Solo A Pause In The Rhythm

[Mirian Jade]

83rd of fall, 514 a.v neither afternoon nor evening The sun had begun to make her way downwards by the time Mirian Jade found herself back in the Sunset Quarter, a handbasket over one arm and a mass of scavenged planks and logs in the other that would serve for firewood. It wasn’t quite evening, although it wasn’t that far from it, either; it would be at least another half hour before Syna touched the western skyline, and it would be another half hour after that before the light of day disappeared completely. There was still time for one to go about their business in relative safety––that is, in as much safety as could be expected in Sunberth. Mirian’s arms were weighed heavily by their burdens, but it was a weight she revelled in; she’d visited the Fence not an hour before, and had had just enough time to catch the tail-end of the market crowd before the merchants packed up their wares and departed. She’d had barely enough time to fill her basket with three eggs and a leathery squash before turning towards home. Not a lot, but enough for tonight. And that was enough for her. The apartment she called home was settled snugly in the middle of a long line of others, each indistinguishable from each other to all but their tenants. She found hers more by habit than by any real landmarks; some might have found its lack of identity irritating, but she found it comforting. Against so many identical siblings, the chances of someone finding her home was greatly reduced, and while there was still the risk of a random burglary, she could at least rest easy in the knowledge that her own theft victims would have a difficult time tracking her down. Not that they would find anything of value in her house, anyway. Her neighbors didn’t look at her as she passed, instead preferring to keep to themselves. She didn’t mind; neighborly kindness was a concept that was almost funny in Sunberth, cynical as everyone was towards the world and to those around them. No one expected anything from each other but harm, and when one prepared for constant bad luck it was easier to avoid it altogether. No expectations, no disappointments, that was their motto, and so Mirian kept her head down as she halted at the threshold, took the key from around her neck and unlocked the door.

[Mirian Jade]

Mirian heaved a sigh of relief when she stepped into her home. She set down her basket––gently, so as not to crack the eggs––then shifted her grip on the wood to lock the door behind her, just for good measure. It was unlikely that someone would begin a burglary at this hour, but the peace of mind took a weight off her shoulders all the same––this was her home and her sanctuary. She was safe here. She dumped to wood next to the door and unclasped her cloak, tossing the garment onto her bed and riding her sleeves up her arms. She even slid a hand through her false pocket to the knife strapped to her thigh, undoing the buckles, drawing it out of her pants and discarding that as well. With one hand she took a length of cord from her good pocket and set about to tying up her hair, while the other hand managed to steal a single log and handful of kindling from the pile of wood on the floor. The hearth on the far side of the room was filled with ash, but beneath the ash lay the telltale warmth of embers that hadn’t yet faded. Not enough to rival a fire, but more than enough to start one. She poked at the ash with the log, exposing the glittering cinders, and slipped in a stick or two of kindling. Taking a deep breath, she leaned on close and gently blew across the hearth. The cinders flared, then faded. Another breath, and the same happened. The third time, however, the kindling caught flame, and Mirian fed it more splinters, then larger splinters, then even larger splinters until she was confident enough to put the log on. With another few minutes of care, it had begun to burn. Mirian returned to where she had set her basket, hoisting it up along with another few logs of wood, and moved it to the hearth, as well. Dusting herself of chips and dirt, she unhooked the iron pan hanging from the shelf above and snatched the jar of oil sitting above that, settling in front of the hearth as the log began to burn in earnest. She set another piece of wood over it and began to work.

[Mirian Jade]

She tipped far more oil into the pan than she’d initially intended, ending up with a shallow pool of the stuff that was far too slippery for her to want to risk pouring it back into the jar. After a moment of pained deliberation, she decided to make do with what she had, replaced the lid on the jar of oil and set it back on the shelf. Out came the three eggs, cracked against the side of the pan and dumped into the sea of oil. The first one took half the shell along with it, and Mirian spend more than a minute fishing the bits out. The second egg ended up bringing in some of its shell, too, but not nearly as much as the first, and after she’d cleared it, the third egg didn’t bring in any shell at all. She set her wrought-iron cooking grate over the flames and set the pan upon it, not willing to hold the thing the entire time. She didn’t know what the copious amounts of oil would do to the cooking process, but she could adapt. She wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination, it was true, but frying eggs in a pan was not a complicated task. And she intended to make her way to the Pig’s Foot tonight, anyway; with a smile and a bit of luck on her side, this wouldn’t be the only thing she ate today. She reached back to the shelf above the hearth and snatched her fork to poke at the eggs as they began to congeal, becoming white in some places and yellow in others. She pierced the yolk, but wasn’t concerned with it running; she was a simple woman with simple tastes, and she didn’t care how her eggs were cooked as long as they were edible. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head upon them. Time crawled on as the eggs continued to cook, and as she waited and stirred she began to sing. It was a slow tune, low and soft and hardly more than a loud hum, but it was calming and made time feel like it was moving more quickly. There were no words––she’d forgotten those long ago––but the melody was as fresh in her mind as ever. It lingered on the minor notes and danced over the sharp ones, preferring a slender sound meant to slow the blood and send one to sleep. While Mirian had no intention of sleeping, it was a tune she found comforting all the same––and in her house, she didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing her. Alone, the singing helped to pass the time until the eggs were done. They ended up sort of scrambled, but unenthusiastically so; she scraped the bottom whenever it stuck to the pan, cooking it well in some places but unevenly in others, making them a confused mess of color and texture amid film of oil that hissed and spit until she removed them.

[Mirian Jade]

They ended up runnier than she’d imagined when she finally took them out of the pan and set them on her plate, but they were palatable. The oil had browned them, but they looked more unpleasant than they actually tasted. They certainly weren’t the best eggs she’d ever had, but they weren’t the worst, either. With a greased pan, eggs were difficult to actually get wrong. She devoured the fruit of her labours quickly and greedily; the sky had turned red outside, and she didn’t want to waste more time than she had to. When she was done, she pulled the wash bin from its place in the corner and dumped in what remained of her water bucket. The pan was first; after a quick trip outside to rid herself of the oil, she dunked it and shook it until it was relatively empty both of oil or water, then hung it back up. If there was anything she’d ever learned from her few years with her mother, it was to never use soap on an iron pan. Her plate and fork were next, and they were done as quickly as possible. She snatched the soap she had initially passed over and rubbed it furiously between her hands until she had enough to spread over the dish and utensil, clearing off the food and as much of the grease as she could. Then they were put back in her place, left to dry themselves in the air, and she hauled the dirty water to her front door and tossed the stuff out. She came back and stirred the fire to break up the wood, making a mental note to make less of a fire next time, then went to the chest at the foot of her bed. Off came her shirt, followed by her trousers, and from the chest came their replacements: a loose red cotton blouse with a collar that was altogether a bit too large to be decent and a dark brown and maroon skirt. She slipped them on without ceremony and pulled the cord from her hair, letting it fall free about her shoulders and running a hand through it a few times to free herself of any unwanted tangles. She may have eaten today, but if she wanted to eat tomorrow then there was still work to be done. Work that lay waiting for her at the Pig’s Foot Tavern, a place she did not want to have to travel to after dark. Daytime or not, though, it was always wise to bring along a security measure, and so she picked up her knife from where it had fallen, hiked her skirt up her legs and strapped it back into her thigh where the skin had long since taken on a semi-permanent red dent beneath the familiarity of the buckles and straps. She took a moment to swish around her skirt and make sure that the weapon didn’t stand out––it wouldn’t do to actively display that she was armed, since surprises were always better––and when she was satisfied she pulled her boots back on, tugged her shawl around her shoulders and set out into streets. She wondered what would be waiting for her at the Pig’s Foot tonight. - End -

[Shai]

However hopeless the situation appears to be There yet always exists the possibility of putting up a stubborn resistance Mirian Jade : Skills: Land Navigation 1 Cooking 2 Cleaning 1 Lore: Cooking with Oil, Can Burn Food Cooking an Egg ‘Easy’ Check : If there are any concerns with my grading please feel free to toss me a PM. I am more than happy to explain my reasons or reevaluate them if you feel I've been unfair.