120 Vhalar, 724
.
Continued from here
Returning home after having spent much time out on the town tracking down various leaves and flowers and other fern-like vegetation was a blessing in disguise. Kotton didn’t know that trekking from the middle of Scalvoris back to where his place of residence sat would cause Endler’s heels to ‘ache so bad’. Unlocking his front door and letting in his mentee was absolutely glorious as he watched her flop onto the couch and fling off her shoes. Her sighing was the cherry on top of the cake.
“Are you tired already?” Kotton asked playfully, noticing the time. It wasn’t as late as he thought, but maybe his sense of time was different from someone who was almost half his age.
The young girl signed her reply. Yes, yes she was tired. Didn’t he know that?
Kotton retrieved her shoes from their random placement on the floor and organised them against the front door where he had doffed his own. Then, he walked into the kitchen with the determination of making dinner.
He had spent a trial or two memorising a certain recipe and hoped that his memory recall was accurate since he had misplaced his recipe booklet long ago. What he wanted to make was very basic, but still had several steps that required the memory of someone who was more attentive than him.
From what he recalled, this particular recipe required yellow onion, mushrooms, garlic, the paste of a tomato, kale, red cabbage, potato and sage. He had made all these ingredients prior to making this meal and had used some sort of mnemonic or other to help him remember what all he needed.
Dredging up a large non-stick pan, he first threw in the tomatoes and withheld nothing from the seasoning he had placed into a container beforehand. After adding a pinch of salt, he waited for the pot to simmer under low to medium heat. This gave him enough time to talk with Endler and get her perspective on how things went for the evening.
“You okay?” he asked, turning to face her. She was supine staring up at the popcorn ceiling that held nothing of interest unless she was fabricating meaning from the shapes embossed within.
Silence.
Utter silence.
Instead of forcing her to speak to him, he let her be. She was probably consolidating everything she had just experienced, and judging from the way she clutched his knapsack close to her heart, she was thinking and dwelling on things hard.
He, too, began to space out by observing the popcorn ceiling. He had found a shape that resembled the likes of a pony and a porcupine before being called back to his cooking of a meal.
He threw in the mushrooms and was instantly gratified by an umami smell that made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. He envisioned how it would taste once his spoon made contact with the stew. Oh, how heavenly it would taste as it touched his tongue and dribbled down his throat. Patience was never a strong point for him, so the fact that something smelled this lovely, made him practise his use of discipline.
Once the mushrooms had browned appropriately, Kotton reached further into his mind where his working memory reached long-term to where he was able to extract the next steps. But it was blurry. What was he supposed to do next? He was empty-handed, without an idea as to the following steps. Would he have to wing it? Follow his gut instinct? Simply throw in this and that and hope for the best? No. There in the waste bin five feet from where he stood was the recipe book. He wouldn’t dwell on why he had tossed it and instead grabbed it from out of the trash and flipped to the corresponding page.
Into the pot went the yellow onion and with it the garlic, red cabbage, potato and sage. He was to hold off on adding the kale because kale, it seemed, cooked quickly and shrivelled up under high heat. So timing is important he thought to himself as he once again tested his patience. He glanced at the recipe booklet and found that after a few minutes he should then add the kale. So he did. But he should only let it cook for half a minute at most! It was very particular about the time.
Once he had tossed in the kale (pre-measured) he counted silently to himself. One Scalvoris Town, two Scalvoris Town, three Scalvoris Town and so on until the kale was crisp enough but not wilted. Then he removed the pot from the heat and set it aside.
At the bottom of the page where the recipe was listed were a few anecdotes. Kotton usually didn’t pay attention to these little bits of information, but this trial he did. There it said that adding a teaspoon of sugar, some green peppers and maybe a pinch or two of garlic could help “spice up” the meal, under the discretion of the cook. Well, he felt he had already put enough garlic in the dish- how much garlic did you need?- but maybe a few cuts of green pepper would help with the taste. Fortunately, he had some extra on hand and it didn’t take much time for him to chop. Half a minute, maybe a little more, and the green onions were spliced and ready to add, which he did. Now, the meal was readily prepared, all done, and suitable for serving.
“I bet you're hungry, huh?” he asked rhetorically as he [positioned the pot on the coffee table. Normally he would have eaten out of the pot, but since he was in the presence of another and attempting to teach this “other” the appropriate methods of eating, he returned to the kitchen to scrounge for bowls.
Two bowls and counting and he was pivoting on his feet to return to the living room where the dining room had been replaced without announcement. Cutlery was already there, courtesy of Kotton’s forward thinking.
“Afterward we can make that craft, yeah?” he asked, though without anticipating any response.
Supper went smoothing and rather quickly as the two of them gulped up what seemed to be a tasty meal. The young man would leave the dishes where they were. He’d look after them the next day- why waste time now tending to cleaning dishes? For now, he was focused on helping Endler create the craft project she had learned about from hearing other children her age.
“Give me my knapsack, will you?” he asked kindly.
She did as instructed, allowing Kotton to have a glimpse inside at the few pieces of vegetation that had been collected from their voyage into the city.
Since he was still trying to teach Endler things, he repeated what he had told her during their trek through town, about the various trees and their flowers and whatever else blossomed from things that bore leaves. The first thing he withdrew from out of the knapsack was lace-leaf.
“Lace leaf,” he began. “Tiny flowers with lace-like petals that taste like peppermint. Isn’t that both strange and awesome at the same time?”
He waited but a second to assess his mentee’s response before continuing on to the next item extracted from the knapsack.
“Rainberry bush,” he said enthusiastically. “Do you remember what I told you about this particular tree?” He waited patiently for her response. And even if it would never come, he set himself up for a reply that would give her the information she needed to become more knowledgeable about the various plants found throughout Scalvoris.
Endler remained quiet. Her mouth didn’t open and her hands never formed themselves into systematic words of comprehension. That being said, it was up to Kotton to offer her the correct answer.
“The rainberry bush has small berries of rainbow colour. It’s said that eating a handful of these berries provides you with bursts of energy!”
He was still learning how to use proper intonation and its association with certain age groups, but after practice time and time again, he felt he was getting the hang of it. Since Endler was a teenager, she reacted better to moderate levels of enthusiasm whereas a child of younger arcs would react to more and an older adult would react to less. It was important to understand the age group of people and thus associate appropriate levels of intonation if you were to make any headway in connecting with someone communicably.
Suddenly, Endler rose her hand high, nonverbally signalling the end of whatever teaching Kotton was trying to propose.
It was instinctive that he felt irritated. Anyone who had been interrupted would feel the same way, but he reigned in his emotions, looked at the time and decided the best course of action before responding emotionally.
“What is it, Endler?” he asked, understanding that she was someone who refused to speak and rather gestured her concerns. It was important, for there were people who communicated in various ways and were meant to be treated just the same as any other person, verbal or not.
The young man hesitated, but still made several unconscious steps in her direction. She still laid on the couch, unmoving, except for the occasional twitch of her right leg.
She signed, ‘Tasty ass meal.’
This was a more than pleasant interaction than he could have asked for. With being a newcomer at cooking, he expected push-back, a complaint or two, maybe the suggestion to add a little less salt, who knew? But young Endler, she was a shining star amidst all the troubles he had to work with.
He would never forget this moment.
Returning home after having spent much time out on the town tracking down various leaves and flowers and other fern-like vegetation was a blessing in disguise. Kotton didn’t know that trekking from the middle of Scalvoris back to where his place of residence sat would cause Endler’s heels to ‘ache so bad’. Unlocking his front door and letting in his mentee was absolutely glorious as he watched her flop onto the couch and fling off her shoes. Her sighing was the cherry on top of the cake.
“Are you tired already?” Kotton asked playfully, noticing the time. It wasn’t as late as he thought, but maybe his sense of time was different from someone who was almost half his age.
The young girl signed her reply. Yes, yes she was tired. Didn’t he know that?
Kotton retrieved her shoes from their random placement on the floor and organised them against the front door where he had doffed his own. Then, he walked into the kitchen with the determination of making dinner.
He had spent a trial or two memorising a certain recipe and hoped that his memory recall was accurate since he had misplaced his recipe booklet long ago. What he wanted to make was very basic, but still had several steps that required the memory of someone who was more attentive than him.
From what he recalled, this particular recipe required yellow onion, mushrooms, garlic, the paste of a tomato, kale, red cabbage, potato and sage. He had made all these ingredients prior to making this meal and had used some sort of mnemonic or other to help him remember what all he needed.
Dredging up a large non-stick pan, he first threw in the tomatoes and withheld nothing from the seasoning he had placed into a container beforehand. After adding a pinch of salt, he waited for the pot to simmer under low to medium heat. This gave him enough time to talk with Endler and get her perspective on how things went for the evening.
“You okay?” he asked, turning to face her. She was supine staring up at the popcorn ceiling that held nothing of interest unless she was fabricating meaning from the shapes embossed within.
Silence.
Utter silence.
Instead of forcing her to speak to him, he let her be. She was probably consolidating everything she had just experienced, and judging from the way she clutched his knapsack close to her heart, she was thinking and dwelling on things hard.
He, too, began to space out by observing the popcorn ceiling. He had found a shape that resembled the likes of a pony and a porcupine before being called back to his cooking of a meal.
He threw in the mushrooms and was instantly gratified by an umami smell that made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. He envisioned how it would taste once his spoon made contact with the stew. Oh, how heavenly it would taste as it touched his tongue and dribbled down his throat. Patience was never a strong point for him, so the fact that something smelled this lovely, made him practise his use of discipline.
Once the mushrooms had browned appropriately, Kotton reached further into his mind where his working memory reached long-term to where he was able to extract the next steps. But it was blurry. What was he supposed to do next? He was empty-handed, without an idea as to the following steps. Would he have to wing it? Follow his gut instinct? Simply throw in this and that and hope for the best? No. There in the waste bin five feet from where he stood was the recipe book. He wouldn’t dwell on why he had tossed it and instead grabbed it from out of the trash and flipped to the corresponding page.
Into the pot went the yellow onion and with it the garlic, red cabbage, potato and sage. He was to hold off on adding the kale because kale, it seemed, cooked quickly and shrivelled up under high heat. So timing is important he thought to himself as he once again tested his patience. He glanced at the recipe booklet and found that after a few minutes he should then add the kale. So he did. But he should only let it cook for half a minute at most! It was very particular about the time.
Once he had tossed in the kale (pre-measured) he counted silently to himself. One Scalvoris Town, two Scalvoris Town, three Scalvoris Town and so on until the kale was crisp enough but not wilted. Then he removed the pot from the heat and set it aside.
At the bottom of the page where the recipe was listed were a few anecdotes. Kotton usually didn’t pay attention to these little bits of information, but this trial he did. There it said that adding a teaspoon of sugar, some green peppers and maybe a pinch or two of garlic could help “spice up” the meal, under the discretion of the cook. Well, he felt he had already put enough garlic in the dish- how much garlic did you need?- but maybe a few cuts of green pepper would help with the taste. Fortunately, he had some extra on hand and it didn’t take much time for him to chop. Half a minute, maybe a little more, and the green onions were spliced and ready to add, which he did. Now, the meal was readily prepared, all done, and suitable for serving.
“I bet you're hungry, huh?” he asked rhetorically as he [positioned the pot on the coffee table. Normally he would have eaten out of the pot, but since he was in the presence of another and attempting to teach this “other” the appropriate methods of eating, he returned to the kitchen to scrounge for bowls.
Two bowls and counting and he was pivoting on his feet to return to the living room where the dining room had been replaced without announcement. Cutlery was already there, courtesy of Kotton’s forward thinking.
“Afterward we can make that craft, yeah?” he asked, though without anticipating any response.
Supper went smoothing and rather quickly as the two of them gulped up what seemed to be a tasty meal. The young man would leave the dishes where they were. He’d look after them the next day- why waste time now tending to cleaning dishes? For now, he was focused on helping Endler create the craft project she had learned about from hearing other children her age.
“Give me my knapsack, will you?” he asked kindly.
She did as instructed, allowing Kotton to have a glimpse inside at the few pieces of vegetation that had been collected from their voyage into the city.
Since he was still trying to teach Endler things, he repeated what he had told her during their trek through town, about the various trees and their flowers and whatever else blossomed from things that bore leaves. The first thing he withdrew from out of the knapsack was lace-leaf.
“Lace leaf,” he began. “Tiny flowers with lace-like petals that taste like peppermint. Isn’t that both strange and awesome at the same time?”
He waited but a second to assess his mentee’s response before continuing on to the next item extracted from the knapsack.
“Rainberry bush,” he said enthusiastically. “Do you remember what I told you about this particular tree?” He waited patiently for her response. And even if it would never come, he set himself up for a reply that would give her the information she needed to become more knowledgeable about the various plants found throughout Scalvoris.
Endler remained quiet. Her mouth didn’t open and her hands never formed themselves into systematic words of comprehension. That being said, it was up to Kotton to offer her the correct answer.
“The rainberry bush has small berries of rainbow colour. It’s said that eating a handful of these berries provides you with bursts of energy!”
He was still learning how to use proper intonation and its association with certain age groups, but after practice time and time again, he felt he was getting the hang of it. Since Endler was a teenager, she reacted better to moderate levels of enthusiasm whereas a child of younger arcs would react to more and an older adult would react to less. It was important to understand the age group of people and thus associate appropriate levels of intonation if you were to make any headway in connecting with someone communicably.
Suddenly, Endler rose her hand high, nonverbally signalling the end of whatever teaching Kotton was trying to propose.
It was instinctive that he felt irritated. Anyone who had been interrupted would feel the same way, but he reigned in his emotions, looked at the time and decided the best course of action before responding emotionally.
“What is it, Endler?” he asked, understanding that she was someone who refused to speak and rather gestured her concerns. It was important, for there were people who communicated in various ways and were meant to be treated just the same as any other person, verbal or not.
The young man hesitated, but still made several unconscious steps in her direction. She still laid on the couch, unmoving, except for the occasional twitch of her right leg.
She signed, ‘Tasty ass meal.’
This was a more than pleasant interaction than he could have asked for. With being a newcomer at cooking, he expected push-back, a complaint or two, maybe the suggestion to add a little less salt, who knew? But young Endler, she was a shining star amidst all the troubles he had to work with.
He would never forget this moment.