Who

Cascabel, Naneska

What

Cascabel is sent to locate an item of culinary mystery. Naneska is cleaning the already clean cellar so is more than happy to help her out. Let’s hope Kahar is happy with their selection.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the second month of the seventeenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Cellars, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 30 May 2019 12:00

 

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"Nothing says fancy more than matchin'."


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Cellars

Order at last, here in the cellar: foodstuffs in their proper places, floors cleaned and shelves organized: all the pots, pans, and flatware are properly hung on the walls and stored on their shelves, gleaming with careful cleaning. To one side of the cavern, there is a large outcropping of smoothed rock, permanently stained red: the place where all meat goes to be portioned for cooking. The air is cool and crisp and almost free of humidity and moisture, an astringent tang of salt and herbs hanging heavy in the air.


Cascabel hasn't actually been assigned work in the cellars, which is probably good because she's never been down there before except to hand things off to someone else and doesn't know her way around — on the other hand, this is entirely the problem she is met with as she is sent down there to fetch something for the job she is doing. Cas stops as she reaches the end of the steps and looks from one side to the other; the meat side she has no interest in looking at after the experience in the cold storage, the flatware side where somewhere her answer lies. Taking a deep breath, she heads that way looking as if she is forcing her head high and her gaze straight ahead. Not letting the daunting situation bother her any. She balls her fists, unballs them, and faces the flatware head on. And keeps looking. And looks some more. No, this is not going as well as she wants it to go, is it.

You know who does know their way around this pretty well, even though she has never officially been assigned to this kitchen until now (dun dun dun). Today, however she is assigned to clean the cellars, a relatively pleasant job given the redolent orders and reasonable order that they are kept in regardless of the free slave candidate labor. Humming quietly she swipes some jars free of the odd speck of dust. Until she realizes she is not alone. Approaching she takes in the balling fists and determined look. "What did those poor innocent plates do t' ye woman?" She asks, amusement rife in tone and expression. "Should I be worried?"

"I do not think so," Cascabel says helpfully, having nearly jumped at first when she heard a voice — and immediately relaxed when she placed the voice as a barracks-sharer. "I mean, I do not think it is the plates that did anything. Or. No, of course they didn't do anything," she slips back into speaking more easily, tilting her head one way, tugging a little on her ear, turning it the other … "Or at least, I do not think that a 'salad hand' is a kind of plate? Maybe it is?" And so the dilemma becomes clear: Cas has been sent to retrieve an item she's never heard of before. On top of that, it's probably hard to find.

Naneska gives an easy-going smile. "Aye, a salad-hand won't be found there. Further along with th' cutlery and fancy silver cabinent." No wonder the pretty untensils are under lock and key given the reprobates that call Igen home. "Come." Naneska beckons, tucking her dusting cloth into the waistband of both skirt and the trousers underneath. "I'm glad ye said th' plates hurt you none. I've had more than a few bite when washin' up." It is casual conversation as she makes her way past the work-a-day earthenware items of the weyr. It really doesn't take too long until they reach the more appropriate place in the stores.

Thank Faranth for someone who understands cutlery or Cascabel would be here all day. "I am so glad you are here," she says, shoulders relaxing a little more, relief obvious in her voice, "Because I was told to hurry with it and was not given the option of asking what it looked like." She follows Naneska like an eager puppy, but one with some control over that eagerness. "Ah, so the plates do hurt people, they just have yet to go after me? I will note this." Normally washing up isn't what she's doing, but the time will come.

Naneska stops and turns on her heel, using the items she sees as a memory-map for the item she wants. "Did they tell ye volume? Or is it fer a private diner?" Because there are a million options. Without waiting for an answer she starts gathering together some very large spoons, only one of the pair is slotted. There is another grab, this time for one that appears to have been crossed with a pair of sheers. And finally she grabs a shorter stouter set, ones that look more like the hands they are called rather than the spoon arrangements. "Me gran calls these 'salad tossers'." She says with a wink. "Don't matter what ye call 'em so long as they do the job aye?" There is a thoughtful nibble even as she contemplates the options. "If they want a fancy set, they need t' send th' keys down." Because all of these options come in silver for those who need to be fancy. "Cheap pottery will always bite." It's the Pernese version of Chinese plastic right? "The porcelain, and fine crockery ye should be safe enough with."

"Er, I was told 'a salad hand,' but it seems like 'a' salad hand is actually two …" Cascabel cants her head again, now considering all the options. She really does not have enough information here, does she, except that she can cling to: "Head Cook Kahar did not send me with keys." But the fact the Head Cook sent her means it might be for a nicer or more private dinner. Might. Tiny frown. "Nor did he say how many he was serving, but based on the size of the ovine meat he was cutting I would guess maybe ten people?" Or two people with enormous appetites, she does not say. "I — assume that the selection depends on volume."

During her turns on the road, Naneska probably just would have used her actual hands, and called it a day! But if it is some kind of fancy dinner. "Figures right?" She comments drolly, looking at her selections, then back at the nest of similar items, deciding to have a rummage just in case. "Go git this fast! But I won't give ye helpful details!" Her face lights up however when she uncovers a pair with charming scroll work in a nice deep wooden tone. "I think these will do fer jist about any occasion!" Why they aren't locked up with the good silver shall forever be a mystery! But they'll fit ANY bill and look fabulous doing so. "Aye, the bigger they are, the more salad they can toss. But these'll look artistic with a smaller salad as well." Naneska might just be half in love with these salad hands.

Cascabel cannot help but laugh a little herself at Naneska's commentary over what Kahar must have been thinking. "Or keys. If he wanted me to have prettier ones — if they are not right, I will have to point that out." But she won't, because it would involve having Naneska's nerve and not Cascabel's, and that is obvious. "Or … I will ask you to help me," she decides,since it does seem like the other candidate would be better for that particular task. "It does sound like you should be helping more than me; what do they have you doing down here?" Is it a job she could do instead?

If Cascabel doesn't want them, Naneska will totally steal take them! But she hands them over without a trace of the reluctance she feels. "I'm jist cleaning, sorting. Finding th' things that should be thrown." There is a graceless shrug. "I used t' come by on th' regular when I cooked for th' Reika to 'borrow' spices n' th' like. So I guess they figure I know my way around." It also helps she's got that trader training in memorization. "Ye could do it. It's not hard work. But I think once ye get those against the salad greens, Kahar will have no complaint." Holding up a finger, with a raggedy twist of cloth still tied about it. "I'm out o' the kitchens for a day or so longer." The cut is all but healed, but no one want's Naneska scabs for dinner right?

Whether or not Cascabel wants the salad hands is one thing — it is whether or not she wants the task of helping set up this dinner that is the point in hand. Though she does take the salad hands in question with as little reluctance as she can challenge. "Ah, so you would indeed know where everything is. I will let him know you assisted, if you want the …" What's that term she's heard traders use? Naneska might recognize it, though it sounds awkward with Cas' funny Upper Class Lemos accent, "Cred? But … oh. Plate bite?" While Cascabel is smiling, it's not mocking. It's genuine concern with just a little bit of play to the question.

Naneska chuckles. "Uh, no. The deadly cousin t' those in your hands. I stopped payin' attention when I was choppin' up roots. Me own fault really." Just because she can't touch, doesn't mean she can't look at fine looking gentlemen who wander into the kitchen all willy-nilly. "I know where most things are. And if I don't, I can either figure it out, or find someone who does." Her life isn't in the cellars by a long shot. But her familiarity with them certainly speaks of how she lives her life. "Oooh! Ye want some bonus points with this Kahar?" If Nan's memory serves, there should be a fancy wooden salt and pepper shaker set that matches those wooden salad hands.

"I do work for him," Cascabel says cautiously, after she delivers the sympathetic wince-look for having been bitten by sharp kitchen tools enough to take off skin. "I mean, normally. So I have no issue with being in his good graces, if you had a suggestion …" She is no brown-noser, but she's finding the appeal of this white knot thing connecting to new people, and Naneska seems both mood-lift-bright and idea-bright. So it certainly shouldn't hurt. "Have you met him, yet? He is … something." Gordon Ramsay. "Mood-swingy."

"Follow." Naneska commands once more. This time the journey is shorter. The salt and pepper usually presented in bowls for general consumption. Stopping by the shelves, she lets he fingers do the walking. Literally, before pushing aside a rather twee glazed set to uncover a salt and pepper shaker set, that matches the salad hands for decoration and color. "They'll have t' be filled mind. But…" She presents them with a flourish. "Nothing says fancy more than matchin'." Not that Naneska is overly familiar with fancy. "Kahar? Yeah. He's fun." Mood swings, excessive swearing and all. "I've not had much kitchen chores yet." What with the clipped finger and all.

Cascabel the timid-but-excited puppy follows, as directed; if she had a tail it would be idly swinging, even. But dog comparisons are dangerous when dealing with kitchen supplies, so they will end there. "Oh! Yes. This is wise," Cas agrees, looking satisfied. "I have been mostly being kept out of the kitchens because it is where I normally work, I think Cremla is trying to expand my horizons." Into torture. But that's the point of candidacy: training for the torture of weyrlinghood. "But this is — yes, a good idea, thank you," she says, moving the salad hands into one hand and taking the salt and pepper shakers into the other. "I may get snapped at for taking as long as I did, but I should have time to fill these — anything else I should add?" she asks with a little grin.

Naneska considers for a moment, pinching her lip and frowning at the selection so far. "I wouldn't presume t' guess how he's wanting t' plate th' ovine and salad?" That's what Cascabel said right? "But he'll send ye down again, when he's ready t' serve. THIS time…" That thoughtful frown turns to Cascabel. "…ask him nicely, if he could tell ye what plate he wants. If he's a decent cook, he'll tell ye exact." There is a firm nod for this, despite Kahar's temper, Naneska has also seen the man be as gentle as a lamb with those he perceives to be innocents. "Or he could be pleased ye showed some initiative. No need t' borrow trouble that might never come." Nan gives a gentle smile. "Now git ye gone, before he comes down here looking fer ye!" Now her cleaning cloth comes out of her waistband to gently shoo the other candidate towards the stairs out and the kitchens.

That is what Cascabel said! And she, too, has absolutely no idea; she is good at herbs, and plants, and sometimes making food pretty — but utensils and plating and those levels of complexities, not as much. "I will," she says, just eagerly enough, and then, "And I will do that, too." She gives Naneska a flash of truly genuine, no-holds-barred smile — the kind that of late, only Khulan has been the recipient of — and turns to go back up the stairs, with another, "Thank you!" over her shoulder. She's not running, especially not carrying things, but she is certainly not dawdling any more than she has done by making conversation, either.

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