faderift | and still no fried ice cream, what a tragedy

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and still no fried ice cream, what a tragedy

WHO: Cosima, Church, ALL Y'ALL
WHAT: Frying food. Possibly frying things that aren't food. A slow descent into crazy.
WHEN: During Phase One
WHERE: Gallows kitchens, primarily
NOTES: They made an announcement, this is just during the whole period of time. We'll have toplevels for each of them, and unless specified, there's going to be threadhopping since they're in the same place at the same time.

It had started with a meeting of active minds, more active now than before. And then a gathering of supplies and a taking over of the kitchen between meals. They tried not to be in the way when there was cooking for meals, because otherwise that would be very rude, and they didn't need a whole lot of space to set up what they needed, a makeshift deep fat fryer.

But, of course, because of the Plot, this isn't just gonna be happy fun Rifter food times, so I hope you're not super put off by the sight of two obsessive and restless Rifters making a mess of things and not sleeping and practically forcing fried mostly veggies on everyone.

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At first glance, especially for people who don't know them well, Cosima seems much calmer than Church. Crystal announcement aside, she's much less prone to excited chatter; Cosima is focused, totally and completely, on making this work properly.

Depending on when one arrives in the kitchen, they may see her seriously making lists of supplies, noting what they've tried, what works and what doesn't yet. She may have an array of onions in front of her, cross-cut in a variety of configurations. It may be potatoes or lengths of cheese. Or she may be trying to fashion wire into a workable deep-fat fry basket. Unlike Church, she's not badly burned at all. She is meticulous, and very, very deliberate.

Her mood is good, upbeat and optimistic, but she is hard to engage on any topic other than her project. This gets worse as the days go on. After a few days, it also becomes relatively clear that she hasn't been sleeping, though this doesn't worry her the way it normally would. On the contrary, she hasn't had this much energy in more than a year. She's sure it'll pass; she wants to make the most of it.

[As with Church, hit her early or later in the week, as you like! Threadjumping welcome unless otherwise noted.]

At first, the project seemed charming, in a way; a change from Cosima's usual research, a different outlet, some healthy variety. It was endearing to see Cosima so focused on something so whimsical, compared to the her applying that focus to something so serious. It was healthy, she thought.

And then it seemed like Cosima was maybe over focused on the project, admittedly, but Herian is not her keeper. She knows what it is to be driven, to need to focus on something.

After a few days where Cosima's focus cannot be swayed from food science, though, Herian is concerned. She leans with her back to the worktop, arms crossed, watching Cosima as she works. How to broach this topic tactfully? How not to sound... judgmental.

"I missed you last night," she finally says, after she has been there a few moments, as a means of greeting.

Edited (catching those wacky italics ages later ) 2018-01-20 02:31 (UTC)

While Cosima can get lost in her work at the best of times, she barely seems to register Herian is there after she's spoken, which is much more out of character. She glances up, and it's probably clear that wherever she spent last night, it wasn't in bed, asleep. But after a moment, she looks back down to the diagram she's sketching.

"Sorry, got busy. I'm trying to figure out whether the batter will adhere better if I switch to a more diagonal cut to increase the surface area. The raw onion's wet enough as-is, but you've really got to get the crumb mix down in the center to get a properly even coating. Or maybe the breading needs to be finer, it could be the crumbs are too big, relatively speaking."

“Busy... with your food project?”

There is a note of gentle incredulity in there, despite her best efforts. It is born of concern more than the faintly wounded ego that accompanied the lack of company. It’s not like she is innocent of ever being so focused upon something that she becomes absorbed in it.

She lays her hand on Cosima’s wrist gently, in the hopes of making her stop for a moment. “Cosima, you’ve not slept. I’ve considerable doubts that you’ve eaten sufficiently, beyond your taste testings which barely count for sustainence.”

Something is wrong, Cosima looks unwell, and Herian has approximately no clue how to help, how to make it better. Normally that would just be frustrating, but given other recent losses, it’s more akin to alarming.

Cosima's skin is warm; maybe not alarmingly yet, but noticeable. She does stop drawing, but when she looks up, she's a little unfocused. Or rather, not entirely focused on Herian, for all she's right in front of Cosima's face.

"I'm not tired. Really, I couldn't sleep if I tried, I'm just... I know I can get this right, we're really close." She gets up, not pulling away angrily but instead having trouble staying still. "I used to talk about this with my friend Ruby back at Skyhold. She never got a chance to see, but she'd be so happy to know she was right about people liking this stuff once we figured out how to make it. And we've had some success, the potatoes are doing pretty good, it's just that the cheese isn't melting exactly like I thought, and I can do onion rings, but the bloom is really more impressive and I think makes the better snack anyway for onion-to-batter ratio."

Her brow furrows. Not that Herian is a furrowed brow is, in itself, significant; she could furrow her brow at a box of kittens, if inspiration struck her.

"I understand that you miss your friend." That is a pain she can understand as well as any rifter, as any other native. Loss seemed to be the universal language with which they were all fluent. "But Cosima, consider: our food supplies are still limited after the snow, and supportive as I am of you having a project outside your work, this could easily turn wasteful," assuming it has not already. "You're not yourself."

Feverish is a word she's hesitant to lean to, and yet, she's considering it as she takes stock of how Cosima's moving, how she's sounding, and remembering having to carry her to the infirmary once, many months past.

"We're feeding people," she says, absently. "People come and eat it, we're not throwing out the food."

She doesn't think they're throwing out the food. In fairness, she's not entirely focused on what happens after it's made now, though she was at the beginning. Now she mainly solicits feedback from whoever is close by, sometimes without looking up from her notes.

"I need to get it right, though, it's still not exactly right. I can't keep the heat as even or as high as I need it to be, the pot isn't a precise instrument and the oil's smoke point isn't always totally consistent, which makes me think some of the vendors might be adulterating it with something, or even just mixing kinds."

It's like a ball rolling down a hill, the way she inevitably returns to the project, talking to herself more than to Herian.

“Oil is expensive,” she replies simply - cooly, almost. “The quantities you are using seem by no means sustainable.”

Herian keeps her faint frustration in check. It is childishness, to be nettled by this, but Cosima’s response to her concerns make the disappointment of her failing to come and spend time together a little more irritating than it otherwise has a right to be.

“I am not saying you cannot continue the project, simply that there is no need for it to be perfected immediately when stores are as they are.”
The tone is not harsh or unkind, but there is something reprimanding in it, before she stops herself and exhales. “You look exhausted, Cosima.”

"I'm good, I feel better than I have in months, actually. That's part of why I want to get this right now, I'm probably going to crash again." She's still moving about the kitchen, almost absently, unable to settle at any length. The fact that she's not reacting to Herian's agitation is, in itself, telling.

"We could try melting butter if the oil becomes a problem, but I don't think we're there yet, and butter's got different properties so we'd have to start a lot of the experimentation over again if we went that route. We might accidentally brown it, for one, and that's going to throw everything off. Maybe if we clarified it first?"

She has no idea how to help in these circumstances. She is no healer; she cannot aid Cosima even with her normal health problems, let alone with this. She doesn't even have sleep spells at her disposal, so it's not like she can just incapacitate Cosima to ensure she gets rest, and she's not sure Cosima would be happy with her making a decision like that even ifs she did have the ability.

Normally, she has better patience, especially for Cosima, but this stings at her in a way she's not sure how to counter, and the frustration is turned inward almost more than outward. Is she just being childish and self-absorbed? Is she expecting too much of Cosima, if she reacting unfairly to something reasonable because it is a rare occasion when Cosima's attention is not focused on her? Does her own self indulgence not pause at all?

Herian exhales a little shakily. She should reason with herself better, be steadier, but she has been struggling more and more since Starkhaven. Her— reason feels as though it is abandoning her. Her emotions are outlandish; she is painting Cosima as unreasonable in her mind, but what basis has this in fact, and what basis lies in her own want of attention?

"I will not interfere with your efforts. My apologies for interrupting your work."

Rey wasn't really going to waste any time in checking out the kitchen experiments. She'd been plowing through her list of things that she needed to fix, but taking a break for food was definitely not unheard of. So she and Padawan appear in the kitchens, and while she definitely wants food when she sees Cosima working on trying to make a fry basket she beelines for the woman, her hand already on her work belt, which she's still wearing.

"Need a hand?"

Cosima looks up with a small smile; she has an array of supplies, both foodstuffs and implements used for putting them into and pulling them out of the oil. "Hey -- yeah, if you've got the time, you might actually be just the person I need. Where I'm from, we usually deep fat fry using a sort of metal basket, but I haven't figured out the best substitute here. Oh -- first, try this."

She retrieves a warm but not burning hot plate of cheese ... well, they're meant to be cheese sticks, they're more reminiscent of cheese-filled hushpuppies in shape.

Rey looks over what Cosima has already nodding a little as her mind sets to working out a problem that is probably a relatively easy fix.

"Should be able to rig something up--" she begins, though when she sees the food she derails. They don't look particularly appetizing, but then she's eaten veg-meat, so she isn't picky. Picking one up she looks at it curiously before popping it in her mouth. As she chews, her eyes get big, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she talks around the cheesy fried delciousness in her mouth.

"This is the best thing I've ever tasted."

Cosima beams, frankly and honestly pleased. "Awesome. I'm still trying to refine it a bit - I'd like the cheese to be stingier after it melts, it's really good that way, but I think we're getting the basic idea across at least. And maybe we can figure out an approximation of the tomato sauce we dip it in at home, that'd be a good addition too."

"I'd never had cheese before coming to Thedas. It's... something I truly regret missing out on." Though she knows that cheese products exist in her home galaxy, they weren't required in a scavenger diet. So typically not even milk was available.

"So what do you need for this basket project?"

"Well, I'm not an engineer, but I think the basic requirements are the ability to stand high heat without warping. And you want a basket with big enough holes to fully drain the oil, but not so big the food escapes. Maybe..." She holds up her thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. "...that close? Something similar."

She thinks, then adds, "At home, they're usually sort of rectangular, but I think that's because the container for the oil is too, and one fits inside the other. Here it probably doesn't matter as long as you have a handle long enough to safely pull it out of the oil without getting burned."

Rey hums thoughtfully, looking over what Cosima has assembled thus far, picking up a few things and turning them over before putting them back down.

"Have you considered using a piece of steel chainmail? If we could hook a piece up to a frame, it would probably do the trick." Short of hand constructing an entire wire basket by hand, that seemed like a simpler route.

"Oh, that's a good idea if we could get it on some kind of frame. The holes are a little smaller, but I don't think so much so it should be a problem. We'd have to clean it really well, of course, and make sure it's perfectly dry after we did, but that's way easier than building something from scratch."

She reaches for her notes, to jot down the suggestion and a few related considerations. "Mail's kind of heavy, so whatever we used would have to be sturdy."

"There might be some mail that has a looser knit, that would be lighter... But I might have something in my room that could work as a frame. I tend to collect junk that comes in, to use for projects." She gets a distant look as she mentally goes through her catalogue of items she's accrued, before nodding.

"I definitely have something that'll work."

He's come partly out of curiosity about the food, and mostly out of concern for her. By now it's rather clear that the Rifters are likely all being hit with the mystery plague, and being sick while in a room with fires and hot oil doesn't seem like a great combination.

"So you're creating food, or making recipes from your world?" Anders asks quietly, having made enough noise (he thinks) while entering to hopefully not startle her. "I've come to possibly taste test some, and to definitely see how you're doing as your friend and as your healer."

Unlike Church, Cosima at least does not seem the worse for wear from the oil specifically; her burns are small and no worse than you'd expect for anyone who's been cooking for days on end. It is obvious, however, that she hasn't slept in some time, and there's a light sheen of sweat on her forehead that has nothing to do with the kitchen's temperature.

"Oh, I guess I missed my check-in," absently, because yes, that's why he's concerned. "But both, to answer your question. We've started with things from home and then experimented with a few different variation. There's a passable plate of onion rings that should still be warm, you can see what you think. The breading should really be thicker, but the seasoning's getting close."

He shakes his head, smiling despite his concern.

"You did miss it, yes." Despite himself, he's reaching over to grab what is apparently an onion ring. It's round, at least. Anders takes a tentative bite. The flavor is mild, a little sweet, and a little savory, and he makes an appreciative noise. "There's also the fact that there seems to be an illness making its way through the Rifters. And you..."

...have better coloring than usual. She's not even blue. All the same, there are the signs of a fever.

"You've likely got it," he says with less cheer than before. Most are suffering. She doesn't seem to be. How can he treat her like a patient and ask her to rest if she's doing relatively better? "Can you slow down a little here?"

"I mean, sure, but we're making lots of progress, and I haven't had this much energy in ages so I've been trying to capitalize. Oh, plus we've also got this list of things to try, we're making good progress. I think it's helping morale."

The list, more than Cosima's actual demeanor, will confirm beyond all doubt she's affected. Anders can see that, at the beginning, her notes are fairly orderly, if referring to many dishes he's unfamiliar with. Her more recent notes are, however, more haphazard. They break off, as she clearly heads down blind allies, and her handwriting gets worse the longer she's gone without sleep.

"And before you ask, we've got plenty of oil, we wouldn't just keep using oil if we were running low."

Debatably true.

"There's a metaphor that can be made here regarding your own oil running low," he says as he looks at the notes. A majority of it is not in the hand he's a little familiar with, especially at the bottom.

"Sometimes one's body lies to them. The energy it seems to have is a spike with a catch, and the resulting exhaustion afterward is worse." The notes are carefully set back down. "I know you cannot possibly enjoy having people on your case, but you might crash hard from this, Cosima." Being both healer and friend can make for complicated situations, but he's fairly certain personal feelings aren't clouding his instincts here.

"Can I convince you to take a nap?"

"I'm not tired," she insists, with a carelessness that's surely more the euphoria than an actual cavalier disregard for what happens to people who don't sleep. "I don't even feel like I could lie down if I tried, I suppose I'll get plenty of rest when I crash."

At least she doesn't quote the old Earth saying about sleeping when she's dead; she's not quite that far gone.

"I know people are concerned because they care, it's just I'm making really good progress and I don't know when I'm going to feel this good again. And hey, if we get potatoes more tasty, morale is probably going to go up, right, so it's not like I'm not helping the Inquisition at all, either. I think we've almost got hash browns perfect, hash browns are a game changer. I hear they're good with bacon if you eat bacon."

She doesn't linger, doesn't even look back at him much, a flurry of constant activity. While her expression is purposeful, the actual activity seems almost aimless.

"We still need ketchup though. For the hash browns." That would be Church butting in where he doesn't need to be. "But that can come later, cuz it needs to be right first before we slather it with condiments."

For his part, he does look tired, even if he doesn't act it. Distracted, though, that he definitely acts, unable to truly focus on any one task for more than a couple minutes at most. Right now, he's deciding to spend his time washing and skinning couple more potatoes, though how long that'll last is anyone's guess.

"Are you bothering the lady?" He's not angry, actually quirks a grin over at the pair, though if the answer happens to be 'yes' he'll not hesitate to do something about it. "Don't you know that's rude? Sleep is for the weak. Or, like, the really tired? Also the dead. It's for people not us."

He shakes his head at Church, slightly bemused. What is ketchup? Or hash browns? There's a lot that's brown right now in the kitchen.

"Sleep is for those that would like to stay not dead, in case you'd not noticed." His voice is wry. "Also for those who would like to not be covered in burns, Maker's breath, man. Are you trying to burn off your limbs? I'll gladly be rude if it means the two of you aren't keeling over, her from the crash and you from being burned half-through. Breaks are good. Important."

And he's a hypocrite, because he's not taking breaks and doesn't even have the high they seem to be running on.

"I'm not burned," Cosima points out, absently. (...mostly, if not 100%, true.) "But I should probably let you top me up with spirit healing for clone disease, don't want to start coughing blood on the food or anything."

...while Cosima is generally a cheery person, that level of optimism is almost certainly the illness. She's also not entirely sure if she's told Church that she's ill before, but it's not worrying her at the moment either way.

To Anders: "If you want to hang around a little, I can take a break when I hit a natural pausing spot. Save me a trip to the infirmary."

(If Anders suspects she will forget to take a break even with him sitting right there, he's not wrong.)

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and still no fried ice cream, what a tragedy

Cosima

later in the week

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Early week

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later in the week!

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