faderift | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

and still no fried ice cream, what a tragedy

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject