Winter, Day 10, 514AV
Mira sniffed. "I'm n-not c-c-cold..."
Sighing, Nov grabbed one of the small, dark skinned girl's reluctant hands and felt it for himself. It was ice cold. He did the same for Thomas and Loy and got more or less the same results, just with less bravado on both of their parts. Loy's nose was runnier than ever and his threadbare sleeve had grown stiff from constant wiping. All three were less scrawny than they had been last season during the food shortage, but their clothes were laughable in terms of defense against newly arrived Winter.
"Stay in the kitchens today," the cook ordered, his voice thin with weariness. He hadn't slept well since the doctor's disappearance and subsequent termination of his supply of miracle tea. Not well at all. "Keep yourselves busy and don't set anything on fire. I'll see what can be done."
Their relief was palpable as the children agreed to this new set of chores with uncharacteristic eagerness. The kitchens were always warm; it had enough furnaces and grills going to make the atmosphere positively stifling, but that was preferable to the blistering cold outside any day. It also meant it would keep them away from others who had succumbed to sicknesses. Nov didn't like the idea of cooping up so many orphans in a single area if one of them so much as coughed. And these three in particular were in no condition to battle illnesses.
Of course, each of them, including the cook himself, knew that 'seeing what could be done' was code for not involving Jillene in any way, shape, or form. The Isurian proprietress had enough trouble just figuring out how to keep everyone housed, fed, and occasionally paid. There was hardly room on the woman's plate for even more charity work.
Which meant Noven would have to be handling the problem all by himself. Petching figures.
The menu for tonight's dinner included beans, bread, and roasted potatoes. Beans were easy enough, as they just required someone to stir the pot once in a while. Dough for the bread still had to be kneaded and the potatoes needed to be cut. Wasting no time, the cook got to work and began ordering his helpers about.
"Mira, watch over the beans for now. Loy, help me get the bread ready. And Thomas, start peeling the potatoes."
Mira made a face. Loy lit up with excitement. And Thomas groaned out loud. Thomas hated peeling potatoes, but he was handy with a knife and fastest at completing this particular task.
While Mira brought over a stool to stand on and stirred the beans with a wooden spatula, Nov and Loy brought out the flour, oil, and a large bowl with lukewarm water and pre-mixed yeast with sugar and salt to begin making the dough. Thomas sat in his designated potato peeling corner and scowled, shearing peel after peel with impressive speed.
Already accustomed to this task, Loy poured steady, measured amounts of flour as Noven mixed it into the foamy layer of yeast. As more flour accumulated the concoction grew thicker and harder to stir, though the cook found little difficulty in doing so even with his sleep-deprived state. He was, as some might say, a bit overqualified for flour-stirring. Any hired merc of his caliber would be.
Once all of the flour was added, Nov scooped out all of the dough and plonked it onto a wooden table sprinkled with a light layer of flour. "Alright Loy, you know what to do."
The kid nodded confidently, nose somehow no longer running, and took on an air of rarely seen competence as he began kneading the dough. Nov helped him with the initial bit of kneading, using his brute strength to give the boy a good head start. Then he rinsed his hands quickly and threw on his coat before striding towards the door.
"You two cut the potatoes once they're done being peeled. The rest I'll handle when I get back. Remember, don't--"
"--set anything on fire," all three orphans chimed in.
"We know," Mira rolled her eyes.
Grunting, Nov ducked out of the kitchens and shut the back doors behind him. Then he headed toward his own apartment, intent on grabbing a couple of things before coming back to the orphanage, the last thing he expected being a nimble-footed, pale skinned visitor.