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Mingle - Emergency Potluck

Pumpkin Hollow Community Bulletin

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

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"Yes, it was but..." For a moment, his hand almost goes to the back of his neck to unconsciously imitate the way Max used to rub that spot when anxious. She catches him before he can.

"It's very possible I did all of those things. On the contrary, I think I would like to hear it. I'm at a disadvantage from the start, you see. I cannot eat. Or taste."

"Not at all? But how do you get sustenance?" Ellarinne can't help but be curious, but she won't press the issue if Erik doesn't want to tell her.

"If you can still smell, see, or hear, you can cook," she tells him gently. "Actually tasting the ingredients isn't really recommended, if you're cooking for other people. You might actually get someone sick. But listen to me go on when I haven't even introduced myself." She smiles and squeezes his hand. "I'm Ellarinne, adventurer and hobbyist chef."

"I drink blood. Mind you, the ones I drink from do not have to die to feed me." Important to note, he feels.

"In fact, all of my other faculties are far enhanced to compensate. You give me hope. I have recently discovered I have a desire to cook for my loved ones, and now I regret not having the skill." He had a chef in his home for so long and never once took advantage of that. What terrible irony.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ellarinne, truly. I'm not offended by your honest criticism. I am Lord Erik Osborne, former vampire lord of the Ozark Mountain Clan, and I am now known as this town's premier whore."

"A human vampire?" Why yes, she does find that more surprising than the part about his profession! But she continues, "Well, so long as you aren't attacking the innocent or people who don't consent, I suppose there's no reason to worry about that! Your presence at this gathering tells me that you must be a known and respected member of this community, Lord Erik. It's my honor to meet you, I'm sure."

She smiles wryly. "If I really haven't disgraced myself in your eyes, I hope you might allow me to give you a few lessons sometime. I was taught how to cook in the Pandaren tradition; they treat the act of preparing and sharing food as a social activity that can establish new ties and strengthen the old. It seems you've already come to a similar conclusion yourself, wanting to cook for the ones you love. Truly a noble cause."

"Formerly human, yes. Is that so strange?" Given that humans are the vast majority in his world, it's almost always assumed that a vampire once was a human. He does not know for sure if a fae could even be turned.

"Thank you. Yes, I have made a very good name for myself in town. I find it easy enough to stay fed on willing and even enthusiastic volunteers, I assure you. And there are animals in the woods that can supplement me if need be." There are also those strange fruits but while they taste perfectly fine, the experience of eating them is still such a strange one that he prefers to save them for a last resort.

"Please do teach me. I did not fully understand the power food could hold as a social connection until recently and I would surely be in your debt for the lessons."

"It would be on my world," she explains. "On Azeroth vampires are traitorous elves who sold their souls to the Lich King for a place in his undead army." She smiles slightly. "They have a somewhat...let's call it an adversarial view towards the trappings of civilization. And they have no interest in serving others, even symbolically."

She pats his hand. "You have already proven yourself to be of a different stripe than them. I would be quite happy to pass on the lessons that were given to me, on my world."

She smiles again -- this time in friendly curiosity. "What changed? That you were suddenly able to perceive this part of mortal life you'd never noticed before?"

Erik's eyes widen with rare genuine shock. "Yes, that is very different than how a vampire of my kind is created." For one thing, he recently discovered he still has a soul and for another he's never even heard of a Lich King. It seems like every week he's learning about a new definition of vampires and he hardly knows how to cope with it.

"Changed? Ah, well..." He has the good sense to look as embarrassed as he should feel about this. "The previous human I lived with was passionate about food so I let him handle all of it. But he was an isolated case, so I thought." Obviously, he was wrong.

"I knew food was an important element of gatherings but I was rarely in attendance to such gatherings. Until now."

"There is a reason that, in the near-thirty years since the Lich King's defeat, the san'layn have been hunted to the brink of extinction while my kind has been allowed to endure." Her smile, stiff as it has become, grows to show a hint of sharpened teeth. "We do not hold ourselves above others, nor do we view the mortal races as prey. It is...pleasing, I suppose, to encounter someone who walks the same path."

And then her face changes, softening and becoming more animated -- and chagrined. "Forgive me if I sound imperious. Some scars weigh more heavily than others. I am genuinely happy for you, that you're taking this step to connect with the community around you. You said before that you have enhanced skills -- when this human you used to know would cook, what odors or sounds did you like best? Did you ever allow yourself to touch the food? Honing in on sensory experiences you enjoy would make a fine starting point for your lessons."

"Yes. It is pleasing. I cannot claim there are none of my kind who view themselves as above mortals. They like to tell themselves they wouldn't have been hunted the way their predecessors were, but they dare not break the Accords, so all they can do is prattle on." Erik had to listen to a lot of talk just like that from his ex and his sister. It wore thin quickly even from them.

"I take no offense. You do not have to tell me about the weight of scars. I know it well."

He pauses to consider the question. What smells did he like best? "Hm. Well, I suppose the house always smelled best when he baked sweets and breads. Pungent scents like garlic and onion could be overwhelming at times if he did not open the windows, but the sweet scents were always divine. Oh, but I never would touch. I worried I'd spoil it somehow."

"You will simply have to get over that." Ellarinne grins brightly, her face now fully lived-in, and squeezes his hand a final time before dropping it politely. "Many foods require direct handling to achieve the necessary textures -- and as it happens, bread is one of them. You will simply have to resign yourself to getting your hands dirty. And your clothes," she adds, head tilting as she glances down at the fine suit he wears. He looks very handsome in it, but unless he's so wealthy that he doesn't care which of his clothes end up covered in flour...

"I'm still settling into my new job at the docks," she tells him frankly, "And then I must choose my new home. But once that's done, perhaps I might write to you or give you a call by sending stone to set up your first lesson?"

[ooc: wrap? Or, since it's a new month, we could continue this after a time skip if you're up for it <3]

"Yes, it has to be kneaded, doesn't it? I've seen Max do that." It looks messy, but then again his current job comes with plenty of mess already. He's become quite used to getting his hands dirty.

"A call would be just fine. Save yourself the postage. I'd like that, thank you. But you must let me pay back the kindness in some way."

"I'll let you in on a great secret," Ellarinne says playfully. "Food always, always tastes better, when it's made with care by someone else." She grins at Erik. "Promise you'll make bread for me now and then, and I'll consider myself amply repaid."

A week later, she keeps her word: she calls Erik on the sending stone and invites him to come over to her house, in the southeastern part of town. All he need bring is himself and clothes he doesn't mind getting dirty -- and perhaps, if he's feeling generous, a bottle of wine.

Cooking is nearly always more fun with wine, Ellarinne informs him.

"As long as you promise not to sue me if whatever I make causes you to fall ill." RIP Cesar and the fudge.

He arrives wearing the clothes he'd come to the island in. Simple cotton, with a few patches on the knees and elbows now to repair the rips he put in them whilst fighting the River Walker in its own caves. (At least there aren't any blood stains showing.)

He knocks, and then stands back a little so he can hold up the bottle of wine he's brought. He does appreciate when someone makes it easy on him by telling him what to bring in these situations.

"I hope red is to your taste?"

Don't worry, Lord Osborne. Ellarinne's stomach is made of fel iron, your bread won't hurt her no matter how weird it is.

She smiles, accepting the bottle and nodding in approval at both the offering and his choice in clothes. "It is," she agrees. "Come on in."

She leads him through the front room and into her kitchen, the tools and most of the ingredients for making bread already arranged on the table. Ellarinne's townhouse is still largely furnished with the leavings of its previous occupants, but her cookware? Ah, that's as new as she can afford.

The wine goes into the ice box to chill, and then she turns to Erik and explains in a half-teasing tone, "The first lesson every cook must learn is cleanliness. Since we're just baking for ourselves today I won't make you wear a hairnet, but it's a good habit to get into when you're cooking for a group. And you must always, always wash your hands. Just because neither of us can get sick in a way that matters doesn't mean we can't pass contamination onto other people. So," she gestures to the wash basin. "Roll your sleeves up, and wash up to your elbows for at least thirty seconds."

While he does that, Ellarinne will be carefully gathering her hair into a bun and tying it out of her face. Once he's done it's her turn to wash up, humming under her breath.

Her kitchen looks exactly as he imagined, which is exactly how Max used to keep it. She does know her stuff, doesn't she? (Because, naturally, Erik assumes Max sets the bar.)

"Now, that, I do remember. Max always drilled that into me, I promise you." He does as he's told and goes to the sink with his sleeves neatly rolled past the elbows. He's used to washing his hands for other reasons, these days, but that does mean he's efficient at it.

"What's that you're humming?"

"Oh my, you really do have sharp hearing, don't you?" Ellarinne smiles at him sadly. "It's just a little song my grandmother came up with...all of us children used to sing it together before dinner, to show we'd washed our hands properly..."

She turns her face away, saying in a low, half-embarrassed voice, "It's all I have left to remember them by..."

"I do, yes." He decides against telling her that he could have heard it from the next house over.

"I'm sorry for your grief, but there's no need to act embarrassed. I think that's a very sweet way to keep the memory alive. I often wish I had such memories of my own to cherish, but I was orphaned at too young an age."

"It saddens me to hear it. I was an adult, but they were all...I lost my whole family in a single night..."

She shakes herself a little. "But come," she says ruefully. "We can discuss such sad things anytime. Today we agreed we were going to make bread!" She gestures to the table, where the ingredients have already been laid out, and reaches for a small bowl containing a grey-white mixture. "I started proofing the yeast by mixing it with water and honey a quarter hour ago," she explains. "So it should be ready now. Go ahead and have a sniff."

"Yes, you're right. Such conversations are better had over drinks." So, maybe they can save that for when the wine gets broken into.

He doesn't particularly need to do this to catch the sweet and tangy scent of the yeast, but he tips his face closer just to show he's doing as she suggests. It reminds him most of how fresh sourdough smells. Perhaps that's what they are making?

"I've heard it said that yeast can fail to proof. How do you know if it's gone wrong?"

Ellarinne smiles at him, pleased by both the question and how accommodating he's being.

"I so love at attentive student," she murmurs. "The scent and appearance will tell you whether your yeast has successfully proofed. See the bubbles?" The mixture in the bowl has turned off-white and creamy, with little clusters of bubbles not unlike the look of pancake batter. "They are produced by fermentation between the yeast and the sugar in the honey. If your yeast hasn't made any bubbles at all after ten minutes or so, it's most likely dead."

"I see..." Erik studies the bowl carefully. He can see the bubbles, and hear them too. Those tiny organisms are hard at work and they don't suspect how short their lives will be, do they?

But, he wonders, is it possible that even these small organisms will come back to life on this island? There's an interesting thought.

"Can it not be used at all if it's dead?"

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Mingle - Emergency Potluck

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I'm down for a time-skip and keep going! New month new lessons!

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