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neutral_omens2006-07-30 05:15 pm
deatheater-cook.livejournal.com) wrote in neutral_omens2006-07-30 05:15 pm
(no subject)
Time: Late afternoon, 25 July 2000
Place: The Manor Grounds
Status: Public
Summary: The Barbecue
Severus had prepared for this extensively, had done research as soon as he was told that he needed to provide food for a ‘barbecue’. Well, that was American, wasn’t it? A newly-published book titled The Great American Barbecue and Grilling Manual was his starting point. (The words ‘great’ and ‘American’ did not belong in the same sentence, although perhaps he might be mistaken, never having been to America.) After learning that this was not merely an American cuisine but a regional (Southern) American cuisine, he began to specialise. Having found a butcher to bring a pig and something to cook it over (yes, the whole pig, you dolt) he learned that it could have been done with a goat as it had been in the Caribbean, and with less effort.
Having put forth effort already, he pushed ahead. The intensive labour required to prepare food by the slow ‘barbecue’ method had been provided by Remus Lupin, although he surely did not understand when he volunteered exactly what it was he’d be doing. The butcher himself was also interested and so Snape had ‘invited’ him to come and help. Work for the day, eat. Bring your family with you and they can help and eat also. Only if they help. Severus’ labour shortage crisis solved.
The whole concept of barbecue sauce was confusing, so he’d made three kinds. Two for public consumption—a South Carolina style with mustard, vinegar and black pepper that seemed reasonable enough. Kansas City style that was thick, red-brown, and gloppy, made with a tomato base and molasses. The third was for Crowley, a Texas-style sauce amusingly named ‘Devil’s Spit’ made from a tomato base with cumin and hot chiles. These American chiles being unavailable, he procured an Oriental variety that were infinitely hotter. Let him call that bland.
Chicken would go on, although not for as long as the blasted pig, and sausages for the unadventurous. The Brunswick Stew might end up in the restaurant under ‘American Cuisine’. It was simple enough, with a tomato base, lima beans (or any beans), corn, other vegetables, and meat. Traditionally rabbit or squirrel but he could use leftover pork, chicken, beef or even cut-up sausages. Basically, a fine way to rid himself of leftover almost anything and he revised his opinion of American ingenuity. The true test would be Crowley’s opinion. If he disapproved, it was definitely going on the menu.
Okra and sweet potatoes proved impossible to procure. Field greens—of the turnip variety—were simple enough to cook in some of the extra pig fat. Black-eyed peas, which looked an awful lot like beans, with bacon. He made carrots in sauce of butter and brown sugar that seemed terribly French, but he simply shrugged. There would be green peas—not mushy, unfortunately, which would have made Crowley complain and Snape smile, a dish of fried apples that was a side dish, apparently popular with pork, and potato salad. It was a source of annoyance that the recipe he found for this called for red potatoes that did not need to be peeled. How brilliant would it have been to set Lupin to peeling potatoes for his own requested potato salad?
Cornbread was simple enough to make, although all the different names and types confused him. The concept of beaten biscuits was repulsive so he settled on cheddar biscuits instead. American biscuits, he found, were a bread roll that seemed a bizarre combination of bap, scone, and crumpet. But they were a Southern staple and very simple to make. Devilled eggs—also simple, seemingly French—were another extra dish along with pickles of varied types. He refused to make grits—porridge was bad enough at breakfast and he would certainly not serve it in any other time.
Cold tea, sweet, with or without lemon was also a disgusting concept. Lemonade, if people wished to drink it. Lupin had to deal with squeezing the lemons, too. He had procured some Bourbon and Belial would, he imagined, not object if any leftover made its way to the bar. Mint juleps required it. Mint grew in the garden and sugar was a staple.
Having no sweet potatoes with which to make sweet potato pie, which seemed unpleasant anyway, he went with pecan pie. It was too sweet, but someone would eat it. Pound cake with whipped cream (another job for Lupin) and blackberry cobbler, which was enough like local fare for people to be willing to eat it. If he could have found watermelon, that would have been amusing. But messy, so just as well he hadn’t found it.
All in all, it was a great effort on his part, slave labour or no, and people had better appreciate it else he would be extremely put out.
"Let Wensleydale handle things in the kitchen, Lupin. The butcher will take care of serving the meat. You can clear plates and make sure the dishes are all filled." He had planned this. "The butcher's wife can help with drinks. The children have been disposed of."
Out of the way, nothing more sinister. Eating now, washing dishes later. Work for food, and a good trade on his part.
"Keep an eye on the biscuits, Wensleydale, and see that they don't burn. And make sure there is plenty of ice."
He turned.
"No, mint juleps are not sweets, get away from me, you silly child." Weren't they supposed to be on the far side of the lawn, eating their supper?
Attention Edit: As of this point the Devil's Spit sauce is no longer on the serving table but in Snape's hands, doled out by him. Please do not have your character get into it.
Place: The Manor Grounds
Status: Public
Summary: The Barbecue
Severus had prepared for this extensively, had done research as soon as he was told that he needed to provide food for a ‘barbecue’. Well, that was American, wasn’t it? A newly-published book titled The Great American Barbecue and Grilling Manual was his starting point. (The words ‘great’ and ‘American’ did not belong in the same sentence, although perhaps he might be mistaken, never having been to America.) After learning that this was not merely an American cuisine but a regional (Southern) American cuisine, he began to specialise. Having found a butcher to bring a pig and something to cook it over (yes, the whole pig, you dolt) he learned that it could have been done with a goat as it had been in the Caribbean, and with less effort.
Having put forth effort already, he pushed ahead. The intensive labour required to prepare food by the slow ‘barbecue’ method had been provided by Remus Lupin, although he surely did not understand when he volunteered exactly what it was he’d be doing. The butcher himself was also interested and so Snape had ‘invited’ him to come and help. Work for the day, eat. Bring your family with you and they can help and eat also. Only if they help. Severus’ labour shortage crisis solved.
The whole concept of barbecue sauce was confusing, so he’d made three kinds. Two for public consumption—a South Carolina style with mustard, vinegar and black pepper that seemed reasonable enough. Kansas City style that was thick, red-brown, and gloppy, made with a tomato base and molasses. The third was for Crowley, a Texas-style sauce amusingly named ‘Devil’s Spit’ made from a tomato base with cumin and hot chiles. These American chiles being unavailable, he procured an Oriental variety that were infinitely hotter. Let him call that bland.
Chicken would go on, although not for as long as the blasted pig, and sausages for the unadventurous. The Brunswick Stew might end up in the restaurant under ‘American Cuisine’. It was simple enough, with a tomato base, lima beans (or any beans), corn, other vegetables, and meat. Traditionally rabbit or squirrel but he could use leftover pork, chicken, beef or even cut-up sausages. Basically, a fine way to rid himself of leftover almost anything and he revised his opinion of American ingenuity. The true test would be Crowley’s opinion. If he disapproved, it was definitely going on the menu.
Okra and sweet potatoes proved impossible to procure. Field greens—of the turnip variety—were simple enough to cook in some of the extra pig fat. Black-eyed peas, which looked an awful lot like beans, with bacon. He made carrots in sauce of butter and brown sugar that seemed terribly French, but he simply shrugged. There would be green peas—not mushy, unfortunately, which would have made Crowley complain and Snape smile, a dish of fried apples that was a side dish, apparently popular with pork, and potato salad. It was a source of annoyance that the recipe he found for this called for red potatoes that did not need to be peeled. How brilliant would it have been to set Lupin to peeling potatoes for his own requested potato salad?
Cornbread was simple enough to make, although all the different names and types confused him. The concept of beaten biscuits was repulsive so he settled on cheddar biscuits instead. American biscuits, he found, were a bread roll that seemed a bizarre combination of bap, scone, and crumpet. But they were a Southern staple and very simple to make. Devilled eggs—also simple, seemingly French—were another extra dish along with pickles of varied types. He refused to make grits—porridge was bad enough at breakfast and he would certainly not serve it in any other time.
Cold tea, sweet, with or without lemon was also a disgusting concept. Lemonade, if people wished to drink it. Lupin had to deal with squeezing the lemons, too. He had procured some Bourbon and Belial would, he imagined, not object if any leftover made its way to the bar. Mint juleps required it. Mint grew in the garden and sugar was a staple.
Having no sweet potatoes with which to make sweet potato pie, which seemed unpleasant anyway, he went with pecan pie. It was too sweet, but someone would eat it. Pound cake with whipped cream (another job for Lupin) and blackberry cobbler, which was enough like local fare for people to be willing to eat it. If he could have found watermelon, that would have been amusing. But messy, so just as well he hadn’t found it.
All in all, it was a great effort on his part, slave labour or no, and people had better appreciate it else he would be extremely put out.
"Let Wensleydale handle things in the kitchen, Lupin. The butcher will take care of serving the meat. You can clear plates and make sure the dishes are all filled." He had planned this. "The butcher's wife can help with drinks. The children have been disposed of."
Out of the way, nothing more sinister. Eating now, washing dishes later. Work for food, and a good trade on his part.
"Keep an eye on the biscuits, Wensleydale, and see that they don't burn. And make sure there is plenty of ice."
He turned.
"No, mint juleps are not sweets, get away from me, you silly child." Weren't they supposed to be on the far side of the lawn, eating their supper?
Attention Edit: As of this point the Devil's Spit sauce is no longer on the serving table but in Snape's hands, doled out by him. Please do not have your character get into it.
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She smirked right back at him. If that was the game they were playing, she could play it just as well as him. "True, with a sword. But when was the last time you shot a recurved bow, hm?"
"But, as you say, seems we both need chance to work off excess energy - I'm quite happy for you to join me training, especially for fencing and sword-fighting. There's only so far you can get practising the swings and blocks without matching them to something."
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It was only after most of it was over did he turn his head from his plate of chicken and peas (unfortunately, there were no jelly babies) and catch sight of Pepper, lying on the ground, a new blond man he recognized as Adam from Uriel's picture, and War turning away.
And then he felt something surprising. Sympathy. Sympathy for her, the fierce red-head, as she scanned the crowd. Sympathy for her as she tried to look as tough and warrior-like as ever. Sympathy as he saw vulnerability in her.
He struggled with himself for a moment, then decided what the heck; he'd just become official allies with a demon. He might as well go whole-hog by attempting to befriend the woman who had shot at him only yesterday.
He walked over to her, hands in his pockets. "Sword-fighting?" he asked. He smiled a little. "Mind if I join? I could use some practice."
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"But," she continued, in a considered tone, "As far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to join me if you want to learn and practice. That is" - she paused, and glanced over to the blond demon standing next to her - "as long as Mictain doesn't mind?"
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He flashed her a grin. "Wait for Christmas 2005 to find out exactly what I mean."*
He smiled brightly at the demon. "Oh, Mickey won't mind, will you?" He put an arm around the demon's shoulders, which was actually harder than he'd anticipated. Mictain was tall.
____
* The Christmas Invasion.
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In answer to Mictain's earlier question, she said, "It's been a few days since I shot a recurved. But I was using my longbows" - she gestured at them leaning against the Manor wall - "just beforeI came over here."
Stooping to pick up her daggers, she continued, "And pot-kettle, Mictain. As you said - it'll do us both good to have a training - or sparring partner."
Remembering the Doctor, she said, "He's right, you know. He and I are the best, as far as I can tell." She smirked. "You'll get an excellent education at our hands, but it'll hurt. Actually, if it doesn't, you're not trying hard enough. I'm guessing you don't have any weapons of your own - you can borrow some of mine."
An interesting thought popped into her mind. "Have we ever played best-swordsperson, Mictain?" she asked. She wasn't going to start off catching up with the demon by saying thank you for the compliment.
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He shook his head. "I have some weapons," he said, "but not much in the way of swords and longbows. Actually, wait a moment, I think I've still got Robin's in there somewhere..." He paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I should probably give that back to him."
He watched the sky for a bit, then shrugged and returned to the present day. He smiled at War and Mictain. "Most of my weapons don't harm, and they don't take much skill to use. And the screwdriver, just to be clear," he pulled it out of his pocket, "is not a weapon."
It whirred blue for a bit, before he returned it to his pocket in case Loki saw and went crazy again.
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He wasn't sure how to feel as he saw War picking up her knives. Her hair reminded him of Raphael, while her choice of weapons at the moment was a reminder of Uriel. He was pretty sure he knew how he felt about those two beings, but he didn't want any of those feelings mixed with War.
"Can't say I have," he said in response to War's question. "I've never had to. Nobody has ever questioned my position as the best -- well, nobody after Lucifer, at least. Why so? Would you care to give it a try?”
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She had noticed, out of the corner of her eye, the look Mictain gave her as she picked up the knives, and suddenly realised. Who else do I know in the Manor who carries knives... I ought to mention it to him, maybe. But I'll keep that conversation just between the two of us.
She smirked at him instead. "No one may have questioned it, but you just said "Ruby here is probably even better." I think it might set both our minds at rest to find out - after all, we'd only spend time wondering about who'd come out top, otherwise!"
She grinned, then said soberly, "Probably best to use practice swords though. And get a referee in, if we're doing it properly?"
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He grinned as he said that, though, to show he was joking. Besides, it was very difficult to do the TARDIS any lasting harm. During the time he had known her she had been shot at by worse things than bullets, attacked by creatures too strange and horrible to describe, thrown down cliffs and holes, and, on several occasions, blown up.
"I'll referee," the Doctor volunteered. "I know the rules." Not very well, admittedly, and he thought some of them were quite stupid. Take fencing. The stance made most participants look very 'happy'...
He glanced at War. "You can also use non-lethal weapons," he said casually. "Lasers and stun guns and things."
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Her ears had pricked up at the Doctor's last words, though, and she turned her attnetion back to him. "I've never really had much experience with them - they haven't been developed particularly well or reliably yet, certainly not well enough for me to want to collect them. They could be used in the same way, to defuse a situation though..." she trailed off. She was an excellent fighter, but she was also the epitome of warfare, with all the tactics and strategy that entailed.
"Why do you mention it, though? Have you seen them used effectively when you've time travelled?" She couldn't keep the excited curiousity out of her voice.
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At Doctor’s suggestion, he shrugged. “I see nothing wrong with you being a referee,” he said. “Out of all the other people in the Manor who actually know the rules you’re probably the only one who could be impartial. Most people here really don’t like me, you see.”
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He grinned widely. "Referee Doctor it is!" he said. "I'll need to find my little whistle, I think I left it in my other coat...
"Come off it, Mic!" he scoffed. "I like you, and I'm sure Ruby does too."
To prove his point, he hugged Mictain tightly. A part of him said hugging demons probably wasn't a good idea, but it was the part that said most things weren't good ideas, and so he ignored it, as per usual.
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She turned orange eyes, glowing with excitement, onto the Doctor. "Would you really? When's it from? Can you show me how to use it? How does it...uhm, I mean, thank you!" she finished, with a slightly sheepish grin at her over-excited babbling.
Turning to Mictain, she said, "'Course I like you. Think I'd have let you stay in my room, or offered to train with you, if I didn't? And you're probably right - any difference in our fighting skill is almost certainly only minimal. Don't forget I've been working too - and it doesn't always involves me fighting personally. It'll be interesting to see on whose side the advantage falls though. But I'll tell you this much: if you beat me, you owe me a drink!"
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“Look, next time give some warning, okay?” he said, trying not to show his fangs any more than necessary. “I tend to react rather violently when people touch me unexpectedly. Also, surprise hugs remind me of an ex-friend of mine I’d rather not be reminded of that way.”
He’d have to do something about this. At the very least he should find out what Uriel thought of him. It wouldn’t do for him to freeze every time somebody did something that reminded him of Uriel. It’d be easier if he knew what to expect from the angel should he run into him.
“And Ruby,” he then said, “I promise you, if I do win, I’ll buy you any drink you’d ever want.” He smirked, fangs flashing. “Provided you’ll trust a demon to keep his word, of course.” He had no intention to betray his word, of course. Not only did he want to keep what few allies he had, but also it wouldn’t do to try to cheat a woman who could use about any weapon ever invented and enjoy it.
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He held his hands up to Mictain, mostly a gesture of surrender. "Okay," the Doctor said, "no more hugging without warning." Unless he forgot himself. He had a tendency to hug people unexpectedly when excited and/or hyper-actively happy. He'd just have to try and remember not to include Mictain in those unplanned ecstatic embraces. (He commended himself for the alliteration there.)
He turned to War. "Do you want me to go and get the laser gun now?" he asked. "It's in the TARDIS. Won't be long..."
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"And I probably wouldn't trust just any demon, no. But I seem to remember we had a conversation about this once before, so I'll trust you to keep your word." War's tone was light-hearted, but the look in her eyes was level and serious.
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He waved a hand at Mictain and War, and turned from the gathering to head back into the lobby. It was silent now, without Uriel at the desk. He crossed over to the TARDIS, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Now, where was it...?
The TARDIS asked him if he thought it was a good idea, giving her a more advanced weapon.
He replied of course it was, as he pushed some old switchboards out of the way. It was a more advanced weapon, therefore it wasn't as primitive or harmful as bullets. Anyway, it wasn't as if he was giving her a sonic blaster.
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"I'm sorry if the daggers brought up bad memories," she said, briskly, but not unkindly. "But I've always used them, even when I've not been carrying other weapons."
She looked at him searchingly. "How are you?" she asked seriously.
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He looked at Doctor’s departing back for a moment, then again looked at War. “I’m as well as I can be expected to be, given that in the last half a year I’ve Fallen, got kicked out of the Manor, faced Lucifer, established some kind of a position in Hell, reunited with Raphael twice, been left by Raphael twice, got very close to death and been forced to reconsider my moralities. Probably even better. I feel betrayed, angry, lonely, vengeful, and confused, and I’m trying my best to behave nicely no matter what. The next time Lucifer gets me into his hands he might not let me go.”
His red eyes flashed. “How did you expected me to be, then?”
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She sighed. "I haven't been through anything like all of that, so I'm not going to say to you I understand - it wouldn't mean anything, and you wouldn't believe me. I respect you too much for that. I do, however, hope that I can help, or at least not hinder. I may be War, and able to start conflicts just by blinking, but it doesn't mean I'm out to kill everyone I meet." Her mouth twisted wryly. "Especially not after this afternoon."
Her mind suddenly made a connection. "Oh - Mictain - you might want to be prepared for Uriel to be... not quite as you remember. Just a heads-up."
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Then, he frowned. “Not as I remember? What do you mean? Is he no more a stuck-up bastard with serious mental issues who claims to be genderless yet keeps snogging with Pestilence in shadowy corners when he thinks nobody else is around?”
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She looked at him again. "I don't think I could ever understand, no. But I do believe that you didn't deserve to be treated like that."
She chuckled at his frown. "Oh, no, I think you'll find Uriel rather different. I can't comment on the mental issues, but as for gend - snogging with Pestilence? What?" she half shrieked, in shock and surprise, as the latter part of what the demon had said sunk in.
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"I was walking along a corridor one night, before I got kicked out," he said, deciding a simple explanation might be the best way to deal with the situation. "I almost stumbled over them. They were standing in the shadows, making out like there was no tomorrow, and I really don't think Uriel wasn't making an effort. They both seemed to quite enjoy it, too."
He shrugged. "From their behaviour when I startled them I figured they were quite serious about it, too. Pestilence was ready to let me bash his face in just to protect Uriel's honour. Note this, I wasn't even threatening to hurt Uriel, I just called him with some not-so-endearing names, and he was about to start a fight. Pestilence. Start a fight. With me. Either he really was serious about his love, or he was in desperate need of a new corporation."
He shrugged, a bit uneasy as he recalled the events so long ago. "Your dear colleague even claimed to be willing to die for his angel, go figure. I imagined they'd have come out by now."
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At her last comment, he snorted. "You're telling me. It doesn't matter how perfect your moves are if you don't time -- or aim -- them right. Or your attacks, as the case may be." It may not have been the kindest thing to say, but he had a reputation to keep. Besides, he was referring to himself just as well as to her.