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iron chef will one day be set in space

CHARACTERS: Bella Swan & ( ??? )
LOCATION: Passenger Quarters | A Kitchen
WARNINGS: Not all food is liable to be edible? None right now. Will be edited if applicable.
SUMMARY: Bella attempts cooking with what's available. Hey, it's all good for calming down and thinking, right?

Bella had been shifting through things in the storage areas of the kitchen for a while now, setting out the non-perishables she found that might be of some use in making whatever she could come up with. Things looked pretty good so far, what with all the canned something or anothers, the dry goods she'd been hoping to see despite the possibility of the future using just like, what, canned grease from pigs on Saturn, and the fact most appliances were recognizable enough this might not end with Bella lighting something on fire. Given that the kitchen was usually fairly okay by her (only the once in a while burn, cut finger, or the like), she was glad.

Less to worry about as she realized this made day whatever of being here, on the Tranquilty, in space, and not near Fork, Washington, or even planet Earth.

Pulling out a can of condensed milk, or what she thought was condensed milk, Bella wondered if there was anything here that acted like an egg substitute. Might not make the best pancakes in the world, but it would at least make some. Between that and the dehydrated bacon (was it bacon?), it was almost like making Saturday breakfast.

She held up one of the strips of dehydrated meat, grimacing. "Might need some kind of flavoring," she said to herself, not looking forward to trying it out. She'd need to in order to decide, but she was hesitating to make a decision. Once she did, things would get easier. That's the way Bella worked. More or less.

[ Action or Prose all good with me! ]

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A head appeared in the doorway. Or rather, a tuft of platinum blonde hair which stuck out at very strange and unruly angles appeared in the doorway. It just happened to be attached to a head, as well as a set of scrawny shoulders and an appropriately scrawny everything-else which belonged to a teenage boy. He was small for his age, closer to five feet than five and a half, and he wore a very odd expression as he looked inside. It was an exaggerated expression — one that seemed almost too large for his small face — like Charlie Chaplin acting in a silent film. His eyebrows were lifted high and his mouth formed a very small 'oh' shape, though he made no sound.

When he saw that the kitchen was occupied he smiled in a friendly way.

Instead of saying hi, the boy made a little hiccuping noise in the back of his throat.

Hey.

It takes Bella a short while to notice there's anyone else who's come in recently, if given the layout of the rooms she wasn't surprised. That her visitor hadn't spoken up was a bit more surprising. Usually people were better at announcing themselves with more of a throat clearing than he'd managed.

Had he even managed one?

Setting down her can of condensed milk, which she'd picked up again in search of a proper can-opener. "Hey," she said, offering him a small smile. "Were you also looking to use the kitchen?" Glancing at the counter she was using, she bit down on her lip. "I shouldn't be in here too long, if you wanted to make something."

An awkward pause, and she reminded herself about introductions. "I'm Bella." Her smile was a bit more genuine, less self-conscious, for approximately seven seconds.

"Bella."

When the boy spoke, he revealed his voice to be quiet and rough with disuse. It had a habit of breaking in the middle of words which just made him pull the occasional face; he didn't like he sound of his voice, he thought it was stupid and made him sound lame, but people everywhere made a habit of talking and not everyone could figure out the odd pantomime of his hands and face.

With a finger, he pointed at himself and then smiled in a lopsided way. When he did, his lips pulled away from his teeth form a grin and, from beneath his bottom lip, a tiny silver ball glinted as it revealed himself. A smiley piercing, it was called, and for obvious reasons. "Mouse," he announced and then dropped his hand again with something off a huff. He peeked his head in a little further then inched his way along one of the walls in Bella's direction.

He pointed at the can of condensed milk. "No rush."

"Nice to meet you, Mouse."

Finding it absurdly uncomfortable to watch him move, Bella half turned away, eyes flicking toward him once or twice to track his movement along the wall. She kept her smile on, if her brow furrowed in confusion.

Comfortable in general with silences, Bella let herself lapse into one. They'd gone over the important parts of a given small-talk introduction, more or less, leaving out the "where are you from" and "how's school" (if Mouse was in school), hadn't they? If Mouse himself wasn't inclined to talk, she was fine sticking to saying nothing.

After some lip-biting and consideration as she measured out ingredients and began mixing them together in bowl, she figured she may as well try to say something else. Offer a little verbalization to acknowledge that she wasn't ignoring Mouse. Not really.

"Between the two of us, it almost sounds like we have the start to a pretty crazy circus. With the animals. Animal names."

Had she taken that one right out of Charlie's book? Bella blushed, turning her full attention back to her bowl and furiously whisking the batter into smoothness as she waited for the skillet to finish heating.

Big Macintosh had taken to walking around, everywhere, wandering and exploring but not necessarily mapping out the endless hallways of the ship. It was more about testing out his legs and his strength, learning the intricacies of this new body, coming to terms with his situation. He wasn't the type to get on the network (or whatever it was called) and chat with bunches of strangers to figure things out. Big Macintosh was content letting knowledge come to him at its own pace, in his own time.

Right now his stomach was making itself known at its own pace. He had wandered back down toward the passenger quarters and used his computer-tablet-thing to help him locate the kitchens. A big ol' apple sounded good right about now, or some dandelions, or even a bowl full of carrots.

When he arrived he immediately recognized Bella and strolled right in, but he didn't recognize that nasty looking thing she was holding up.

"What's that?"

Bella turned her head toward Big Macintosh, grimacing in a prelude to an answer for his question. "I think it's bacon," she said, voice betraying the degree of her uncertainty. "Dehydrated something or another. Space food."

Wavig it around, she set it back down on the counter gingerly. "I found it around here, along with the rest of things." Nothing fresh in any particularly appreciable manner, but she could work with what she had. "I hear there's some kind of garden around here, but not if anything's... um, edible in there. I wonder if there is. Seems a waste, right? Being in space and having a decorative garden only."

Good for oxygen/carbon dioxide exchanges, but not really practical past that. Or something. Bella wasn't up and up on her space garden designs.

"I mean, think of the weeding alone. Did you want any pancakes?"

Abruptly switching topics, partly fearing she might hear more on the pony nature Big Mac liked to believe he had, she looked up at him and half-smiled. "No promises on how they'll turn out, but it shouldn't be too bad." She paused. "I think."

"Pancakes?" Big Macintosh moved closer slowly, looking over the ingredients she had already set out. That wasn't what he had in mind at all but what the hay, right? Someone else was cookin and he was hungry, why not. "Eeyup, sounds alrigh'."

He rounded the counter and leaned down, sniffing at the bacon and wrinkling his nose before he stood up straight and looked over some of the other ingredients. "You need any help? I ain't so great with my hands yet but I used t'cook somewhat."

Big Macintosh kept going back to that stuff, it smelled so off and looked gross. He just had to ask: "Say, what is bacon?"

"Uh," Bella said, or rather didn't say, not sure she wanted any help. It was more a matter of what she was used to. One person in the kitchen got things done: two tended to get in each other's way if they didn't know each other well.

It was a decently large kitchen, on the other hand. "Think you can handle beating the batter until it's smooth?" She needed to get everything in the bowl first. Afterward she could fiddle with the skillet and figure out how fast this range heated up.

"Bacon?" She reminded herself that he had the whole horse-y thing going on for him. Maybe he was a vegetarian? "It's... meat? From a pig. Not sure if this stuff ever was, to be honest, but it's supposed to be."

"Eeyup," he answered her question about the batter. Big Macintosh had been practicing a lot with his hands and was up for a challenge like stirring something in a bowl, which would take a little more finesse and delicacy. Fingers were much better at delicacy than hooves ever were he had to admit. For delicate things, earth ponies had to use their mouths and obviously that had its drawbacks.

He was about to go and find something to stir with when she explained what bacon was. If he were prone to dramatics or even great emotional display she would see just how disgusted and confused he was by the idea of flesh lying around casually in a kitchen. But this was big Macintosh and all she got was a very pointed, very lingering stare.

Bella couldn't hold that stare for long, face right back to bright red. "So is everyone from where you're from a vegetarian, or is that just you?"

Nevermind that it was mostly mumbled, but Bella wasn't going to apologize for something that had never been her invention in the first place. Why did she feel like she even had to? It's not like she'd pulled out marshmallows and started talking about how they used to be made out of ground up horse hooves or something.

"You're not vegan, are you?"

He probably wouldn't want the pancakes if he was.

"Dunno," he answered honestly. Big Macintosh wasn't sure what that meant, and he was pretty sure not everyone in Equestria was vegetarian. Spike ate gems, for example. Did that have some fancy name? ...what if he'd been turned into a dragon instead of a human, would he have to eat gems to be healthy?

Dear Celestia did he have to eat pig to be healthy as a human? Big Macintosh paled a little and stared at the bacon. This was suddenly a little frightening.

"I like apples most. Do your pancakes have apple in it? I reckon they'd be just fine either way." He didn't want to be rude after all. Did she make pancakes with bacon in them?! Big Macintosh gives her a questioning look; he'd like a little reassurance there isn't pig parts in them pancakes.

More and more sure that Big Mac was in fact some kind of vegetarian, considering his other peculiarities, Bella did her best to nonchalantly drop a kitchen towel over the bacon. Out of sight, out of mind?

"Vegetarians usually don't eat a lot of meat. Or any, if I know some who still eat fish, maybe chicken once in a while. Vegans also tend to avoid cheese and eggs and things like that." Animal products in a more general sense.

"Apples?" She thought she'd seen something like that, but -- oh! "I saw some apple butter, that might work. There's also a few cans of blueberries, some peaches, I think I saw a pineapple can or two."

Speaking on these, she glanced toward the shelves she thought she'd seen them on. Bella almost missed his questioning look, but having caught it, did what she could to be reassuring. Her smile was more genuine, a touch amused. "Don't worry. The bacon won't be going anywhere near the pancakes." Outside the stomach at least.

"Oh." Big Macintosh didn't have much else to say for a minute as he processed this. He idly wondered what ponies were like where she lived, if they had them at all. What did humans normally eat? What did other ponies eat that lived on other worlds? Surely they talked and flew and did everything everypony he knew did. It was all too much to think about and he decided not to think about it anymore right now. He wanted some pancakes.

"Sure we eat cheese and eggs 'n whatnot. My family makes all sortsa pastries 'n things back home. Apple fritters, apple crumble, apple cakes, apple pie, ... that all takes eggs 'n milk or whatever."

Big Macintosh wandered over to where she had been looking and he found a can of peaches. Peaches would be good in pancakes right? He brought that over and started rummaging around for something to open the can with. "I ain't never had peaches outta no can before. My family owned a farm, ya see. We had hundreds of fruit trees."

When he found something that looked like it would open cans he bent over so his eyes were at countertop-level with it and poked his tongue out as he tried to work his fingers properly to maneuver it and the can at the same time and make it work. It was pretty complicated!

Then he wasn't vegan. Bella relaxed a fraction, getting the rest of what more or less passed for properish ingredients into the bowl, ready for stirring. "When did you lose the farm?" she asked, recalling something about small farms going financially bust due to the corporate farms throughout the states. She didn't know much about it, in fact that was about the limit of her awareness, but it seemed possible.

"Canned peaches aren't so bad. Nothing like the fresh fruit," she added with a smile, small and understanding, "But pretty good, and the syrup with them is nice. Kind of sweet, but nice." Fruit in general was sweet, and pancakes could benefit from the flavor contrast.

She watched him manipulate the can opener with amusement, if she held off on saying anything for now. He'd probably figure it out. Maybe he was kind of Amish? Did the Amish have... those sorts of fetishists? "Do you guys have cars where you're from?"

"Carts," he answered quietly. There was the train too, but not many ponies rode it. Big Macintosh was trying to get the lid of the can off but was scared of injuring his fragile pink fingers. They looked like they would cut so easily and that can lid looked sharp and he didn't fancy blood on his peaches.

With the carefullest, slowest of motions he pried the lid off and set it aside. He even sighed with relief at having done it unscathed. Big Macintosh brought the can over to her and set it down triumphantly.

"We didn't lose the farm," he drawled. "Ain't meanin' to be confusing or nothing, I just meant that before I came here that's where I lived, on the family farm. You got ponies where you're from? Unicorns or anything?"

She smiled up at him, far more genuinely, when he set the can down. How careful he'd been, and how victorious he looked, was endearing in a kind of gangly young animal way, which was at odds with his apparent age. Then again, she was probably laying on the animal metaphors too thickly, as confused as these 'ponies' made her.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," she said, voice falling at the end as she blushed again. She'd misunderstood, and it was her own fault. Making sure the heat was on, and the skillet was heating up, she tucked hair behind her ear (stupid stray tendrils) before answering.

"Um, not unicorns. We've got myths about unicorns, they're supposed to be white, the one horn, deer like or horse like or sometimes scaled. It depends on which part of the world you're looking at, I guess. We've got lots of ponies," she added, not sure she wanted to know what he thought of that. "I rode one years ago. Those kind of things where someone leads a pony in a circle and you hold on and try not to fall off."

If it's not terribly exciting, and Bella had been worried that she would end up falling off and getting walked on. Horses tended to put their feet down on top of her feet, as if neither one of them could figure out how to get out of the other's way.

"Reckon we could be rid around like that," Big Macintosh said thoughtfully. He took a step back and looked Bella up and down, wondering how much she weighed. Eeyup he figured he could carry her just fine, if he were still a pony. He was quite a big bigger than the other ponies. They weren't near as tall as humans but ponies were stout, especially earth ponies like him.

"Ain't no humans in Equestria that I ever seen, so we only got each other to pack 'round, you could say. The mare what lives in the library sometimes carries around her assistant though. He's a baby dragon," he clarified.

What he wondered was how there were ponies where humans came from but all the humans seemed amazed by the concept of talking ponies. Maybe the ponies there didn't talk? He couldn't figure it out.

Bella couldn't help her expression while he looked her over -- the disbelief was readily apparent. "Ponies hold up pretty well," she managed at last. "Shetlands do."

If she wasn't sure he'd recognize any particular breed, since he hadn't put any one name to himself, his sister, or their friend Rarity quite yet.

By the time he was mentioning baby dragons, Bella gave up the last pretext that this could pass as a normal conversation. Easy enough to follow on her decision to take it all at face value and just keep on rolling.

"No dragons on good old Earth," she said mildly, smiling again. The skillet was almost ready. "No talking ponies either, at least not in our language. My language. English."

Her tripping up and clarifying what she meant specifically ended with her nabbing the bowl and pouring out enough of the batter to make a decent sized circle. It left a mess on the lip of the bowl, just enough to trickle down the side, but otherwise wasn't remarkable.

Now to see how consistent this stove burned! "Do dragons and ponies really get along? There's no problem with... dietary conflict?"

"Eeeeeyup. If a pony gets too nearin' a dragon's gem stash, he's likely as not t' get his tail singed clean off." Big Macintosh gave an amused huff at that. "But dragons'll do that to anything what's get too nearin' his gems."

Being as she seemed unfamiliar with them he added: "That's dragon's favorite food, diamonds n' emeralds and such." He had never spent much time around Spike but he genuinely liked the baby dragon, he had a much calmer disposition than Twilight did, that was certain. Not that he disliked Twilight any but she was good at getting herself all worked up over things.

He leaned one hand on the counter top by where she was making the pancakes and watched with interest to what she was doing. Bella was good at doing things with her fingers certainly, and he admired that. It would take him awhile to be that good at much of anything in this body. "You been cookin long? You look like you know what you're doin."

"Dragons actually eat gemstones?" Sure, it fit in with the mental image she had of dragons doing some kind of precious gem hoarding, right along with precious metals and possibly a few virgins, but as far as eating went, those virgins were supposed to be higher up on the list than the gemstones themselves. Right along with knights, sheep, and possibly moose. "That's... new. Do they stay pretty small?"

She had something that was mostly a spatula in hand, getting it under the pancake once it hit bubbles coming through the top. Time to flip it over! Most the time she managed to do just fine when it came to the kitchen, at least anymore. Thankfully, this was one of those times. The pancake flipped without flying out of the skillet or deciding to break in half or otherwise make a mess of itself.

Tiny victory, but it felt incredibly normalizing in this place so far outside any of her norms.

"I've been cooking since I was pretty young," she admitted, wondering when she'd really taken the majority on to herself. "My mom is a decent cook, though she comes up with some interesting ideas for meals." All code for the fact her mother could cook, just often came up with things that ended up being inedible due to flavor clashes or half-thought through mix-ups. "I wanted to help out."

Even more code for wanting to make sure her mother stayed consistently fed, just like taking over the bills to make sure her mother paid them on time, just like much of the rest of little around the house chores being taken on by Bella so things would run smoothly. She'd never resented her mother for any of it, in fact often felt closer to her, if in a more protective, mothering sense. "I've always enjoyed it. It's relaxing, in a way?"

First pancake done, she scooted her spatula under it and brought it out of the pan and onto a plate she had at ready.

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iron chef will one day be set in space

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