Timestamp: Fall 8, 514 AV
Location: Kechaiya's Home in Sunset Quarter
Time of Day: 18th Bell, Evening
Kechaiya was tired of boiled potatoes. She had decided to go and buy herself a small squab, already plucked and cleaned. She'd never made one before, but how hard could it be? Setting the bird in the middle of her table, she just sat there and stared at it, trying to decide how to cook it. She could try putting it on her fork and cooking it directly over the fire. But that would take forever, and she really didn't want to be holding it up the whole time. That just left her pot. Perhaps instead of using a lot of water, she could just use a little. Plucking the pot from its place, she set it on the table as well. Tipping her waterskin over it, she put a small layer of water in the bottom. Only about an inch. Grabbing a potato and her eating knife, she began chopping it up in terribly oblong, unevenly sized pieces, and tossed them in the pot with a flourish and a splash.
She pulled out some pouches from her herbalism kit, and began sprinkling in leaves from Batonal and Vyfox, and large chunks of Gigar root, along with some salt. Satisfied, she threw the squab in, and set the pot in the fire. She knew she had quite a bit of time to kill, so she grabbed her sewing kit and plopped herself down on her bed to practice her stitches and strengthen her hands. She liked to just stitch in random designs into her blanket that didn't look like anything to anyone but her. Grabbing a large needle, she threaded it, and after pulling out a hefty portion, bit it off and knotted it. She stuck the needle into the fabric, and brought it back up a small distance away. She pulled it all the way through til the knot caught, then she sent the needle back down through across from the first entry point, bringing it back up across from the first exit point. She did this several times until she had a bunch of tiny parallel, and occasionally, crooked lines.
She then began doing it the opposite direction, forming a conga line of X's across her blanket. She didn't know if this had a name, nor did she care, just enjoying it. Losing track of time, she stitched and stitched, until the smell of smoke struck her nostrils. Cursing in Tawna, something akin to a goat's mother being especially prurient during the hottest of days, she threw the blanket to the side and rushed to her hearth. She got the pot out of the fire and set it on the table as smoke started rising out of it, forcing a cough from her lungs. Rushing over to her door, she opened it up so the smoke had somewhere to go, curses still flying all over the room. Grabbing a plate and a fork, she stabbed into the dark pot over and over until it struck something fleshy. Pulling it out, she saw her squab was now as black as he eyes. Tossing it on her plate in frustration, she sat down in her chair and sighed loudly. She couldn't waste the food, but she was not looking forward to the chalky taste of burnt pigeon.
Location: Kechaiya's Home in Sunset Quarter
Time of Day: 18th Bell, Evening
Kechaiya was tired of boiled potatoes. She had decided to go and buy herself a small squab, already plucked and cleaned. She'd never made one before, but how hard could it be? Setting the bird in the middle of her table, she just sat there and stared at it, trying to decide how to cook it. She could try putting it on her fork and cooking it directly over the fire. But that would take forever, and she really didn't want to be holding it up the whole time. That just left her pot. Perhaps instead of using a lot of water, she could just use a little. Plucking the pot from its place, she set it on the table as well. Tipping her waterskin over it, she put a small layer of water in the bottom. Only about an inch. Grabbing a potato and her eating knife, she began chopping it up in terribly oblong, unevenly sized pieces, and tossed them in the pot with a flourish and a splash.
She pulled out some pouches from her herbalism kit, and began sprinkling in leaves from Batonal and Vyfox, and large chunks of Gigar root, along with some salt. Satisfied, she threw the squab in, and set the pot in the fire. She knew she had quite a bit of time to kill, so she grabbed her sewing kit and plopped herself down on her bed to practice her stitches and strengthen her hands. She liked to just stitch in random designs into her blanket that didn't look like anything to anyone but her. Grabbing a large needle, she threaded it, and after pulling out a hefty portion, bit it off and knotted it. She stuck the needle into the fabric, and brought it back up a small distance away. She pulled it all the way through til the knot caught, then she sent the needle back down through across from the first entry point, bringing it back up across from the first exit point. She did this several times until she had a bunch of tiny parallel, and occasionally, crooked lines.
She then began doing it the opposite direction, forming a conga line of X's across her blanket. She didn't know if this had a name, nor did she care, just enjoying it. Losing track of time, she stitched and stitched, until the smell of smoke struck her nostrils. Cursing in Tawna, something akin to a goat's mother being especially prurient during the hottest of days, she threw the blanket to the side and rushed to her hearth. She got the pot out of the fire and set it on the table as smoke started rising out of it, forcing a cough from her lungs. Rushing over to her door, she opened it up so the smoke had somewhere to go, curses still flying all over the room. Grabbing a plate and a fork, she stabbed into the dark pot over and over until it struck something fleshy. Pulling it out, she saw her squab was now as black as he eyes. Tossing it on her plate in frustration, she sat down in her chair and sighed loudly. She couldn't waste the food, but she was not looking forward to the chalky taste of burnt pigeon.
