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

[greenjacketed]

[ what worries sharpe most is he wonders about the fare miss long must be used to. a proper household with proper cooks. he frowns, but doesn't forget to open the door for adele. ]

Plates included. I can't say I've ever entertained before this, miss.

[fleurdesel]

How fortunate that I have entertained far too much. <

[Grander things than a quiet dinner, yes, and needlessly so from her point of view. Something of this size is far more to her liking when it comes to arrangements. She dips her head in thanks on her way through the door, paring down what she normally asked when making arrangements to the basics.]

How many will be dining with you?

[greenjacketed]

Two, beyond me. [ or he hopes so. so long as he hasn't insulted katniss to the point of refusing the invitation. ] The numbers won't be balanced. But at this point, I find I don't care.

[fleurdesel]

Balance is best when you mean to make a grand gesture or have group larger than seven. For this I think three is suitable enough.

[One lemon went into her bag and she steps to the side to inspect the available potatoes.]

Will you be serving wine?

[greenjacketed]

[ he sighs -- somewhat chagrined. ] I hadn't thought of it.

[ katniss doesn't care for it the stuff. he'd prefer a bottle of brandy. and faith... ]

Summat light, maybe. Miss Long might not be accustomed to anything too strong.

[fleurdesel]

Not every dinner needs it, I simply thought it best to ask.

[She adds a few of the larger potatoes to her bag, rolling the options around in her head.]

With a roast chicken I would recommend a chardonnay, but Pheasant is gamier and meatier but you do not want anything too heavy...a light Pinot Noir would likely work best. Not too strong, fairly smooth and if you find the right bottle? Mild.

[greenjacketed]

At least if it's there, she can always turn it down. Eh?

[ he thinks over the name. pinot noir. and all the while, he's watching her hand things off to her bag. ] I'd never realized you had, by the way. Done a fair amount of entertaining.

[ somehow, he can't imagine the woman enjoying it. but he isn't sure how to pin down that hunch. ]

[fleurdesel]

Precisely. You've fulfilled your obligation as a host by offering her the option.

[Herbs she'd already brought over from the stores in her kitchen, as well as a container of salt for the bird. He would likely frown on butter so she looks instead for a bottle of oil for the roasting pan and potatoes.]

I come from a family of well known and largely useless individuals. They've enough status to be haughty about it but not so much to be responsible for anything. Of all my siblings I'm the one with the least social grace, as you well know. To keep me from insulting anyone they put me in charge of arranging most of our family gatherings, dinners, galas, whatever they required.

[greenjacketed]

...Clever them. [ the subject is -- at heart -- serious enough. but sharpe makes the crack because to engage the subject on a deeper emotional level is a draining prospect. ] 'S like how I have the 'talion ensigns mind the wagons or put their piquets where they'll get into the least mischief.

[ yet those boys -- sadly -- always seem to end up dead regardless of his efforts. ]

[fleurdesel]

They had their moments. [She huffs a soft laugh and finds a modest bottle of olive oil and that, too, goes into the bag.] I'm certain they find their own mischief given enough time.

[greenjacketed]

You know -- [ he plucked up a thick spanish onion and tosses it from one palm to the other ] -- my battalion used to do to me what your family did to you.

[ a touch more serious, but hardly upset. ] Stick the ranker with the quartermaster's job, you see. So he can't get his muck on their gold and lace. Of course, I didn't get any entertaining skills from it. More's the pity.

[fleurdesel]

[All that's left is apples for the tart and wine, at least from her list. She looks over at the idle gesture, eyes flicking up to his at the flash of unexpected insight.]

You, at least, were still doing something that was of use, were you not? Though if you'd learned what you needed you'd have been spared the indignity of being taught by a Frog.

[greenjacketed]

[ he smiles when she uses the pejorative on herself. ]

Would've been more use to them on the field, as they fortunately learned. Eventually. [ he picks at the onions peel, giving it a nosy sniff. but then he tosses it back on the pile and takes the three wide steps necessary in order to pluck up an apple instead. ]

Hated quartermaster work. Counting wagons and signing chits and...it's tantamount to being told you're not trusted leading men, lass. [ ah. finally. back to 'lass' at last. ] Technically, I suppose I were one for about five years.

[fleurdesel]

But only 'technically'.

[Though the details of that qualifier weren't something she intends to ask outright. He's never been quite this easy and open before and she's not about to risk it on an errant question.

Adele lingers by the apples, eyeing the lot critically.]

Entirely sweet or slightly tart?

[There weren't many options available to them by way of apples, but enough to manage that much of a distinction.]

[greenjacketed]

Slightly tart. [ he says with a wrinkle of his nose, as if the opposite suggestion of sweetness left a bad ghost-taste in his mouth.

to chase it away, he takes a big bite of his chosen apple. the crunch is loud. he has to draw the back of his hand across his mouth the catch a rivulet of juice. and -- at length -- he clarifies his clarifier: ] Technically, I got into some mischief on the way through those years. Technically. All under orders, of course.

[ kinda. sorta. ]

[fleurdesel]

Excellent choice.

[The tarter apples tended to be more crisp in Adele's experience and were simpler to work with. She picks a handful of the smaller, sweeter apples before plucking up enough of the tarter variety for a good sized tart.]

So it was sanctioned mischief. I cannot think of a better kind.

[She snorts a laugh and finishes selecting her apples.]

[greenjacketed]

Copenhagen was, at least. [ everything else was only loosely sanctioned by circumstance and wilful ignorance. ] Ever been there?

[fleurdesel]

I cannot say that I have. [She never traveled much, and never to anywhere particularly interesting.]

[greenjacketed]

[ he takes another bite. chews. swallows. ]

It's a fine city. I'd always wanted to go back, one day. [ no reason to, now. ] Copenhagan and Seringapatam both.

[ cities with decent memories and good opportunities. he missed them both more than he ever missed london. ]

[fleurdesel]

Seringapatam?

[It's not a city she can place, and she shoots him a quizzical look while she moves on down to the meager wine isle.]

I'm not familiar with this city.

[greenjacketed]

The capital of Mysore, lass. In India. Seringapatam. [ he says each syllable with considerable enjoyment. ] In the four years before my five as quartermaster, I was a sergeant in the Seringapatam armoury. Attached to man named Stokes. Good man. Liked clocks.

[fleurdesel]

I'm afraid I'm woefully ignorant of the cities of India.

[Pinot Grigio, Chardonnay, Merlot, Rose- ah. Pinot Noir. There's only the one sort and she's surprised that much is available. The lable's handwritten, there's no way of knowing what sort it'll be without opening it and that she'll leave to Sharpe.]

There is something soothing to be found in a well made timepiece.

[greenjacketed]

I see that, now. [ he comments obliquely on the beauty of a time piece.

sharpe shifts his half-eaten apple to his opposite hand just so he can relieve her of the bottle. he wants to get a good and proper look for himself. ]

[fleurdesel]

[Bereft of the usual notes and notations that she would use for reference otherwise Adele hands off the bottle without further comment. Perhaps Sharpe could divine more from the rather plain labeling than she has been able to.]

[greenjacketed]

[ without a care about how it comes across, he balances his unfinished apple on a shelf's edge and eases a pocket-knife out of his jacket. biting down on his tongue as he concentrates, sharpe digs the firmly lodged cork out with the blade. a twist; a stab; a satisfying pop. ]

No harm in trying, eh? [ he wafts the speared cork under his nose -- smelling the wine. he tilts his head back, thinks for a moment, then leans in once more for another sniff. like little dark berries. ]

It'll do. For a French wine.