Implied pairing: Sigurd x Citan
Challenge Word: Pumpernickel
Word Count: 500 - 1000 (but I didn't really bother counting.. )
Warnings: None.. except maybe bad cooking
This sort of thing were most generally known as the 'cooking expirement of death' in the Ricdeau-Harcourt household. And with good reason. It was a generally accepted fact that dear Hyuga could not cook his way out of a paper bag.. That did not stop him from trying though. In fact he was almost dogged in his determination to set out -something- or other that was edible. These nights did not bode well for Sigurd and Midori. Both themselves and their individual palates
How someone who was a known genius could continually screw with the evening meal was beyond them. It wasn't just the taste, it was -everything-. It was the consistancy, it was the way that the offending piece of inedible (what looked like wall art but what was really supposed to be roast turkey) was shaped, it even leaked out in the pungent smell that would fill the kitchen with merciless glee.
Midori was flopped out on the couch in the living room the afternoon before the offending mean was to be served. Her nose buried in a book. She glanced up when Sigurd came through the door and she sighed softly, her large brown eyes very expressive for a 8 year old, the type of eyes that rolled exasperatedly at times. Sigurd strode in from and saw his adopted daughter laying there and then likewise heard strange noises coming from the kitchen.
"It's Hyu's cooking day, isn't it?" Sigurd said almost darkly as he hung up his halfcoat on the little hook where all coats and sundry were to go.
"Aye, he bought a bread machine while he was in town today." Midori tried to say calmly but it came out as something that nearly bordered on a whimper.
"Dear gods, no." A look that was simply.. well horrified mirrored itself on Sigurd's face. An expression that was usually -static- when it came to these sort of whims that Hyuga would adopt. "Doesn't he realize by now that he will -never- learn how to cook?"
"Nah, I think that memo got caught up in the system.." Midori said rather deadpan.
"Guess I better go in there and make sure he doesn't -hurt- himself." Sigurd said as he strode almost purposely toward the saloon style double doors that seperated the kitchen from the living room. With trepidition he put his hand on the swing doors and then lightly pushed is way through. Peeking in to the kitchen, his good eye scanning the parameter of the kitchen before finally he alighted on Hyuga standing there at the island counter.
To say that the kitchen looked like Shevat -after- it crashed into the snowfields would of been a kind way of putting it. Try adding bits and pieces of deus-esque dough bits and you probably would of been more on the mark. But there Hyuga was, elbow deep in dough that he was trying to knead while a generous ammount of rye flour coated his usually immaculate green japanned silk shirt. And had it been any other situation, Sigurd would of thought that the molasses smudge on Hyuga's nose was rather cute.
It was hard though when you -knew- that at this very moment Hyuga had in his grasp a potential weapon of mass destruction i.e anything that he -tried- to prepare.
"Hyu, what the -hell- are you doing?" Sigurd said as he finally stepped all in the way into the kitchen though he kept himself close to the door so that he could make a quick getaway if anything decided to spontaneously combust.
Hyuga glanced up from his kneading, a lock of raven hair falling disheveled into his brown eyes. Brown eyes that could hardly be seen because of the random dots of flour that perched on those tiny lenses. And then he smiled a fairly good natured little grin. "I am cooking, Sigurd."
"I think that's debatable.. but -what- are you making?" Sigurd's Fatima blue eye flickered over to the counter where the scene of the crime was right now being set.
"Pumpernickle bread.." Hyuga said as he continued to knead the dough.
"Gods Hyu, you don't even know how to make -regular- bread. What makes you think you can pull off this?" Sigurd said, allowing a trace of amusement to steal into his voice. He carefully schooled it of course because he never really liked to hurt Hyuga's feelings in these sorts of things. The former Water Element and Guardian Angel of Solaris had quite the sore spot when it came to his cooking abilities.
"Neccesity is the mother of invention." Hyuga chirped as he added a generous dollop of mollasses to the dough and then started working in the sticky substance.
"I would feel a bit safer if you didn't compare the kitchen to your workshop. Not to mention it is not -neccessary- that you cook tonight. Midori and I have suitable skills." Sigurd finally dared enough to walk over to the island, making sure to keep himself far away from the flour excrements.
"But I -want- to cook for you, Sigurd love."
"Translation, you want to -kill- us." Sigurd teased as he picked up the recipe book and then shook it out in order to get all the excess white powder off of it and then read over the recipe. What started out as amusement though quickly turned to puzzlement as he read over the instructions.
"Ummmm Hyu.. did you know.. that well, you don't -have- to knead this. The machine does it for you." Sigrud said a bit uncertainly as he slowly dangled the book in front of Hyuga's eyes. Hyuga swatted at the book though and sighed almost dramatically as he extricated his hands from the dough long enough so that he could push his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
"Sigurd. This is -my- cooking project, not yours. So if you could go and do something constructive, then I would appreciate it." Hyuga said almost huffily as he leaned over to brush his lips over Sigurd's in a kiss that despite his testiness was still sweet. Perhaps it was the molasses.
"Alright Hyu.. but don't say I didn't warn you." Sigurd said as he licked his lips lightly and then walked back toward the entrance to the kitchen. Once his back was turned toward Hyuga, he made a face that showed exactly -how- much he was looking forward to tonight's evening meal.
Once Sigurd opened the double doors and came out, Midori's blonde curls peeked up from the couch with those inquisitive eyes. "Any hope?" Midori inquired hopefully as she shut the book quite firmly.
"Nah, he's making pumpernickel bread. I didn't dare ask what the smell coming from the oven. To assume that it was dead would be saying too much." Sigurd said dryly.
"I'll order the chinese food, you just make sure your in my room after dinner." Midori said with a slight snicker, her brown eyes dancing.
"You've got yourself a date, Miss Ricdeau. I am sure I'll need it after that Pumpernickel.."