Sweets for the... nevermind.
When: Wednesday, August 17, 2:00 PM
Where: Damien's house
Who: Damien Wayne and Clarice Ferguson
What: Delivery on a promise
Rating: Possible PG for Damien's rude mouth? ^_~
Clarice had done her best.
Damien had perhaps overestimated the cost of ingredients and shipping for his pastries, but not as much as Clarice would have thought. Apparently hadef was quite rare outside Beirut. Small wonder he'd seemed so excited at the prospect of getting some here, though she had to wonder how he'd come to try it in the first place. Maybe in his reality, it hadn't been so scarce?
It was similar to the baklava, though the dough was different, and much more complicated to make. Besides the recipe he'd sent over, she had done as much research as she could, at the library (useless) and on the internet (only slightly more useful), trying to find a way to gauge when she had it right. She'd made many, many batches. At first she'd fretted over wasting the ingredients, but remembering their conversation, she thought Damien probably would care more that she got it right than that she saved a little money by settling for "pretty good." More than once she'd wondered if she were in over her head.
She still wasn't sure. But she thought she had it as close as she could possibly get it, judging by the descriptions she'd found. Layer upon layer of extremely thin dough, rich with oil, thick with walnuts and nearly sweet enough to choke on.
Stacked with that box, she carried a second box with the simpler, more familiar baklava.
Clarice wasn't sure whether she wanted to accept his offer of a job, assuming she'd done well enough that he still wanted to offer it. But she did want him to like the pastries.
Finding out which house was his hadn't been hard. Funny that now "the obscenely wealthy kid living alone on Blanche Avenue" described more than one Aternaville resident, but she already knew which mansion was Nokoru's. (The, shall we say, eccentric ornamentation rather gave it away. Only one of the mansions had a giant blowfish sigil over the front gate.) Balancing the boxes carefully on one arm, she rang the bell to Damien's home.
Where: Damien's house
Who: Damien Wayne and Clarice Ferguson
What: Delivery on a promise
Rating: Possible PG for Damien's rude mouth? ^_~
Clarice had done her best.
Damien had perhaps overestimated the cost of ingredients and shipping for his pastries, but not as much as Clarice would have thought. Apparently hadef was quite rare outside Beirut. Small wonder he'd seemed so excited at the prospect of getting some here, though she had to wonder how he'd come to try it in the first place. Maybe in his reality, it hadn't been so scarce?
It was similar to the baklava, though the dough was different, and much more complicated to make. Besides the recipe he'd sent over, she had done as much research as she could, at the library (useless) and on the internet (only slightly more useful), trying to find a way to gauge when she had it right. She'd made many, many batches. At first she'd fretted over wasting the ingredients, but remembering their conversation, she thought Damien probably would care more that she got it right than that she saved a little money by settling for "pretty good." More than once she'd wondered if she were in over her head.
She still wasn't sure. But she thought she had it as close as she could possibly get it, judging by the descriptions she'd found. Layer upon layer of extremely thin dough, rich with oil, thick with walnuts and nearly sweet enough to choke on.
Stacked with that box, she carried a second box with the simpler, more familiar baklava.
Clarice wasn't sure whether she wanted to accept his offer of a job, assuming she'd done well enough that he still wanted to offer it. But she did want him to like the pastries.
Finding out which house was his hadn't been hard. Funny that now "the obscenely wealthy kid living alone on Blanche Avenue" described more than one Aternaville resident, but she already knew which mansion was Nokoru's. (The, shall we say, eccentric ornamentation rather gave it away. Only one of the mansions had a giant blowfish sigil over the front gate.) Balancing the boxes carefully on one arm, she rang the bell to Damien's home.