ataraxionlogs | extra sugar, extra salts [open]

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.

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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.

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.

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?"

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.

That Guy Who Roofies Breakfast or something like it is what Carl's thinking. Though he's not exactly thinking drugs per se, but he's not 100% sure what's available on the ship either and what can be mixed from that to create dangerous food.

Either way, he considers the offer over and then tentatively nods. "Yeah. That would help." Mostly. After all, if the man's willing to eat his own pancakes and doesn't drop dead, then there shouldn't be a problem with maybe accepting some up. That said. He's not planning on allow himself to get comfortable with people anytime soon, but he has to trust people a little sometimes, right...

Good kid. Murphy's not even offended, all things considered. Better to be cautious than to take candies from strangers without thinking.

"All right." He takes a plate from one of the upper cupboards. After stacking a few pancakes on with a fork, he takes a few layers and chews. Some are blueberry, some are bananas, with a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla in the batter. It's an interesting combination of flavors.

Murphy scoffs.

"Jesus. These turned out better than I'd expected."

Yes, Carl was raised better than that. Except his parents couldn't have exactly prepared him what to do with strangers in space, let alone in an apocalypse. That is to say, he's still working out this whole situation to the best of his abilities.

So when the man in front of him actually takes a plate to stake the pancakes and shove in a mouthful, as promised, he is a little taken aback. Of course, it's an unexpected (if not a little unsightly of a) scene, but it certainly proves to him that they are safe to eat.

Maybe. He still has to decide if he wants to take any anyhow. The comment about how they taste certainly earns points in favor of taking some. Not to think ill of the dead, but his mother was never good at making them. They remind him of her in a good light, though.

So after watching everything, "Okay. Maybe they are safe... but what kinds are they?" Because it's important to know with making his decision, and he's not sure what else to ask in this case either.

"The first batch are bananas," Murphy says, pointing to the stack with the fork he used to eat with. "The second are blueberries, after I'd run out of the bananas. Everything else I had to make from scratch, usin' whatever was available here..."

Which was actually more than what he was expecting when he first started making space pancakes. By now he's like a pro in all things breakfast-y, even if the milk had to be substituted for powdered shit since they lost their only cow on the ship.

Bananas and blueberries are good, and actually the blueberry kind sound especially good, but he has to ask:

"You didn't make any of the regular kind?"

Well, actually, it kind of more slips out, but that's beside the point. It's just that regular old pancakes is what he remembers and if possible the memory is what he'd like to be as close as possible to. So, yeah, he had to ask.

Besides it's strange when someone doesn't make the regular kind after making so many, right? Just his opinion.

"Er. Not this time, no. Though I probably could, with as much batter as I've got left..." He trails off. "Would you like some regular ones instead?"

Murphy kind of forgets that regular food is even a thing sometimes. When he gets in that zone, he just wings it, adding things in. Which means whatever is on hand and sounds like a good idea, he throws in.

"No... I-"

Was just saying. But, well - actually, let him think about it a moment... Okay, not really think about it, because he is interested in seeing how to make them. But he also realizes than he can use this as an opportunity to doubly make sure there's less likeliness of funny business. So, if it seems like he's not being as cautious as he was moments ago, give him a break. Curiosity comes now, and a real decision to accept pancakes or not will follow later.

He quickly changes what he's saying to; "Yeah... guess I do, if I get to watch you make 'em."

Murphy snorts. "Sure thing."

Around here, he doesn't really think to ask why anyone would want to watch him make pancakes. After all, Murphy's heard weirder things. So he just does, turning the heat under the frying pan down a little so he can start on the next batch using the ladle from the bowl of batter he was using earlier.

"You ever actually made pancakes before, kid?" Just making casual conversation while he's also making it fairly obvious that there's no funny business going on with the making of these beautiful, beautiful pancakes.

extra sugar, extra salts [open]

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

it's all good!

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