capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO: Amelia (

willofjustice) and Alphonse (

alphonse)
WHERE: Ed, Al, and Ling's apartment.
WHEN: Tonight.
WARNINGS: Possible explosions.
SUMMARY: Two people without great knowledge of modern technology or cooking attempt to make food. You know it all goes downhill from there.
FORMAT: Paragraph?

It wasn't that Amelia did not take the situation with the Porter seriously. Indeed, even as she dug through the pots and pans in the alchemists' kitchen, her communicator was with her, on and sticking out of a pocket. At a moment's notice, she would leave, no matter what was going on, but for the moment life went on, and long ago she and Alphonse had promised one another an attempt to figure out the complexities of cooking. With Amelia staying at the alchemists' apartment for a couple of days while Lina was away, it seemed like a prime opportunity.

Rattling and clanging emerged from the cupboard as she attempted to find a pot large enough for their needs, poking it up onto the counter for Alphonse's approval. "Ne, that one? I think it's the biggest."

On the menu was doughnuts.

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"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.