extra sugar, extra salts [open]

[yardbird]

CHARACTERS: Murphy Pendleton and You!
LOCATION: Kitchens.
SUMMARY: In Which February Becomes the Month Murphy Feeds Post-Apocalyptic Kids Food. Or anyone else who is hopeless in cooking, really.
NOTES: Feel free to assume this takes place whenever during the month!

---

The scent of herbs and spices waft from the corridors, leading into the kitchen. Murphy himself is surprised with the quality of the foods he finds here, allowing a variety of dishes he frequently indulges in when he's feeling up to it. It's not like the cooks of Ryall State Prison had a long and illustrious menu for the inmates there, and if it's one thing about his freedom that Murphy swore never to take for granted again, it's the chance to cook his own damn food.

Hell, even during his brief freedom in his own world, he hadn't been able to settle in long enough to find a decent kitchen or ingredients. Not like this place. That old life seems so long gone now, he can hardly remember what it was even like anymore. Every now and then, the ship reminds him.

So he loses himself, keeping his hands busy. Sometimes, that means cooking larger meals for more people other than himself or his wife, or whoever is left in his small circle of friends here.

Whether it's stir fry, sauté vegetables, gumbo, or even simple pancakes for breakfast... Chances are, anyone with a hungry belly wandering the halls would notice, and hardly be able to ignore.

Comments

idk some point mid month

[tectus]

It's the stir fry that pulls her in.

There hasn't exactly been a huge amount of time for it, between arriving and boggarts and departments (oh my!) but there's no denying that Octavia is...just a little obsessed with the food on board the Tranquility. Her familiarity with space food had been limited to a weird, processed, soy based product that left almost everything to the imagination - and on the ground things hadn't been much better either. Sure it had been fresh, but the kids she'd landed on Earth with weren't exactly trained survivalists. They managed, but it wasn't anything to brag about. Here though - she's already heard of foods she never could have dreamt of, and coffee? God, she doesn't know how she lived before that stuff.

This day in particular she's heading to the kitchens with the intentions of maybe trying to cook something for herself, because up until this point she's largely relied on anything involving minimal preparation. She isn't exactly planning to socialise, and when she hears someone else busy at work in there she almost turns around and leaves again, but-

...damn, whatever that is it smells good.

She hovers long enough for it to be awkward, for him to have spotted her, and after a moment takes a step further in, awkwardly clearing her throat to announce her presence.

"Uh, hey-" she starts, a little uncomfortable as she peers at the food cooking away with an unmistakable curiosity, "...just wondering, like. What is that?"

Because seriously, she hasn't come across anything that looks that good in her life ever, probably.

[yardbird]

The mixtures of spiced bell peppers, onion, squash, broccoli and eggplant flavored with a variety of sauces and herbs fills the kitchen, enticing even Murphy's own appetite. No matter how many times he's made this stuff, he will never not appreciate the smell of a properly cooked meal.

As he's tossing up the ingredients in the wok using a spatula, he hears the sound of the door opening. He turns his head briefly to catch the shape of a person moving in. He's been jumpy ever since his previous kitchen encounter had him at gunpoint with a kid, an experience Murphy is not eager to repeat anytime soon.

He tenses after a moment, trying not to pay any mind to the staring. His shoulders and grip on the spatula relaxes when she finally speaks, however.

His eyes shift, and then he turns his head towards the girl. "Wanted to make somethin' easy, so... vegetable stir-fry." He glances down at the wok, back to her. "You want any?"

God knows she looks like she could use it, and it'd save any more awkward silences.

[tectus]

"Vegetable stir fry..."

She echoes the words after him, eyeing the contents of the wok for a moment longer - and honestly, if that's easy then maybe Octavia was kidding herself at thinking she could manage cooking herself. Clearly this was going to be a work in progress, and as much as she wants to graciously turn down the offer and continue on her quest to cook for herself...she's hungry. Not 'foraging and hunting on Earth' hungry, but she's definitely not eating as much as she could be now, and her willpower when it comes to these things are slim at best.

Still, she tries to look as nonchalant as possible as she shoves her hands into her pockets, walking further into the kitchen and getting a closer look (both at the food and the person preparing it) before she actually answers. It's not in her nature to be all that suspicious, really, but ever since arriving on Tranquility that natural wariness has spiked considerably. If she's concerned about the legitimacy of his offer it doesn't show though, and finally she shrugs her shoulders and offers a half smile as she nods her head.

"I mean, if you've got some to spare I'm not going to say no," she says casually, leaning lightly against the counter. "How did you learn to make this stuff anyway?"

[yardbird]

Strangely, Murphy is more comfortable with kids being a little more suspicious. No matter what universe, they tend to live longer that way.

He nods to the nearby cabinets behind her. "Grab yourself a plate, since it's almost ready."

Her question has him pause for a bit, as he rummages mentally for the right words to answer that.

"I, uh. Had a family, once. I knew how to make some basic things as a kid, but I didn't want my boy to live on boxed mac-and-cheese if his mom ever got sick or... whatever." He somehow manages an awkward smile.

[tectus]

It's obvious from the weight that the words come with that there's more to the story than your average 'happy family, dad pulling his weight' type deal, and for a second Octavia wants to press - but she isn't totally clueless, and even the promise of a good meal isn't enough to get her to drop all tact. Instead she grabs a plate and finds a spot on the bench to haul herself onto, out of the way enough that she won't be too disrupting but close enough to watch what Murphy's doing with the food.

"My brother used to get food more than my mom."

She offers the information after a small pause, unprompted in some kind of tit for tat -- 'you shared something a little personal, have something in return. There's a slightly wry smile on her face as she shrugs her shoulders along with it, and though her tone is light and casual, it takes more than she'd like to bring the topic up.

"She was usually busy with-- whatever, so we sorted ourselves out. Food on the Ark was disgusting though, long life soy crap," she adds, and just in case that colourful description isn't enough Octavia pulls an expression to go with it, tongue out and face scrunching up to display the disgust.

[yardbird]

Murphy recognizes just as much, if not better than most, the little queues. He's learned to be more observant these days when picking up hints carried in conversation.

Also he's just grateful not to steer this talk down a darker avenue. It's too early or too late and he's too sober for that shit.

"Ark... Like the ship, you mean?"

For as observant as he can be, he can't tell where she's come from just by looking at her. She doesn't look that much different from most teenagers -- but she doesn't exactly seem like a normal teenager, either.

early in the month

[sleepallthewayhome]

She does have Ripley to make sure she eats but Newt still tends to explore longer then then she thinks she'll be gone. However there are kitchens on every.single.floor she's discovered and so she decides to go into one and get a snack instead of going back to her own. She almost doesn't go in when she smells the food cooking because that means someone else is there.

But she's hungry so she peeps her head around the doorway first to make sure it's not someone too dangerous looking.

[yardbird]

It's the aftermath of those restless nights that has Murphy out and about. Even with his work in the gardens done, he can't sit still long enough. Not with these hands. He decides to spend more time in the kitchens than usual, doing prep work and planning and digging through old recipes. Not because he's hungry, but because he's gotten used to making sure that other people aren't. Right now, he's got a pot of water boiling and red sauce he concocted from scratch.

Hearing something move at the door, he checks over his shoulder.

"Can I get you anything?" Murphy asks. He might not be the most friendly-looking person, but his fatherly tone is quiet and subdued.

[sleepallthewayhome]

That is enough to make Newt take some steps into the kitchen. He doesn't seem that scary really. Enough that she goes closer to look at what he's doing.

"What are you making?"

[yardbird]

Scars, gruffness, and unshaven appearances aside, Murphy has that instinct to lower his guard when it comes to kids. He knows he can't always be the most approachable looking men, which had been so necessary for him to survive during all those years in prison...

"Spaghetti Tuesday... Or Wednesday." He makes a lighthearted sound that's almost like a laugh. "Y'know, I'm really not sure what day it is, but... yeah, it's spaghetti."

[sleepallthewayhome]

Scars and gruffness were pretty much the last group of adults she was with and they were alright. Okay most of them died but still, alright people.

Also that does look good.

"Can I have some?"

Maybe before she wouldn't have asked but scavenging prepackaged food is still in her mind and she hasn't had a cooked meal in weeks.

[yardbird]

"Once these noodles are ready, absolutely." He smiles a little, reaching for the stack of noodles on the counter to place into the boiling water. "You ever had spaghetti before, kid?"

Normally he'd think that's a stupid question to ask. What kid's never had spaghetti before? But this is the Tranquility, home of people who come from completely different worlds.

So, not a stupid question to ask.

[sleepallthewayhome]

She thinks this over, looking at what he's making.

"I think so? Most of our food comes in white packages. Sometimes mommy reheated it but most of the time it was all ready to eat."

breakfast, late in the month

[nokidstuff]

One of the first things that he picked up fairly quick on was that there was seemingly no shortage of food to go around the populace. As well as that may have been though, it didn't stop his frequent visits to the kitchens to pick up something to eat rather than dig into the stockpile he found himself with for emergencies.

And this trip was no different. The routine he found himself working with to this point was to go in, grab something that would suffice until lunch, then leave. But with the wafting smells coming down the hallway, this time he knew it wouldn't be that simple as he felt his stomach almost begging to go eat whatever was in there.

And so he fights with himself on that a little! Because cooking logical meant someone else was in there and he knew he had to be cautious of everybody to some extent. Still, whatever they were making - could it be, pancakes? - smelt ten times tastier then a can of green beans or a bag of cereal so he ends up being unable to help peering in to see, but trying to stick on course.

Thus only indication of him being there would be the swooshing sound of the door that let him in.

[yardbird]

Pancakes.

Lots and lots of pancakes.

Murphy has had a restless night and it shows on his visage. Not that Carl can see that from where he's standing, but damned if insomnia's not a killer.

When he can't sleep, he resorts to either hours of space soaps in the media libraries or... well, this. Cooking.

Lack of sleep aside, Murphy's still more alert of his surroundings than he's ever been. Being stabbed and almost gunned down in the kitchen twice before would do that to you. So he snaps his head towards the door at the slightest indication of it opening. Which is fine -- he's not always going to freak out at the first person barging into a public space unannounced, but to say he's jumpy would be putting it mildly.

It's a kid, though. Not just a kid, because the last two kitchen incidents were kids, too. Murphy knows better.

"Sorry," he mutters tiredly. "Almost done here, if you need the stove... or whatever."

sorry, late. i'm no good at prose.

[nokidstuff]

Don't worry Murphy, there won't be a third incident if you play it cool. Carl isn't interested in starting anything himself anyway, especially now that he knows his situation is everybody elses too.

What he is interested in though is the smell of pancakes. The stake of them, all hot and fresh on the plate as he first notices when peering in just around the corner. It reminds him a lot of Sundays long forgotten in the past for the here and now and for survival's sake... which is exactly why he eventually snaps back to reality and won't ask for any. (But he is half tempted...)

He simply acknowledges the man cooking away with direct eye contact after a moment, eyes tearing themselves off the pancakes over to his primary goal of food and finally to the somewhat physically intimidating, but oddly jumpy, grown man. As far as first impression's go, he doesn't see a threat so he steps in once, twice-- far enough to not need to peer around the corner to see anything and stand straight.

"I don't need the stove," he speaks somewhat cautiously, his words his way of saying no thanks. "Just to get something from the pantry."

If that's okay? It is, right? Because if there's any indication that he means exactly what he says, it's through his body language; a guarded, impatience in the kid that would like to be out of there as quickly as he was in. The typical vibe of someone with a look to also add: just don't try anything and we'll be okay, mister.

it's all good!

[yardbird]

One thing's for sure -- Murphy's not going to be making any sudden moves anytime soon. He tears his eyes from the kid for a moment, glancing from the pancake on the skillet to the stack he's started working on, and then back to the kid.

"If, uh... If you want, you can take some of those off my hands. I'm not gonna be able to eat 'em all." He doesn't really know why he makes so many, other than it keeps him busy and he doesn't have to think much while he does it. He just does.

Hopefully Carl likes blueberries or bananas. Because that's what's in them.

[nokidstuff]

No, he does not! But really, yes, he does. At the offer, his head tilts a little to the side, equally hesitant and considering. There's an audible confused breathe out.

"What... Why'd you make so many if you're not gonna be able to eat 'em all?" Help him understand this and maybe he will consider it. He's not moving anywhere yet anyway since the problem is to work out just who this guy is first.

Oh, and as an afterthought, "How do I know you didn't do anything to them?"

[yardbird]

Murphy shrugs. "It's therapeutic. Not to mention I do it sometimes for the people who don't... shouldn't cook."

His wife, for example. He doesn't trust that woman to make even scrambled eggs.

But okay, the kid has a right to be concerned about the last part. And hell if he's going to take a stranger's word for it.

"Okay... Well, if I take a bite from it, will that convince you?" Murphy would hate to be seen as That Guy Who Roofies Breakfast.

[consequence]

She had opted to spend the evening as a wolf. It's nothing against anyone else, but she knows that people judge if she doesn't sleep and sometimes she just doesn't want to sleep. It's easier to just slip away into the night and be just another wolf that's on this ship. She shifts early in the morning, redressing casually and then roaming the halls picking up on different scents, different people, but something catches her a bit off-guard, because it's something she hasn't smelled in a while - pancakes.

She follows the smell to the kitchen and leans in the entry, "Are you making pancakes or did you find a scented candle?"

[yardbird]

Pancakes are undoubtedly comfort food. Something that's simple and easy and satisfying, and its pleasant scents that no doubt rings like a breakfast bell. Or whatever time of day it's supposed to be.

Glancing over to the doorway with bags under his eyes, Murphy somehow managed a smile. "Pancakes," he simply says. "Hey, d'you like apples?"

Because these motherfucking pancakes have apples.

[consequence]

Hayley is curious and cautious, because the only fruit around here is grown in the gardens and she's not really sure who is sharing it and who isn't.

"I do like apples," she says as she moves into the kitchen to join him. "Where did you get them?"

[yardbird]

"The gardens. It's no Farmer's Market, but it's 'bout the only place you can get fresh produce here."

He nods to the stack of pancakes on the counter. Crispy brown with cinnamon and apples baked into the centers, piled about a foot high like a breakfast mountain.

A little simper tugs at the corner of his lips. "Might've made more than I can stomach by myself."

[consequence]

Hayley smirks, "Oh, it's one of those trips to the kitchen."

"They smell good -- if you're offering, I'd be more than happy to take some off your hands." She offers him a smile, "I'm Hayley."

[yardbird]

"Yeah, please. I'd hate for good food to go to waste."

Or at least he hopes it's good. (Spoilers: It's undoubtedly amazing.) He's been zoned out long enough that he wasn't even aware that he's just made enough to feed an orphanage until now.

"Murphy." He blinks, his eyes veering from her face to the cupboards. "There should be some syrup in there. And plates. Unless you think you can stomach twenty pancakes."

Who knows. Maybe she can. Murphy won't judge.