Story for the day: Worth the Injury
|Rautu scoffs at your attempts to cook|
Worth the Injury
Alasdair had decided to dine out with Carrigh for the evening, which meant the kitchen staff was given a much-needed repose and the ovens and stoves would be out of use. It was then that the Den Asaan entreated his mate to employ her skills of cooking to appease his hunger and take up the task of making dinner. There was some disagreement on her side, the mild excuse of being too occupied with her duties for the evening and the claim that she had cooked for him only yesterday, but all of this was done away with when the Den Asaan impressed his ardent conviction upon her. He would have her make their meal and there was no escaping the giant’s ruling. He ushered her into the kitchen, pointed to the skillet numerous times and demanded that she make his favourite meal of all, fried seafood. His mate claimed that Farriage delicacy just as all of the rest of the meals she was made to prepare in his honour was his favourite, but her assertions were waved away with dismissive gestures and grunts of disapprobation for her erroneous claims. The skillet was placed her in hand, a fervent finger was pointed to the range, and the commander must make him supper or the Den Asaan would perish.
She laughed at his unquenchable desire and she agreed to sate him if only to keep him silent, but while there was enough fish and shrimp abound in the larder for the meal there was not enough oil to fashion the amount needed to satisfy the giant. She could begin the process with all the ingredients present and once the claim of requiring something essential for her mate’s meal was made, he leapt toward the marketplace in search of the item. She sighed in relief of his not hovering over her while she began frying. She had always enjoyed the expectant look and keenness for her supposed inferior cooking that he conveyed but her reprieve was for the sake of Obhantaa Leraa. She saw him coming from the training yard with his cheerful hops and jovial smiles and she knew that if her mate were anywhere near the kitchen, Obhantaa should be swatted away in fear of him asking to partake in what was his.
Obhantaa noted the commander standing beside the range and putting sizzling morsels of fish onto a plate from his place in the yard. His hangaara cat instantly smelled what was ready, and she pulled her master toward the kitchen with all possible celerity in hopes of receiving a piece for herself. He entered the kitchen and the fantastic smell of fried haddock wafted toward him. He hummed and sang, “Gondhaahi’s making sakaanas,” and danced about the commander as he watched the varied items hiss in the pan. “May khaasta and I share some?” he sweetly asked.
The commander was about to give an affirmative reply when she heard the telling sounds of a certain giant making his return through the main hall. “You have about three seconds before your brother smells this,” she laughed. “Take two quickly and I’ll replace them.”
Leraa took two pieces from the plate and placed one into his mouth while giving the other to his cat. Both wrenched in agony when their mouths were burned by the inundation of hot oil. They had taken pieces newly cooked and their burned tongues felt all the searing distress that Leraa’s fingers had not. He attempted with all due civility to keep the piece he had procured in his mouth and when he noted his brother’s presence through the doorway, he swallowed it immediately, causing him to grimace as he felt the length of his throat smolder. He bid his cat to do the same, and they escaped to the yard before the Den Asaan could enter.
Rautu entered the kitchen and knew something was amiss. The plate was filled with items, there was no one in the kitchen excepting his mate, but his protective senses had conveyed that something was not quite right. There had been a deception. His mate’s features were too composed, the plate too perfectly placed, the floor too clean around her. He counted the number of fried rations and surmised that two were missing. “There were twenty here when I left,” he said, placing the oil drum at the commander’s feet.
“Now there are eighteen,” was her smug reply. “I’m pleased your priests taught you how to count during your stay in the temple.”
Rautu narrowed his gaze and scowled. He knew he was being deceived and were he not rapt in hunger, he would be more disposed to confirm it, but he attributed the missing pieces to his mate and forgot them as he resumed his position as lurker while she cooked. Each piece she placed on the plate was inspected and when Rautu deemed what was prepared as acceptable, he inhaled it immediately.
“You will burn yourself, Iimon Ghaala,” the commander contended.
“It is worth the injury, woman,” Rautu said, working the scorching food around his mouth. He flouted her for laughing at him and stabbed his finger toward the pan. “Cook.”
She obeyed his irrefutable order and continued her task with a smirk on her proud features. She had the added occupation of shooing the Den Asaan away to keep his fingers from wandering toward what was meant to be their shared meal. She used what seasoning, breading and oil was necessary for the remainder of the fish, but when she had cooked the shrimps and placed them onto the plate for her mate’s later consumption, he scowled at them and drew her attention to their dismembered tails.
“These are contaminated,” the Den Asaan asserted.
“The tails have broken,” the commander fleered. “That hardly makes them inedible.”
“They are ruined and must be removed from the rest. Continue. I will make certain they are eliminated.” The Den Asaan quickly collected every shrimp on the plate and skulked off to dispose of them, burning his lips and tongue with every pleasurable bite.