08-13-2016, 06:54 AM
When they stayed in the smaller towns and villages, it was usually with the families who called the rākṣasa's services. Being female, Ashavari inevitably ended up amongst the women of the household, swept up like a cog in the wheel of the kitchen's heart. Those women had often felt the need to mother her, but Asha welcomed the care and enjoyed the novelty of the lessons. The humdrum was pleasant. The predictable flow of emotion. The focus.
It meant she cooked to excess without meaning to, still adjusting to both static and single living. The freezer was full of leftovers. Of course, when she had said she had plenty of food, it was perhaps not the sort of food an American would expect stocking the cupboards. There was a covered dal in the fridge; a quick, easy and cheap meal. Mentally she tried to calculate exactly what seasoning she'd put in it. Garlic, onion. Turmeric. Cumin. A little ginger. She wouldn't call it bland, but it was not spicy either. It'd have to do. She could boil rice. Fry some chapatis. He wouldn't starve.
Taking out the dishes and balancing them on the side, she flicked on a radio on the counter top, switched the volume down to a low background murmur. She could feel Elias relax behind her as she washed her hands in the sink. It settled into her bones like an embrace, not as rejuvenating as curling up in bed, but a pleasant lethargy that warmed contentment into her limbs. The pressure behind her eyes didn't ease; she'd pushed herself too hard for that. But for now it was easily enough ignored.
The kitchenette was tiny and lacked enough utensils that Asha doubted Aria had used it much. But it was luxury compared to the camping stove she'd grown up tinkering with. While the water boiled she set down mats on the coffee table, alongside bowls and cutlery. Afterwards a jug of water and glasses. Elias was flickering through the bestiary; his curiosity tickled her senses, but she left him to it. He looked different with his hair tied back, and she made a surreptitious study of his face as she laid everything out. Without the thick leather coat she could see he was reed thin, his arms long and pale; it somewhat reminded her of a turtle having shucked its shell.
While the dal warmed through and the rice simmered, she kneaded out the dough and heated oil in a pan. When the rest of the food was ready, she cooked them in rough circles, towered them on a plate with a layer of kitchen roll between each one. There were no serving dishes, so the food was ladled into ordinary bowls with ordinary spoons dug into their centres, and placed on the mats on the coffee table. A moment later the piping hot chapatis joined the mini feast, laid out on a plate. He was welcome to serve himself. "It's lentils and chickpeas and spinach. The cubes are sweet potato. There are some spices. It's not hot though. You can stick to the rice and chapatis if you'd rather."
She popped off her shoes, stacked them neatly to the side, before she finally sank into the sofa. Her legs curled underneath her, and she peered over his shoulder curiously. "Have you ever seen anything like the things in there?"
It meant she cooked to excess without meaning to, still adjusting to both static and single living. The freezer was full of leftovers. Of course, when she had said she had plenty of food, it was perhaps not the sort of food an American would expect stocking the cupboards. There was a covered dal in the fridge; a quick, easy and cheap meal. Mentally she tried to calculate exactly what seasoning she'd put in it. Garlic, onion. Turmeric. Cumin. A little ginger. She wouldn't call it bland, but it was not spicy either. It'd have to do. She could boil rice. Fry some chapatis. He wouldn't starve.
Taking out the dishes and balancing them on the side, she flicked on a radio on the counter top, switched the volume down to a low background murmur. She could feel Elias relax behind her as she washed her hands in the sink. It settled into her bones like an embrace, not as rejuvenating as curling up in bed, but a pleasant lethargy that warmed contentment into her limbs. The pressure behind her eyes didn't ease; she'd pushed herself too hard for that. But for now it was easily enough ignored.
The kitchenette was tiny and lacked enough utensils that Asha doubted Aria had used it much. But it was luxury compared to the camping stove she'd grown up tinkering with. While the water boiled she set down mats on the coffee table, alongside bowls and cutlery. Afterwards a jug of water and glasses. Elias was flickering through the bestiary; his curiosity tickled her senses, but she left him to it. He looked different with his hair tied back, and she made a surreptitious study of his face as she laid everything out. Without the thick leather coat she could see he was reed thin, his arms long and pale; it somewhat reminded her of a turtle having shucked its shell.
While the dal warmed through and the rice simmered, she kneaded out the dough and heated oil in a pan. When the rest of the food was ready, she cooked them in rough circles, towered them on a plate with a layer of kitchen roll between each one. There were no serving dishes, so the food was ladled into ordinary bowls with ordinary spoons dug into their centres, and placed on the mats on the coffee table. A moment later the piping hot chapatis joined the mini feast, laid out on a plate. He was welcome to serve himself. "It's lentils and chickpeas and spinach. The cubes are sweet potato. There are some spices. It's not hot though. You can stick to the rice and chapatis if you'd rather."
She popped off her shoes, stacked them neatly to the side, before she finally sank into the sofa. Her legs curled underneath her, and she peered over his shoulder curiously. "Have you ever seen anything like the things in there?"