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rainbowfic2023-07-13 10:10 pm
wallwalker) wrote in rainbowfic2023-07-13 10:10 pm
Chestnut 9
Author: wallwalker
Story: A Recipe for Disquiet, pt. 1
Verse: All's Fair in War and Confidence
Colors: Chestnut 9: Scrap of Fabric
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Photograph, Wood, Modeling Clay (PolyamShippingDay prompt: food)
Word Count: 1189
Rating: T
Warnings: None.
Notes: Set before the current story I'm still writing for this 'verse. Cross-posted topolyamships, link here.
Summary: Ricard cooks food from his partners' childhood homes all the time. It's enough to make one of them want to return the favor.
---
“Why do you think Ricard never cooks food from his home?” Kel idly mused, looking up from one of her books as the thought popped into her mind.
Sandrine hummed, not looking up from her stitching. The two of them hardly ever had the chance to spend quiet time together, just chatting and working on their own hobbies. Kel was an introvert at heart, despite her bubbly demeanor when in public; she took any quiet time she had as a chance to recharge. And Sandrine said she enjoyed being around people, but preferred not to have to entertain all the time when she wasn’t being paid for it.
Ricard tried to understand, although frankly Kel didn’t think he ever actually would. He’d gone out to a party that night to do some networking; one of his father’s old business contacts was in town, and he was going to make sure that they could still consider him a friend of the family. He’d made the offer, but hadn’t pressed when they’d both said they’d prefer to leave the socializing to him that night. Kel found herself wondering what the old man would’ve said if his old friend’s son had shown up with two women in tow; obviously they would have had to behave themselves, all of them. Arrangements like theirs were not unheard of in Pervenche, but Ricard’s friends came from the west, where such things were still looked upon as novelties at best. But things like that never stopped their Rick from asking them to come with him. That was two things he’d done that night that she appreciated, she mused.
“I really don’t know, darling. He never really speaks of the Windtorn Isles that much,” Sandrine finally answered, still deeply immersed in the seam she was mending. “Maybe he just prefers not to think about it.”
Kel sighed dramatically. “I mean, yeah, but he’s got to like the food, right? Everyone likes the food they grew up with. It’s why he cooks Silvani food all the time for you, right?”
Sandrine smiled wryly as she started to put her sewing away. “We could ask him,” she said calmly, “but he’ll probably be just as forthcoming about this as he is about any other part of his childhood.”
“I guess you’re right.” She carefully dog-eared the page she was on, making it match all the other dogeared pages in the book; she’d read that one several times. Then she pushed it to the side, idly pushing her red hair out of her eyes. Honestly, she needed to ask Sandrine to cut it again. “Still, doesn’t mean we can’t look around and try to cook something for him.”
“You know that I’d be the one doing most of the cooking, don’t you, darling?” Sandrine gave her a wry smile.
Kel blushed in spite of herself. “I can cook a little,” she said, though she sounded far too defensive to even her own ears.
“It’s fine, Kel. I know you would prefer not to. Just promise me you’ll clean up after me when I try to cook, won’t you?”
“Oh. Ok.” She relaxed a bit at that. “I can do that. I’ll head to the public house tomorrow, see what I can find.”
“Very well, dear.” She stood up, brushing off her wrapped skirt, the bright yellow fabric flaring away from her tan legs for a moment. “For now, I think I have had all I can take of stitching. Shall we eat the food that Ricard left for us before we go and work on the quilt?”
She jumped up, grinning. “Sounds great!”
They put the thought aside for the evening over their meal, well-spiced curds with peas and rice in a rich sauce. He’d always been fond of spicy foods, Kel thought; she was only just becoming used to them. She wondered, would the food from the Isles taste similar to this? Or did he eat it because he couldn’t get such things back home? She’d find out soon enough, she told herself as she sopped the remainder of the sauce with the rice.
They were both done soon enough – Kel sooner than Sandrine, though not by much, as they were both hungry and Ricard was quite a good cook. After that they were able to retire to one of the back rooms and create a few more patches for the brightly-colored quilt that the two had started making for the cold Pervenche winters. Sandrine had an eye for fine cloth, as a seamstress must, and had managed to obtain several scraps of the fabric; it was enough to make a fine quit, though an eclectic one. Not that Kel would ever complain about strange things; her mind had always been a jumble of things, and she rather liked having a blanket to match. Behind her bright green eyes was a mind that seemed to jump from place to place constantly, which she didn’t mind; it was when her body followed suit that things became difficult. Still, Sandrine was a good teacher and a patient one, encouraging her as she learned the stitches. She didn’t even berate Kel when she left a drop of blood on the fabric, although that may have been because it was a dark piece that would not show a stain.
They did not hear Ricard return home until late, when the two had began making ready for bed. He walked in, brown eyes barely visible between half-closed lids, dark skin covered in dried sweat. He looked up at the two of them in their nightclothes; Sandrine’s long gown was heavier, made to keep her warm in the colder climate, while Kel was warm-natured and wore considerably less to bed, for fear of overheating and throwing the blankets off the bed in mid-rest. He greeted them, or tried to; it came out as a grunt as he took off his coat.
“Too much partying, Rick?” Kel asked, unable to help herself.
He sighed deeply, gave her as savage a glare as his tired self could manage. “I had forgotten how much that man could drink,” he murmured, “and his son can manage half that amount again. But it was worthwhile, at least...”
Kel’s laughter intensified. “Well, lie down, then!” she said, and pushed him down onto the bed, rolling him into the middle before settling in behind him.
Ricard groaned, but didn’t complain, especially as Sandrine settled on her back beside him and took his hand. “If you were not so direct, dear Kel,” she said with a chuckle, “I doubt our love would get any sleep at all.”
Kel grinned in spite of herself. “I do what I can,” she said brightly. She was tired but her mind was still racing, and she knew it would take some time for her to fall asleep. But she didn’t mind, as long as she wasn’t alone.
She’d figure out what kind of food Rick had eaten back in the Isles soon, she told herself. He did so much cooking for the two of them; he deserved to have a chance to rest once in a while.
wallwalkerStory: A Recipe for Disquiet, pt. 1
Verse: All's Fair in War and Confidence
Colors: Chestnut 9: Scrap of Fabric
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Photograph, Wood, Modeling Clay (PolyamShippingDay prompt: food)
Word Count: 1189
Rating: T
Warnings: None.
Notes: Set before the current story I'm still writing for this 'verse. Cross-posted to
polyamships, link here.Summary: Ricard cooks food from his partners' childhood homes all the time. It's enough to make one of them want to return the favor.
---
“Why do you think Ricard never cooks food from his home?” Kel idly mused, looking up from one of her books as the thought popped into her mind.
Sandrine hummed, not looking up from her stitching. The two of them hardly ever had the chance to spend quiet time together, just chatting and working on their own hobbies. Kel was an introvert at heart, despite her bubbly demeanor when in public; she took any quiet time she had as a chance to recharge. And Sandrine said she enjoyed being around people, but preferred not to have to entertain all the time when she wasn’t being paid for it.
Ricard tried to understand, although frankly Kel didn’t think he ever actually would. He’d gone out to a party that night to do some networking; one of his father’s old business contacts was in town, and he was going to make sure that they could still consider him a friend of the family. He’d made the offer, but hadn’t pressed when they’d both said they’d prefer to leave the socializing to him that night. Kel found herself wondering what the old man would’ve said if his old friend’s son had shown up with two women in tow; obviously they would have had to behave themselves, all of them. Arrangements like theirs were not unheard of in Pervenche, but Ricard’s friends came from the west, where such things were still looked upon as novelties at best. But things like that never stopped their Rick from asking them to come with him. That was two things he’d done that night that she appreciated, she mused.
“I really don’t know, darling. He never really speaks of the Windtorn Isles that much,” Sandrine finally answered, still deeply immersed in the seam she was mending. “Maybe he just prefers not to think about it.”
Kel sighed dramatically. “I mean, yeah, but he’s got to like the food, right? Everyone likes the food they grew up with. It’s why he cooks Silvani food all the time for you, right?”
Sandrine smiled wryly as she started to put her sewing away. “We could ask him,” she said calmly, “but he’ll probably be just as forthcoming about this as he is about any other part of his childhood.”
“I guess you’re right.” She carefully dog-eared the page she was on, making it match all the other dogeared pages in the book; she’d read that one several times. Then she pushed it to the side, idly pushing her red hair out of her eyes. Honestly, she needed to ask Sandrine to cut it again. “Still, doesn’t mean we can’t look around and try to cook something for him.”
“You know that I’d be the one doing most of the cooking, don’t you, darling?” Sandrine gave her a wry smile.
Kel blushed in spite of herself. “I can cook a little,” she said, though she sounded far too defensive to even her own ears.
“It’s fine, Kel. I know you would prefer not to. Just promise me you’ll clean up after me when I try to cook, won’t you?”
“Oh. Ok.” She relaxed a bit at that. “I can do that. I’ll head to the public house tomorrow, see what I can find.”
“Very well, dear.” She stood up, brushing off her wrapped skirt, the bright yellow fabric flaring away from her tan legs for a moment. “For now, I think I have had all I can take of stitching. Shall we eat the food that Ricard left for us before we go and work on the quilt?”
She jumped up, grinning. “Sounds great!”
They put the thought aside for the evening over their meal, well-spiced curds with peas and rice in a rich sauce. He’d always been fond of spicy foods, Kel thought; she was only just becoming used to them. She wondered, would the food from the Isles taste similar to this? Or did he eat it because he couldn’t get such things back home? She’d find out soon enough, she told herself as she sopped the remainder of the sauce with the rice.
They were both done soon enough – Kel sooner than Sandrine, though not by much, as they were both hungry and Ricard was quite a good cook. After that they were able to retire to one of the back rooms and create a few more patches for the brightly-colored quilt that the two had started making for the cold Pervenche winters. Sandrine had an eye for fine cloth, as a seamstress must, and had managed to obtain several scraps of the fabric; it was enough to make a fine quit, though an eclectic one. Not that Kel would ever complain about strange things; her mind had always been a jumble of things, and she rather liked having a blanket to match. Behind her bright green eyes was a mind that seemed to jump from place to place constantly, which she didn’t mind; it was when her body followed suit that things became difficult. Still, Sandrine was a good teacher and a patient one, encouraging her as she learned the stitches. She didn’t even berate Kel when she left a drop of blood on the fabric, although that may have been because it was a dark piece that would not show a stain.
They did not hear Ricard return home until late, when the two had began making ready for bed. He walked in, brown eyes barely visible between half-closed lids, dark skin covered in dried sweat. He looked up at the two of them in their nightclothes; Sandrine’s long gown was heavier, made to keep her warm in the colder climate, while Kel was warm-natured and wore considerably less to bed, for fear of overheating and throwing the blankets off the bed in mid-rest. He greeted them, or tried to; it came out as a grunt as he took off his coat.
“Too much partying, Rick?” Kel asked, unable to help herself.
He sighed deeply, gave her as savage a glare as his tired self could manage. “I had forgotten how much that man could drink,” he murmured, “and his son can manage half that amount again. But it was worthwhile, at least...”
Kel’s laughter intensified. “Well, lie down, then!” she said, and pushed him down onto the bed, rolling him into the middle before settling in behind him.
Ricard groaned, but didn’t complain, especially as Sandrine settled on her back beside him and took his hand. “If you were not so direct, dear Kel,” she said with a chuckle, “I doubt our love would get any sleep at all.”
Kel grinned in spite of herself. “I do what I can,” she said brightly. She was tired but her mind was still racing, and she knew it would take some time for her to fall asleep. But she didn’t mind, as long as she wasn’t alone.
She’d figure out what kind of food Rick had eaten back in the Isles soon, she told herself. He did so much cooking for the two of them; he deserved to have a chance to rest once in a while.
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And I particularly liked her mind had always been a jumble of things, and she rather liked having a blanket to match.
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Thank you very much, I'm hoping to write the next part soon where we find out just how well this goes!
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no subject