The kitchen in the House of Cards, the vast bright one that Vince liked to use in his spare time, was graced by an unusual sight today. Strong white lamps illuminated the bug-eyed boy who was tearing through the room, and the black direwolf who stared critically out from her comfortable recline under the center table. The door was closed, reserving the room for Fenn’s use today. Pots, pans, strainers, and various other utensils used for cooking were thrown about the room in methodical disarray. The ones deemed necessary by Fenn were piled on the counter. Those that weren't were discarded on the floor or hastily shoved back into their original places at odd angles. Brownish marks marred the gleaming planks from him dragging a stool back and forth between counters so many times.
The place was a mess, and it was only going to get more chaotic.
Clutched in Fenn’s hands as he busied himself around was a book. A cooking book, to be precise. He laid it open on the implement-strewn counter and flipped through it with an electric grin. It was a book with a very smooth blue cover, and some elaborate inked images of different dishes. He had trouble describing the way the pages felt. They were... waxy... to the touch? Perhaps that wasn't the word. If Fenn knew what plastic was, he might have described the laminated pages as that exactly.
Within the last few weeks, since the incident where he had encountered Amari again, Fenn had settled into the House of Cards. And to “settle down”, of course, entailed picking an unoccupied room and using it as a storage space for some of the extra keepsakes in his hefty bag. His shoulders thanked him for it. These past few days had been a flurry of exploration for him; poking his head into other’s rooms, tromping up and down the floors with Daugi, and generally making a nuisance of himself on the property. It was his typical way of introducing himself to a place, much like one might get to know a co-worker they would spend long hours with in the future. This morning, Fenn had popped into a library in a quick spell of curiosity and had ended up walking out with a cookbook.
It had never been difficult to get Fenn off-task. Throw a shiny object his way, and he’d drop whatever he was doing to chase after it.
This book, evidently, was an acceptably shiny object, enough to distract him for the rest of the day. Not much so literally -- disappointingly! -- but metaphorically. He had found a recipe that had intrigued him, and thus he had it in his mind to try his hand at cooking it.
He was going to make some Earth lasagna. Wouldn’t Vince be proud?
Fenn peered at the cute little pasta-dish-thing inked onto the open page of his borrowed book, and his stomach, the loudest part of him, growled in grumpy complaint. Nothing has passed his lips since breakfast. He had better get to work!
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