One Potato, Two Potato (Orion Michaels)

[Lena Applin]

Spring 4, 513 AV


Swiping the back of her wrist across her brow, Lena paused a moment, before putting her shoulder to the swinging oaken door. It moved easily enough – one of the first things that she had done two days ago upon beginning her work here was to oil the hinges. She didn’t need the added strain of fighting with it to get through into the dining hall, or conversely back to the passage that led to the steps down to the great kitchen under the squires’ dormitories. Her fractional pause was necessitated not by a need for extra oomph, but by a need to rebalance the tray in her hands. Coming up stairs, she had found long ago, was made more difficult with her center of gravity thrown off by a heavy tray held out in front of her slight frame. Typically she would heft any such tray, or other burden, to her slim shoulder and thus ascend, and descend, without so much fear of pitching forward and tumbling down to knock herself senseless. Carrying the weight on her shoulder also allowed her to see her feet more clearly, and, hopefully, avoid tripping over her long skirts. Small details, yes, and probably of no interest whatsoever to anyone who didn’t earn their living by toting food to and fro, from kitchen to dining room and back again. But she had picked up quite a few little habits that made her job easier, and safer. Now she stood and shifted the tray back down from shoulder to being held directly in front of her, at waist level. There was a reason for this too.

Using her shoulder and side, she pushed the door inward and immediately her ears were accosted by the cacapohony of three score voices, all seemingly trying to talk at once. The air was redolent with sweat and a strong scent of horses and stables, with hints of metal polish and saddle soap and, faintly, the lye used to clean the wooden planked floor and tables. Already it was become a familiar hodgepodge of smells to the girl. She had only just begun to work for the knights a few days previously, and the scents of her old place of employment were quickly evaporating from her olfactory memory banks. She had worked in the kitchen of a grand house where fine meals of a wide variety of delectables were served on a regular basis. The house was usually fragrant with the warm scents of any number of lovely spices and herbs and savory seasonings. Even above stairs, the air was suffused with pomades and potpourris of flowers to keep away the stench of the city. Syliras was grand, but it also stank. Not that Lena ever particularly noticed. She had lived there all her life, and was quite used to it.

Carefully, she negotiated the heavy tray through the doorway and on into the dining hall. Upon the tray say three large tureens filled to the brim with boiled potatoes. That was another marked difference with her new duties. No more bird’s nest soup for four, no indeed – here the fare was simple and plentiful – meant to fill up the squires’ bellies and give them strength for their training and tasks. On top of the white, steaming tubers, generous portions of golden butter nestled, melting and spreading some fat and flavor over all. The weight was considerable, and Lena felt the strain in her triceps. But she was used to heavy work and thought little of it. She just needed to get the tray to the table, and offload the tureens, and then it was back down to the kitchen for more.

Just as she reached the first of several long tables, where the squawking squires perched like so many jackdaws on the benches to either side, Lena zigged to avoid one such that was rearing back, laughing at some jest and not paying attention to the serving girl. At the same time as she zigged, to avoid clouting him in the back of his head with the edge of her tray, another squire hopped up from the adjacent table and twirled about. Who knew what he was bent on doing – all that mattered was Lena at the last moment tried to then zag, but zigging and zagging set one tureen to tipping and before she knew it – she lost her balance and the whole thing fell to the floor with a resounding clatter.

Potatoes flew everywhere, a few still firm enough to roll under the tables – proof positive that they were underdone, just as Lena had chided the one cooking them about. One of the pottery tureens had cracked in two – another reason to use metal or wood, she had thought – and the squire who had jumped up from the other table had not been able to prevent himself from putting his big fat boot heel in part of the mess nearest him and he slipped forward, knocking into the girl and sending her to the floor. Landing with one hand flat in the middle of sodden, dirty, mealy (over cooked these ones were) potato mess, she winced, feeling the sharp jab of pain shoot upwards from the heel of her hand into her wrist.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion was still getting used to the dormitories. Shared living conditions, guardians, or chaperons, or whatever they were supposed to be called patrolling the dorms and making sure that no one broke any curfews they had, or more annoying to Orion, make sure they didn't bring in any guests. When he'd joined, he had these delusions that it would be easy, that his life wouldn't change that much, but instead of doctoring, he would train. How wrong he was.

Orion hadn't even remembered to eat on some days, and it only made it more difficult to complete his training, but when it was made clear to him that he was being afforded three free meals a day, well, he wasn't one to look a gift in the mouth like that. Still, while he was in the dining areas, he couldn't help but feel out of place. Orion was much older than almost every other person there. Boys and girls, just barely old enough to take an interest in one another, were chatting, laughing, arguing, boasting, flirting. Anything and everything. And then there was grandpa. Orion was over 10 years senior to some of the oldest of squires, and more than that for some of the others. Gods, what is this?"

He was lost in his own misery when the crashing of pottery against the stone floors brought Orion to. "What the petch?" He muttered to himself, looking over to where all the commotion was at. A teenage serving girl had attempted to avoid an energetic squire and all had gone wrong, leading to a storm of potatoes, ones which he'd quite looked forward to, rolling across the ground. Further more, Orion saw the injury occur before it actually happened. His medical knowledge had taught him that people were likely to put out their hands when they were falling, even though they'd be less injured by just biting the dust.

The room went silent as all heads turned to look at the commotion. No doubt everyone would be talking about this, as any 'big' event like this would spread through the grapevine faster than a wildfire would burn. He needed to get the young girl out of the room to spare her from any further embarrassment.

Orion stood from his seat, one far too small for him, and made his way over to where the mess was, stepping gingerly to avoid suffering a similar fate to any involved in the great potato massacre. Upon arrival, the doctor turned squire looked down at hazel eyed girl, offering his hand to help her stand. "You all squires could learn something about being gentlemanly," he remarked, scanning them all with a piercing gaze. "Instead of being rude and gawking." He smiled down at the teen. "Are you okay?"

[Lena Applin]

Lena’s eyes lifted to take in the visage of the man who was offering her a hand up. She was mildly surprised, both because he was much older in appearance than the other squires around them, and because she had not expected anyone to notice her mishap, or to care to lend a hand. The one she lifted to grip his was still clean and dry, and she scrambled adroitly to her feet, with a nod and a “Thank you, sir. Much obliged.” Her chestnut head bent to survey the potatoey mess, part of which slewed down the side of her skirt and apron. Unthinking, she rubbed her other hand against the clean side of her apron and she winced anew, and took the injured paw and cradled it against her chest.

With a small curtsy, no more than a quick bob, she said, “Excuse me, sir. I’ll fetch a mop and clean this right up.”

[Orion Michaels]

She was a dutiful one, wasn't she? Probably hurt her wrist pretty badly, but tried to push it of like it was nothing and keep working. Slender fingers enveloped her hand he pulled the young worker to her feet. The young teenager was dealing with the situation surprisingly well. If, at her age, Orion had dealt with a similar situation, his face would be redder than a ripened tomato. The lovely young woman dealt with it using grace and politeness, even though it was entirely the squire's fault. "It's not a problem. And I'm no sir, just a squire. How embarrassing having to sit in a chair meant for one half my age, huh?" He saw the wince, and also noticed her trying to hide it.

"Again, don't call me sir. How about Orion? And I'm sure someone else can take care of this mess. You're not going to be able to do anything about it, clutching your wrist like that." He motioned to the way she cradled her arm. "Are you really going to be able to mop anything with an injury like that? I know I might not look it, but I was a doctor before I got in here. How about we let me fix you up and then you can get back in the fight, huh?" He tried to offer the girl a reassuring smile. He wasn't terribly good at dealing with youth, but surely having to feed all these hormonal squires had made her grow up some and realize the situation. "So let's go, I'll grab my medical bag, and we'll take care of you, huh? Why don't you tell me what your name is, ma'am?"