It really was amazing the way smells travelled on this boat. Even along here in the infirmary, the aroma of fresh food being roasted had been slowly driving Aidyn insane while she ferretted away the last of the medical supplies that she had roped Cobb into helping her lug back from the city that morning.

So, of course, when that familiarly gruff voice yelled out, "Dinner's ready!", she flung the last of the syringes into a drawer, slammed it shut, and fairly ran up to the galley, dipping her finger into the mash as she skipped past to bestow a huge hug on Cobb with a laugh.

"Tastes good, Grumpy Pants," she grinned up at him, slipping around to grab the mugs out of the lockers behind the stove. "Who'da thunk ya could cook like a girl, huh?"

Humming her usual tuneless melody, she laid out the mugs and grabbed a pitcher of fresh cider, laying it on the table before thumping down into a seat. She looked up at Cobb with an impatient grimace.

"Do I really gotta wait fer everyone ta get here?"

A loud yawn echoed down the hall from the bridge, which was just a short ways away. Evidently, someone had fallen asleep in the pilot's chair, and was woken up by the call for dinner.

Grunting, grumbling, stomach growling, and the like, Brent dropped his feet from the console, shoved up, and started for the door with another loud yawn.

He slipped into the kitchen with a blink, seeing Cobb as their current cook. "Who'dve thunk it? Man c'n cook," he said in an off handed manner to Pol, jerking his thumb toward Cobb.

"Smells good enough, what're we waitin' for, exactly?" he asked as he plopped down into a chair, and leaned back, looking at the gathered company with arched brows.

Sui leaned back against the counter top as the stream of people flooded into the mess hall. Was it really so shocking that he could cook? Folding his arms over his chest, he grinned when his mei mei complimented his cooking, but then said it was like a girl. "Hey, watch it." he narrowed his eyes on her and pointed at her.

Next came the captain, and shortly after, the pilot. He gave them both nods as his arms folded back over his chest. Rolling his eyes as now the captain was following in Aidyn's footsteps of calling him Grumpy Pants. Merely grunting, he watched as they assembled at the table. "I do what I can." he shrugged to the captain's compliment.

When Brent repeated, for the third time that night, the sentiments of the other crew members about how astounding it was that he could cook, Sui threw up his arms. "Really, not s'surprisin', is it?"

And he could hear Cece's screeching from a mile away. He groaned and took his place at the table. The tirade was received with an eye roll and a shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, your kitchen, shoulda had it cleaned afore I got there. Had to wash dishes for an hour before I could see the sink." he knew it was a lie, but he wasn't going to be verbally assaulted without some form of comeback.

Then she insulted his mother's recipe. "It was braised first, ben tian sheng de yi dui rou." What was this? Attacked with a spoon? It clunked on his skull and he brought his hand up to the back of his head and called her the worst name he could think of. "you fei fei de pi yan!"

And a hit to Sui warranted somebody getting punched. Turning to his right, his fist flew. Right for Brent's shoulder.

"Temper, temper, little boy. You don't watch yourself, you'll end up on my bad side!"

A tarnished rag wouldn't be far behind the spoon that'd been chucked out, but due to it's flimsy nature and light weight, it would really land quite harmlessly next to the cursing Sui's feet.

Muffled buzzing about; like a nest of hornets that'd been tapped too many times with a stick. Cecelia didn't bother to speak coherently again. The furious sounds of cleaning and bustling about behind the scenes would keep the cooky far too busy; this night, unfortunately, she would not be joining the Nighthawke crew for their meal. Pride seemed a common conviction among the members onboard, and Cece was no exception.

She disappeared then, quietly, slipping back and forth with a few boxes that chimed and clunked with each step. The cook was above further persecution though, and substituted her vehement outbursting for one last, scathing look towards Sui. Aidyn received a little nod, though not without the smallest quirk of a brow for her bravery; a silent, belated answer to her query of 'being glad for help'. Brent and Pol of course would receive a deeper incline of the head... and possibly the faintest tracery of a smile?

After all, those two hadn't been cleaning their gun in the kitchen.

He grunted loud with the blow that smacked into his shoulder and shot a death glare to Cobb.

"Ben tian sheng de yi dui rou!" he exclaimed with a raised, aggravated voice directed toward the mercenary. He left it at that, hungry, tired, not in the mood to get into any fights, he turned toward the table, then turned toward Cece.

"Now that the zheng qi de gou shi dui is done throwin' a temper tantrum, can we get somethin' t'eat? I don' care which one o'you cooked it, I'm hungry," he nodded firmly, with that sort of 'Yeah!' look about him.

His shoulder rolled lightly, the joint popping as he glanced about, tossing a shrug Chris' way.

"Nah, we were at first, then this here idiot," he said jerking his thumb to Cobb. "Went and threw a hissy fit," then he turned to Pol.

"Alright, cap'n, everyone's here, let's eat."

Sui couldn't help it. A low rumble of laughter that began in the lowest part of his lungs, spilled from his lips. Yes, this was feeling more and more like home all the time. A reproachful look to Aidyn as she scolded him, a grin towards the captain as she took her seat and dark eyes sweeping around the table with a grin for both Chris and Brent. Yes, this was starting to feel like a home.

"Ah, wait." he put his hands out, over the table, before anybody else could dig into the food. "First, we must say grace." The smirk to his lips and the mischievous spark to his eyes were hidden when he lowered his head and took a deep breath.

"Grace."

Lifting his head, he grinned again and reached to start piling potatoes and even a small slice of meat onto his plate. The fact that Sui felt comfortable enough with the people who surrounded him, to voice his own dry sense of humor, was saying a lot. It wasn't something that happened every day.

"If you'll excuse me a moment?" Lifting from the table, he brought his plate up and quickly departed the mess hall. It was easy to find Cece's quarters, from her mumblings and the other sounds that filtered from it.

"Cece, I brought you something to eat." He crouched down at the entrance way to her room. "Sorry I made you angry earlier. Just thought you'd like some time away from the kitchen to be settled, that's all."

Pol grinned at Chris, even as she watched Cobb carry that laden plate towards the crew quarters. She hadn't missed the way the mechanic had tensed during Cobb's 'grace', nor the way his eyes kept flickering back towards the medic, either, but figured it was none of her business until it got out of hand. After all, she wasn't really in a position to start banning relationships on board, was she?

"Well, now, I'll be findin' out all about ya's as we go on," she told Chris through a mouthful - not very ladylike, but that was not an attribute Pol Finch had ever laid claim to. "Right now, though ... the 'hawke's breathin', 'er 'eart's beatin', an' that's all I'm lookin' to 'ave for the time bein'."

A quick look down at her plate, and she realised she was missing - either that, or she'd eaten - the meat she'd put there earlier. So, naturally, her fork whipped over to Brent's plate and nicked his, with a cheerfully innocent smirk in his direction.

All that bubbly fuming that the temperamental cooky had been puttering back and forth with had cooled by now, mostly because all that energy had been put to more productive things. Boxes had been unpacked, utensils and kitchen supplies were a small, neat, organized pile beside her doorway. Old photos had been hung on the wall, little black and white things in plain, black frames.

Yellowing and age could be seen at the corners of some of those photos, though some were younger than others. An elderly man and woman, a boisterous looking trail of children lingering by a maternal looking figure cooking at the stove, the opening of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. On in particular though seemed a bit more precious than the rest, in fact, it was a freestanding photo beside the bed... It contained what could only be deciphered as a much younger and much tinier Cecelia Baker in a loving, close-up squeeze with a finely wrinkled woman with more crows feet than a face, wispy, flyaway white hairs, and a splotch of flour on the side of her wrinkly nose.

Seems the galley mistress had a soft side. Too bad Sui had only seen the hard end of her spoon thus far instead.

Baby blues turned, filled with mild agitation as the merc's voice registered in her brain. "No harm done..." Came her short, clipped response. She'd been sitting on her bed, a small, aged looking book in hand, and a bit of chewed on pencil. Markers of all odds and ends stuck out like so many misshapen tongues from that book, and a particularly fat ribbon was slipped in place before the cook set said book aside and stood.

Arms crossed, she looked down the line of her nose rather questionably at Sui, her lips twisted to the side in weighted expression; she continued though. "... s'cuse my temper, Sui, but it's inherited. As are my thoughts about my kitchen."

Yes, she called her her kitchen already. Then again, that was her job.

Reaching down she plucked up the plate he offered, and slipped a fork out of her back pocket. Stabbing a bite, she popped a bit of the meat and an edge of the potatoes in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. After a quite moment, she swallowed and looked down to Sui once more, motioning to the plate.

"It's not the family's, but it's not the worst... Compliments to your mother." Though it wasn't a true or proper apology, it was the form of one, in a sense. No doubt that was the best Sui was liable to get. The ghost of a smile twitched at Cece's lips after that comment, but it was only for a moment, and barely able to be called a smile at all... More like a smirk.

Without another word, she gave him her back and headed over towards her bed once more, plucking up her book and setting down her plate as if nothing had happened. The pencil scritched and scratched in one hand, and the fork steadily picked with the other, quiet and contented as a mouse. You wouldn't even have thought she'd nearly exploded into a millions bits'n'pieces out of anger earlier.