The sounds coming from the kitchen weren’t exactly cursing, but more things someone would say if they were very pointedly attempting not to curse. It was a familiar voice, and not one she commonly associated with cursing in the kitchen.
Of course, it always helped to be cautious, so she didn’t just waltz into the kitchen, instead poking her head carefully around the corner.
And tried very hard not to laugh.
“Dokugakuji, sir, what are you doing?”
The man looked up at her, covered in flour and holding something that might have been bread, if the loaf had been laced with one of Yaone’s own bombs before being put in the oven.
“I don’t know. But that’s rather the problem,” the man replied somewhat testily.
“Should I instead ask what you were trying to do?” Yaone tried again.
“Bake.”
“Bake?” Yaone tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice. After all, she shouldn’t be surprised. The evidence of what Dokugakuji had been trying to do was right in front of her face. And under her sandals. And on Dokugakuji.
“It seems to be going badly, perhaps I could lend you assistance?”
“You know how to bake?” Dokugakuji asked, not bothering to mask the surprise in his voice.
“No,” Yaone said, “but I know how to mix chemicals. The principles are the same.”
If Doku thought that making bombs and baking didn’t seem anything alike, he didn’t say anything. Not that there was much he could say, seeing that it couldn’t be worse than what he himself had done. He nodded.
“What were you trying to bake?” Yaone asked. It was always best to start with the basics.
“Strawberry muffins.”
Yaone blinked. If the thing in Dokugakuji’s hand was supposed to be muffins, this was worse than she’d thought. Looking around, she grabbed a flour-covered hotpad and gingerly took the horrid-looking mass from the man’s hands. The pan did appear to have been a muffin tin, although the batter had expanded enough that the sides, top, and even part of the bottom had been coated. She briefly thought to ask WHY he was trying to make muffins, except she knew.
They were for Kougaiji . They’d relocated to an inn briefly, for Lirin’s sake, and the man had not only looked his usual levels of exhausted, but downright crushed with the barmaid had told him that they were nearly out of the muffins that the men at the table next to them were extolling the virtues of. They’d received one, which of course Kou had given to Lirin. Yaone herself had thought of the ways she could get him some. He would have been disappointed if she threatened the men who had the muffins, and he would have never accepted if they’d asked the woman to work harder and make more.
So, the knowledge of “why” firmly in hand, Yaone turned her eye to the disaster in her hands.
“You need less, obviously, of whatever you were using to make the batter expand,” she said, and poked at the mass. “And the batter itself needs to be thinner.”
Dokugakuji nodded, and gestured to the table. “This is what I was using.”
Yaone turned an alchemist’s eye to the materials, swiftly comparing their values to the ones she knew from her usual activities. She grabbed a bowl, and began mixing. Dokugakuji watched for a while then, trusting she knew better about these things, set about cleaning up part of the mess he’d made. Eventually the cooks he’d bribed away were going to have to return, and he had a feeling they would not be pleased with the current state of the kitchen. When he’d made a dent in the mess, he sent about slicing strawberries. He was reasonably certain nothing had gone chemically wrong with that step.
Muffins Fit for a Prince 1/3
The sounds coming from the kitchen weren’t exactly cursing, but more things someone would say if they were very pointedly attempting not to curse. It was a familiar voice, and not one she commonly associated with cursing in the kitchen.
Of course, it always helped to be cautious, so she didn’t just waltz into the kitchen, instead poking her head carefully around the corner.
And tried very hard not to laugh.
“Dokugakuji, sir, what are you doing?”
The man looked up at her, covered in flour and holding something that might have been bread, if the loaf had been laced with one of Yaone’s own bombs before being put in the oven.
“I don’t know. But that’s rather the problem,” the man replied somewhat testily.
“Should I instead ask what you were trying to do?” Yaone tried again.
“Bake.”
“Bake?” Yaone tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice. After all, she shouldn’t be surprised. The evidence of what Dokugakuji had been trying to do was right in front of her face. And under her sandals. And on Dokugakuji.
“It seems to be going badly, perhaps I could lend you assistance?”
“You know how to bake?” Dokugakuji asked, not bothering to mask the surprise in his voice.
“No,” Yaone said, “but I know how to mix chemicals. The principles are the same.”
If Doku thought that making bombs and baking didn’t seem anything alike, he didn’t say anything. Not that there was much he could say, seeing that it couldn’t be worse than what he himself had done. He nodded.
“What were you trying to bake?” Yaone asked. It was always best to start with the basics.
“Strawberry muffins.”
Yaone blinked. If the thing in Dokugakuji’s hand was supposed to be muffins, this was worse than she’d thought. Looking around, she grabbed a flour-covered hotpad and gingerly took the horrid-looking mass from the man’s hands. The pan did appear to have been a muffin tin, although the batter had expanded enough that the sides, top, and even part of the bottom had been coated. She briefly thought to ask WHY he was trying to make muffins, except she knew.
They were for Kougaiji . They’d relocated to an inn briefly, for Lirin’s sake, and the man had not only looked his usual levels of exhausted, but downright crushed with the barmaid had told him that they were nearly out of the muffins that the men at the table next to them were extolling the virtues of. They’d received one, which of course Kou had given to Lirin. Yaone herself had thought of the ways she could get him some. He would have been disappointed if she threatened the men who had the muffins, and he would have never accepted if they’d asked the woman to work harder and make more.
So, the knowledge of “why” firmly in hand, Yaone turned her eye to the disaster in her hands.
“You need less, obviously, of whatever you were using to make the batter expand,” she said, and poked at the mass. “And the batter itself needs to be thinner.”
Dokugakuji nodded, and gestured to the table. “This is what I was using.”
Yaone turned an alchemist’s eye to the materials, swiftly comparing their values to the ones she knew from her usual activities. She grabbed a bowl, and began mixing. Dokugakuji watched for a while then, trusting she knew better about these things, set about cleaning up part of the mess he’d made. Eventually the cooks he’d bribed away were going to have to return, and he had a feeling they would not be pleased with the current state of the kitchen. When he’d made a dent in the mess, he sent about slicing strawberries. He was reasonably certain nothing had gone chemically wrong with that step.