Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-09-15 20:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
Do you know the muffin man, muffin man, muffin man...
Who: Aspel & Mag.
What: Muffins. Oh Faram. Muffins.
Where: Aspel’s apartment.
When: BACKDATED: Wednesday, Sept 11th.
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
Why in all of what Faram might consider holy had Aspel ever brought up peach muffins for? She’d never tried the recipe, probably never would have had much interest in it, or would have even bothered if it hadn’t been for… That didn’t matter. Muffins. Muffins that she had passively agreed to make. That was what mattered. Muffins mattered. The apron she’d strapped around her body nearly looked like it had been surprise bombed with flour from an unknown assailant with how it stretched up and back in odd streaks and patterns across her body. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and patches of white covered her arms. There was even a dot of flour above her brow and a streak of white through her hair where for the briefest moment of frustration, Aspel had forgotten where her hands had just been, and had run fingers through her hair, just to realize - seconds too late - precisely what she had done. Besides. There was no need to get worked up about making blasted peach muffins. Plenty of people could enjoy peach muffins. Faram. Perhaps, Aspel and Mag would enjoy them enough that they would warrant being made again before too long. Yes, precisely, that would it be. It was just an experiment. Attempting a new recipe for a friend. The flour had been sifted, the dry ingredients mixed together and the wet ingredients mixed separately. Then with all of that settled appropriately came the mixing of the two sorts, buttering the pan, and moving the mixture over all while the oven pre-heated. At this point, all of the harder work had been done, and really it was just waiting for the first batch to come out of the oven. Which meant, Mag would be here to taste test the muffins Aspel was pre-making for Mag before she made the to “taste test” for Ari. She’d be lying to Ari about this. Though really, maybe it wasn’t lying so much, right? Aspel could have more one taste tester, it would be simple. Really. No problem at all. It wasn’t like Aspel hadn’t ever made baked goods for anyone outside of Mag, Li, Jareth, the squires and maybe another member of the guild or two before… Though, how often did she really take custom orders? Only from the squires, Mag, Li, Drake…… Faram. What was she doing? Why was she making these muffins? What was this? Why was she. And there went the timer, jolting Aspel out of her mental panic as she stood half listless, and utterly pointlessly in front of her kitchen counter half blasted with flour and feeling like she was going out of her mind. Who would ever think that peach muffins, of all things, would nearly drive someone mad? There was a “closed” sign on the door of The Armory when Mag arrived there that morning. Not a surprise; Aspel had said she would be working on a peach muffin recipe, so there would be no time for clients. Mag took out the key she’d received from her friend some time ago and let herself in, locking the door after her. She climbed the stairs to the apartment above the smithy, and called, “Aspel? I’m here,” as she made her way up. She heard the timer go off and walked into the kitchen, and felt her jaw drop. It looked like a warzone. No, scratch that—she’d seen warzones tidier than this. “You look like you wrestled with the flour bag,” Mag said and, seeing the white patches on Aspel’s arms and all over her clothes, added, “and lost the fight.” She was trying not to burst out laughing at the sight, but it wasn’t an easy task. The corners of her mouth quirked upwards as she asked, “Should I call for backup?” Had she been the one doing the baking (and Faram forbid she ever try such a thing again; she’d learned her lesson the first time), this mess would have made sense, but Aspel was an expert baker. Sure, this was a new recipe, but was that really enough to justify this scene? She couldn’t hold in her amusement anymore, and she began to giggle helplessly. “Is that flour in your hair, or has it really been that long since the last time I saw you?” she asked, out of breath. Mag’s voice was an odd sort of cooling salve on frazzled nerves, and for a moment, she thought to call back regarding her whereabouts, but considering how the apartment was set up, there was no doubt in the smith’s mind that when Mag walked in, she’d know precisely where Aspel was. “Welcome. Did you require a drink of any sort?” Instead was what she’d substitute considering the situation. However, turning to greet her friend, and taking in both the commentary and the look on Mag’s face, Aspel’s chin raised, inhaling deeply before her mouth opened to speak once more, the words as serious and deadpan as she could humely manage. “It was a fearsome foe, I assure, but I believe in this instance, we are safe.” Though, at Mag’s sudden outburst, Aspel’s eyebrows knit together, a bit of confusion flickering across her face. “Ah, well.” Aspel couldn’t help but let out a slight huff of air. “I fear all of this council work has quite aptly sped my aging process, considerably to my dismay. How shall I ever find an appropriate husband now?” Because of course, that was the greatest of Aspel’s worries. “Then the people of Emillion should rejoice, for thanks to you the city will live to see another day,” Mag said, attempting to hold in her giggles long enough to affect a solemn air. It didn’t really work. As an afterthought, she added, “Though perhaps it’s best if no one hears of this noble deed. I’m not sure they’d believe it.” How did they manage to get themselves in such ridiculous situations, Mag had no idea, but she had an inkling that would never change, no matter how many years passed. That was fine by her; being around Aspel was never boring, and those silly memories always made her laugh no matter her mood. “Oh, dear,” she laughed, “would it make you feel better if I said that streak of white hair makes you look distinguished?” And of all of Aspel’s troubles, finding a husband wasn’t really one, though this conversation was no less amusing for it. “And should you still be worried about that, there are other ways—don’t they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?” She nodded her head in the direction of the oven and grinned. “I’m sure that tactic will work, if nothing else.” "Monstrous bags of flour are truly a pox upon our land, I assure. They have the easiest time hiding in plain sight. Quite terrible. Coming in and making everything terribly white. I mean really, with the matting and the off color, it clashes horribly with the silver heels I was look at just the week before." If anything, Aspel had managed to master the art of the poker face some time ago while part of the Onyx Guard. They had to lie regularly about who they were and why they ventured to the locations that they had. "Ah, yes. Quite best, I am rather certain." Faram, if anyone heard about Aspel being quite this disheveled, who knew what commentary it would earn. "Ah, well. Then perhaps my cause is not so lost after all, no?" Finally a smile broke across her face, and a hand gestured for Mag to take a seat while Aspel moved to take the muffins out of the oven. "Surely, as long as we keep any sincere prospects away from my cooking and within the illusion of my baking, I will be fine." Placing a muffin tray on the top of the oven, they were carefully pried out one by one and placed on a cooling rack to settle. With that, Aspel shifted, moving to cut up chunks of apple so that Mag's trip would not be a full loss if the peach muffins turned out to be a bomb. There was plenty of extra batter to assure an entire extra dozen apple muffins at the very least. "Tea, perhaps?" Mag sat down and said, “Tea sounds great.” Normally, she would have offered to make it herself, but the kitchen counter was covered in flour and there were all the bowls and gadgetry Aspel had used for the mix, and Mag was certain she’d knock something over if she went in there. She’d been trying not to step on flour so she wouldn’t leave white footsteps all over Aspel’s floor on her way out, but she hadn’t been entirely successful. “That’s a great plan, you know. Just keep feeding him cookies and muffins. The sugar will help keep him happy. And if he ever asks you to cook for him, you should both come over to my place for dinner first sometime. He’ll be so appalled by my attempts at cooking, he will be in awe of your skills by comparison.” That was assuming Mag would even manage to complete a recipe without burning down the apartment first, though she supposed if that happened, it would also do a nice job of putting things in perspective for Aspel’s hypothetical husband. She watched with interest as the peach muffins were set aside to cool and Aspel began to cut chunks of apple. “And if he doesn’t appreciate your baking, I’ll lavish you with praise in his stead.” Not that she didn’t do that already. Ari would be coming over for the taste test soon, wasn’t she? Or, well, the second taste test. The muffins would need to cool for a bit before they could be eaten, but Mag was sure Aspel’s concerns were baseless; the peach muffins looked delicious. With the agreement to tea, Aspel paused in her prep of the apples, and - wiping her hands against the apron in a fruitless attempt to clean them really - set to filling up the teapot before setting it on the stove to heat. With that taken care of, there was apple prep to be addressed once more. "Plying him with a constant sugar high, and prepping him with the questionable cooking of another first?" There seemed as though there may be some sincere consideration to that plan for a moment. "I cannot see any way in which this could possibly go wrong. Of course, this can be the only appropriate plan of action. I approve." Though really, by the end, Aspel couldn't help but sound the tiniest bit amused once more. "Ah, clearly, we should just marry. Keep all of this foolish hunting for a partner to a bare minimum." A low chuckle couldn't be helped. "I suspect our relationship will simply need to be open, no?" “Aspel, honey, I think we’ve been married for a while,” Mag chuckled, “but if you’d like to make it official, I’m yours. We can have a nice house with a white picket fence and survive on takeout and baked goods.” Not a bad life plan, really. And sometimes she had to wonder if, had she not been so irrevocably heterosexual, something would have happened between them. Their lives would have been a lot easier if so, but it was not to be. “And an open relationship sounds wonderful. We really should marry,” she said, laughing. She took one of the apple chunks Aspel had set aside and popped it in her mouth. “Nom.” As she chewed, she kept an eye on her watch, fully intending to keep track of how long the leaves had been steeping this time, though no doubt she would get distracted somehow and end up being glad was there to save the day. She stifled a laugh when she looked at Aspel again, covered in flour from head to toe as she was. Mag dragged one finger across the kitchen counter and then lifted her hand up to her hair, leaving a white streak. “I felt we should get matching,” she supplied by way of explanation. "Should I begin planning to save a months worth of salary for your ring then?" Aspel couldn't help but joke in return. "Ajora knows I am terribly behind on these things." The entertainment felt from the situation was clear in her smile as each apple was appropriately disposed of. "Careful, I would loath for you to ruin your appetite." They both knew full well that a bite of apple would do no such thing, but if the joke was that they were married, then Aspel was far from one to ruin running with the joke. "This is going to be an atrocious mess to clean." The comment finally was said as Aspel finished chopping the last apple and shoved it into a bowl that would house the rest of the wet mix ingredients. They both very well had probably thought it at least a dozen times at this point. "My apologies for any flour that may have…." A glance was given down to the floor. "attached itself to your person." Though, when her gaze raised to finally move the conversation on to another topic, there was Mag. With a…. 'matching' white streak in her hair and the comment…? Aspel couldn't help but burst out laughing. It would take a moment but finally she managed. "Faram, I really do look absolutely ridiculous, no?" “Atrocious doesn’t even begin to cut it.” Mag took a look around the kitchen, amused in spite of herself. “I’m still not sure how this happened.” Jokes aside, how had Aspel managed to get flour over every flat surface in her vicinity? It would really be a nightmare to clean, and no doubt Aspel would still find bits of flour here and there in the coming weeks. “Well, cleaning will go faster with two people.” And she gave Aspel a look that forestalled any complaints her friend may think of voicing. She was helping, whether Aspel liked it or not. Mag laughed along with Aspel, and drew a white line over her forehead, to mimic the one on Aspel’s face. “Yes, yes you do,” she agreed, wishing she had a mirror handy. “This image is burned into my brain. Be glad no one else is here to see you like this, or they’d never take you seriously again.” And who could have blamed them? Not Mag—and she probably looked quite silly as well. “Nor am I.” Aspel couldn’t help the sigh that slipped out with the admission. “I have been...” What? What was wrong with her today? “Terribly distracted I fear.” With pre-taste testing muffins that were special order for... Ari. She was making special order muffins for Ari just as she had made special order cookies for Drake. Faram, what was her life coming to? At least she could justify the cookies for Drake. He had been injured and it was his birthday, that deserved a special batch of cookies if anything ever did, certainly. Though with Mag’s offer, the smith’s mouth of course fell open as she was about to make comment in rebuttal - as was easily expected - and clearly Mag had prepped appropriately by the look Aspel caught. “As you wish.” The new line over her forehead only earned another fit of laughter. “Faram, I must...” Must what though? Look a mess? Seem a fool? Both were… Entirely accurate at this juncture. “not let this happen again, clearly. I would loathe for you to come armed with camera next time.” Though with the next comment, another burst of laughter slipped out, though this one much more brief in nature. “People take me seriously to begin with? I must admit a certain level of pity for anyone who might.” Really, if anyone had any clue about Aspel at all, they’d know she was far from serious in a great majority of her life at this point. Really, why bother being mad or upset when one could find a way to laugh? “I believe the tea should be ready, and I would give the muffins not much more than another five minutes before they should still be warm but cooled enough to eat as well.” With that, Aspel shifted, moving to retrieve teacups from the cupboard above the counter. “Do you wish to play in the flour more or take a seat again?” The five minutes the other muffins would take to cool would give her just enough time to get tea served and the next batch of muffins mixed and into the oven Aspel was fairly certain. “You’ll be all right. I’m sure the muffins will be a success.” And even in the unlikely event that they turned out to be anything less than delicious, Mag had her doubts that would pose a problem. Ari had been seeing Aspel for months now; it was doubtful she’d be put off by something as trivial as sub-par peach muffins. The source of Aspel’s distress had to lie elsewhere, then. She was hesitant to ask and shatter Aspel’s good mood right then, but she made a mental note of it. At her friend’s words, Mag grinned. “Oh, you know. Aspel Cassul, fearless Guild councilor and slayer of flour bags. Of course there’s people who take you seriously.” Those were people who didn’t know her well enough, but even those who did may not believe Mag if she told them what Aspel looked like right then. “I haven’t got a camera, but if you’re planning on trying more new recipes from now on, perhaps I should buy one,” she joked. Aspel looked ridiculous, but this playful mood suited her much more than the frowns and troubled sighs that plagued her whenever she spoke of her problems. Now she was covered in flour, laughing; it was a much better look on her. “I think I look distinguished enough already,” Mag said, chuckling. Better to stop fooling around with the flour, before she ended up like Aspel. She watched as her friend poured the tea, with a wry smile—of course she’d got distracted and forgotten to keep track of the time—and took one of the cups. Steam rose from the tea; she’d need to wait a bit. Perhaps by the time the muffins were cooled enough to eat, the tea would be okay to drink as well. “Let’s sit down,” she said. “But not on the couch; you’re all white. The stains will never wash off.” “I certainly hope they will.” Because after all this mess, impatience and frustration, Aspel desperately needed there to be some sort of payoff. Faram. What would happen if they were absolutely atrocious? Oh…. That was a thought the smith wasn’t entirely sure she was prepared, or capable of, dealing with the answer for. Though, at Mag’s words of her being a fearless guild councilor Aspel could only scoff. If only anyone had any vague idea of just how many fears she truly had. Perhaps, they’d be baffled and astonished, but at the same time, it hardly seemed worth mentioning in most junctures. To think, most would probably laugh at what half of her fears really were in the end. “I almost feel as though pictures of this fiasco would assist in rectifying such outrageous notions on the spot.” And honestly? It’d probably make her the laughing stock of the guild for a while. Though… Aspel wasn’t entirely sure that was completely a bad thing. “Perhaps, I will buy you one for Faram’s Mass, it may assist with any unusual notions that may have cropped up about me amongst the masses most certainly.” And by then? She may very well need to assure everyone a good laugh. While the past month had been rather calm, something still put her ill at ease. “As you wish.” Came the easy reply, eluding commentary regarding Mag’s current distinguished state. “I will need to mix and put in the next batch of muffins momentarily if you would like for apple ones as well.” With that a gesture was made towards the kitchen table which Mag could sit at. The room wasn’t roomy enough to make full use of the table, two of it’s sides were backed into a corner, but it was more than roomy enough for two longtime friends to sit at and sip their tea together while waiting for muffins to cool. |