Participants:
| Scene Title | Strawberries and Sprinkles |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mynama lends Koshka a hand, and conversation quickly turns from the serious to the dreamy ideal of ice cream. |
| Date | January 26, 2011 |
Outside the weather is less than pleasureable, snow falls heavily and makes visibility difficult at best. But inside, in the dining room and well after supper, it's snug and warm. Ish. The far end with the fireplace retains its heat throughout the day but a draft still manages to creep in past the heavy canvas that hangs from the windows and chill air crawls down the darkened hallways.
But somewhere in the middle, somewhere between the two extremes of cold and hot, sits Koshka at one of the long tables. Still within a hoodie, a knit cap pulled over her head, and her jacket resting beside on a bench, the teenager is yet again hard at work. Today it's back to potatoes. With hands and fingers still managing to be reddish and cold, she works a peeler over the spuds, picking at random an unpeeled subject from a seemingly endless pile and once finished placing it into a pitifully small pile.
It's a rare day that Mynama has been able to finish her allotted chores and take some time for herself. That time, however, was spent tending to her own needs - like doing her laundry and taking a bath, so that she could spend as little time as possible in clothing that she didn't come to the island in. The "community chest" of clothes isn't all bad - the sweaters and other items are warm and durable, but like so many, the sixteen year-old clings to the familiar. And in a place where everything effectively belongs to everyone, a sense of exclusive ownership is not easily let go.
Released from it's usual binding scarf tied tightly around the girl's head, Mynama's hair surrounds her like a dark halo as she steps into the room, her boots heralding her arrival across the stone floor. It doesn't take her long to spot Koshka, and it takes her even less time to join the girl, pulling her pocket knife out of her pocket as she sits down across from her. She deftly opens it, then leans forward, resting her arms on the table and letting the knife dangle precariously in one fingerless-mitt-clad hand as she grins at the other girl.
"Want some help?"
A flick of blue eyes goes toward the knife, touched with habitual wariness. But that's all gone and replaced by her usual friendliness as Koshka tips her head back slightly to look at Mynama. She nods toward the pile of unpeeled potatoes while finishing off the one in her hands. "I'm so tired of peeling potatoes. And carrots." It's not so much a complaint, though negative in subject. She sounds rather conversational, actually.
Rather than pick up a potato to start peeling it, Mynama shifts the knife in her hand and brings it down in a forceful stab at the pile. Her grin closes, her eyes narrowing for a moment at the brutal gesture and the stress it relieves before she pulls the knife out, and a potato along with it. Only then does she commence to peel and talk.
"Could be worse. You could be helping in the infirmary." She leans forward a bit, her lips curling into a conspiratorial smile that's less smile and more worry. "And with what I've been hearing about the evo-flu coming back again, the kitchen seems a safer bet. You get to see who sneezes on the food that way."
Koshka watches the potato so matter-of-factly get stabbed before it meets its fate of skinlessness. Her hands stay busy though, working the peel off into its own haphazzard pile on the table. "I guess the infirmary could be worse," she says with a shrug. "Could also be the safer place, clean and… whatever."
Placing one freshly peeled potato down, Koshka selects another without really considering. The peeler begins its movements again, scraping the skins free. "What do you think of all that? The evo-flu and… like the whole thing with getting vaccines."
"I think it would really fucking suck to get the evo-flu and potentially die when the only thing I can do is turn a piece of special paper red," Mynama says with a slight cynical curl to her lips as she drags the blade mercilessly across the vegetable. "No thank you. I'd rather get shot, or hell, be wherever they were taking us in that fucking van than suffer like that." She pauses in her peeling to prop her elbow on the table again, pointing the knife in Koshka's general direction. "I get that sick, and you have my permission to lace whatever they're spooning into me with enough arsenic to kill that guy Raith in one shot."
"Yeah but… " Koshka glances up at Mynama, then returns her eyes back to the potatoes. "Yeah well… I'll see what I can do so you don't suffer too much." Another glance is lifted toward the older girl, along with it a hesitant grin, something attempting at humor. "But it's not like that's going to happen."
Mynama snorts, then shakes her head in agreement. "Damn straight it isn't. Because we're going to stay away from anybody who gets sick. I mean even a sniffle. Your roomie starts coughing? You haul your ass over to my room. I don't care if it's three in the morning." There's a dogged determination in Mynama's words, even if her attention is focused on the potato. Once she's finished skinning, she plunges her knife back into the pile to spear another one.
While Brian is more likely the first person Koshka would go to, should someone in her room turn up with the sniffles, she nods amenably to the advice. "How long you think they're going to keep us here," she asks as she turns the partially peeled spud over in her hands. "I get that it's safer than the city but.. I mean, they can't sustain it indefinitely, can they?" In other words, how long until people catch on to life at the castle.
The older girl shrugs and sighs, looking away from the potato in her hands across the dining hall. There isn't much to look at, and taking in the same four walls one more time just solidifies the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that has rooted within her like an angry weed. "I don't know, OshKosh," she says, bringing herself back to the task at hand. "You wouldn't think they could. I mean, I guess maybe we'll just be here until they can send us someplace else. I know they're keeping us safe, but…it doesn't feel much different than that cell did." Imprisonment is imprisonment, not matter how big the cage.
Koshka looks up at Mynama, brows knitting over the older girl's answer. There's a question about why Mynama's here, lingering and longing to be asked, yet the younger teenager keeps it in check. She has her own secrets and isn't one to pry too deeply. So instead she offers a smile and a shrug. "You know what I want? Like.. really totally want? Right now? Ice cream. Maybe we could talk the next person going to the city to bring the makings for icecream back and we could make it ourselves."
Mynama arches her brows and smirks. "Make ice cream?" Sure, ice cream has to be made somehow - it doesn't grow on trees or get squeezed out of a magical breed of cow. "Do you know how to make ice cream, Kosh?" Because Mynama doesn't. But her tone isn't as teasing as it is curious. She laughs, then shakes her head as she grabs another spud. "Yeah. Ice cream'll be good. With strawberries." Because if they're going to dream about getting what it takes - magical cows or now - to make ice cream, they might as well dream about it being tasty.
"I dunno. Like.. cream and ice?" Koshka shrugs, and though her response lends toward a pun, there isn't one intended. "I bet we could find that out too. Someone's got to know, or could get a recipe." She grins and sets potato and peeler aside to lean forward on her elbows. "We need chocolate too. And rainbow sprinkles. —And whipped cream." If it's going to be tasty, might as well go all out with it.