Who Carellos, Syn
What Syn offers to reassign Carellos for being TOO GOOD A BAKER. Carellos accepts.
When Winter, 2714
Where Kitchens, Fort Weyr

Fort Weyr - Kitchen
After rising up an imposing flight of steps you enter an elaborate vaulted ceiling. The delicious smells that gently infuse the air drift out from this portion of the cavern. The head cook, Rickard, bustles about creating the masterpiece dishes that the weyr as a whole consumes. His extensive collection of prized copper cookware hangs upon their custom-made racks, reflecting soft light back out into the cavern proper. A handful of sub-cooks and helpers are engaged in an variety of food preparations, moving briskly but efficiently about their work. A pair of spit canines trot in their wicker wheels, continuously turning the spits with their slowly roasting joints that hiss and crackle over the fires.


What time, what day, what turn is it? It's entirely possible Syn doesn't know - she has that sort of punch-drunk, slap-happy, two-seconds-away-from-a-bad-decision sort of look one wears when they've gone many too many hours without sleep, dark smudges beneath her eyes only enhancing what is already a bucketload of crazy the woman keeps in her back pocket. What else is in her back pocket? Fireworks. One for each buttcheek, cones down, fuses up, and she probably shouldn't be in a place that contains so much fire but… see above comment regarding impending bad decisions. Repeat. Besides, her arms are busy, hanging on for dear life around a basket that looks near as big as she is (because she's tiny, not because it's particularly large in and of itself), halting just inside the doorway to the kitchens with a bedraggled sway and a vaguely-amused, "Somebody order a whole lotta redfruit?" Because it's something out of a math problem - who rationally gets 59 fruits in one go? Hopefully someone, 'cause here they are!

Carellos probably isn't the best person to ask as far as time of day stuff. There's no day light and night fall in the kitchens, just first breakfast all the way to midnight snack, that's how Bakers tell the time, don'tcha know? "Uh, yeah. One moment!" The journeyman finishes arranging the tray and quickly strides to the ovens, pulling open the lid and sliding the pan into the wall of HEAT that erupts from it's firey maw. Once the hatch is closed, Carellos turns to the tiny fruit basket with feet that somehow managed to grow SENTIENCE. Wait. He moves, reaching down to grab the basket of fruit carefully and it's moved out of the way before those emerald eyes take in the… uh, sight before him. "Well, you look ten different types of horrible. Thank you for the fruit?" Great pie comes with great responsibility, and great bakers taking in great messes, like Syn. Don't worry, Syn. You're a hot mess.

Well, they've already made it through elevensies, and probably afternoon tea, so they're right on track as far as hobbit-time goes! "Take your time," Syn says on a sigh that'd be long-suffering if she didn't temper it with a sideways slash of a grin, teasing in her gaze, "Ain't like I'm carrying anything heavy." The idea that she could just set it down doesn't seem to occur to her as she hums an off-tune ditty, watching him work with a giggly sort of interest before his DISEMBODIED FEET - oh no okay here comes the rest of him - come over to fetch up the basket. "Aw, thanks, handsome," the greenrider chirps, flicking a haphazard lock of hair over her shoulder with panache. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day." A blink. "Or is it night? Hmm." She squints about, confirming the no-windows thing before shrugging and moving on, ducking around the baker to glance over the remnants of the items he'd just put in to bake. "What'cha makin'? Anything good? Anything sweet? I love sweet things. Goes well with all the klah." One hand pats her stomach, the other reaches for the first thing she sees with the intent to touch it.

Handsome? Aw, he didn't need to hear that because he knows it already and there's no need to remind him. If only Reks would tell him that. Sadface. Emo tears. "Um…" WHAT TIME IS IT. "Um, meat rolls and puffs just went into the oven so it's still morning." All said with a toothy grin on his face. Carellos dusts his hands off on his apron and he picks up the first fruit off of the top of the basket, inspecting it thoroughly with narrowed eyes. After the fruit's been rotated every which way with those rough fingertips, he sends a sidelong glance over to Syn. "I've still gotta get the pies and rolls done, the cookies need to be done. Sweet breads for dinner. I think the rolls would go best with klah because of that cream filling. Just don't do the glazed braids, those have booze in them. Better with wine than klah." WHATAREYOUTOUCHINGNOTOUCHY! Carellos reaches into the pocket of his apron and pulls a small towel out, quickly rolling it up and snapping it in the direction of the counters where sweet sticky glazed balls sit on a plate! "Don't touch that! At least, not yet. Gotta wait til they cool down a little more. Gotta fill those up with some frosting."

Woe, tragedy, heartbreak fivever! Alas, Syn will just have to compliment is face enough for them both. "Well, I guess that explains why everyone's so chipper." Morning people, am I right? "Thought it might've just been that people missed me after spendin' a few days in the tunnel," she drawls, mischief in her gaze and sarcasm in her tone. "Glad to see me and whatnot. Ah, well." Shoulders roll, bright blue gaze lingering as he inspects the redfruit for defects, awaiting his judgment with patiently raised eyebrows before he glances sideways at her. "Do you make all those things?," the greenrider asks, eyes lit up less with latent crazy and more… well… latent crazy. But latent crazy for sweets at least. "If so, you might just be my favorite person in this whole kitchen. The glazed braids are my favorite. It's all the right flavors, plus dough." And can you blame her for reaching for those glazed doughballs? She's excited, though the snapping of a towel at her fingertips elicits a giggle as she snatches them back. "Rude," the tiny woman breathes on a laugh, reaching out to grab up his cloth instead. "Could've just said so." Don't get her wrong - she's delighted by the cheek, and might also be using this as a big fat distraction to grab one up anyways. Shh. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain! "How do you fill 'em with frosting?"

"Well, yeah. I'm a Journeyman Baker. I kinda have to know how to make all those things. Pastries are my specialty." Syn's eyes can get cute and lit up all they want! Who wouldn't want all this sugar goodness! Carellos? He's an equal opportunity foodie. If it looks good, he's gonna eat it. Don't ask where he puts it, though. "No touchy!" He's not eyes on you, Syn. EYES. He still has more redfruit to inspect so he turns his back long enough to get a large bowl and he places the first fruit to pass inspection in it before moving onto the next. "When they cool down enough, you just flip them and carefully slide a piping tool into it and just squeeze in the cream filling. Pretty simple stuff. I can do it all day long, nice repetitive motion to pass the day along."

Did Syn even look at his shoulder to figure that out for herself? She sure did not! However she is going to assert, "You're my new best friend," as though the declaration's going to get her any ins into this here baking industry he's got going on. "Though if I had any political clout, I'd consider firin' you for bein' too good. You're the reason I've had to double my runs lately." Ah yes, blame the baker for being good at his work and not her total lack of willpower. Classic. It's a vague compliment though, one eked out by bright laughter and a most aggrieved eyeroll when she's told not to touch again. "Fine. Spoil sport. What can I touch then?" Asked as she moves her hand over various foods and objects, reading his face, waiting for permission to go after something. "Doesn't that get boring? Do you experiment at all? Make new things, fiddle with recipes, sip the booze when no one's looking?" Brow waggle. TELL HER ALL THE SECRETS. She wants to know!

"Aw, well, if it makes you feel better in the slightest, feel free to fire me anyway. Look on the brightside, I'll still be baking these things for you even after you fire me." Win/win situation right? If it weren't for the constant running around the kitchen and loading and unloading of goods delivered to the lower caverns for said kitchen,, Carellos probably wouldn't be in the fine shape that he's in. That, and he has the benefit of an adorably cranky Harper Journeyman keeping him on his toes so he doesn't over eat. "You can touch that stool right there by sitting on it." Cue adorably persistent smile here. SIT AND BE GOOD. THE REAL GOOD, NOT THE REAL-REAL GOOD. OMGFERGETIT. "I do experiment quite a bit, thankfully I know enough to keep whatever I make edible so nothing's wasted. I don't sip the booze and I hope no one else is because there's plenty of people I really don't want to make out with via third party in the way of booze. Like that uncle that always waves to people if you don't walk down into the kitchens fast enough. He looks sketchy." Sketchy like that visiting bronzerider from Half Moon. Nothing get's sketchier than that guy.

Syn's face scrooches up pensively, as though considering doing just that if only for the satisfaction but, "Nah. That's more my cousin's schtick, anyways. Goes about dressed as the weyrleader, bosses folk around. I couldn't deprive her of the privelege. I could offer you a reassignment, though," she says with a sharkish sort of grin, "of the sort that just might stick." The poor sleep-deprived greenrider looks briefly hopeful for the words 'you can touch,' expression falling into something playfully sarcastic the further he goes. OKAY WISE GUY. She touches that stool alright, pulls it over until it's in front of those pastries again because she's nothing if not a pain in the ass, pushing herself up onto it carefully (them literal pocket-rockets, you know) before leaning back up into his counter space. "What's your favorite experiment ever been?," she asks, trying and rather failing at keeping a straight face for proxy-smooching. Cue quiet snicker-snorting that fast becomes tinkly laughter. "Really? Shells, never thought about it that way. I'd do it just to be able to make the joke. 'What'd you do last night? Pff, well I kissed the whole weyr. Kissed them, and him, and her, and—'" Someone equally sketchy passes by the kitchens, and she makes a face, finger cringing away from where she'd been pointing people out. "Ugh, not them. And definitely not that uncle." It's true, though. Ain't no baby daddy sketchier than her baby daddy. "I kind of want to steal the idea now. Is it too late to put my face all over them fruits?"

Carellos continues working with his inspections until the mention of the cousin. He pauses, his head slowly rising up and the gears begin to turn as he puts the pieces together. Runs around and is a Pseudo-Th'ero. Bluerider if he remembers correctly. There. The edge of his eyes begins to twitch and he does his best to keep a straight face but it's hard when the sensation of every sign of irritation possible is just clawing to get to the surface. THAT ONE. The one that's in that relationship with the NOT-REKSLER. He clears his throat, raising his brows as he peers over his shoulder to glance over to the greenrider and he 'ahs' and nods. "No putting your face all over the fruits until after they've been made into something." Carellos turns around, flipping open a lid and he places a pair of pastries onto a platter, turning and sliding them between Syn and the other ones still in progress. "This experient is my favorite so far. Looks like a boring pastrie but there's a glaze on the inside that tastes like klah. So you can drink it and eat it, too. Good for travel, gets the same kick. What would you reassign me to?" See? Caffeinates her up first before asking about reassignments. Did he do that right?

Does Syn even notice that CIVIL WAR going on all over Carellos's face? She might - there's a distinct twinkle in her eyes, a telltale flicker of impish mischief toying around the edges of her mouth - but then again, in her experience most people pause and make a face when she mentions her family, so this is all par for the course, really. She huffs out a little laugh for the throat-clearing instead, hands lifting to pat the air between them. "Alright, fine, you win. I'll just sit here, on my hands, making no noise, touching nothing, like a normal boring human person." She affects an over-the-top humdrum face, brows lowered, lips pressing together, hands planted firmly beneath her thighs on the stool. It lasts as long as the baker looks her way, affectation dropped when he turns to fetch up klah-pastries with a look of intere- oh shit, he's turning around again. GRUMP. Syn watches the plate slide between her and the pastries in progress with passionate dispassion, blue gaze lifting to fix on Carellos as he describes them. Intrigue. Curiosity. DO WANT. All flicker through a slow-warming gaze, unable to keep up the charade for long. Sideways she leans, voice pitched low in a stage whisper. "Am I allowed to touch them?" Twinkle. "Do you stuff it with crushed bark or?" She looks two seconds from finding out, for science. But he's asked her a question, and she slides him a sly glance out of the corner of her eye, lips curling crooked to one side. It lingers there a moment as she considers, surveying him a moment before she says, "Candidate."

Bark? "Oh, we take the bark and reduce it down into an extract that's made into a syrup for the filling. For the dough, we take the bark and grind it into a powder and mix it in so it's in the dough and it's in the filling. Took a little and folded it into the whipped cream, too." What whipped cream? The bowl that's in his hands looming ominously. OH. Right. The expression is even washed on his face and he adds, "Uh, yeah, I would hope you would touch those. They're for you." The bowl is put down on the counter in case she wants to sample that, too, without touching the big batch for the main populace. "Oh, alright. That's not a profession, though." Confused, Carellos turns his back to finish inspecting the fruit, then he suddenly drops the one in his hand, spinning around to peer at the greenrider with the BIGGEST LOOK OF SUSPICION EVER. "Candi-CANDIDATE?" His facial expressions begin to shift from surprise, to weighing the options. The sour look on his face and slight look of worry, next. Probably a Reks thing. Then it's clear from the way he crosses his arms over his shoulders that he's already made peace with death and you only live once so he slowly nods his head as he sends those emerald eyes her way with a little bit of a crooked grin of his own. "Alright, yeah. I suppose I wouldn't mind that reassignment if it were a thing." The redfruit is eyed and he sighs heavily, leaning over to pick it up and he tosses it into a bin for such things on the counter. That fruit failed inspection, OKAY?

For a second, it's like Syn hasn't heard him. Her eyes are squinted, lips pressed together, gaze weighty as she just sort of stares at Carellos and then: "I can't tell if that's genius or madness." But by Faranth does she approve. The only thing she approves of more is the fact that these ones have been deemed hers to sample! No delicate lady, she tears at the first pastry with her fingers, inspecting it closely for the elements he's described before popping it into her mouth. "Nope. Definitely genius," she clarifies, though hopefully the baker speaks Full Mouthese, because she isn't about to clear it for something as silly as speaking. It's too good. The greenrider's eyes continue their mischievous sparkle as the fruit drops, scooping up a dollop of ominous whipped cream onto her finger and licking it clean before pointing to the fallen redfruit. "Just put that anywhere." Rude. It's probably better than goading a man clearly in the midst of weighing his options, though, and while Syn might be exhausted out of her mind and crazy to boot, even she has some sense. So she enjoys the shreds of her pastry as she tears them free at devours them, just as she enjoys watching the play of emotions over Carellos's face (it's like watching a SOAP OPERA, including the temporary death and magical resurrection of resolve!), snacking her way through it until he finally meets her gaze. She makes him wait a second, maybe two (mostly so the knot she pulls from her jacket isn't hopelessly sticky before she extends it out to him) before she says, "Good. You can have a little bit, see to your master crafter, take care of any personal stuff, and bake me another dozen of these pastries." Is she joking? She's probably joking. She's definitely taking the second one, though, wrapping it up in a kerchief she pulls from Faranth knows where and tucking it back into the depths from which it came. "And later on, the candidate coordinators will get you all set up in the barracks, yeah?" The tiny woman snorts quietly for the trashing of the dropped fruit, sliding down from her stool to offer him a jaunty grin. "It's alright. That one was a mess anyways." A hot mess, and there, we've come full circle as Syn giggles, lazily salutes the former-baker with a chirped, "Anyways, gotta run, lots to do while the gettin's good. See you 'round, candidate," and saunters right back out the way she came, pulling the fireworks from her back pockets to twirl them in her hands with a cheerful whistle as she heads off to cause probable mayhem in the near future.


Add a New Comment