Primeval fic: One Lump, or Two?
Title: One Lump or Two?
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: No money is being made from this, nor do I claim ownership of it.
Rating: G
Summary: What you can tell from how someone takes his tea.
AN: So, there are three of us in the house, and we each have our tea differently. I can only assume that applies to these five as well. And here's an actual teamfest entry. It's sort of five drabbles . . . ish. I'm a little leery myself about the Becker one, but I suppose it will do for an interpretation.
**********************************
James Lester took his tea in perfected English fashion. In the manner deemed most correct by the British Standards Institute as described by the organisation itself, he would place his loose leaves into the pot, pouring his boiling water to within four to six millimetres of the brim. He would, as he waited on it to steep, place his milk into the teacup in advance, pouring one millilitre of milk to every 56 millilitres of tea. Precisely six minutes later he would collect his tea strainer, holding it over the cup, pouring it out with precision and allowing it to cool to drinking temperature.
Sometimes, when no one was looking, he'd slip in a bit of sugar then sneer at the very notion he would so adulterate his tea.
***
Philip Burton was everything urbane and sophisticated, and thus he was a chai man. At least, as long at the chai latte remained the 'in' thing, he'd drink it that way. When he was attempting to be more civilised than suave, he would have Darjeeling, because it offered both impeccable British pedigree and the hint of the exotic in the name.
Deep down inside though, he still sometimes wished for tea the way his mother had made, orange pekoe bags with lots of sugar and lemon.
***
Connor Temple had developed bad tea habits in uni. It drove Abby mad, but as he pointed out, he wasn't making her drink it. He'd often arrived nearly late for class, with only time to pour the hot water over the tea bag, no time to steep and sugar and milk to leaven in advance. It would sit there for the full hour and a half lecture, getting stronger over the course of it as he was unable to throw the bag away anywhere, and thus would over-sugar and put in cream, because he knew by the time he hit the dregs, it would have steeped for at least an hour if not more.
Now he just drank it with sugar and cream in copious amounts.
***
Matt Anderson had grown up in a time and place where tea was a concept and a relic that no one had anymore anyhow. It, along with everything else available in the early 21st century, was a marvel to him. He never confined himself to one kind or type, preferring to try anything and everything at least once.
He'd started with cheap bags, moved to earl grey, English breakfast, darjeeling and regular black tea bags. He'd tried herbals and fruits, mint and chamomile and orange and black currant. He'd discovered loose leaf and chai, custom teas and strange teas, rooibos and white teas.
If he had to pick a favourite, though, it was a proprietary mix of a loose tea he'd discovered in a small tea shop in a London side street. Earl grey nominally, it included lavendar and rose petals for a floral scent that always reminded him of his father's garden.
***
Hilary Becker had a shameful secret. He'd never much liked tea. After far too many afternoons as a child being subjected to his mother's Society parties where she'd serve tiny cups of vaguely yellow hot water, he'd more or less sworn off the stuff, only drinking it to be polite. In most ways he was as English an Englishman as could be produced by the British Isles, but he'd never quite got the whole tea thing, even after he'd discovered it wasn't supposed to be lightly dyed water. Time in the armed forced had only increased his appreciation for the effeciency of coffee, that could be got ready fast, didn't need steeping when it was bought and often felt like it had a sharper caffeine rush than the other stuff.
Still, tea wasn't improved by the addition of things, no matter what Connor claimed, so he always took it black when he had to accept a cup. Simple, straightforward, efficient. Connor and Abby pointed out there was nothing effecient about a double foam, two-flavour shot, mochaccino latte with two sugars and chocolate sprinkles (the next quip about his manhood and sprinkles was going to be shot by one of Matt's stupid not-gun tazers), but that was a completely different thing.
Read the rest of the Tea Set:
It is a Gentleman
There is a Sublimity
And is There Honey Still for Tea?
Back to archive page
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: No money is being made from this, nor do I claim ownership of it.
Rating: G
Summary: What you can tell from how someone takes his tea.
AN: So, there are three of us in the house, and we each have our tea differently. I can only assume that applies to these five as well. And here's an actual teamfest entry. It's sort of five drabbles . . . ish. I'm a little leery myself about the Becker one, but I suppose it will do for an interpretation.
**********************************
James Lester took his tea in perfected English fashion. In the manner deemed most correct by the British Standards Institute as described by the organisation itself, he would place his loose leaves into the pot, pouring his boiling water to within four to six millimetres of the brim. He would, as he waited on it to steep, place his milk into the teacup in advance, pouring one millilitre of milk to every 56 millilitres of tea. Precisely six minutes later he would collect his tea strainer, holding it over the cup, pouring it out with precision and allowing it to cool to drinking temperature.
Sometimes, when no one was looking, he'd slip in a bit of sugar then sneer at the very notion he would so adulterate his tea.
***
Philip Burton was everything urbane and sophisticated, and thus he was a chai man. At least, as long at the chai latte remained the 'in' thing, he'd drink it that way. When he was attempting to be more civilised than suave, he would have Darjeeling, because it offered both impeccable British pedigree and the hint of the exotic in the name.
Deep down inside though, he still sometimes wished for tea the way his mother had made, orange pekoe bags with lots of sugar and lemon.
***
Connor Temple had developed bad tea habits in uni. It drove Abby mad, but as he pointed out, he wasn't making her drink it. He'd often arrived nearly late for class, with only time to pour the hot water over the tea bag, no time to steep and sugar and milk to leaven in advance. It would sit there for the full hour and a half lecture, getting stronger over the course of it as he was unable to throw the bag away anywhere, and thus would over-sugar and put in cream, because he knew by the time he hit the dregs, it would have steeped for at least an hour if not more.
Now he just drank it with sugar and cream in copious amounts.
***
Matt Anderson had grown up in a time and place where tea was a concept and a relic that no one had anymore anyhow. It, along with everything else available in the early 21st century, was a marvel to him. He never confined himself to one kind or type, preferring to try anything and everything at least once.
He'd started with cheap bags, moved to earl grey, English breakfast, darjeeling and regular black tea bags. He'd tried herbals and fruits, mint and chamomile and orange and black currant. He'd discovered loose leaf and chai, custom teas and strange teas, rooibos and white teas.
If he had to pick a favourite, though, it was a proprietary mix of a loose tea he'd discovered in a small tea shop in a London side street. Earl grey nominally, it included lavendar and rose petals for a floral scent that always reminded him of his father's garden.
***
Hilary Becker had a shameful secret. He'd never much liked tea. After far too many afternoons as a child being subjected to his mother's Society parties where she'd serve tiny cups of vaguely yellow hot water, he'd more or less sworn off the stuff, only drinking it to be polite. In most ways he was as English an Englishman as could be produced by the British Isles, but he'd never quite got the whole tea thing, even after he'd discovered it wasn't supposed to be lightly dyed water. Time in the armed forced had only increased his appreciation for the effeciency of coffee, that could be got ready fast, didn't need steeping when it was bought and often felt like it had a sharper caffeine rush than the other stuff.
Still, tea wasn't improved by the addition of things, no matter what Connor claimed, so he always took it black when he had to accept a cup. Simple, straightforward, efficient. Connor and Abby pointed out there was nothing effecient about a double foam, two-flavour shot, mochaccino latte with two sugars and chocolate sprinkles (the next quip about his manhood and sprinkles was going to be shot by one of Matt's stupid not-gun tazers), but that was a completely different thing.
Read the rest of the Tea Set:
It is a Gentleman
There is a Sublimity
And is There Honey Still for Tea?
Back to archive page