2684.05.09: All Thumbs And Cookies

Date: 09.05.2684 (02.26.10)
Location: Kitchen, Fort Weyr
People: B'ky, Galina
Synopsis: Galina is caught making cookies and B'ky winds up helping.


It's later in the evening, well past the time when the dinner meal has been served but the ovens are still plenty hot for baking still. Things are winding down and the chaos in the kitchens is down to a dull roar, leaving it relatively peaceful enough for those with a mind to do some culinary experimentations free to do so without too much difficulty. While the usual offenders are out and about with their baking and cooking exploits, a fairly recent addition has made herself manifest — and without the usual knot or badge to hint that her work might be remotely craft-related. Rather, the Healer appears to have taken up the apron of a baker, if only for the time being. Galina has claimed a place off to a side and out of the way and is, currently, shaping some dough into balls to be rolled in a nut mixture and placed on a cookie sheet. To her other side is a bowl of something that looks — and smells — suspiciously like raspberry jam.

The late evening finds the Roc wingleader, clad entirely in sleek black leathers, wavering his way into the kitchens. The man is looking fairly tired, his hair having grown out somewhat and hanging down nearly to his shoulders now, though it's still oddly short in the back. Red and blue clips keep it mostly out of his eyes, with that tri-colored crimson and indigo braid wrapping partway around his temple, the thin length of dyed hair tucked neatly behind his left ear. The man pauses as he comes up the steps, glancing around briefly for Rickard, though it seems the head cook is absent tonight, and luckily so. The bluerider is on a pilfering mission. A cookie-pilfering mission. He sneaks - for really, it can hardly be called anything else - quietly through the kitchen, shoulders somewhat hunched and keeping to the shadows and edges of the cavern as much as he can. He's not terribly noticaeable in such dark clothing, and those cooks who do spot him pretend he isn't there with a bemused eyeroll and a bit of a chuckle. This wingleader's habitsare known to them, after all. He only thinks he's getting away with it. A moment in the pantry has the man escaping with a nondescript paper back and a pleasant expression, walking a little less hunched now, though the activity has him pausing to watch some of the ongoing cookery. Galina, in particular, is glanced at, or rather, the little balls of dough. "Hello," is his quiet, if friendly greeting to the girl, the bluerider inclining his head with a faintly curious, "What are you making?"

She's engrossed in her work; so much so, that one might think she didn't even hear the greeting at first. Galina's meticulous nature manifests plainly here, where the balls of dough are perfectly sized and identical, shaped with nigh-expert motions of her hands. Too-long fingers are deft at this sort of thing and much moreso when the balls are rolled briskly in the chopped nut mixture and added to join their fellows. It's some moments later that the Healer responds with a mild, "Hello," to echo his greeting and, then, a shorter pause finally yields, "Thumbprint cookies." Her gaze lifts, a slow blink offered to him, though her expression is no longer the blank-neutral it tends to be; there's some humanity there, subtle and strange. "They will not take much longer, if you would like to try them."

B'ky is just going to pretend he doesn't already have pilfered cookies in that paper bag, even if the scent of them hangs about him just a little. The last batch was taken from the oven not long ago, though the continued baking has the man looking rather thoughtful. He watches the girl's fingers a moment, slight smile for the type of cookies being made. And an offer to try them? Yes please! Well, his expression certainly seems to suggest as much, the man smiling warmly with a quiet, "I would love to try them." He glances about for a seat, finding one nearby, although he sets the paper bag down first with a soft introduction, "I'm B'ky, blue Avideth's," before he glances at the dough, asking a polite, "Do you needa hand with anything?" Because B'ky is always helpful; and besides, he's getting cookies.

"I remember. We met once before," Galina intones, her eyes flicking back to the work that's quite literally at hand. A dozen down and it looks as if, from the amount of dough, another two dozen are likely in the works. "However," is a continuation of that previous thought, a bit of silence allowed to fall between, "I did not introduce myself then. I am Galina." The first tray is removed and set aside, revealing the next for her to place the next round of cookies on. At his words, she's silent again, at least until the first row is made and then: "If you would like to, then I will not discourage it. If you wash your hands, you can put the thumbprints on the ones that have already been shaped."

"Mm, we did?" the man tilts his head a moment, as if attempting to recall, but alas, he likely does not remember the odd storybook and the brief meeting by the hearth. B'ky does nod a quiet, "Well met, Galina," moving to a sink to wash his hands. There's a chuckle, "If you'd rather I didn't touch them, it's alright," the bluerider taking her pause and her words as such, apparently. Instead, he moves to the seat he'd found, perching there to wait with a somewhat bemused smile. "Are you one of the kitchen hands?" he asks conversationally, glancing to her shoulder, lips pressing together at the absence of a knot. With all the renegade activity lately, there might be the faintest flicker of sudden wariness in his eyes, although he remains polite as he comments softly, "You should wear your knot when in the weyr." Because there are any number of jumpy guards around, ahem. Not to mention wary wingleaders.

"It does not matter to me whether it is your thumb or mine that makes the indentations," Galina remarks, steadily continuing her work with an ease that verges on the disturbingly mechanical. For his question, however, there's a slanted, sidelong look and a slight shake of her head before she answers, "I am a Senior Apprentice Healer under Senior Journeyman Grigoriy. This is the only place where I prefer not to wear my knot." And her lips press a bit, the line of her mouth flattening just a little. "However, if it is a requirement to wear a knot at all times and in all places here, then I will be sure to remember that in the future." Another tray of would-be cookies is soon set aside, with the third and final slowly starting to take shape.

B'ky does arch one thin eyebrow slightly, though he merely shrugs and moves over to begin making indentations. He's far less mechanical in his movements, and if Galina's steady working bothers him, he certainly doesn't show it. There is a thoughtful, "Hm," in response to her answer, "You've been assigned to Fort?" Really, the only healer B'ky likes to see has purple hair and a particular grumpyface; he likely hasn't been in the infirmary often lately at all. "It generally is a requirement everywhere," the man comments, though whether that's true or not, who knows. Certainly, no one's arrested her yet! Still, he gives her shoulder another glance, faintly disapproving. And while he's doing that, his hands are making all sorts of uneven identations, mostly in the middle of the dough balls. Oh well, least they're not on the edges.

"No. My mentor is posted to the Hall, technically speaking, but he travels. I travel with him. We are only here for an extended stay due to a knee injury that he aggravated." This is all matter-of-factly stated, her attention remaining focused on the ball making and rolling. Given time, she'll definitely spot the shenanigans he's up to but, for now, Galina's simply ambivalent. "Ogren Hold did not require it, generally speaking," is supplied blandly, "And Ista Weyr's people are rarely wearing clothes often enough for a lack of a knot to be construed as unusual." Just don't mind the irritated line her mouth sets in for the mention of the place. But, as her assurance was made already, there's nothing further to be said. At least, not until she spots his handiwork. There are, simply, no words to be said. None. Instead, she's simply reaching out with her cool, long-fingered hands to take one of his, intending to move it to demonstrate how the pressing is to be done.

B'ky ahs softly, with another faint nod, "I do hope he recovers completely," the man looking sympathetic for a moment, his hands continuing to press little uneven indentations into the dough balls. There's a raised brow about Ogren Hold, and a quiet, "I see. Is that where you're from?" polite curiosity, though he, too, purses his lips briefly at mention of Ista. "Ista Weyr is not Fort," said rather stiffly, and perhaps there's something else there, agreement at least, "Ista Weyr's people rarely do anything appropriate, I've found." But the wingleader does sigh, admitting, "Although I've not spent very much time there." Still, he shakes his head a little, pausing when she takes his hand. There's a blink, the man's head tilting to the side, although he does let her demonstrate, faint amusement in his face.

There's just a shallow inclination of her head, vague acceptance of his hope and then another, nod, though it comes with a momentary hardening of her features. "Yes," to Ogren Hold … and that's all that's said for a long moment. Eventually, "Ista was my original posting. It was … unpleasant." And that's all she'll say of that, her tone gone utterly empty. Instead, there's the task of making thumbprints in cookies and that's one that Galina seems almost — /almost/ — happy to do from the abstract look of softened neutrality on her features. Absently, she notes in a voice that's gone thoughtful-soft around the edges, "This is how I was taught to do the indentations."

B'ky raises an eyebrow for that, asking softly, "Unpleasant? How so?" the man perhaps made more curious by her tone. He doesn't press for information, however, watching as she demonstrates, mild amusement in his pale eyes. There is a quiet, "I see," and a soft chuckle, "It's been some time since I've made these. Turns perhaps," the man musing more to himself than to her, "Rickard generally knows better than to let me near the baking." His own voiceis light, however, half joking. Though the head cook probably does know better; this particular wingleader is as likely to bake the cookies as to steal them. Ahem. Yet for all of that, he tolerated, some cooks across theway tossing their own amused looks at the bluerider.

"It is ultimately unimportant," Galina decides on the topic of Ista, finally pulling her hands away from his when she's reasonably sure he has the gist of it down a bit better than he did before. The second tray is, thus, left for him to continue his efforts, while she claims the third for her own. Whatever strange thoughtfulness had claimed her for that moment lingers just a little, mostly in the odd set of her mouth while she works. "I see." Pause. "If you like these ones," she says after a long moment or two, "I can copy the recipe if you would like." Not that there's a recipe card or any kind of note in sight, naturally. But, then, her mess is clearly contained to the bowl and spoon and trays, with everything else having been cleaned up as she went.

That eyebrow remains raised a moment longer, but B'ky isn't one to pry for answers, and given that it is Ista, he can likely make some guesses in any case. He does attempt to do a better job of creating little depressions in the dough balls, gowing a tad slower and more carefully, although his expression is still somewhat amused. "Mm, it's alright," he says, about the recipe, "I usually leave the baking tho those traied for it," gentle smile as hisgaze drifts across the kitchens there, and his hands, alas, start making strange depressions inthe dough again. It isn't helped by the faintly distracted look on the wingleader's face, likely an indication he's speaking with his lifemate, as he falls quiet a long moment.

And while her hands might well twitch for the desire to fix those dents, Galina contents herself with simply making hers as she always has and moves on quickly to retrieve the bowl of jam with its spoons. "Understood," says she, with a shallow nod given for his explanation. When he goes silent so, too, does she, and it's immediately into the task of doling out the jam that she goes. More of that strange precision of hers at work, clearly; hers will be the first ones touched by the sweetness … but if he continues in his mental conversation, she'll move around him to tackle the first tray as well.

B'ky, alas, does continue to zone out just a bit longer, although he blinks after a time, likely realizing he's done with his bit of the dough balls, and not terribly well either. It might be a faintly apologetic look he gives Galina, stepping back to find a sink and wash his hands again. "How long will they take to bake?" he asks thoughtfully, giving the entry to the living caverns a brief glance. He returns to the seat he'd found, beside his paper bag of already-pilfered cookies, and looking patient despite whatever Avideth may have wanted.

"They will not take long — perhaps no more than ten minutes," Galina intones, moving to finish up the last tray once B'ky moves away and, then, it's onward to the ovens she goes. Her estimate might well be in large part due to the fact that there are quite a few open ovens and she's able to procure three for the purposes of simultaneous baking. A moment is spent studying his features, however, and, finally, she says in her usual, dull way, "If you would like, I can send Cyanosis to inform you of when they are done if you have more pressing matters to tend to." There is no sense of expectation, either way; it's just a statement and an offer, nothing more or less.

B'ky nods, smiling somewhat, about the cookies. "Mm, that isn't too long," he chuckles, leaning back against the edge of the countertop and propping up one elbow as he settles there, "I've no work left to-" but there is that distant look once again, and he sighs softly. "I'm afraid there is something I must see to," faintly sheepish after already having begun slowly shaking his head, the man rising to his feet and taking that paper bag at least. "Ah, it's alright, I imagine I've already found enough for tonight," tapping the bag lightly. He gives her a brief nod in farewell, murmuring a quiet, "If you'll excuse me," before slipping stealthily out of the kitchens. By the time he reaches the bowl he's jogging to meet a sky-toned blue anda number of other riders. Alas. Work, it seems, is just not done for tonight.

"Of course." There is no particular weight to the words, being nothing more than simple observation. Galina simply watches him go, no farewell offered, no well-wishes sent his way. Instead, the Healer turns back to her work, carefully timing the cookies in her head. And, when the time is right, they will be retrieved and packed up in a pair of tins, with a half dozen reserved in a paper bag, separated with waxed paper, and placed in the kitchen stores with some of the other baked goods. While no name is written on it, one can only hope that the one it's meant for will be the one that retrieves it. Her duty done, the Healer retreats back into the Weyr and the borrowed quarters she'd been granted for her stay, with cookies and a mug of tea in hand.

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