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

[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.

[greenjacketed]

Easy.

[ sharpe tugs a short-bladed knife from his uniform's belt and grabs for the game fowl hanging in the kitchen's corner.

who knows where the hell this knife's been. ]

[not_a_troll]

[Loki waves his hands in a hurried way.]

No, no, no. We need to pluck it first. The blood will make it unnecesary messy and gross.

[He picks the pheasant up.]

I pluck, you gut. This is a thing called 'team work'. Where we operate as a team to prepare the most magical pheasant for your maiden of great mystery.

[greenjacketed]

[ he relinquishes the pheasant with such a sulk. ]

I know what team work is, you brat.

[not_a_troll]

My name is Loki, not brat.

[And he notices that sulky undertone and he finds it rather funny, really.

Finally Loki shuffles towards the counter and starts to pluck the bird.]

Clean the knive. You do not want to have your maiden take run for the lavatory after her first bite.

[greenjacketed]

The blade's clean! [ he grumbles. ] Every soldier knows you clean your steel of blood as soon as you possibly can, or else the metal pits.

[ so he holds the knife out for loki's inspection. ] Tidy, eh?

[ don't ask whose blood's been on this blade. ]

[not_a_troll]

Look, that is the difference between us, Sharpe. I am not a soldier. And therefore I am not familiar with how soldiers treat their knives.

[Loki leans in, inspecting it closely.]

It will do.

[Oh, but he does ask.]

Had there been blood on that blade, then? Non-pheasant blood?

[greenjacketed]

...Aye.

[ perhaps he dare not give any more detail than this. but then his eyes glint and he chooses to have some fun with the pesky child: ] Frog's blood.

[not_a_troll]

Frogs do not mix with pheasants. Second of all, why slaughtering a frog?

[The counter gets slowly covered with feathers as Loki plucks the pheasant with a healthy amount of enthusiasm.]

You have odd habits, Sharpe.

[greenjacketed]

...It's my job, en't it?

[not_a_troll]

The frogs or your habits? Because if being a soldier is your job, habits and frogs should be your hobby.

[Loki nods shortly to himself, deeming himself right about this.]

Ah and...ta-dah. Plucked and ready. I leave the gross task of gutting and chopping to you.

[And he presents Sharpe a perfectly plucked pheasant.]