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!

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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

[yardbird]

While she does that, he works on the final touches of the spaghetti, taking a large bowl and mixing the noodles with the sauce. Once the table is set, he takes the bowl over as well and places it on the edge.

"Want anything to drink?" He's pretty sure he can dig something up that isn't alcohol.

[sleepallthewayhome]

"Is there any juice?" She finishes setting the stuff on the table and stands by it, looking over.

[yardbird]

"Er, yeah. Of course." He's pretty sure he might've freshly squeezed some recently. He ventures over to the refrigerator to check if he has pitchers of anything inside. "Got apple and orange."

Pick your poison, Newt.

Not that it's... actually poisoned. Shh.

[sleepallthewayhome]

"Can I have apple.....please?"

Manners are something she has to remember now she isn't alone.

[yardbird]

He smiles slightly at the please part. Having grown up in an orphanage around stern nuns, he can appreciate the manners a little bit.

"Sure thing."

There are a couple of carafes in the refrigerator of fresh juice. He takes one and sets it on the dining table, where everything else is, and pours some into the glass closest to her.

Afterwards, he blinks, pulling the carafe close to him. "Oh, by the way... I'm Murphy. Don't think I caught your name, kid."

Now that we're on the subject of manners and shit... Jesus.

[sleepallthewayhome]

She takes a drink of the juice. Fresh things are strange but she's starting to like them.

"My name's Newt."