Joshua + Michaela || Baking a pie!
Who: Joshua and Michaela
When: This afternoon! June 23rd.
Where: The Citadel's kitchens
Ratings & Warnings: PG-13 cause Mike
Mike was not actively looking for Powell, but she found him anyway. She was in the kitchens to grab some food, and ran into him, not literally but almost, on her way out with a slice of bread stuck in her mouth.
Today her hair was unstyled, left to hang in her eyes, and she wore a black men's shirt with a white, blue-trimmed skirt under her Cancellarius cloak. Comfort clothes, because she planned to relax today and not do much of anything. Running into Powell, though, that was a chance she couldn't pass up. She took the bread out of her mouth and told him, "You're a Cancellarius, Powell, not a door."
It was a good thing she hadn't literally run into him, since he had a basket of fruit tucked under his arm. Likely meant to be used in another of his baking endeavors, they were a mix of berries, apples and citrus, all of freshest quality. More than a cursory glance would find hint of something yellowish with flat edges buried beneath. The sudden appearance of this woman before him made him take pause, but fortunately not tip the basket.
Joshua managed to catch the retort as it tickled the tip of his tongue, and instead nodded a greeting. "Sister Michaela," he said, sounding cheerful yet resigned, which was about his norm. Then he stepped back and aside to let her pass, his free hand brushing back the length of his own cloak, which draped over the ruby jerkin he wore when he worked in the kitchens (to save his dressier white blouses from stains).
She didn't walk past him, but instead stepped aside to quit blocking his way and peered over at the basket. "So what are you up to?" she asked. Probably cooking a bunch of shit for no good reason AND YET COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO HELP MAKE COOKIES FOR WELLINTON. She saw how it was, Powell. She saw how it was.
When she moved out of his way instead, Joshua almost let out a sigh. He supposed he'd have a shadow for a time, and since it was Mike, this meant annoyance, more likely than not. He gave Cita a silent prayer for patience before ducking his way past her and heading for the counter to set the basket down.
He did manage to keep the cheerfulness in his voice, however. "Baking. The apples are for a pie for my wife and son, since I hope to visit them soon, and I thought I'd make some berry pasties for later tonight." As he spoke, he sorted the fruit. The apples were set on the counter beside the basket, along with two of the citrus (three oranges and two lemons). The berries remained within, along with two unburied wedges of light cheese.
"And what are you up to today, sister?" he asked, though he was sure he really wanted to know.
Baking. The jerk. She followed him over to the counter, taking a hunk out of her bread on the way and leaning over the stone from the opposite side. That was an awful lot of fruit to bake for somebody who didn't want to make cookies for his brother hmm, HMM.
Swallowing the bread before she spoke (she remembered some of her mother's lessons!), she answered, "Not a whole hell of a lot." But she felt like annoying the fuck out of Powell, and the mention of his family drew upon her curiosity to drive her to kill two birds with one stone by asking something she'd always wondered about. "Do you still fuck your wife, Powell? It's okay, I won't tell anyone."
One of the cheese wedges was lifted from the basket and inspected, Joshua paying little attention to what Mike was doing. Just before he set it aside, her question made him pause. He considered his options. Snark at her for asking such an intimate question out of turn, ignore the question entirely, or answer simply.
He decided to do the latter, with a simple, "No," that managed to sound like no more than fact. The wedge was set down, and the second one was retrieved from the basket for inspection. "No plans for the day?" he asked, glancing towards her, one brow arched in an inquisitive manner.
Mike frowned. What a disappointing reaction!! Powell really was a dick.
"Nope, nothing," she replied, taking another bite out of her bread as she reached over to nick one of the berries from the basket.
Was that all? Well. He gave a silent 'thank you' to Cita.
While he wasn't paying much attention, he was paying enough to see that hand reaching for the fruit, and his own hand responded by moving to give the intruder a sound thwack. "Ask first," he threw in, setting down that second wedge. "Or make yourself useful if you wish to pilfer. The apples could use a peeler."
Yup, that was all. She just wanted to make him uncomfortable, and that line of questioning obviously wouldn't do it. Her own father had joined the Citadel after her birth, so she understood Powell's actual situation well enough to not need to pry.
She yanked her hand back, giving him an angry pout. "Fine." Peeling apples was a thing she could do. Probably. She went off to fetch a knife and a stool and sat back in her original place to begin peeling. She was maybe slicing a little too thick and getting too much apple flesh with the peels, but hey, she was helping!
"So why the fuck wouldn't you help bake cookies for Wellington, then, asshole?" THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION.
His brow quirked. She was actually going to help? He supposed he'd have to keep track of the berries to make sure enough of them survived to make it into the pastries. Not to mention the apples.
He started sorting out the berries for washing, glancing over at Mike's handiwork, and though he wanted to wince with her mauling of the fruit, he kept quiet. It was keeping her busy. If need be he'd just go purchase more apples and redo it later.
As to her question... "Because I was bitter that he didn't seem to trust either of us to watch his back." That was the crux of it. He felt the Cancillari were like family, the sort of family you wound up with in the military, the sort of family you came to for backup when you went into an unknown situation, just in case. "I did make tarts the day after, though. Speaking with him helped."
A frown, a thoughtful one this time. That was a sentiment she could understand, more than, "He was an idiot and I don't give a fuck because he brought it on himself." Still, though, bitterness over somebody getting themselves hurt felt a little bit petty, if you were going to express it like that.
"Well good," she replied, finished with one apple and reaching out to pick up another. "But Wellington does stupid shit all the time. I don't think he doesn't trust us, I think he just knows that he's doing stupid shit and doesn't want us to talk him out of it."
A few stems and leaves were picked out of the basket, then he dug out a bowl to dump the berries into. They'd need a rinse before he turned them into filling, which he'd do later. The pie crust needed making. Though, he did grab a small handful of them before he turned away, popping one into his mouth, giving him a reason not to respond right away as he chewed.
He came up beside Mike. "The thing about bitterness," he started, holding the remaining berries in his hand out for her. "Is that it can make you believe things you normally wouldn't." He shrugged. "I know he trusts each of us, at least to some extent, and it's more that he... thinks highly of his own abilities rather than poorly of ours. But when he returned wounded, I couldn't help but worry that he'd do so again. And next time not come back at all." To be honest, it was still a worry. But he kept that part to himself.
She paused with the knife, reaching over to take the berries from Powell's outstretched hand. She set them on the counter beside the peeled apple and its peel, but took one to pop in her mouth before she continued peeling. She did remember a, "Thanks," before that, though.
"He does think pretty fucking highly of himself. You're right, too, one day he's gonna do something really fucking stupid and get his dumb ass killed. But it's Wellington. What do you even do to stop him? He doesn't listen for shit."
"I wish I knew," came the reply, sounding somber. He gave another prayer to Cita, this one for his brother's safety, then went to work on preparing the pie crust. Flour, shortening, and all that other stuff was taken out and set out on the counter, then a bowl set down, along with a metal measuring cup, which he used to start adding contents to the bowl.
"Perhaps we could feed him baked goods until he were too fat to run, then we'd be able to keep up whenever he left."
She snickered. "Fucking brilliant, Powell, how do you do it. You think he'd get wise to it after he realized you were suddenly being nice to him?"
Oh come now, he wasn't always mean to Tobias. He'd even managed not to get into an argument when he'd visited!
Keeping a straight face while he gave the dry ingredients a mix, he replied, "I'd just have to lead up to it. Start with a tart here, a cookie there, start adding raisins, and eventually he'll be eating entire batches and not have realized what I was up to." The shortening went in next, and as he worked to break it down, he glanced over towards Mike, and gave a smirk. "As much as I wish there were some way to prevent him from getting himself hurt, I have to trust in my brother." Siiiiigh - though he only did that inwardly.
She finished with the second apple, ate another berry, and then stuck one of the apple peels in her mouth to start nibbling on it while she peeled the next apple, pulling it up bite by bite since she was fucking amazing and had gotten most of it in one long strip.
"You can trust in him while still realizing he's a fucking idiot," she mumbled past the apple peel. "I bet Rempel could talk him out of it, though."
He watched her for a moment, smirk still present as she ate that peel. "You are a talented apple peeler," he complimented, though it sounds no more sincere than his plans to get Brother Tobias fat. Mildly amused, though.
He turned back to his own task, getting the shortening all mixed in with the flour and salt, and then set the fork he'd been using aside to get his hand into it. One-handed, he could manage the dough easily, the other holding the bowl still. "Possibly. If he knew about it with enough time to do so." He doubted Tobias would heed advanced warnings.
"Fuck yeah I am." She was also hungry, and the one slice of bread wasn't cutting it, so excuse her while she ate all your food, Powell.
But it was hard to talk with an apple peel in her mouth, so she let it fall to the counter for a moment to voice her next reply. "It's Rempel. He can be anywhere, anytime. All we gotta do is tell him to spy on Wellington and step in before he gets stupid."
Joshua frowned. "That feels backhanded," he said, quietly. After some thought, though, he looked to her again, "You think he'd do it?" What? If it kept Tobias from dying it was worth it, right? Cita would understand.
"Uh." She glanced up at him, pausing with the knife for a second. "It was mostly a joke, Powell." She didn't really think they could convince Rempel to spy on Wellington constantly; he was just really good at being where you didn't expect him to be and scaring the shit out of you when he made his presence known.
His frown deepened. But it was such a good idea! "Well," he said, shrugging it off and going back to kneeding the dough for a few moments in silence. Once it had the right consistency, he moved to a clean board surface and dusted it with some of the flour he still had sitting out, then sat the dough on that, moving to the sink to dust his hands off. "You don't need to stay if it bores you," he said over his shoulder. Not that he minded her being there when she was, you know, being civil. Even if it was almost unnatural.
She went back to snacking on the various discarded/available pieces of food around her as she finished peeling this apple and the next. It gave her something to do, and it was easy work. She did like working with her hands. And Powell, well, he wasn't as big a dick as she liked to claim.
"Nah," she told him, setting another peeled apple aside. How many of these did he have? "I got nothing else to do, like I said. Might as well make myself useful."
When: This afternoon! June 23rd.
Where: The Citadel's kitchens
Ratings & Warnings: PG-13 cause Mike
Mike was not actively looking for Powell, but she found him anyway. She was in the kitchens to grab some food, and ran into him, not literally but almost, on her way out with a slice of bread stuck in her mouth.
Today her hair was unstyled, left to hang in her eyes, and she wore a black men's shirt with a white, blue-trimmed skirt under her Cancellarius cloak. Comfort clothes, because she planned to relax today and not do much of anything. Running into Powell, though, that was a chance she couldn't pass up. She took the bread out of her mouth and told him, "You're a Cancellarius, Powell, not a door."
It was a good thing she hadn't literally run into him, since he had a basket of fruit tucked under his arm. Likely meant to be used in another of his baking endeavors, they were a mix of berries, apples and citrus, all of freshest quality. More than a cursory glance would find hint of something yellowish with flat edges buried beneath. The sudden appearance of this woman before him made him take pause, but fortunately not tip the basket.
Joshua managed to catch the retort as it tickled the tip of his tongue, and instead nodded a greeting. "Sister Michaela," he said, sounding cheerful yet resigned, which was about his norm. Then he stepped back and aside to let her pass, his free hand brushing back the length of his own cloak, which draped over the ruby jerkin he wore when he worked in the kitchens (to save his dressier white blouses from stains).
She didn't walk past him, but instead stepped aside to quit blocking his way and peered over at the basket. "So what are you up to?" she asked. Probably cooking a bunch of shit for no good reason AND YET COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO HELP MAKE COOKIES FOR WELLINTON. She saw how it was, Powell. She saw how it was.
When she moved out of his way instead, Joshua almost let out a sigh. He supposed he'd have a shadow for a time, and since it was Mike, this meant annoyance, more likely than not. He gave Cita a silent prayer for patience before ducking his way past her and heading for the counter to set the basket down.
He did manage to keep the cheerfulness in his voice, however. "Baking. The apples are for a pie for my wife and son, since I hope to visit them soon, and I thought I'd make some berry pasties for later tonight." As he spoke, he sorted the fruit. The apples were set on the counter beside the basket, along with two of the citrus (three oranges and two lemons). The berries remained within, along with two unburied wedges of light cheese.
"And what are you up to today, sister?" he asked, though he was sure he really wanted to know.
Baking. The jerk. She followed him over to the counter, taking a hunk out of her bread on the way and leaning over the stone from the opposite side. That was an awful lot of fruit to bake for somebody who didn't want to make cookies for his brother hmm, HMM.
Swallowing the bread before she spoke (she remembered some of her mother's lessons!), she answered, "Not a whole hell of a lot." But she felt like annoying the fuck out of Powell, and the mention of his family drew upon her curiosity to drive her to kill two birds with one stone by asking something she'd always wondered about. "Do you still fuck your wife, Powell? It's okay, I won't tell anyone."
One of the cheese wedges was lifted from the basket and inspected, Joshua paying little attention to what Mike was doing. Just before he set it aside, her question made him pause. He considered his options. Snark at her for asking such an intimate question out of turn, ignore the question entirely, or answer simply.
He decided to do the latter, with a simple, "No," that managed to sound like no more than fact. The wedge was set down, and the second one was retrieved from the basket for inspection. "No plans for the day?" he asked, glancing towards her, one brow arched in an inquisitive manner.
Mike frowned. What a disappointing reaction!! Powell really was a dick.
"Nope, nothing," she replied, taking another bite out of her bread as she reached over to nick one of the berries from the basket.
Was that all? Well. He gave a silent 'thank you' to Cita.
While he wasn't paying much attention, he was paying enough to see that hand reaching for the fruit, and his own hand responded by moving to give the intruder a sound thwack. "Ask first," he threw in, setting down that second wedge. "Or make yourself useful if you wish to pilfer. The apples could use a peeler."
Yup, that was all. She just wanted to make him uncomfortable, and that line of questioning obviously wouldn't do it. Her own father had joined the Citadel after her birth, so she understood Powell's actual situation well enough to not need to pry.
She yanked her hand back, giving him an angry pout. "Fine." Peeling apples was a thing she could do. Probably. She went off to fetch a knife and a stool and sat back in her original place to begin peeling. She was maybe slicing a little too thick and getting too much apple flesh with the peels, but hey, she was helping!
"So why the fuck wouldn't you help bake cookies for Wellington, then, asshole?" THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION.
His brow quirked. She was actually going to help? He supposed he'd have to keep track of the berries to make sure enough of them survived to make it into the pastries. Not to mention the apples.
He started sorting out the berries for washing, glancing over at Mike's handiwork, and though he wanted to wince with her mauling of the fruit, he kept quiet. It was keeping her busy. If need be he'd just go purchase more apples and redo it later.
As to her question... "Because I was bitter that he didn't seem to trust either of us to watch his back." That was the crux of it. He felt the Cancillari were like family, the sort of family you wound up with in the military, the sort of family you came to for backup when you went into an unknown situation, just in case. "I did make tarts the day after, though. Speaking with him helped."
A frown, a thoughtful one this time. That was a sentiment she could understand, more than, "He was an idiot and I don't give a fuck because he brought it on himself." Still, though, bitterness over somebody getting themselves hurt felt a little bit petty, if you were going to express it like that.
"Well good," she replied, finished with one apple and reaching out to pick up another. "But Wellington does stupid shit all the time. I don't think he doesn't trust us, I think he just knows that he's doing stupid shit and doesn't want us to talk him out of it."
A few stems and leaves were picked out of the basket, then he dug out a bowl to dump the berries into. They'd need a rinse before he turned them into filling, which he'd do later. The pie crust needed making. Though, he did grab a small handful of them before he turned away, popping one into his mouth, giving him a reason not to respond right away as he chewed.
He came up beside Mike. "The thing about bitterness," he started, holding the remaining berries in his hand out for her. "Is that it can make you believe things you normally wouldn't." He shrugged. "I know he trusts each of us, at least to some extent, and it's more that he... thinks highly of his own abilities rather than poorly of ours. But when he returned wounded, I couldn't help but worry that he'd do so again. And next time not come back at all." To be honest, it was still a worry. But he kept that part to himself.
She paused with the knife, reaching over to take the berries from Powell's outstretched hand. She set them on the counter beside the peeled apple and its peel, but took one to pop in her mouth before she continued peeling. She did remember a, "Thanks," before that, though.
"He does think pretty fucking highly of himself. You're right, too, one day he's gonna do something really fucking stupid and get his dumb ass killed. But it's Wellington. What do you even do to stop him? He doesn't listen for shit."
"I wish I knew," came the reply, sounding somber. He gave another prayer to Cita, this one for his brother's safety, then went to work on preparing the pie crust. Flour, shortening, and all that other stuff was taken out and set out on the counter, then a bowl set down, along with a metal measuring cup, which he used to start adding contents to the bowl.
"Perhaps we could feed him baked goods until he were too fat to run, then we'd be able to keep up whenever he left."
She snickered. "Fucking brilliant, Powell, how do you do it. You think he'd get wise to it after he realized you were suddenly being nice to him?"
Oh come now, he wasn't always mean to Tobias. He'd even managed not to get into an argument when he'd visited!
Keeping a straight face while he gave the dry ingredients a mix, he replied, "I'd just have to lead up to it. Start with a tart here, a cookie there, start adding raisins, and eventually he'll be eating entire batches and not have realized what I was up to." The shortening went in next, and as he worked to break it down, he glanced over towards Mike, and gave a smirk. "As much as I wish there were some way to prevent him from getting himself hurt, I have to trust in my brother." Siiiiigh - though he only did that inwardly.
She finished with the second apple, ate another berry, and then stuck one of the apple peels in her mouth to start nibbling on it while she peeled the next apple, pulling it up bite by bite since she was fucking amazing and had gotten most of it in one long strip.
"You can trust in him while still realizing he's a fucking idiot," she mumbled past the apple peel. "I bet Rempel could talk him out of it, though."
He watched her for a moment, smirk still present as she ate that peel. "You are a talented apple peeler," he complimented, though it sounds no more sincere than his plans to get Brother Tobias fat. Mildly amused, though.
He turned back to his own task, getting the shortening all mixed in with the flour and salt, and then set the fork he'd been using aside to get his hand into it. One-handed, he could manage the dough easily, the other holding the bowl still. "Possibly. If he knew about it with enough time to do so." He doubted Tobias would heed advanced warnings.
"Fuck yeah I am." She was also hungry, and the one slice of bread wasn't cutting it, so excuse her while she ate all your food, Powell.
But it was hard to talk with an apple peel in her mouth, so she let it fall to the counter for a moment to voice her next reply. "It's Rempel. He can be anywhere, anytime. All we gotta do is tell him to spy on Wellington and step in before he gets stupid."
Joshua frowned. "That feels backhanded," he said, quietly. After some thought, though, he looked to her again, "You think he'd do it?" What? If it kept Tobias from dying it was worth it, right? Cita would understand.
"Uh." She glanced up at him, pausing with the knife for a second. "It was mostly a joke, Powell." She didn't really think they could convince Rempel to spy on Wellington constantly; he was just really good at being where you didn't expect him to be and scaring the shit out of you when he made his presence known.
His frown deepened. But it was such a good idea! "Well," he said, shrugging it off and going back to kneeding the dough for a few moments in silence. Once it had the right consistency, he moved to a clean board surface and dusted it with some of the flour he still had sitting out, then sat the dough on that, moving to the sink to dust his hands off. "You don't need to stay if it bores you," he said over his shoulder. Not that he minded her being there when she was, you know, being civil. Even if it was almost unnatural.
She went back to snacking on the various discarded/available pieces of food around her as she finished peeling this apple and the next. It gave her something to do, and it was easy work. She did like working with her hands. And Powell, well, he wasn't as big a dick as she liked to claim.
"Nah," she told him, setting another peeled apple aside. How many of these did he have? "I got nothing else to do, like I said. Might as well make myself useful."