(no subject)
I felt it the moment I set foot on this island, a kind of staleness in the air. I didn't want to admit it, of course; being whisked away from Anouk the moment before my triumph was bad enough with acknowledging I'd lost my gifts. But there it was. I'll even concede that at first, I acted like a child. After solstice came and went, I brooded. If the gods wouldn't answer me, then I'd stop speaking to them. I abandoned my plans to move into a hut, and stayed in the miserable basement of this place, spending much of the island's miraculous winter holed up with a book, keeping to myself. I even shunned the New Year (not that I've followed that calendar in years, anyway) and became a regular hermit, shedding every scrap of my charisma and becoming something of a Yanne Charbonneau myself, drab and easy to overlook. It's easier than I would've expected, and I feel a little guilty for judging Vianne for sulking in mediocrity. Of course, the situations are entirely different: Vianne was sad, Vianne was frightened. She wanted to hide herself away from a world full of possibility, to cloak the talents that made her and her little brood so irresistible to me.
I'm trapped, in a world entirely without possibility. I'm not frightened, I'm angry. And though I don't want to hide my magic, the island seems happy to hide it from me.
At any rate.
I woke up in the middle of the night last week, unable to sleep. And I don't know what possessed me- ha, ha- but I took out my suitcase, lifted out the hulking laptop and opened it carefully, finger swirling around on the mousepad to get it going. I use one of those default screensavers, you know, the one everyone has, with the swirling colors and shapes, and I just let my mind relax on it, a modern-day pendulum, a smoking cauldron. I scribbled my findings, shut the computer, and fell back to sleep. In the morning, I found my symbol: the Ear of Maize. A unexpected gift, a boon. I wondered if it merely referred to the vision, which admittedly, had cheered me up quite a bit. I wrapped myself in a robe and wandered up to the kitchen for coffee.
Can you imagine my surprise, then, when I found an assortment of wrapped boxes on the table (silver packages, red bows) and a huge piece of machinery in the corner, unfamiliar to the kitchen but not to me. A melanger. It had a tag dangling from the large red-and-silver bow: to Zozie, from the Island. The other boxes revealed a clumsy-but-sturdy looking chocolate mill and a gorgeous marble slab to rival even Vianne's. A series of smaller boxes held a wide assortment of chocolate molds.
I stood there, puzzled and bemused; pleased to have the gifts but wondering what in the name of Tezcatlipoca I was supposed to do with it all. The Island must have taken my attempts before the snowfall to make chocolate seriously, but it was just child's play, really. It had produced rough, dark stuff filled with bits of husk, oversweetened in an attempt to mask the impurities and generally foul-- and on top of that, I had braved the jungle to do it.
I told you. I've been bored. Bored enough, apparently, to take the island at its suggestion and give it another go. This time I got smart and outsourced for the labor, but the moment the beans were in the kitchen last night, I got busy. It has been little more than a week, but already I've got the machines up and quite an array going. I'm there today, rolling bittersweet truffles in the fine cocoa, sprinkling blueberries and almonds in mendiants, strawberries, mangoes, starfruit all dipped in a half-blanket of chocolate, chocolate with chili, chocolates filled with homemade compote, raw, sugar-rolled nibs, caramels...
And of course, on the stove, a large pot of chocolatl. The chocolate heats to just below a simmer, and the scents fill the kitchen, rich and cajoling, wafting outward and pulling them in, an ethereal hand on their collar. I have no doubt it will bring them here, and won't it be just like old times? Bringing in the people, their stories, their lives... and you know what?
This time, I'll know all their favorites.
I can feel it.
[ Someone's in the kitchen with Zozie... annnnd it's your pup! Help Zozie make chocolate or just taste-test her products. Every pup gets a small sample of their choice to take home to their loved ones or simply devour by themselves. Open to late tags and, if you'd like to bring a friend, 3-ways as well. Saucy wench. ST as I try to find my feet with her, thank you for your patience. <3333 ]