Han Solo (sololuck) wrote in crownplazaic, @ 2020-12-21 00:45:00 |
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The only thing better than having a full bar that never went dry was having a full kitchen that seemed to know exactly what you needed. Han hadn't had more than the minuscule mess in the Falcon since he was fifteen or sixteen, however old he was when he joined the Navy. After that, it was mess hall food, rations, greasy cantina stuffs, and whatever he could nuke in the reheater on one ship or another. This was, honestly, pretty close to bliss. At first he'd been a little intimidated by the sheer size of it, everything gleaming and clean and ready to use. But as he'd started wandering around, he got his bearings again. Little at a time he'd discovered things that were familiar to him, things he could work with, and set about trying to make a decent breakfast. Truth be told, he hadn't the faintest idea what kind of flank he pulled out of the refrigerator, and he couldn't tell Nerf from Bantha by smell. But it looked fresh, and it looked red. Then he'd found a basket of small yellow potatoes, butter, garlic, and little grey-green mushrooms he remembered gathering when he was a kid. In no time, he had the potatoes and thin strips of flank steak sizzling in a pan and a fresh pot of caf ready to go. He leaned one hand on the steel counter behind him, glanced at a clock on the wall, and sipped his caf in pleasant silence. |