Post by Aramis Aldin on Sept 10, 2010 1:50:19 GMT -5
Aramis felt about as much of the rest of the school population did at the moment. It was exam season, and like everyone, he felt completely exhausted. He crossed his arms on the counter and rested his head on them, closing his eyes for a moment. It was only afternoon, just after classes, but he still felt like all he wanted was a nap. Which, of course, was an option not open to him due to the need to study for his next tests. Aramis was fairly confident, but he’d learned early on that if he thought he knew what he was doing in the classes here, he was extremely wrong.
The next thing he was aware of was the coffeemaker beeping at him to tell him the coffee was finished. He started slightly, then got a mug and poured himself a cup. This was stuff that would keep his father up, and knock most people on their tail. There was some truth to the legend of cowboys knowing their coffee was ready by throwing a horseshoe in the pot and seeing if it stood up. This coffee was just about that strong. Putting the coffee back on the burner to keep warm, and sipping on the dark and bitter brew he was drinking, Aramis turned and rubbed his face. He’d overslept that morning and missed breakfast, and his stomach was loudly complaining of the lack.
Still sipping his coffee, he found a cookbook, one that was clearly professionally published (he never touched anything handwritten unless it looked older than his father. It was too easy to accidentally insult someone around here otherwise) and flipped through it. He wasn’t exactly the best cook, but he followed instructions well, and being an only child, his mother had at least managed to teach him a little of the housework-type things as well as all the men’s work his father had drilled into him. Flipping idly, Aramis stopped as something caught his eye. Stir-fry ginger beef… well, it was worth a shot, if he could find everything. It would be something new, if nothing else. His mother was more likely to broil or grill a steak than anything else, and never with any vegetable other than potatoes.
The steak was easy to find, and fairly easy to cut up properly, though Aramis did manage to get his finger once. The blood was easily washed away, and he sucked on the injured digit as he looked for the ingredients. Naturally in a kitchen stocked with magic and catering to such a wide array of diets and nationalities, Aramis rather easily found everything. The only part he wasn’t certain about was the actual cooking itself, but that just took patience, and attention to detail, two things Aramis had plenty of. Perhaps part of the reason he had yet to try to kill Keme, now that he really thought about it.
Of course, it wasn’t until he was mostly done that Aramis realized he’d made enough for at least one other person. Facepalming, and having the cut to his finger reassert itself to his attention, Aramis sighed. Blood didn’t get into anything but his hair, and while Aramis wasn’t the best healer a tiny cut like that was well within his range. He finally sealed it, and sighed again. Well, Kemekin would probably eat what Aramis didn’t, or he could store it in the fridge with a sign that stated it was free for the taking. It wasn’t like he was the only person who came looking for food. And Aramis had done a pretty good job on the stir-fry. Nothing badly burned, very little of it with any scorching at all, and the rice had been easy. Finishing, Aramis served himself the worst of the job and left the rest out for the moment, just eating at the counter. He was too tired, and too hungry, to bother with moving. Besides, this took so much less energy, and he didn’t have to move much to clean up, either.
The next thing he was aware of was the coffeemaker beeping at him to tell him the coffee was finished. He started slightly, then got a mug and poured himself a cup. This was stuff that would keep his father up, and knock most people on their tail. There was some truth to the legend of cowboys knowing their coffee was ready by throwing a horseshoe in the pot and seeing if it stood up. This coffee was just about that strong. Putting the coffee back on the burner to keep warm, and sipping on the dark and bitter brew he was drinking, Aramis turned and rubbed his face. He’d overslept that morning and missed breakfast, and his stomach was loudly complaining of the lack.
Still sipping his coffee, he found a cookbook, one that was clearly professionally published (he never touched anything handwritten unless it looked older than his father. It was too easy to accidentally insult someone around here otherwise) and flipped through it. He wasn’t exactly the best cook, but he followed instructions well, and being an only child, his mother had at least managed to teach him a little of the housework-type things as well as all the men’s work his father had drilled into him. Flipping idly, Aramis stopped as something caught his eye. Stir-fry ginger beef… well, it was worth a shot, if he could find everything. It would be something new, if nothing else. His mother was more likely to broil or grill a steak than anything else, and never with any vegetable other than potatoes.
The steak was easy to find, and fairly easy to cut up properly, though Aramis did manage to get his finger once. The blood was easily washed away, and he sucked on the injured digit as he looked for the ingredients. Naturally in a kitchen stocked with magic and catering to such a wide array of diets and nationalities, Aramis rather easily found everything. The only part he wasn’t certain about was the actual cooking itself, but that just took patience, and attention to detail, two things Aramis had plenty of. Perhaps part of the reason he had yet to try to kill Keme, now that he really thought about it.
Of course, it wasn’t until he was mostly done that Aramis realized he’d made enough for at least one other person. Facepalming, and having the cut to his finger reassert itself to his attention, Aramis sighed. Blood didn’t get into anything but his hair, and while Aramis wasn’t the best healer a tiny cut like that was well within his range. He finally sealed it, and sighed again. Well, Kemekin would probably eat what Aramis didn’t, or he could store it in the fridge with a sign that stated it was free for the taking. It wasn’t like he was the only person who came looking for food. And Aramis had done a pretty good job on the stir-fry. Nothing badly burned, very little of it with any scorching at all, and the rice had been easy. Finishing, Aramis served himself the worst of the job and left the rest out for the moment, just eating at the counter. He was too tired, and too hungry, to bother with moving. Besides, this took so much less energy, and he didn’t have to move much to clean up, either.