller and mutant. I've been in Scotland for the past couple of years."

None of that was new to Sunny, but she didn't say so. Instead she took the opening to ask, "Why Scotland?" Because she wasn't sure she did know that part.

Choosing to stay had been a simple decision, but the castle starting to feel like home had taken longer. Home was people more than any place, and all Emma's people were there. But why Scotland in the first place... "The village was a mutant sanctuary. My cousin and I were attacked by mutant separatists when we wouldn't join their cause. We were rescued by members of a team who'd found refuge there and gone on to help others. They invited us back there so Sabine could recover, and afterwards we stayed."

"Jesus." Sunny winced. But it wasn't an unthinkable idea. Leopard People were not always kind to each other, either. And she'd seen acts of terrorism in her own country, which was all anybody seemed to know about Nigeria. Still... "Attacking your own. It's revolting."

"Being caught between the baseline humans who want to imprison or kill mutants and the mutants who want to kill baseline humans, it's hard to be the ones trying to live together. Some of us fight, so the rest of us can survive." It had only been a couple of months since the last attacks, from both groups.

"It's made us a target, but not having to hide is worth it."

Sunny nodded. "We had a time like that in our history, and we've been hiding ever since." Her pin-scratch frown deepened. "I understand the logic, but it's a lot of weight on a person's shoulders to keep everything under wraps."

"People fear what they don't understand." She probably didn't have to tell Sunny that, but it was true. "After mutants got more visible, the US passed a law saying we had to register. They throw people into camps. Experiment on them. Worse. I get hiding. Magic, mutation, doesn't matter. People shouldn't have to hide."

Sunny wished she could be surprised about that, but. Well. Chris Rock had said it best--Then I started listening. Cause I know niggers and Jews is next.

In her irritation she shredded more cheese than they needed, but there would probably be a use for the rest of it. For now, she eyeballed about two cups and scooped it into a small mixing bowl, muttering a string of soft curses.

Yeah, that was how Emma felt about it. But seeing Sunny was done with the cheese, she reached for the next thing to be done as they talked. "You could take over with the potatoes," Em said, where she was maybe half done putting the cooked potatoes through a ricer. "Or heat up the crème fraiche and garlic?" She'd already measured out the cream, and smashed a couple of cloves of garlic (more than they strictly needed for the amount of potatoes and cheese, but it was garlic). So Emma left it up to Sunny which.

There was never such a thing as too much garlic, Sunny believed this entirely. "I think that flare of temper might go better with the ricer," she observed with a self-deprecating little smile. Plus milk and cream could go wrong on you in a second, and she didn't think she had that kind of focus.

"Rice away," Emma said, handing over the ricer and stepping back to the stove, opening up space for Sunny by the potatoes. "How did we meet?" she asked as she put the small pan of crème fraiche on the heat. If Sunny's path had taken her from New York to Nigeria, and maybe beyond, Emma wondered how different her alt's life had been their paths had crossed.

"London," Sunny answered as she took up the ricer and began putting the potatoes through. "I was there for school. We met at midnight mass. Because lapsed Catholics or not, the pressure of family looms large at Christmas and Easter."

That made a kind of sense. Emma could imagine going down to visit Sabine at Christmas, and they would've attended the midnight mass. It was part of their tradition. But Sunny seemed like she knew the other Emma better than some brief encounter.

"My cousin moved to London to be with her boyfriend." A boyfriend who didn't care for Emma any more than she did for him, but they managed polite tolerance. "I was on my way to see her when..." She looked around to suggest this place.

If they met in London, though, that gave Emma another thought. "Do you know a guy called Jag?"

Sunny's hands paused momentarily. She nodded as she resumed her task. "Yes. Not well, but fondly."

Emma missed the nod, her eyes on the warming cream. She didn't want it to scorch; what other reason could she have for not risking even glancing eye contact when talking about this guy she didn't even know? Oh, right. Guilt, possibly misplaced, but still felt. Concern. Just to name a couple.

"He's here," she told Sunny in a rush, before hesitating over the rest, "And, um, I feel like he could use a friend? Or at least a familiar face who actually knows him."

Sunny's hands froze. Things like this were why she'd decided on the potatoes rather than the cream, because with her head where it was, she probably would let it scorch. "Oh." She supposed she must have thought that Em had heard about Jag via Coby. A misplaced question or comment. This? Oh damn.

"Oh, poor thing."

"I don't know where he's staying. I haven't seen him since that first night, and he came back sometime for his stuff, but I think I was actually asleep then. They put us in the same room. Whoever they are, who'd do something that cruel." Emma didn't blame him for avoiding her. And there was nothing she could do to help, when who she was (or who she wasn't) was the problem. She was just worried.

Who would be that cruel? Jag loved Em. He loved her madly, it was laced through his whole being. She had known her coven for a decade now, and yet the idea of them not knowing her, of Orlu not knowing her... "He'll turn up," Sunny said as evenly as she could manage. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." Emma lifted the saucepan from the heat and swirled its contents lightly. Not quite warm enough yet, but she didn't want to bring the temperature up too quickly.

Don't ask questions if you aren't prepared for the answers. It was a lesson Emma had learned a long time ago. So. Was she prepared for whatever answer would come?

Prepared enough, and she needed to know. The cards hadn't been as clear as she would like, and more confused by the Knight of Wands every time. "Was he.. Were they... He and the me you knew, they were together?"

Sunny was silent for several heartbeats. How exactly did you answer that?

Directly. Without unasked for frills. "Yes."

It made it more real, hearing it out loud, but Emma had known. The way Jag had looked at her before he realized she didn't know him... Pyro had looked at her like that, before Bobby was gone.

"Fuck." Emma didn't swear often, but this deserved it. "Should I..." She shook her head. "Never mind."

She glanced over trying to see how close Sunny was to being done with the potatoes. There was a shimmer above the crème fraiche that said it was almost to the temp she wanted.

"Fuck," Sunny agreed as she put the last of the potatoes through the ricer before she passed them Em's way. She swore more than she used to, but she tried to keep away from the hard ones unless absolutely necessary.

This seemed to a correct occasion.

After spooning out the garlic, Emma poured the warm cream over the potatoes and put it all back on the heat, where she beat them together until smooth and glossy.

As she worked, wanting to get away from the tough topics, she asked, "What were you studying?" If Emma had really wanted to go to university, Dr. MacTaggart probably could've worked it out, even though she'd dropped out of school at thirteen. But Emma never could narrow it down to one thing she wanted to study enough to justify the extra effort. Especially when she was safest staying in Duninnean.

"English lit and language," Sunny answered in a way that said she was used to having to get defensive about it and was trying not to. "My parents wanted me to go pre-med or pre-law, but just thinking about that makes my eyes cross."

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