fridgetothefire | 034 ☣ all natural recycled post-consumer goodwill

[Public, video]

For everyone who hasn't heard yet, I graduated, a little while ago. I'll be staying, of course.

[Private to Arthas]

It happened while I was a death knight, actually. I should have told you sooner, I know, I'm sorry. I was figuring a lot of things out and I half believed it wouldn't even stick.

I don't know what that means, or if it means anything. But...you deserve to know.

Thank you.

[Private to Hannibal]

[She pays careful attention to the effects of the flood; she knows he would, too. When she's certain the waters have receded, she starts to cook. With the roast is in the oven and the soup simmering, she calls.]

I'm sure you know by now that there was another Dr. Lecter on board, before you. He was one of the first people who spoke to me here.

He made me lunch, when I was cold and shaken and alone. I realize you aren't in that sort of position, but I'd like to pay it forward, if you're willing.

[Spam for Nathan, also distinctly post-flood.]

[She knocks twice, smartly. She brought cookies.]

Nathan? It's Anya. I'd like to talk to you.

[Spam for Iris, slightly backdated.]

[Anya has found some interesting things in her new and improved warden's cabin. Like this old-fashioned hand-cranked ice cream maker, for example. Iris seems to be having a rough time of it, so Anya hauls the bulky little machine over to her cabin, kicks the door awkwardly instead of knocking.]

Iris, it's Anya. I want to show you something.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Fitting. I will see you then.

[He's extremely prompt, of course, and at six on the dot, he'll knock at her door.]

[She answers the door in a high-collared, A-line dress with a long sleeved jacket, covering all the burn scars she didn't bother to hide during the Mirror breach. It's a little old-fashioned, cute in a fifties way, which matches the decor of most of the cabin, once they get through bedroom that connects to the rest of the barge. It's open, hand-painted in places, colorful and open, thick with bookshelves and bright thanks to a wide bay window and windowseat. She waves him through.]

Welcome, come in, doctor. Dinner's just set downstairs.

[The rest of the house is neat, suburban, more creams and greys than blue and green, with fifties appliances and minimalist decor. The pictures of Erik and Anya have been removed and tasteful prints put here and there to obscure the change. It's lived in - a coffee cup on a coaster here, a half-played chessboard there, a basket of knitting. She shows him into the kitchen, two places ready, still steaming lightly - expecting him to be just as punctual as he is, matching him.]

[He follows, taking it all in with a pleasant mien.] You have a lovely cabin. [The niceties must be observed, after all. He links his hands before him as he looks around the change between rooms, the color shifts and style era.]

Did you grow up in the fifties?

[He steps into the kitchen with all the comfort of a man returning home. He inhales casually to discern what she's cooked for them, and is satisfied by the scents that reach him.]

I did. Not in this house, but it's still. Comforting.

[Which matches her memories - there weren't a lot of obvious era markers, isolated as she was, but it fits, and the part about not growing up here certainly does. She grabs a bottle of Italian wine from the fridge - not an expensive one, just everyday dinner wine, but one that compliments the nutty richness of the hedgehog well. She pours half a glass for him to taste before sitting and shaking out her napkin, taking a sip of her soup.]

The meat is a little unusual. I'm curious if you'll recognize it.

[Her smile is small but bright and genuine. It's a game. It's fun.]

[Tipping his head in thanks, Hannibal lifts the glass, swirling it with a practiced hand. He can smell it opening at a distance, so he doesn't inhale deeply. Common enough - but even the common can be made delicious with the right accompaniment. He knows that very well.

He knows a game when he sees it, too. Taking a seat, he smiles at her, nostrils flaring briefly as he sniffs.]

I will have to do my best, then. Is this a particular favorite of yours?

It is, a bit. I didn't try to mask it with too much sauce or seasoning, so no need to worry about that. It would have been a waste of natural flavor.

[He eats food like he drinks wine, smelling and savoring. There is a charming rustic taste to it, and he smiles after the first mouthful, nodding his agreement.]

It would. Hedgehog is such a rare meat to find in a meal - it would be a shame, to dress it up as something else.

[She grins, and there's a simplicity to her happiness in that moment, a purity. It's a very old favorite, one she hasn't had since she was small, one she's never had much opportunity to share. Hegdhogs are cute, it bothers people.]

I found one in the woods when I was two. Mama showed me how to wrap clay over the spines to bake them. I think maybe it was the first red meat I ever had.

Edited 2014-01-08 03:57 (UTC)

A true family recipe. Your mother must have been a very good cook. [He says it as a compliment, rather than an opening for a closer look at her history. Not that he isn't interested in that.]

Is it your favorite red meat?

She was....traditional.

[Which means: yes, very much so, but only within her bailiwick.]

It is so far.

[There's a wry curl to her mouth, because while this is not an invitation to feed her people, it's too important a truth not to phrase that way: that she is aware of everything she has yet to experience, that she is an explorer at heart.]

[Fortunately, Hannibal rarely waits for invitations where his cooking is concerned. He doesn't pause to let her comment sink in, simply inclines his head in recognition of that awareness.]

There are dishes across the globe that are treated as delicacies in one region only to be reviled in another. [He gestures to the soup: such as hedgehog. He doesn't just mean strange animals or exotic fruit.]

We never know, until we try. [Until there is a chef good enough to make delicacies of everything.]

When I was younger, I wanted to travel more than anything. And now...well. It's not the way I pictured.

[Maybe it's better. But the barge does have an odd itinerary sometimes.]

Not quite the travel you had in mind. But then, not quite the travel any normal human would have cause to consider.

Where did you wish to go? Or was it only the act of being free that interested you?

034 ☣ all natural recycled post-consumer goodwill

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