capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Much like Amelia, the recent happenings with the Porter were never far from Al's mind. The confusion over Iron Man's true nature, the possible opportunity that was now before them... all of that would have been impossible not to think about. But the lab was already full of other heroes, and Al himself was frustratingly useless when it came to this world's technology. He would have gladly helped out if he felt there was something he could do, but until that time came, it would be best to stay out of the way of those who knew what they were doing.

And well, assuming things did work out, they could all be going home soon, meaning he and Amelia would never cross paths again. Since the city was still relatively calm, there was little harm in spending what could be one of his last evenings here with her. Besides, he'd agreed to help her with cooking weeks ago, and Al liked to think of himself as a man of his word.

He had to admit their attempt wasn't going quite as well as he'd expected so far, but that was his own fault. Al had assumed it was this future world with its confusing prepackaged, premixed ingredients that was throwing Amelia off, but the amount of batter now decorating the walls indicated otherwise. Maybe the two of them were just inept at this sort of thing, even when working from scratch.

In spite of the mess, though, they'd at least managed to mix the dough. By now it should have chilled enough to work with, leaving only the actual cooking to finish the job. Surely they could get that part right, couldn't they? Even without a proper deep fryer.

"That one looks good," Al agreed, nodding his approval. "I'll go get the dough out of the refrigerator."

"Okay!" She nudged the cupboard doors shut, standing . . . and blinked as dough from the ceiling plopped downward into her hair. Probably should have turned the mixer off before pulling it out of the dough in retrospect . . . She wiped it out of her hair with her fingertips with a face, drying her hand on a damp towel before searching for the oil.

A modern kitchen was bewildering. The kitchen in Saillune was much different from this, full of heavy-bottomed pots and cauldrons, herbs and spices hanging from the exposed rafters, cooks and undercooks bustling about the kitchen as they wielded knives for vegetables or basted meat turning on the spit in the fireplace. One couldn't miss the kitchen at home, its air heavy with cooking and rotting food and old spices, its heat radiating up the staircase towards the upper halls. This modern kitchen was a land of bright, shiny pots in which one could see one's face, filled with knobs and buttons to adjust and bottles of ingredients that bounced on the floor instead of broke when you dropped them. Here there was only Alphonse and herself, and a bewildering army of appliances meant to make life easier and yet managed to fail utterly. No cooks. No professionals. She was in over her head.

But Amelia had never been one to let herself be easily daunted. This kitchen was a new challenge to tackle, and tackle she would. Meanwhile, she did not think much about going home. She might jinx it if she did -- and worry about Lina, who might not be there for it. Better to keep life proceeding forward.

Checking the recipe, she squinted. "If it's going to end up in a pot anyway, it seems like you should measure it by the pot instead of by the cup . . ."

"You think so?" Al asked, collecting the bowl from the refrigerator and closing the door behind him. The suggestion sounded a little strange to him, but Amelia was a girl and thus better prepared to deal with these matters. Alchemy might have began in the kitchen, but most modern day practitioners probably deserved to be banned from them.

Al had been telling the truth about assisting his teacher all those years ago, but that could hardly be considered real cooking. Back then he'd just handed Izumi things and dutifully followed her instructions out of fear of being drop-kicked across the room. What he and Amelia were trying now was a decidedly different (and fortunately less violent) experience.

Brushing some of the flour and egg mix from the table, Al set the dough down and began to rummage through the drawers for a rolling pin. "You can go ahead and put the oil in while I get the doughnuts ready."

"It makes sense to do it by the pot, but they don't say how many cups in a pot, so . . ." Amelia flipped back and forth through the book, looking for the measurement chart she'd seen previously. "I guess it's better to stick with the book."

Fortunately for all involved she understood what a measuring cup was by this point. Oil splashed into the cup -- a little too hard, some of it surging over the side and joining the mess on the counter. Amelia sent a guilty glance towards Alphonse's back, covering over the small puddle with the dishcloth, dumping the amount into the pot. No one had to know.

"Okay, so they say the stove should be on for . . . 375 degrees." A blink. "Are you supposed to warm up the stove first, like the oven?"

Oblivious to the mistake, Al retrieved the rolling pin and set about preparing the dough. He didn't own an actual doughnut cutter, but a few quickly transmuted knives would work just as well. The pictures he'd found online had been a sufficient guide on how to shape them.

"Well, we don't want the oil to get too hot, but since we're almost ready to start frying the doughnuts, heating it should be okay now." Al smiled at her over his shoulder before getting back to work. This step honestly made him feel a little girly, but he supposed there was no getting around it. Carefully, he started cutting doughnut shapes from the rolled out dough, moving them aside to hand to Amelia later.

Edited 2009-03-14 05:59 (UTC)

Did that mean letting the pot warm up on the range, or letting the range warm up without the pot first? At the stove Amelia hesitated. But if Alphonse was almost ready to start the frying, it seemed logical to put the pot on now and let the stove range warm up with it. In the end, that was what she did, oblivious to the fact that some of the spilled oil had leaked over to line the bottom of the pot.

Meanwhile, there was no 375 degrees on the range like there was on the oven. Although Amelia had used the stove to warm up food for Lina and herself before, this inconsistency was frustrating. In the end she turned up the heat to let the oil warm up quickly, coming to peer over Alphonse's shoulder.

"Eee, they look good!"

"Yeah, I think they'll turn out okay." A messy kitchen was a rather minor setback, all things considered. "Do you want to start cooking them now? I'll finish up here."

Al gathered up the excess dough and rolled it out again, sparing only a quick glance at the stove. Maybe Amelia wasn't a culinary expert (and obviously, neither was he), but he trusted she could handle this. "I think the directions said they need to fry for one-to-two minutes on each side."

"It's still warming up a little, but then I will." Amelia leaned on the counter, taking up a spare bit of dough in her hands. She wanted to taste it like no one's business, but supposedly in this world raw eggs in dough was a bad thing. Meh. She settled for rolling the dough slowly between her palms, experimenting with the texture of it. "The doughnut cutter seems to be working really well."

"I thought it was kind of strange at first, but I guess this place has a tool for everything." Al held up the doughnut cutter, examining it for a moment. If people back home took these kinds of shortcuts he'd never noticed, but in all fairness, he hadn't exactly been interested in learning much about cooking in the last few years. And if the Porter really got fixed, then... Well, it was best not to focus on that just yet.

"Want to cut some of them while we're waiting?" Al asked, dismissing the thought and forcing some cheer into his voice.

Opportunity! The delight in Amelia's face was immediate. "Mm-hm!" Playing with the dough looked a bit more fun than the oil, anyway. ". . . They really do have a tool for everything. Back home I think we would have just used a knife."

Replaying his words back in her head, however, made her pause. "You're okay?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm fine," Al assured, and really, he was. Amelia's enthusiasm made it nearly impossible to drift into a bad mood, even with the serious matters that lay ahead. Smiling, he passed the utensil to her and took a couple steps back out of the way.

She peered at him a moment more just to be certain that he was telling the truth, but as she could neither see nor hear any other indication, dropped it as he did. "Okay."

Also, the lure of the doughnut cutter was strong. Trying not to disrupt the work he'd already done, she placed the cutter into the dough, pressing as she'd seen him do. To her delight it came out much in the same way that his had -- though it stuck to the inside surface of the cutter. She shook it a little, gently. "How does it get out?"

Al watched Amelia work, the idea of checking on the oil slipping further from his mind. He gave a bit of a sheepish grin as she ran into trouble; apparently he'd skipped yet another small step.

"Ah, sorry," he said, leaning in to help her pry the dough free. "I should have used some more flour to keep it from sticking."

She copied his movements, poking at the dough through the top of the cutter until it popped out with a wet plop onto the countertop. "Cooking isn't as easy as they make it look. There's all kinds of little rules to it . . ."

"I never really did anything fancy at home, and you don't need it when you're out camping. Other people always made the food at home or if we were at an inn, and if we were all on the road, then it was just simple -- a campfire, maybe, and we cooked fish on sticks."

"Amestris had some of these things, but we're about a century behind when it comes to technology. Otherwise the situation wasn't so different for us." Excluding the tiny detail about Al not needing to eat for the last four years, of course.

But maybe the similarities were part of why he'd befriended her and Lina so easily. That story Amelia had told Ed about her friend's journey to become human again had hit a little too close to home. He hoped he'd be able to ask her more about it sometime without sounding suspicious, but such things were touchy subjects.

"Brother and I usually ate at inns too since we were always on the road." Al's smile turned wistful. "And we cooked a lot of fish that way back when we were training."

Amelia was just as curious about Al and Ed, but the subject hadn't come up that much. However, when it did, she didn't know any better than to nudge blindly into it. "You both travel a lot?"

"Uh-huh." Al nodded and fetched the bag of flour from the counter. "Brother was in the military, so our alchemy research kept us moving. If you don't mind my asking, what made you and Lina travel so much?"

"I don't mind." If anything, she seemed pleased that he'd asked, waiting for the flour before attempting another doughnut. "For all of us it's different, I think . . . Lina-san travels because she's always looking for something new and bigger, I think -- some new bigger spell, or bigger bandit threats, or something like that. Gourry-san goes with her because he says he's her protector. Though --" Amelia lowered her voice, a glint in her eye. "Really it's because he likes Lina-san -- and honestly, I think Lina-san likes him back, though she'll try to deny it. Zelgadis-san . . ." Her tone became faintly wistful. "Zelgadis-san always wants to find his cure. And me . . ." She paused a moment. "Well, I don't always like staying home. I love Saillune, but there's lots to see out there -- lots of new and interesting and different things, and I want to see as many as I can. I get to help correct Injustice, and . . . I get to be with everyone." She smiled faintly. "They're like family now . . ."

A sweatdrop. "Plus even if I do try to stay home, we usually seem to cross paths anyway -- at which point Lina-san blows something up and we all have to flee from angry people."

Al set the flour down and watched Amelia from across the table, taking in her words with a touch of awe. For all that he'd talked about himself he'd never actually learned much about her world, although it was obviously quite interesting. Bandit-chasing, magic, journeying for the sake of adventure... It was almost like something out of a storybook.

"It sounds like you come from an amazing place," he said once she'd finished speaking. It seemed unfair to press for information on Zelgadis now, even though the opportunity was there. Al didn't want this conversation to make Amelia sad. "Saillune is your hometown?"

Edited 2009-03-16 23:52 (UTC)

Amelia's energy seemed to grow in talking about Saillune, and she dusted the doughnut cutter with such gusto that white powder flew into the air. "It's a city and a kingdom. It's really beautiful -- the buildings are all white and they gleam in the sunlight. It's the white magic capital and the seat of peace and Justice, governed by the best and wisest ruler in the world whose heart never falters in the pursuit of Good! We're also famous for our soft serve ice cream."

Al laughed softly, amused by both Amelia's excitement and its effect on her cooking. "It does sound nice. You must really like your king to say that much."

Which, in all honesty, was a mildly troubling thought. It had never been a good sign to hear that kind of adoration directed towards a ruler in the past, the situation in Reole being the prime example. Saillune couldn't really be like that, could it? Al hoped this was just a case of Amelia's idealism overshadowing a more mundane truth.

"Eto . . ." Amelia smiled, but ducked her head a bit as though in hesitation, pressing the cutter into the dough. Pride, however, brought the words out. "It's Daddy."

"Daddy?" Al dropped his hands to the table, leaning forward in surprise. "You're the king's daughter?!"

What she'd said the other day about the trust between rulers and the people suddenly made a lot more sense, but the news still caught Al off guard. Amelia might have been more regal-seeming than Ling and Mei, but really, a crime-fighting princess who travels around in search of injustice? The very concept struck him as surreal.

"Mm-hm!" Amelia beamed, yet sweatdropped too, absorbing herself in poking the doughnut out from the cutter. It wasn't exactly a *secret* by any means -- and she was certainly proud of her family -- but Al's reaction invoked some degree of uncertainty all the same. "Well, there's two of us, technically, and Daddy's still a prince even though he does most of the ruling right now, but . . ."

A sudden blink. "Do you smell something?"

Al was grateful that at least Amelia's kingdom seemed more normal than Ling's; two daughters was a vast improvement over nearly fifty siblings battling one another for a shot at the throne, and she certainly appeared to be close to her father. Still, Al had to wonder just how he'd managed to get himself mixed up with royalty so often these days.

Before he could say anything else, Amelia's question brought his attention back to more important matters. Al followed the faint scent of smoke to the stove, eyes widening as he caught sight of what allowing himself to get so distracted had resulted in. Between overheating and the oil that had been spilled directly over the cooktop, the pot had erupted with the beginnings of a grease fire.

"Damn it," he hissed, hurriedly checking their surroundings for something he could use to put the fire out with. While bad, this wasn't yet cause for panic.

Fire! Unlike Alphonse, Amelia flailed internally. Occasionally the campfires she'd mentioned previously to Al went awry, and ultimately she did what any of her group would have done in that situation.

"Aqua Create!" A stream of water shot from her hands to meet the fire, aiming to put it out in an instant.

. . . Unfortunately Amelia did not know grease fires didn't work that way.

Edited 2009-03-17 15:54 (UTC)

When Amelia fell into the motions of spell-casting, Al figured it would be best to stay out the way. She must know some magic to put the fire out easi--

Wait, aqua?!

"Amelia!" Al grabbed her--a bit rougher than he'd have liked, considering his haste--and did his best to shove her back behind him. Chances were he could handle being burned a lot better than she could.

Predictably, the fire exploded over the stove and the surrounding area the instant the water hit. For a moment, nearly half the kitchen seemed to be engulfed in deadly flames. The worst of the flare-up was short-lived, but nonetheless dangerous and destructive--smaller fires had taken hold in several places, and would obviously continue to spread if Al and Amelia weren't able to act fast.

"Are you okay?" Al asked, slowly lowering the arm he'd been using to shield his face.

Amelia squawked, barely having time to register what her spell had done before she found herself shoved behind Al's back -- only a moment before the kitchen veritably exploded into light and heat. She shrieked then, Al a pillar in front of her against the onslaught of the blast.

Had she . . . Was he . . . ?

No time for that. Barely registering his question, Amelia took in the fire around her, managing a shaky nod. The fire at the moment was her first priority, her hands spinning the spell.

No water. "Mos Varium!"

A ball of light blossomed, spinning like a top, sucking fire into its bowels like a small, hungry sun, leaving the kitchen smoking in its wake.

Al couldn't help wincing as Amelia immediately launched into another spell, but it was soon clear that this one was much different than the last. He blinked as the magic did its work, impressed at just how quickly and efficiently she'd managed to get things back under control.

"Thanks." Al breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back to survey the damage, both to the apartment and to Amelia. His own clothes were a little singed, and he dusted at them absently. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Am *I* hurt?" She whirled on him even as the light ball vanished, her eyes enormous. "Are *you* hurt?"

Al didn't answer at first, too unsure of how to react to her concern. That most people thought of him as invincible was something he kept taking for granted, but more and more often, he was learning it no longer applied here. He hadn't meant to worry her.

"I'm a pretty hard person to hurt." Al smiled reassuringly and scratched at the back of his head, though his expression still held traces of tension. "Sorry about all that. Water doesn't mix very well with a grease fire."

Well, that was right; he *had* fended off the bullets, that night with Khonshu -- he and Ling both. But still . . . seizing his arm, she examined it for any burns, turning it back and forth.

Amelia's actions were once again unexpected, but Al made no move to draw away from her. He bit his lip, silently watching as she looked him over. He didn't mind the inspection if it would make her feel better--any damage he'd suffered was only superficial.

"...I'm fine," he said finally, his voice much softer than before. "I promise."

"Recovery." The red marks on his skin were only minor burns, barely noticeable, but she healed them anyway, the soft, white light of her healing leaving his skin unmarked. Only then did she seem satisfied, darting a small smile up to him.

Turning back to stare at the kitchen, "Mou . . ."

Having never experienced healing magic firsthand before, Al found himself transfixed by the light. The whole thing was such an odd sensation--but certainly not unpleasant--and once Amelia was done he traced his fingers over the area as if he couldn't believe such a thing was really possible.

"You didn't have to--" Realizing that protesting now would be pointless, Al stopped and simply returned her smile. "...Thanks."

But the pretense of good cheer was hard to maintain once he followed her gaze to take in the severity of the destruction. Ed and Ling were going to kill him--any place that held food was practically sacred to people with appetites like theirs. Fortunately, it didn't look like anything he wouldn't be able to fix. With a sigh, Al moved to get the windows open to help lessen the amount of smoke in the room.

Amelia seemed as transfixed by the damaged room as Alphonse had been by her healing a moment before, her shoulders sinking.

"I didn't know . . ." Her voice was small.

Amelia spoke so quietly that amid the noise he was making, Al almost missed hearing her. Waving away what he could of the smoke, he looked over his shoulder to give her a sympathetic frown. "It wasn't your fault. I was supposed to be helping you, but I didn't pay enough attention to the important things."

She shot him a faintly wibbling look back. He wasn't the one who'd ultimately destroyed the kitchen. "Alphonse-san shouldn't have to save me from making messes! What can I do?"

"Really, Amelia, it's okay." Al held up a hand as if to protest, but then hurried to switch the stove off as he suddenly remembered they'd neglected to do so yet. Fortunately, this time he made it before another fire broke out.

Moving the pot away from the heat source, Al turned back around to face her. He hated that look Amelia was giving him--though he was embarrassed he'd screwed up as a teacher, it wasn't something she should feel guilty for. Her world was so different from this one, it was no wonder things had gone awry. Hoping to lighten the mood, Al managed a small grin. "The kitchen can be repaired, but I think we're going to have to give up on the doughnuts."

There was the potential for great doughnut angst here, but fortunately Amelia discarded it in favor of the matter at hand. The fate of the kitchen was still of primary concern. "I'll throw them away and help you clean?"

Al was tempted to insist that it wasn't a guest's place to clean up like that, but decided against it. That was one argument he didn't think he had a chance of winning. "Thanks, Amelia. I'd really appreciate it."

Glancing from the burned surfaces to the mess of ingredients splattered throughout the room, Al barely stopped himself from sighing again. This was going to take a lot of work, and worse yet, he was still hungry. "...Does take-out sound okay to you afterwards?"

". . . Uh-huh." With everything else, she didn't dare protest, grabbing for the trashcan. Sigh.

Her movements were tight and hesitant, like a dog with its tail between its legs. In spite of Al's encouragement that he didn't blame her, likely the guilt would still last for a while.