Logs:Sweet Potato Soufflé

Sweet Potato Soufflé
Dramatis Personae Beau, Naomi
In Absentia	2020-11-21 "It's too damn quiet around here."
Location <XAV> Conservatory - Xs First Floor
Tall panes of glass and a many-gabled glass ceiling protect this large indoor garden from the elements, while welcoming in sunlight to keep it warm year-round. Adjoined to the southern face of the venerable mansion and surrounded by more conventional gardens beyond, the conservatory is all Old World elegance from the outside. Within, however, it is lush and green and in certain corners--whether despite its careful tending by the groundskeeper or because of it--seems practically wild. Footpaths and a burbling artificial steam wind through the space, connecting its disparate parts. Benches are scattered throughout, thorough soft grasses or mosses under certain trees also invite rest. Despite Beau's best efforts to stop it, the cool weather has started to set in once again, leaving the giant of a teenager to sit on one of the benches and sulk, especially without any homework to occupy his time. He's dressed relatively warm, a black Aéropostale hoodie stretched over his torso, worn blue jeans with a slightly frayed left knee, and a pair of brown steel toed work boots. "Welp. Reckon I ought to find somethin' to do fore too long." The man grumbles, a hand coming up to fuss with his shaggy beard. "It's too damn quiet around here." “I. Am. So. Bored.” The voice doesn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular at first, but then Naomi sits up from a patch of particularly long grass, blades stuck in the scales on her forehead. She’s wearing her White County High School hoodie again, though it seems tight under a number of hidden layers of fabric. She gets to her feet eventually, brushes some dirt off of her jeans. “Do they even do anything for Turkey Day ‘round here?” "Shit!" Beau jumps slightly, the bench whining slightly before two of the legs finally give out and bend, dumping the teen on the ground. "That's comin' out of my college fund." he deadpans and sighs before pushing up, dusting himself off now as well. "Usually have ah parade, some communities have street fairs. Biggest thing to do'll probably be Black Friday, ifin I had to guess anyways." Naomi laughs at Beau’s shock, then - “Oh shit I’m sorry!” She emerges from the patch of tall grass, eyes wide at the broken bench. “We could… uh…. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks darken. “I was just, y’know, being bored outta my mind.” Her eyes light up at the mention of a parade. “Oh, is that in Salem Center?” Scrunches up her nose. “Wait, were you here last Thanksgiving?” "Don't worry about it, knew it weren't meant for my heavy ass, but I sat on it anyway." Beau waves a dismissive hand before stretching up to his full height. "Just the big one, but the restaurants should be havin' specials." He nods, "Yeah, been here for the last five. Parents didn't want to make the rest of the family uncomfortable havin' a mutant at the table." Shrug. Naomi’s eyes go a little wider as Beau towers over her by at least a foot and a half. “You’d think they’d have more, like, super strong benches around. For folks made outta rocks or whatever.” She sticks her hands in her pockets. “That’s rough. Even without a pandemic, I’on think we woulda been heading back either.” A small, hopeful smile. “Does the caf do turkey, usually?” "To be fair, I weigh like six-hundred pounds or somethin' stupid. Don't really wanna get on ah livestock scale to find out." Beau cracks a grin, though he doesn't seem to be joking. "Usually. Turkey, pie, dressin', the works. They're pretty good about cookin' for the holidays they have to acknowledge." “Mmmm.” Naomi considers this. “Whadabout… mac ’n cheese? Sweet potatoes?” Her face is hopeful. “I ain’t spent a Thanksgiving outside of Georgia before. I heard up north they don’t do sweet potato pie.” “Fun fact? The reason that the south doesn’t eat pumpkin pie is because an abolitionist convinced Lincoln to make thanksgiving a national holiday, and naturally that pissed all of them off.” Beau doesn’t linger on the topic, “Might get lucky and get a sweet potato soufflé this year though, it’s been known to happen.” A slight pause, “What part ah Georgia you from?” Naomi whistles through her teeth. “Damn.” Still, the mention of soufflé cheers her up. “Oh, good. As long as there is a chance.” She kicks at the path they’re standing on. “Helen. Not too far from the North Carolina border. Forests there.” “Nahunta, bout an hour away from Florida. Meth there.” Beau replies without missing a beat. “There might be some pie floatin’ around already, but you gotta be quick. We’ll definitely have some come December though.” "Oh!" Naomi's eyes light up. "Knew you sounded like home. More or less." She doesn't quite know what to do with the meth comment. "Wait you mean like right now already or like, now like November?" “Like, there might be a some now. If there’s not it’ll be a few weeks prolly, you know, depending on how fucked things are.” Beau makes a vague gesture outside with his right hand before resting it in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m gonna miss havin’ Mr. Holland around.” "What, is he going somewhere?" Naomi glances towards the way out of the conservatory, then back to Beau, eyes wide with alarm. "Oh shit, does he have cancer too?" A beat, then a blush. "That makes no sense. Ne'er mind. Maybe we should get the recipe from him now, though." “Oh, no. I’m about to graduate, he’ll still be around here.” Beau clarifies. “Sorry, shoulda been more specific. I’m sure he’d give you the recipe if you asked though.” Naomi flushes. "Oh, obviously. Sorry I - forgot you were a senior. It's hard to tell around here sometimes." Another fleeting look at the conservatory door. "I dunno if he's even 'round today, but -" She glances back. "If you see him first could ya ask him for me?" "For sure." Beau offers Naomi a smile before turning to the bench and casually picking it up with one hand. "I should probably go try an' fix this so I don't have to buy another. Was good talkin' to you though, hope there's a piece a pie left." "Jesus," Naomi exclaims, quietly, when the bench comes up. "I - I'll leave ya too it." She turns on her heel to the door - swivels back just as quick. "Good luck. With graduatin' and everything. Happy Thanksgivin'." A small grin as she twists back, setting off toward the door of the conservatory.