![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cooking Lessons - WIP
Feb. 1st, 2018 11:44 pmPenelo was only fourteen when the war ended. When her brothers were dead and her parents taken and executed for sheltering them. When an Imperial officer and his wife and new baby were moved into her home and she was thrown out to fend for herself. She'd had only a few moments to gather her belongings. She'd chosen practical things: a cooking knife, a pot, a single skillet, what food she could store in those items, a sack full of clothing. Clothing that she long since outgrew when she filled out, ending as rags turned into a patchwork blanket. Her mother's jewelry was forfeit, but her hair baubles, those were permitted. Penelo took them all and slept with them under her head every night for the past two years. Someone pilfered them whilst she was occupied at Migelo's sundries shop, leaving only the ribbons behind.
That's when she took to braiding her hair with ribbons at all times, so that small remnant could also not be taken from her.
The cookware was shoddy and the knife often dull, and hidden behind a crate in the back of the warehouse she now called home with the rest of the orphaned children of Lowtown.
She was fourteen when she became the mother hen of the urchins--doing what she could to keep them safe, keep them fed, keep them from being trodden underfoot by Archadeans in their heavy plate armor.
Migelo did his best by them. But he was in a precarious position trying to stay in business so he could help children who had lost everything and appearing to be much put upon by their presence. Nobody could afford to be seen as an abetter of the resistance. He shrugged helplessly when questioned why one of his abandoned warehouses were now housing riff-raff. What was he to do when they snuck in while he was minding his store? And if one of them stole a copy of his key to the waterway, he could hardly be held to account for petty thievery. No, it was better by far to send them on trivial errands and pay them in food. The invaders couldn't possibly object to his project of trying to rehabilitate them into model colonial citizens, now could they?
Vaan sometimes grumbled that it was too boring, Kytes was easily distracted, Filo wept for her old house when she thought no one was listening. Penelo? She was grateful for the help and understood that the Seeq was doing all that he could. She also never ate the whole of the meal he provided her while working. Always she would put back a bit of bread, a corner of cheese, half a starfruit fresh from the Estersand. Those tidbits went to one of the other hungry mouths with large eyes hidden away in Lowtown where they could not offend the aesthetic sensibilities of their conquerors.
Problem was, not a one of them really had been taught how to cook yet. Penelo was next oldest and someone had to do it, so it fell to her. She did her best. Coin from dancing in the bazaar was too precious to squander on prepared food when there were shoes needed and milk for the youngest of them. It was easier to sneak out to the edges of the desert and grab a few cacti and hope that Vaan's rat hunting would turn up successful. She learned through trial and error how to skin a rodent, how to save the bones for broth, how to saute their tails in cactus butter as a treat for the children. How to scrape the insides of the cactus and melt it in a pot for cooking. How to boil the remainder leaves into vitamin filled tea.
It all tasted terrible.
No one dared complain in Penelo's earshot. Not when a plea of "I'm hungry" would be met with a crust of bread from her lunch. Or a bowl of rat stew with root vegetables gleaned from the brush outside the city gates. She never stopped working, never slowed down, never shed a tear. The rat stew could have used that small dose of salt, but it never happened. She tried as she could to improve her cooking, but with so little at hand to work with, options were limited.
Except when Vaan went stealing again. He had a point, after all. The Empire had stolen everything from Dalmasca and what could it hurt to take some of it back? Except the answer to that was a life sentence in prison. And he was needed by all of them. They relied on him for protection and for food. And of course, his pie in the sky dreams of becoming a sky pirate. Every child loved those, daydreams of taking to the air, escaping the underground prison that constituted their home. Someday they would be free.
Someday they would not fall asleep hungry.
Someday they would not have to rely on Penelo's failed cooking attempts.
Someday her meals wouldn't need to be flavored with tears to be palatable.
That's when she took to braiding her hair with ribbons at all times, so that small remnant could also not be taken from her.
The cookware was shoddy and the knife often dull, and hidden behind a crate in the back of the warehouse she now called home with the rest of the orphaned children of Lowtown.
She was fourteen when she became the mother hen of the urchins--doing what she could to keep them safe, keep them fed, keep them from being trodden underfoot by Archadeans in their heavy plate armor.
Migelo did his best by them. But he was in a precarious position trying to stay in business so he could help children who had lost everything and appearing to be much put upon by their presence. Nobody could afford to be seen as an abetter of the resistance. He shrugged helplessly when questioned why one of his abandoned warehouses were now housing riff-raff. What was he to do when they snuck in while he was minding his store? And if one of them stole a copy of his key to the waterway, he could hardly be held to account for petty thievery. No, it was better by far to send them on trivial errands and pay them in food. The invaders couldn't possibly object to his project of trying to rehabilitate them into model colonial citizens, now could they?
Vaan sometimes grumbled that it was too boring, Kytes was easily distracted, Filo wept for her old house when she thought no one was listening. Penelo? She was grateful for the help and understood that the Seeq was doing all that he could. She also never ate the whole of the meal he provided her while working. Always she would put back a bit of bread, a corner of cheese, half a starfruit fresh from the Estersand. Those tidbits went to one of the other hungry mouths with large eyes hidden away in Lowtown where they could not offend the aesthetic sensibilities of their conquerors.
Problem was, not a one of them really had been taught how to cook yet. Penelo was next oldest and someone had to do it, so it fell to her. She did her best. Coin from dancing in the bazaar was too precious to squander on prepared food when there were shoes needed and milk for the youngest of them. It was easier to sneak out to the edges of the desert and grab a few cacti and hope that Vaan's rat hunting would turn up successful. She learned through trial and error how to skin a rodent, how to save the bones for broth, how to saute their tails in cactus butter as a treat for the children. How to scrape the insides of the cactus and melt it in a pot for cooking. How to boil the remainder leaves into vitamin filled tea.
It all tasted terrible.
No one dared complain in Penelo's earshot. Not when a plea of "I'm hungry" would be met with a crust of bread from her lunch. Or a bowl of rat stew with root vegetables gleaned from the brush outside the city gates. She never stopped working, never slowed down, never shed a tear. The rat stew could have used that small dose of salt, but it never happened. She tried as she could to improve her cooking, but with so little at hand to work with, options were limited.
Except when Vaan went stealing again. He had a point, after all. The Empire had stolen everything from Dalmasca and what could it hurt to take some of it back? Except the answer to that was a life sentence in prison. And he was needed by all of them. They relied on him for protection and for food. And of course, his pie in the sky dreams of becoming a sky pirate. Every child loved those, daydreams of taking to the air, escaping the underground prison that constituted their home. Someday they would be free.
Someday they would not fall asleep hungry.
Someday they would not have to rely on Penelo's failed cooking attempts.
Someday her meals wouldn't need to be flavored with tears to be palatable.
