meet the cook
Characters: Carmel and Wren Setting: around dawn, courtyard Wren was lying on the dewy grass, not really minding the fact that her clothes were damp. She had a sharpie clasped loosely in one hand, and she had her head cradled on her free arm. Her brown eyes were staring straight up at the lightening sky. The world was still, and she barely even breathed.
Carmel was up early, having only managed to sleep a little last night. Every time she had felt like she was truly dropping off into deep sleep, she had jerked back into her body, afraid. Afraid of the world behind her eyelids, and of losing whatever place she had among this motley crew.
She checked her prep for the biscuits, finding it undisturbed since last night with Leandro. Good. She started the coffee pot and took the first cup, piping hot, and wandered out toward the courtyard to see if the dawn was visible.
She blinked, surprised at the presence of someone else so early. She didn't recognise her either. "Oh, hello," she said.
At the voice, Wren looked over. She pushed herself up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. “Hello.” she greeted, looking unsure of what to say beyond that. “Good morning.” she added, deciding that was a proper greeting. The woman didn’t look threatening, and that was good. She offered a hesitant smile, hoping she didn’t look too awkward, though in light of the fact that other people weren’t out there making an attempt to watch the sun ‘rise’ she was thinking she failed on that.
"Good morning," Carmel replied automatically, and she smiled at the younger woman. It might be slightly fuzzy around the edges with lack of sleep, but it was a nice smile.
"I don't think we've met. I'm Carmel, it's nice.to meet you." She took a step forward and offered her hand down to the other woman, her palm warmer than usual from being wrapped around the coffee mug full of hot liquid.
Wren reached up to shake Carmel’s hand, dropping the marker she’d been holding. “My name is Wren.” she introduced herself in turn. “It’s nice to meet you too.” she added politely. “Are you always up this early? I hadn’t thought anyone else was up at this time of day unless they had to be.” she explained. Then she paused. “I am not complaining, I am merely curious.” she clarified, not wanting to offend someone.
Carmel wasn't sure if it was lack of sleep or if the girl was a little odd. Well, she probably wouldn't be the first, and she was at least polite. "Not always, no. I didn't sleep well and figured I might as well get up at this point," she said with a vague flap of her hand before it wrapped back around her mug. "I've always loved dawn, so I figured I would see what I could see from here."
“I am sorry you did not sleep well.” Wren told her, lying back down to stare up at the sky. “I’m always up early. I really wish we could watch the sunrise, but with the building set up as it is, I found no windows that have a view of outdoors. Not even in the wrong direction. I imagine it’s for deterrence against escape attempts. But I miss getting to watch the sunrise already. Being outside again like this has me longing for home, even if I know home doesn’t exist anymore.”
"Thanks," Carmel said, finding the syntax odd but just that, odd. "Yeah, I didn't think I'd get to see much, which is too bad, really." She had always loved dawn and sunset. "Aww. Where are you from, if I may ask?" She said, tilting her head, pushing back her yer untamed for the day curls. "And may I join you? If you don't mind, that is," she added.
“Montana. And yes, please.” Wren said, smiling again, though this time it was a more natural expression. “I like my solitude, but not all the time. I miss having people to converse with, and that’s been very pleasant so far. How are you finding your time here?” she asked, her attention settling on Carmel, even if she didn’t sit up so she could also keep watch on the sky.
"Wow, Montana. Never been there," she said. She wished she has traveled more than she had, though she knew she had more than a lot of people. She crossed her ankles and sank into a cross-legged position, feeling a faint twinge in her knees that told her she might get too old for that sooner than she wanted- but not yet. "I'm not finding it to be that bad, really. Most everyone has been nice so far, and it is really nice to be able to cook again," she said honestly.
“So you’re the chef.” Wren said, connecting the dots. “I’ll admit that I haven’t had a very wide range of...anything.” she said with a little regret in her voice. “I also don’t know how to cook. Things were cooked for me back home, and it was all...” she paused, trying to find a word. “Simple?” she suggested. “Mostly it all came from the farm on the property. But not the one I was convicted for. There were other things.”
She grinned, pleased to have some small recognition at least. She had always taken pride in her work. "That's too bad, but you can always widen your horizons," Carmel told her. "If you want to spend time in the kitchen learning, you can. I taught Becka how to make an omelette just the other day." She tilted her head, admittedly curious. "Do you mind me asking what you were put in for?"
Wren considered that, then eventually nodded. "I would appreciate that." she said. Wren really liked to learn, all things told. If she had access to materials she was unfamiliar with, she was the type of person who wanted to find out everything she could. Unfortunately, her life had apparently been rather stifled, so there was sometimes an overwhelming amount of information to attempt to take in at once.
At the question about her incarceration, Wren shook her head. "I don't mind." she said. "I was living on a farm that grew marijuana." She cast her eyes downward, not finishing the story, but assuming that Carmel could fill in the blank.
Carmel grinned. "Well, feel free to come in any time and ask. I'm making biscuits and gravy here shortly, and I've already prepped the lasagna that will go in tonight, but the next day's food is still up in the air." It partly depended on what if anything appeared in the boxes.
"Ahh, okay," she said. She wouldn't deny that she rather thought there had to be more to it than that, but Wren also looked like she didn't want anyone prying. "Well, there's worse in this world than growing weed, even if I did scold my brother for smoking it growing up."
"I didn't really have anything to do with it. I just lived there." Wren told Carmel, even if she wasn't being looked down upon for it. "But I would appreciate any help you could offer me in the cooking department. I will have to fend for myself someday, and I am aware I'm ill equipped to do so." Part of her understood that was probably deliberate. That she'd been built to be helpless.
"Ouch, that sucks then. I'm sorry you got blamed for something you didn't do," she said with genuine sympathy. "No problem. I like to teach cooking. I think everyone should be able to do at least the basics. That packaged stuff is so unhealthy in the long run." She had eaten it and would eat it again if she must, but it would never be a preference. "And let me know if I can help with anything else. I know a bit of this and that." And the girl seemed rather lost, and best make sure she didn't get hurt somehow.
Wren finally sat up, the sky bright enough that she didn't think she would catch much more in the way of shifting light. She rubbed absently at the scar on the heel of her left hand, considering the offer. "What else could you help with?" she asked.
The sky had been lightening progressively, and she sighed softly to herself, wishing for a horizon. "I'm not sure, but there's probably something. I can do a little of a lot of things. Fold towels and napkins into origami for instance," she half joked. "I kickbox. Do a little yoga. Lots of little things, I suppose."
Smiling at the description of origami napkins, Wren listened. "Kick...box?" she tried the unfamiliar word. She understood the words separately, but the combined form confused her. Yoga she understood as well, one of the women at the commune had always helped people along with that. "I would be interested in doing yoga regularly." she added.
She tilted her head. "It's sort of a sport with kicking involved but also a bit like boxing? It's a great workout though I learned it as a method of self defense, sort of. I find it quite nice, though it isn't for everyone." She shrugged slightly. "That would be nice, though I don't know enough to run a class, so hopefully someone else might be able to do it, if we ask around."
The idea of 'self defense' was one Wren wasn't sure if she loved and wanted to immediately inquire after, or if it was a little scary, and she needed to think it over. Either way, she marked it in her mind, to see about researching later. "I am confident I wouldn't know how to run a class either."
"Well we can ask around, then. Maybe one of the others knows enough," she mused, yawning and then taking a long drink of coffee to stem off another yawn. "I'm going to get more coffee, you want some?" Carmel asked.
Wren smiled, but shook her head. “No thank you,” she said. “I’m not that much of a coffee drinker.” she admitted. “Is there tea?” she asked. “If there’s tea, I’ll accompany you.” She stood, either way, twisting slightly to crack her back.
"I saw tea bags the other day, so as long as you like them you're good to go. I didn't see loose leaf tea, though there's always the chance I could have missed it," she said, pushing herself up. "And I'll get the biscuits started shortly."
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch?” Wren said. She’d try to help out, if Carmel allowed it, she’d said she would help out in that arena, though she was still nervous in general about learning things like that. She certainly didn’t want to mess things up. But Carmel also seemed like a very nice woman, and if she was offering perhaps she would be very patient.
"Sure, I don't mind at all," she said. People were welcome to help out or just watch so long as she had enough room in the kitchen. "The biscuits are basically ready to go in the oven. It's the gravy that will take a few minutes to whip up. I didn't want to just reheat gravy, its always harder to do that and have it smooth with no lumps," she explained.
"Thank you. And if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know. I would like to contribute." Wren assured her, not wanting Carmel to think that she was going to take advantage of her cooking without lifting a finger to help in some way. Even if it was to do the dishes. She started towards the kitchen, thinking this would be a good experience for her, and she could get better acquainted with the kitchen in general, and another resident.
"I will let you know, definitely," Carmel assured her. If anything she would have her help with some dishes or something. An extra hand was always good. She pushed open the door, headed to the kitchen. She had most of the stuff, except milk and all, set out, all she needed to do was get it started. She took pride in making a smooth gravy. "So what do you like to do, Wren?" She asked as she bustled around the kitchen after topping off her cup and washing her hands.
Following along, Wren felt at a loss as to how to answer the question, much like she had when she'd been answering the questions on the journals. "I don't know, I suppose." she said, exhaling. "I will find out?" she suggested, hesitant. It was clear she was a bit ashamed of herself in this matter.
Carmel had to wonder with this girl. It was a bit strange at the least to not really know what one liked to do. It was painfully obvious though that Wren knew this. "You will. It's just a matter of trying different things, I suppose."
Wren nodded, smiling at that. “Yes.” she agreed. “Trying different things.” she repeated. And this place may actually afford her that. It was something to take as positive. She’d meet new people, there were a lot of other things to see. There was likely a whole lot she could look into, learn about. There could be a whole world of possibilities...and maybe with an environment so closed, it would work out better for her this way. Better that than dumped in the real world with no way to fend for herself.
She slipped the first batch of biscuits into the oven and set the timer, the clicking of it a familiar background noise for her. After that she started whipping up what would be a very large batch of gravy. "What did you used to do, before all this, then? Maybe we can figure out things for you to try."
"I-I was a Prophet." Wren said, sounding like she knew the answer was wrong. More, she was bracing herself for the laughter and mockery that always came with that answer, but she didn't have another one. When she lied it was always so painfully obvious. That was one thing she learned in prison--she was no good at lying. So she didn't try anymore.
Carmel's hands stopped and she blinked, and then blinked again. Okay then. A prophet. That was definitely something she had never heard before. "A prophet," she repeated. "Well, that's a new one on me." What did one say to that? "What were you a prophet of?"
Shrugging one shoulder, Wren wasn't sure how to respond. So, in the end, she just went with what came to mind, as it came to mind. "I would consult my cards, and runes, and a few other things, and help people find their way." she said. "I was the Prophet for the Order of the Loom." she said.
"Huh. That's different," Carmel said. "Can't say I believe in the cards or anything, I'm a little too .. Catholic raised for that, though grandma occasionally indulged in a fortune teller." Her lips quirked a little at that dichotomy. "The Loom, huh? Like the Fates weaving stuff in the Greek tales?"
“Like that, yes.” Wren told her, nodding with a pleased smile that Carmel connected the dots. Most people just looked at her like she was insane. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.” she added. “Now...what can I help with?” she asked, ready to get down to cooking things, even if it was making juice, or something. She wanted to be productive. This was a good place to start.