SHARPE'S MEAL ⚔ WRITTEN | ACTION

[greenjacketed]

[ after the public relations disaster of his last broadcast, sharpe has since kept his journal under a sort of imprisonment: tied shut with leather straps and stuffed in a cloth sack, that sack being knotted as well. but today he gingerly picks it from its incarceration and flicks through its pages until he settles upon one he likes. and then sharpe picks up his pencil.

he writes three messages. as ever, his handwriting is scrawlish, ill-practised, and riddled with errors. none are filtered, although only the first is intended for community consumption:]

LUCETI -- I need to speak with someone who can cook a des--deecdecent meal. [ ugh this is borderline humiliating someone shoot him and put him out of his misery. ] Frogs need not apply, beecuz I don't want the lot to taste like cheese and garlik.

KATNISS -- I'm coming by before 12. We have our wager to settle.

MISS FAITH LONG -- might a man call on you this afternoon?

-- R. SHARPE

[ OTHERWISE the man can be found staring disconsolately at grocery items. some of these things have never before been seen by eyes such as his. in fact, some of these things look barely edible. sharpe's been in luceti for a year, but he just about never goes to the grocery shop -- not when he has katniss looking after him with her stew. not when he can still shoot his own game. but today brings his boots squarely inside this devil's shop. as he browses, he mutters: ] Bloody hell...

[ LATER, sharpe has taken up a sentry position at the bar in good spirits. he's drinking watered down brandy because he can't afford to get drunk tonight. he's on the lookout for a certain fire-haired giant of a man. ganondorf. for it occurs to sharpe that he doesn't know where he lives, only that he's often seen at the bar. so he waits. ]

Comments

written

[not_a_troll]

I shall provide you a good meal and teach you how to spell. That is what friends are for, yes?

Yes! :-)))

[greenjacketed]

[ OH JESUS BLOODY WEPT NOT YOU AGAIN, BOY. ]

Don't need the thing pro-vide-d [ this word comes stiltingly as he copies it from loki's message above ] I need to know how to cook it.

[ also what the hell are those incomprehensible symbols at the end. dashes? parentheses? a colon? sharpe squints at it. ]

[not_a_troll]

I will provide you with that knowledge as well. I am very generous, you see? Shall I bring my shaken milk machine as well?

[Loki can use the distraction.]

[greenjacketed]

[ oh what the heck. truth be told, the boy seems do to alright in the socializing department. he's way more outgoing than sharpe himself is.

and -- just sometimes -- maybe sharpe is a sucker for spoiling kids.

but he can't give in too easily: ] Does it make a mess? This machine?

[not_a_troll]

This machine is very clean and I never make messes.

[That is only half the truth, the machine is quite clean, it is Loki who makes the mess.]

Where shall we meet? Will you have Skittles? Or should I take these as well?

[greenjacketed]

What? Like the game? [ :| ] Not bloody likely.

[ ... ] Come to Building 2. Billet 9.

[not_a_troll]

A Skittles game? I wish to know all about that! In the meanwhile I shall bring the Skittles that are not a game, yes?

I will be on my way!

[And so Loki closes his journal, pulls a sweater over his tunic and stumbles around to get his boots. First he has to return to Building 5 to get the shaken milk machine and the Skittles and after that he'll be on his way to Building 2.

It takes him a rough thirty minutes and he'll be huffing softly when he arrives at Sharpe's door, knocking impatiently.]

[greenjacketed]

[ company is expected, but sharpe hardly has to do any tidying. his apartment is a dreary and empty place. the front room holds only a simple table and three simple wooden chairs. his customary green uniform jacket is tossed over the back of one of those chairs, leaving the major in his linen shirt and green trousers.

the only thing that could even remotely pass as décor is a pole topped by a golden eagle that rests on the mantle. otherwise, his shelves are bare but for a few plates and utensils. a tin of tea. a folded great coat. in the far corner, his rifle and sword lean against the wall.

sharpe answers the door with a semi-scowl. ] Loki. [ he states; he does not ask. and he takes a moment to appraise the boy before he steps aside to let him in. ]

[not_a_troll]

Major Sharpe.

[Loki answers in the same tone Sharpe has used to when saying his name but there is not scowl on his face. He smiles warmly instead and shows the other the shaken milk machine.]

Gander upon this! Great shaken milk shall be made. I also brought skittles. May I enter?

[greenjacketed]

...Who the hell wants to shake milk? [ he asks, even as he invites the boy inside. sharpe uses the heel of his boot to shut the door. ]

[not_a_troll]

[Loki looks around himself, noticing how sober the apartment looks. Just the basics. But then again, Sharpe did not need frills either. Loki is not very surprised.]

I do. We both do, I promise.

[He puts the machine on the table.]

Now, where shall we start? Cooking? Or the principles on writing words the right way? I am a deity. I am all-knowing, you know.

[greenjacketed]

[ the boy looks younger in person. as such, sharpe's prickly exterior softens minutely. give the child a break, he tells himself. even as he understands that he's seen boys as young as loki get skewered on the battlefield.

sharpe leans over the table and touches a curious fingertip to this shaken milk machine. ]

Cooking. [ that's easy enough. ] People understand my words well enough.

[not_a_troll]

[Loki looks around himself before he notices that Sharpe is touching the shaken milk machine in a most curious way.]

It is quite the contraption. Midgardian technology never ceases to amaze me. Ben gave it to me during Yuletide.

[There's a fond smile around his lips for a second before he nods. Cooking!]

Aye! What is it you wish to cook?

[greenjacketed]

Pheasant. It's decent enough, right? A woman can't complain about a well-hunted pheasant.

[not_a_troll]

A pheasant for a maiden? Who is the lucky maiden? It might be important to adorn it with hearts and other maiden-like things. Do you have roses as well?

[greenjacketed]

...You don't know a bloody thing about cooking, do you?

[not_a_troll]

I do.

[Loki rolls his eyes slightly.]

Why do people always presume I'm lying?

I know how to cook, Sharpe, sir. We can roast the pheasant or grill it. We can also cook it shortly and then cut it up to pieces to make a stew.

I am a self-made man.

[Or something like that...]

[greenjacketed]

Jesus wept, lad. I didn't presume you was lying until you started going on about hearts and roses on the bloody meat. Self-bloody-made man or not.

[not_a_troll]

You should give him a handkerchief, you see? It might stop him from weeping.

[Loki is dead serious about this.]

Well, one woos a maiden with roses and hearts. It could be a perfect combination with the great gift of meat. Like a two-in-one combo.

[greenjacketed]

Trust me. I've wooed no maidens with roses and hearts. [ actually, they tend to just eventually find their way to his bed. ]

[not_a_troll]

You did not?

[Loki raises his eyebrows briefly before he looks around Sharpe's apartment, looking for the pheasant.]

Apparently there are more ways to make them like you. A lot of blingy jewelry can help too. But...shall we cook?

[greenjacketed]

It's down the hall -- [ for he assumes loki is looking for the bird ] -- in the great kitchen. Though, I'm not sure if I should let you anywhere bloody near it yet.

[not_a_troll]

Have some faith in me, Sharpe.

[The look on Loki's face is a mock worried one.]

Did you pluck the bird already?

[Loki makes his way towards the door and gestures Sharpe to follow him. After all, he's got this!]

[greenjacketed]

...No. Things been freshly shot this morning, hasn't it? Haven't had time to pluck the damn thing.

[ moodily, he follows. ]

[not_a_troll]

[Gross, gross, gross. Despite the grossness that lies ahead Loki trots towards the kitchen to take a look at Sharpe's freshly shot pheasant.]

It is indeed quite...unprepared.

[Well, he has prepared a demon for Volstagg once, a pheasant should not be a problem.]

It needs to lose its head, feet, feathers and intestines.