02-28-2020, 05:42 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 8pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"] rory didn't have much calming influence, if sleep didn't count.
but his mother had. besides being a herbalist, she was a pretty spectacular cook. sometimes rory thought she was just about good at damn near everything. rory used to be able to help, and he enjoyed it to an extent, but anything he learned he didn't really absorb. " just a little bit of this spice, rory." "here's this butter , rory." and he'd listen , feeling accomplished. maybe he could be a cook someday , although the notion didn't last long. his mom belonged in the kitchen , his father lectured , but not him. fair enough. but with his dad gone , maybe he didn't have to fall victim to that toxic ideology; maybe he could use it to his advantage. the good-looking shit in the cookbook motivated him.
so , he got to work. got the necessary ingredients to conduct some kind of chicken noodle soup with a twist. If they didn't have it? all well , it'll all turn out the same. he boiled a pot , gathered the ingredients into one and got to work, focused. that is , until someone interrupts him just as he was going to dump a shitload of salt into the pot as the cookbook said— and then he peered again— shit. so, he wasn't exactly good with numbers. got slightly confused when it came to fractions and shit but hey, he was going to try his luck and hope it turned out decent. he was enjoying himself. now he was slightly offended, moreso mortified. "I can manage." there had to be one of those measuring spoons somewhere; the kind his mom used. he surfed through kitchen drawers and cupboards. nothing.
defeated , he looked at the girl, gestures for her to do her magic. "just don't ruin it," he adds. he doesn't want eddie to kill him for putting any of this shit to waste. now that he thinks about it, he doesn't think he seen her around before , but whatever. newcomers popped up from god-knows-where around here. it wasn't any of his business. "rory, by the way." might as well be polite. she was offering to help, much to his discretion.
but his mother had. besides being a herbalist, she was a pretty spectacular cook. sometimes rory thought she was just about good at damn near everything. rory used to be able to help, and he enjoyed it to an extent, but anything he learned he didn't really absorb. " just a little bit of this spice, rory." "here's this butter , rory." and he'd listen , feeling accomplished. maybe he could be a cook someday , although the notion didn't last long. his mom belonged in the kitchen , his father lectured , but not him. fair enough. but with his dad gone , maybe he didn't have to fall victim to that toxic ideology; maybe he could use it to his advantage. the good-looking shit in the cookbook motivated him.
so , he got to work. got the necessary ingredients to conduct some kind of chicken noodle soup with a twist. If they didn't have it? all well , it'll all turn out the same. he boiled a pot , gathered the ingredients into one and got to work, focused. that is , until someone interrupts him just as he was going to dump a shitload of salt into the pot as the cookbook said— and then he peered again— shit. so, he wasn't exactly good with numbers. got slightly confused when it came to fractions and shit but hey, he was going to try his luck and hope it turned out decent. he was enjoying himself. now he was slightly offended, moreso mortified. "I can manage." there had to be one of those measuring spoons somewhere; the kind his mom used. he surfed through kitchen drawers and cupboards. nothing.
defeated , he looked at the girl, gestures for her to do her magic. "just don't ruin it," he adds. he doesn't want eddie to kill him for putting any of this shit to waste. now that he thinks about it, he doesn't think he seen her around before , but whatever. newcomers popped up from god-knows-where around here. it wasn't any of his business. "rory, by the way." might as well be polite. she was offering to help, much to his discretion.