Yorkshire Pudding and Youngbloods
Thanks to the docksides lightening up a bit, he'd had more of a chance lately to try and get back to cooking. Honestly, he hadn't been sure after his first half-asleep breakfast venture -- crying as reality hits like a ton of bricks generally doesn't do much for desire to be creative.
That had passed though and his mind had at least gotten back a semblance of the will.
And the courage to do his job.
He had explored the docks and surrounding areas for a while, even running into Cinder briefly. He conversed as well as he could and when they bid farewell, Renne had gone in search of a raw mineral called keracite.
Half-a-day and he had found nothing yet. So he had returned home but not empty handed.
He came back with a recipe to try.
And this day, he tried his hand at it.
It took a while for preparation -- first-tme recipes could hang in the proverbial balance so easily -- but he got through it. The bread, the gravy and even a few giblets had been made, then blended in the right consistency.
It was when it was all put into the potbelly that it began to smell -- and smell good at that.
-------------------
It was now a day later and he'd tried a little of this stuff he'd made called Yorkshire Pudding. It wasn't that bad at all and he ended up smiling at his creation. Leaving plenty for Archie and anyone else who might be interested, Renne left a brief note on the kitchen counter.
'Chee,
I have not heard you in a while. I hope you are well. I make a thing called Pudding of Yorkshire if you wish to try some. I hope I did it correctly. It was my first time trying to make it. Please eat and if you wish anything of me, I am nearby.
I have curiosity. I hear strange sounds within Home sometimes. Do you know what these sounds are?
I think the proper words are "Take care".
-Renne
The note had been left in his raised ink like all his other writings and as he'd finished and signed it, the imp thought it over. The words were meant as perhaps hope. Encouragement for sure and nothing patronising or demeaning. Just words of a friend. Thus, he almost-smiled as he put it down and crawled off to visit the little Welsh pony he'd named "Tempest".
Thanks to the docksides lightening up a bit, he'd had more of a chance lately to try and get back to cooking. Honestly, he hadn't been sure after his first half-asleep breakfast venture -- crying as reality hits like a ton of bricks generally doesn't do much for desire to be creative.
That had passed though and his mind had at least gotten back a semblance of the will.
And the courage to do his job.
He had explored the docks and surrounding areas for a while, even running into Cinder briefly. He conversed as well as he could and when they bid farewell, Renne had gone in search of a raw mineral called keracite.
Half-a-day and he had found nothing yet. So he had returned home but not empty handed.
He came back with a recipe to try.
And this day, he tried his hand at it.
It took a while for preparation -- first-tme recipes could hang in the proverbial balance so easily -- but he got through it. The bread, the gravy and even a few giblets had been made, then blended in the right consistency.
It was when it was all put into the potbelly that it began to smell -- and smell good at that.
-------------------
It was now a day later and he'd tried a little of this stuff he'd made called Yorkshire Pudding. It wasn't that bad at all and he ended up smiling at his creation. Leaving plenty for Archie and anyone else who might be interested, Renne left a brief note on the kitchen counter.
'Chee,
I have not heard you in a while. I hope you are well. I make a thing called Pudding of Yorkshire if you wish to try some. I hope I did it correctly. It was my first time trying to make it. Please eat and if you wish anything of me, I am nearby.
I have curiosity. I hear strange sounds within Home sometimes. Do you know what these sounds are?
I think the proper words are "Take care".
-Renne
The note had been left in his raised ink like all his other writings and as he'd finished and signed it, the imp thought it over. The words were meant as perhaps hope. Encouragement for sure and nothing patronising or demeaning. Just words of a friend. Thus, he almost-smiled as he put it down and crawled off to visit the little Welsh pony he'd named "Tempest".