dontgiveafock | [ 001 ] [ Audio ]

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[The feed kicks in to the sound of a man clearing his throat. He seems a little unsure of what he's about to say.]

Hullo, hullo. Welcome newcomers.

[Man, what a classy intro that was. So smooth, Joseph!]

For those of y'that I haven't met, my name is Joe. I man the kitchen here and I'm the one that put together the shit-awful feast you had on your first night here.

M'sorry fer that. At the time I was short staffed, unprepared and tired as fock. The good news, is that I've caught up on my beauty sleep and whatever I make from here on in sure as hell won't suck quite so bad.

Y'can find me in the kitchens more often than not, otherwise, try the bar or out by the lake. If any of you have any cookin' experience or want to help out, I'd more than welcome it. The more help I get, the better yer food is gonna be.

[Silence falls while Joe runs over what he's just said.]

Right. I think that's about it. Come say hello or somethin'.

[Fin.]

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Any help is good help, lass. Yer welcome to come check the place out if you want?

I'm there now. Always happy to have visitors.

[She smiles a grin that no one can see at the journal. Many hands make light work, as the saying would go.]

I will be there, sir, very soon or thereabouts. I am glad that I may be of assistance to you.

[She's pretty sure she read the directions of where the kitchen is in the commentary before. It shouldn't be too hard to find. ]

[Joe CRINGES at being called 'Sir' a second time. He's really gonna need to talk to her about that.]

Just Joe will do. Really.

[When she arrives, he'll be sitting on a bench sharpening one of his prized knives.]

[She manages to find the way rather easily. She can hear sounds in the kitchen, but ever the polite one she knocks on the door first before speaking. ]

Hello? Mister Joe?

[He could be in the midst of doing something that needs concentration. She wouldn't want to distract him.]

[Joe flinches visibly. 'Sir'. 'Mister'. He makes a face and waves her inside.]

No Mister, please. Joe is my name and it's the one I ask you to call me by. No sirs or misters or anythin' like that around me, y'hear?

[He's not scolding her, but there is a slight hint of pleading in his voice. Joe has his reasons for not liking those titles.]

And what about you, lass? What might I call-- holy fock yer an angel.

[Joe's eyes widen at the sight of her wings.]

[A soft smile works at the corners of her mouth. There had been two people in her life she did not give titles to. One, took it as leave that Isabella was interested in him, when she clearly was not. The other, was her best friend. ]

[She started to speak- and abruptly stopped when he finally saw all of her. Perhaps he would want to rescind that extension of familiarity? She shifts her weight unconsciously. The open door might just slam in her face.]

My name is Isabella. [She gives him a nervous smile.] I am, as you see, only a half-breed. [The good wing raises a little to show the gray and black markings that mark her lineage.] I will leave, if it pleases you? I do not wish to be trouble to you.

[She is standing there on an unseen precipice. There could only be two outcomes to this interaction, and past experience heavily favored the negative reaction. This moment never got any easier.]

[Rather than feel any disgust as she might expect, Joe's expression is one of awe.]

That's just... Half-breed? Lass, those wings you've got are fockin' gorgeous.

[He grins, still admiring her wings and folds his arms across his chest.]

Don't you be talkin' all crazy like that, y'hear? I'm not about to send ye away for anythin'.

[Isabella felt her cheeks coloring. This was a new sensation! Not even Moredecai had complimented her wings!

Wide green eyes register shock on Isabella's behalf until her tongue catches up. For a bard she was having a hard time coming up with more than two words to say.]

T-thank you!

[She is standing there rather dumbfounded. Like she had never received a compliment before. Which is almost close to the truth.]

[Joe can't help but smirk. It's been a while since he's had the chance to flatter a pretty girl and today he's been in contact with more than a few of them. He nods his head to the rest of the kitchen.]

C'mon then, I'll show ya the rest of the kitchen, Isabella.

[He pauses a moment and adjusts the dark green baseball cap on his head.]

Y'don't mind if I call you Izzy or Bella or anythin' like that, do ya?

[She blinked at him. It took her a precious moment to realize that he has spoke. Then there was a near audible click as Isabella snapped out of her tongue-tied moment and back into the current flow of time.]

Alright.

[She paused, and blinked at him again. She never had a nickname before! Well, at least one that she could repeat in polite company.

Izzy, as a nickname did not sound quite right and was something she was liable not to answer to at all.]

Bella. I would not mind then if you called me Bella, Joe.

[She smiles at him. See! She learns!]

Bella? Got it.

[He stuffs his hands into pockets and starts around the kitchen, pointing out the benches and work spaces and cupboards as he goes. It's all pretty straight forward. And then he motions to the main bench, all equipment perfectly arranged and a lovely set of knives set into a wooden holder to the side.]

The kitchen is free reign. Cook up a storm if you so wish, but just remember that some supplies are limited and if you make a mess, clean it up. My main rule in this place is that you don't touch my bench without askin' me first. That goes for my knives as well.

[She listens attentively to where things were placed, and how the kitchen was organized. If she was given a chance to cook her own meals, it was good to know.

A knowing smirk graced the corners of her lips. At least it seemed that all cooks were the same about their spaces. Her voice was soft as she spoke.]

Leave it better than you found it, replace what's lost or broken. Keep hands and plates clean, and answer to when spoken. But last of all remember please- don't touch the knives! Just the cheese!

[She says it in a sing-song way, like a child's memory rhyme. It is an extremely silly rhyme from her childhood. There is a fond little giggle at the last line.]

I am sorry! It does remind me though, that no matter where one goes- food is a common denominator between. Cooks, being the keepers of that common factor, speak the same language. I will not touch your bench, si- Joe.

May I help with any preparations?

[Joe chuckles at the rhyme. Twenty-eight years old as he might be, Joe is still a kid at heart.]

Don't be sorry fer that. I like it. And we've still got a few hours before the dinner rush, but if y'want I can show you-- How many times do I have to say it? Out!

[The sudden change in attitude is matched with Joe springing forward towards the side door and chasing a stray chicken out of the room. He doesn't seem mad, merely raising his voice to startle the poor bird into running back out of the kitchen door.

There's nothing really odd about the situation save for the fact that the chicken is wearing a pink knitted vest.]

Oh-!

[Isabella startles at Joe's sudden outburst. Then she blinks to see what caused him to react like that.

Chickens being chased from places they shouldn't be, wasn't all that different. It was not the bird that caused her to tilt her head and stare- but what the chicken was wearing.

A chicken wearing clothing was a first for her.]

Was that bird wearing-?

[ a vest?]

Sweater vest. Aye.

[Joe claps his hands a few times as a scare tactic and chases the stylish chicken from the kitchen.]

Don't be askin' me why 'cause I really don't know.

[He can't not chuckle as he waves for Isabella to step over to the doorway he just chased the chook to.]

Come look at this. There's a whole bunch of 'em.

[It did not help Isabella at all to hear what she thought she had seen, confirmed by Joe.]

There is more of them?

[Incredulous, she crept to the doorway and peer to where Joe indicated. She looks out upon the chickens.]

Do they hatch this way?

[Sorry Isabella, Joe finds your reaction to the chickens pretty damn amusing. He leans on the door frame and peers out past her.]

Nah, they hatch just normal. But at some point, I dunno when. Sweaters just... appear. S'weird like that, this Keep. Stuff just kinda happens.

[Isabella is finding this hard to believe. Joe has to be having fun with her. She did not think that Joe would be the one making the vests, or even applying them to the birds. She could not believe, though, that he would have no idea what was happening to the birds.

She looks at the birds, then looks at Joe with a raised eyebrow. She's not going to say anything- she is just allowing that look of disbelief to do the talking instead.]

[He raises his hands in mock surrender and takes a step back, devilish grin still playing on his features.]

I wouldn't lie to ya! I'm not that kinda guy. Put it this way, it's been happenin' for so long that the mystery doesn't eat at me like it used to.

[Joe drops his arms.]

After long enough of askin', sometimes you accept that answers aren't about to be given.

[Oh, that grin was infectious! She smiled despite herself. Such a character of personality!]

[Then she grows a little more serious. Curiosity wears wings.]

How long have you been here, Joe?

[He shrugs his shoulders.]

Longer than most. Me an' Ni got here 'bout the same time.

As for when that was or how long we've been 'ere? I honestly don't know anymore. After a while the days start to blend and time stops matterin' so much.

[She frowns. Those were not hopeful words. She already had suspected that leaving was not an option but, was not aware that the staff were held to such also.

She decides to turn it back to something more lighthearted and grins wryly at him.]

I was wondering now if these were laying birds, or stew birds. What would you do with the sweaters afterwards?

Do you have dogs with slippers too?

[The smile got a little wider. Yes, she just tried to crack a joke.]

[It's never easy to admit it. Never easy to tell someone that he doesn't know exactly how long he's been in the Keep. Joe had tried to keep count, and succeeded for a time, but eventually it all just got too much. Lose a day here, gain a day there, end up with no idea where you're up to.]

No where to go out there, lass.

[He mumbles the words and moves on to the chicken talk.]

Slippers on the puppies is a question for the lovely Nieta. Y'should go bug her about it. As fer the chickens... Some are for laying, some end up as dinner. The ones that are dinner.

[Joe moves back towards the main bench and leans to catch the handle of one of the larger drawers. Pulling it out, it's jam packed with tiny knitted chicken sweaters of assorted colours.]

We don't waste anythin' here.

[His words and manner almost caused Isabella to reach out and touch him, to give comfort of some kind. Indeed, her hand rose a few inches to that effect. She would not though, it was not her place, and her hand dropped back again to her side as he spoke of the chickens.

Not everything was as she assumed it to be.

She looks down at the sweaters. ]

I see. They would perhaps make a fine quilt, if they were knitted together. Warm, I reckon.

[But, if felt so awkward.]

I am sorry.

[He didn't see her hand move and, at the mention of making a quilt, Joe smiles. It doesn't quite reach his eyes.]

Y'know, I never thought of that. Quilt might be damn good fer when the colder weather kicks in.

[And shakes his head.]

You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for, lass.

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halfbrokenwings.livejournal.com - 2011-05-02 08:36 (UTC) - Expand

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