ArchivedLogs:Stories

Stories
Dramatis Personae Ainsley, Melinda, Sproutling
In Absentia	2015-11-26 Not exactly a Thanksgiving... (Part of the Zombie Flu TP)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Kitchens - Lower East Side
Gleaming and polished and new, the common house here boasts an enormous industrial-sized kitchen for preparing communal meals. Set up as two mirror-image fully equipped kitchens, both left and right halves of the room contain a trio of enormous ovens, each topped with twelve gas-powered stove burners. There is a wealth of cabinet and drawer space ringing the walls, and separate side-by-side fridge and freezer to each side of the space as well. Both halves of the room contain their own large central islands, black granite countertops providing a large expanse of space for food prep; beneath the center islands are stored a well-stocked supply of pans and pots and cutting boards and kitchen gear. The pantry is shared, a large walk-in room along the back wall, its shelves all carefully labelled and organized. The opposite wall has sinks, deep three-compartment ones for each side of the room. There are very clearly labeled signs in the kitchen, denoting the left half of the room strictly for preparation only of foods both vegan and Kosher; there are no restrictions on the foods prepared in the right half. Equipment from each side is color-coded and should be kept separate. Instructions request that any prepared foods served or stored in communal space keep /strict/ lists of the ingredients used for those with dietary concerns and that leftovers are marked clearly with dates before being stored. The kitchen is humming with quiet activity as a small group of people wander around the different stoves and countertops preparing the dinner meal for the Commons. In charge of the group is a woman who smells strongly of coffee. She's tall, with long, long brown hair that she keeps in a messy loop at the back of her neck. Her face is long and her lips full, blue eyes practically glaring at a pot of boiling potatoes. She purses her lips and scowls, inhaling before stepping away, bending over to peek into an oven window at a sliced up pumpkin... or is it a squash? She grumbles a little before turning to her left and grinning, a small play pen in the corner where a small green child plays with toys. A woman dressed in a brown leather coat, jeans, boots and wool gloves steps into the kitchen. She's just inside from trying to fix up the courtyard. The green-eyed young lady steps around awkwardly, removing her gloves to stuff them into a coat pocket while she tries not to get in everyone's way. Her deep green eyes settle on the woman giving the food angry looks, a mirthful smile displaying on her own face. She's always been slightly more positive, but not always the most prone to initiating conversation, despite living here for as long as she has. "{Want any help?}" she offers as she approaches, speaking in melodic Spanish. "{I'm not great at cooking, but I can follow instructions. Looks like there's plenty of people helping already...}" "{You cold? Such a nice day.}" Melinda's Spanish is rough and she stumbles over words like an elementary schooler learning the language, but luckily the weather is something taught to newbies. She is wearing a long sleeved tee in plum over a pair of jeans, heavy boots on hir feet. She turns around to examine Ainsley for a moment before sticking out her hand. "Melinda." "{Help. Cook? Okay. Um.}" Her scowl returns as her attention drifts back toward the work being done in the kitchen. "{Break beans of green?}" "Ainsley," the dark-haired woman replies, accepting the offered hand with only a brief, relaxed grasp. "{I'm from Sacramento.}" This by way of explaining why she's dressed in winter clothing, whether or not it's a nice day. She smiles and patiently steps over to start doing the work she was assigned to do, getting out a hair tie to tie back her black locks. She's prepared green beans before, by the looks of it. Her eyes momentarily turn inquisitively to the green child in the play pen, then back to the task at hand. "{Your child?}" she inquires of Melinda, with a tilt of her head in that direction. "{Yes, my daughter. Tola.}" When Melinda speaks of her daughter, she looks at her and signs what she's saying. "{Say hi, Tola.}" The small green child is only about 19 months old, wearing a set of mixed stripes and patterns in cotton. She has flower petals for hair, all white in color. She has a plastic block in one hand that she is half gnawing on, watching her mother with very green eyes. She doesn't seem to be doing so poorly during the current crisis. She lifts her free hand and waves to Ainsley before she cups her hand in front of her and runs it down the length of her torso. 'Hungry.' Melinda signs back, "{Not yet. Soon.}" Finally, she looks back to Ainsley. "{So, Sacramento? Wish to be there now?}" Ainsley is impressed with the level of mutation in the child. It's distracting, but in a way that suggests she's curious and happy about the sight. The sign language gets some pause, and the reply from Melinda pre-empts Ainsley's own temptation to do so, prompting a warmer smile. Something about it makes her happy, despite all the horror in the city. Ainsley waves back to Tola slowly. Thinking on that question is what she does next. "{Yes,}" she replies, honestly and easily, "{I want to help everyone here, too.}" She punctuates that by gathering up the green beans she's prepared and placing them in a proper container. "{Help everyone, big work.}" Melinda shakes her head as she pulls out the roasted squash and rests it on a towel on a counter top, then frangrance of the vegetation starting to fill the air. "{What can you do?}" She finds a fork and starts poking at the squash, finally satisfied before she turns back to the potatoes, pulling them off the stove to drain them. Another person speaks up and says the rice is done and Melinda nods. Ainsley looks around for anything else that was pulled out that might need preparations, and decides to just wait for her next instruction, making sure to stay out of everyone's way. She watches while Melinda works. "{I'm a musician. The best I can do is play music. But I can do things like this... and I'm going out with Steve and some others to gather supplies,}" she explains, that last part said with some uncertainty. She's the most passive sort of creature, based on her history around the Commons, so it's a drastic shift in her habits. "{Music is good. Music pleases people.}" Melinda points to the fridge. "{Get the soymilk, salt, garlic. Mash potatoes.}" She pauses for a moment and then offers, "Please?}" She moves over to help another woman carry the large container of rice to the tub they are storing it in. "{We learn new things because zombies. Steve will help you. Don't worry.}" Ainsley happily turns to retrieve the ingredients from the fridge, gathering up the potatoes as well. With the potatoes already boiled, and the garlic already prepped, all she really needs to do is get out a mixer... The reassurances are accepted with a nod and a smile. "{'Tragedy reveals the best and worst in people,' as they say.}" Translating the quote took some obvious effort from her, but she managed it. Then she begins to sing while she makes the mashed potatoes. It's just wordless sounds, but they're serene and, maybe to some, beautiful. Just her improvising to herself. "{Huh? What?}" Melinda looks over her shoulder at Ainsley, her brow furrowing. "{I think I got ... ...people out of that.}" She shrugs and finishes her work before checking on some other food. "{I am just learning Spanish. I'm not saying don't speak lots, I just want you to know I won't understand all of it.}" She wanders over to the sink and starts washing her hands, falling silent as she starts singing. Ainsley shrugs at Melinda, patiently smiling, leaving the difficult where it is and accepting it for what it is. She continues singing, and her voice picks up in volume as she gets into her task with more enthusiasm as a result. She effortlessly hits ranges that defy her natural speaking voice, and it caps off when she pauses to inspect the potatoes for 'doneness' by using a little spoon to get a taste sample. Satisfied, she sets the potatoes aside. "{That's what kind of mutant I am,}" she adds, somewhat proudly. The sound-making kind, apparently. "{Oh, you're a mutant?}" Melinda nods and moves across the kitchen back to the toddler in the play pen, extracting out the small child and holding her close. She heads back to the food and pulls out a small sectioned dish from the cupboard and starts scooping soft veggies onto the surface, carrying them and her daughter over to a small sitting area. Getting off her feet and out of the way seems like a priority right now. "{Cool, cool.}" First, Ains makes sure all of the food is dealt with. Then she follows Melinda over to the sitting area, settling nearby. "{Sounds,}" she says, and then she thinks to herself. She then makes a faint rumbling noise like a machine, with her mouth, a simple demonstration. "{It helped me become a musician, and then... well, it doesn't help as much anymore.}" And then she looks to the child and up to Melinda's face. "{And you? What is your story?}" "{I don't have a story.}" Melinda admits, offering small bits for the child to messily nom on. The process is slow as some of the food is still incredibly hot. She blows on a chunk of squash until it is cool, then transfers it to her daughter's grasp. "{Not really.}" She shrugs and considers, looking down at the child. "{Moved to here. Got a job. Made friends. Had a baby. Haven't died yet. Guess I'm doing pretty well.}" Tola isn't really efficient at eating as adults are. The small cube of squash slowly turns into a lumpy ball as she takes off edges and corners with her gums and baby teeth. After a while, she offers the morsel to Ainsley in case she wants it. Tola's generosity is declined gently. Ainsley smiles in gratitude, but waves it off. Ainsley's smile softens for a moment, and she says to Melinda, "{I wonder if the world will get better for us someday...}" With that said, she clasps her hands together and rests them in her lap. She then closes her eyes and begins to hum another song. Something that might be recognized as something from the local radio, from a couple years ago. She did release an album or three before things got too bad to sustain her career...