quatre: they will put away the sword

[untamedantinous]

There are a number of kitchens to be found in the mansion, as most people know. Enjolras is in one of them, flour speckling his flannel shirt and black jeans. There is a recipe book open on the counter near him, open to a page on baguettes. The young man in question is currently absorbed in kneading some dough: once again, something new to concentrate on. (Yes, he had known that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were only here for a day, but that does not really make it much better.) So, inspired by Laertes -- and, perhaps, the underwhelming boeuf bourguignon the mansion had provided the other day -- he is attempting a French classic. Perhaps a homemade baguette will taste better than mansion-provided food.

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[futaille]

Grantaire is walking into the kitchen to grab a snack and almost doesn't recognize Enjolras in the clothes he's not used to, but only almost. He pauses in the doorway, blinking a few times, before he enters. "Found a new pastime?"

[untamedantinous]

"Mm?" He turns and glances at Grantaire, continuing in his work. There is --flour everywhere, including on his face, but he is making the effort at least. "I suppose so. I have never tried it before, but--" he shrugs. "The boeuf bourguignon the cold box gave me the other day was quite frankly an embarrassment, and I was hoping I might do a little better."

[futaille]

"Well, if you take to it with the diligence you do anything else, I have no doubt it will be a fine loaf of bread indeed." He pauses. "Also, you have flour on your face."

[untamedantinous]

"I wouldn't bet on it. I do not think I have ever baked a thing in my life." He frowns and brushes at his face, which just serves to smudge the flour around some more. "Do I? Thank you."

[futaille]

"Well, you'll at least get there eventually, then." The attempt, though, at wiping the flour off his face makes him stifle laughter. "That didn't... here." He only hesitates for half a breath before stepping forward to wipe the flour off himself.

He clears his throat. "There. Good as new."

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras gives him a small smile and a nod, moving back to let the dough rest a little and wash his hands. "Thank you. It is a bit of a mess in here. Hopefully I can straighten it up some while the dough sits. I think that is the next step."

[futaille]

Grantaire steps back as well, lightly rubbing his fingertips against one another¹. "I could help?"


¹ To knock the flour off. Clearly. Obviously.

[untamedantinous]

"If you'd like," he offers, turning his attention to the recipe book. "What have you been doing with yourself, then, the last few days?"

[futaille]

Grantaire shrugs and starts to collect mixing bowls and the like to clean. "Eh, you know me. Drinking, carousing, playing pointless games."

[timebethine]

Laertes has his own baking to do--he's going to attempt a steamed nutbread, although he'll be using walnuts instead of kulunuts. When he sees Lucien at the counter, though, he tucks the recipe back into his pocket. "Hallo," he says warmly, coming up behind Lucien to wrap his arms around him. "Might I lend a hand?"

[untamedantinous]

"Hallo," with a warm smile in return, and he leans back against Laertes a little to look at him properly. (There is flour smudged on his cheek.) "If you'd like to, yes. I'm afraid I've made a bit of a mess of the entire counter."

[timebethine]

"And thyself." Laertes runs his thumb over Lucien's cheek, smearing away most of the flour. "What art thou making? How can I aid thee?"

[untamedantinous]

"Baguettes. I had some bourguignon the other day that was --truly terrible, and I thought I might at least do better than that. I do need to let this rest though, I think, so if you would like to grease one of those bowls there, that would be helpful."

[timebethine]

"At thy command," Laertes says, and lets him go. "Butter, or olive oil?"

[untamedantinous]

"Mm, I do not think it says." He frowns over at the recipe for a moment. "Ah -- olive oil, it looks like."

[timebethine]

Then Laertes gets out the olive oil and pours a little into the bottom of the bowl, swiping it up the edges with a paper towel until the bowl is fully greased.

[untamedantinous]

"Thank you," with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He takes the dough from the board he was kneading it on and deposits it in the bowl, covering it with a cloth. "There, now it must rest for a half hour or so, I think. Until it has doubled in size."

[summerdude]

"Oh, hey dude," says Magnus, coming into the kitchen, smelling of the cold wind blowing outside. It feels like it's probably going to snow soon, so he's stocking up. Food first, and then he has vague plans to find a tarp or two lying about somewhere. "Whatcha doing?"

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras turns and glances over his shoulder, smiling briefly. "Hello! I am making a baguette, or attempting to. I have never done it before. What are you up to?"

[summerdude]

"Raiding the refrigerator to stock up my camp," Magnus says, suiting action to word on the hunt for things easy to prepare over a campfire. He has an eye out for some of Heidrun's mead, too -- it's getting chilly enough outside for it to feel a little brisk even to him, though not enough for him to be truly affected by it -- and the mead, in addition to being energizing, is warming even when it's cold. "How's the baguette going?" He looks over his shoulder at what Enjolras has going on, but it mostly just looks like a bunch of dough.

[untamedantinous]

"It is more fickle than I anticipated," he says, laughing a little and trying to brush some errant flour off his shirt. "There are two rises that I must contend with, and they are both about 45 minutes. I did not think there was this much sitting involved in baking." To be fair, there is probably not much sitting at all involved if you are employed as a baker, but Enjolras has never done that. "But hopefully it will turn out better than the stew I got the other day."

[summerdude]

"This must be why there's not a lot of baking too the death classes in Valhalla, I guess," Magnus says, divesting the fridge of all of its hot dogs and snacks and moving onto the pantry for better shelf-stable items. "Too much lag time, too little assurance that you'll come back to life in time to -- whatever it is you do between rises."

[untamedantinous]

"Today, I have been mostly talking to people. I am not certain what one generally does in this case." He wrinkles his nose at a particularly stubborn smudge of flour. "Timing is, at least, important. Or so Laertes has said to me, he has baked many more things than I have,"

[summerdude]

"Laertes does a lot of cooking," Magnus agrees. "And he's really good at it! Between the two of them, he and Galahad have been keeping me well fed in my time outside. But it's getting cold so I'm trying to do better about fending for myself." The pantry has a ton of canned and dehydrated foods, and he dumps them all into his bag. He's strong; he can manage their weight.

[untamedantinous]

“He is,” nodding with a smile. “And quite patient about teaching it, when I’ve a mind to learn.” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Do you prefer it more, outside? It is turning too cold for me already out there, but I am from southern France, it is a little warmer there in general.”