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]

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.]

[greenjacketed]

[ he grabs onto the pheasant with surprising care, laying it gently down upon his own patch of counter before he went to work. his knife is sharp; it slips into the raw flesh with buttery ease. ]

Frogs, Loki. They're what we call the French.

[not_a_troll]

You cut up French with that knive? French frogs? Like French fries but then more froglike?

[greenjacketed]

I've cut into a few. Don't really bother to spend much time cutting them up. That's for the partisans to do.

[not_a_troll]

Fries or frogs?

[While talking Loki starts to rummage through the kitchen's cupboards, pulling out some pans.]

Or French? Sometimes you speak in riddles, Sharpe.

[greenjacketed]

The French. The bloody crapauds, you bastard.

[ probably shouldn't speak so harshly to a kid. at least not one who is helping you out! but savaging this pheasant carcass is only doing so much to sooth his troubled soul. ]

[not_a_troll]

I would have expected a more colorful insult of you, Sharpe. Bastard barely cuts it.

[greenjacketed]

[ huff. ] I was tryin' to be nice.

[ he knows full well there were worse things to say. ]

[not_a_troll]

[Loki grins sharply.]

Hush, I know, I know.

And I truly appreciate it. We are going to be great friends, you and I.

[He looks around the kitchen again.]

Ah, I shall busy myself with cutting up the vegetables.

[greenjacketed]

Bloody best mates -- [ he grumbles. ] Do you not have anyone else to pester?

[not_a_troll]

You asked me to help you cook. And now you wish me to 'pester' someone else?

[greenjacketed]

A man's moods can be changeable.