Completed Fire in the Hold (Solo)

[Orin Fenix]

50th of Summer, 515AV

The sound of sailors clumping around on the deck above his head woke Orin from a fitful sleep. His body was far more active than his mind, which probably explained why he rolled out of his hammock and straight onto the floor. The jarring pain of his elbows slamming into the worn planks below certainly worked just as well as any other wake up, and Orin groaned. Despite half a season on board, he still wasn’t used to either the sailor’s hours or life on a ship. As evidenced by his less than graceful method of getting ready for the day. Rubbing his temples to get the last vestiges of drowsiness out of his system, Orin made his way to the door.

Sylvette was nowhere in sight, which filled Orin with a mingled sense of relief and guilt. Their interactions had been strained as late. Orin knew he was responsible for her in so many ways. She was, after all, basically a child and even though her adolescence was passing quickly she still seemed to largely be a simple creature, with simple tastes and simple habits. She really didn’t ask much from Orin, just that he provide her with the affection she deserved. And he wanted to give it to her, because he felt as strongly for her as she did for him. Any threat to her brought out a protective side that Orin hadn’t realized he possessed. But there was an equal part of him that was convinced that he simply wasn’t capable of love. That if he opened himself up to it, he’d poison everything he touched. So his Kelvic bond was a constant source of both joy and terror. He was ecstatic beyond words that he had such an intimate connection with another living, breathing, person. But every day it forced him to ask himself uncomfortable questions about whether or not he could really afford to let other people into his life. He’d survived his formative years by shutting everyone out to avoid pain and heartache. Now though, his barriers had been forcibly ripped open, though Orin couldn’t blame Sylvette for that entirely.

Still, it made for uncomfortable thinking. And Orin had found that losing himself in his work was the best way to get past these slumps. So as he climbed up the ladder and emerged into the open air of the deck, Orin was pleased to discover the sky was a cloudless and vibrant blue, dipping down into the horizon into a sea as smooth as a lake. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, there needed to be almost perfect conditions before he was allowed to cook anything, even the simplest of dishes. And as he’d quickly learned, those times were few and far between. Letting out a whoop of joy that caused the closest members of the crew to stare at him he scampered over to the fishing nets. He gathered up the two fullest ones, then scrambled below decks significantly more quickly than he’d come up. He was feeling much more energized already, a sign of his current lethargy. After all he was often at a bit of a loss both as to what his purpose on board this ship was and as to what he was doing with his life. So a bit of straightforward cooking never failed to pick up his flagging spirits.

[Orin Fenix]

The nets and their contents got dumped onto the ground as he selected his largest pot. It was actually almost a cauldron, and a stew he made in it would be more than enough to feed the entire crew, perhaps even for days if Orin could keep the food warm. First though, he had to prepare his ingredients. Setting the first pot aside for a moment, Orin took up a smaller one and filled it with some of their precious reserves of freshwater. He probably could actually cook some of this with sea water but he wasn’t nearly that desperate yet, especially since the ship had resupplied recently in Riverfall. So the situation wasn’t dire right now, although Orin wasn’t really sure how long it would be before their next stop. Still, the water would only stay good for so long before spoiling, so Orin actually needed to use it or else it would be wasted.

Setting the water filled pot aside for now, Orin went to the stack of firewood in the corner. He gathered up an armful of logs, adding kindling and smaller twigs to the top and made his way over to the ingenious brick oven set into one wall. There was an opening outside the ship for the smoke, and the fire itself was fully contained in the stones to prevent fire from reaching the highly flammable pitch stained wood. Moving very carefully, Orin arranged his sticks and logs, before taking flint and steel and striking it together until the sparks caught. Every time he had horrible images of a rogue spark hitting the floor, so he took special precautions to reach as far into the oven as he could. Once again, he felt that he’d averted a disaster of epic proportions. Snagging his pot from earlier, he placed it on the shelf heated by the fire, where it would quickly come to a boil.

Next, he went over the nets and untangled them, trying to disturb the contents as little as possible. While seafood hadn’t been his specialty at his old tavern, he’d quickly picked up skills he’d never imagined that he’d need. He knew far too many ways to prepare fish and the various other denizens of the deep this ship pulled up every day. Orin had been fascinated by the nets and the fishing operations when he’d first arrived. Somehow, the sailors threw these nets overboard and every day they came up with strange catches. At first Orin had been bewildered by the number of animals brought to him. Luckily, the previous ship’s cook had left copious notes in a journal, and Orin had read it cover to cover. Basically it recommended variations on the same dish, a seafood stew which was incredibly easy to prepare and preserve. It also had useful tips on how to actually cook the various sea animals.

Turning to the necessary pages at the beginning of the book, Orin scanned it just to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He slipped on a pair of heavy oven mitts and strode over to the nets. Reaching into the opening, he snagged a crab in both hands. Predictably, they reacted poorly to him manhandling them and tried to pinch him with their claws. But his protective gear held and after a few trips all of them were deposited in what was soon to be their death. They slid into the bubbling water with a soft plop, and Orin placed a lid on it. Taking up the pot, he moved it to a slightly cooler section of the oven, since he just needed the water to simmer. Slipping off the mitts, he grabbed the hourglass in the corner and flipped it. It would last five chimes, so Orin was used to turning it over a few times to measure his time more accurately.

[Orin Fenix]

Next, Orin moved on to the rest of the contents of the nets. Dragging them over to the table in the corner opposite from the oven, he situated himself where he could watch the hourglass with one eye. Grabbing the cookbook as his last step, he propped it up against the wall as he followed the directions. He probably didn’t need it at this point but it never hurt for him to reinforce his basics. The clams were set aside. He’d just throw them in, no other work necessary. The only precaution he took was to throw out the bad ones. If the shell refused to close, it got tossed into a bucket by his feet, set there for any refuse he might acquire. The one advantage in shipboard cooking was cleaning up waste. Orin would just dump the bucket over the side when he was done. Picking up the carving knife on the side of the table, Orin took a moment to caress the handle. It was well worn, the steel of the blade thin from repeated sharpenings, but still strong. Although it was unassuming, in Orin’s hands it had the weight of history. He brushed his hand against the wood one last time, before making quick and efficient incisions in the fish. He peeled away long strips of the flesh, throwing out the heads and most of the spines. When he’d finished filleting them, he kneaded the meat with practiced hands, picking out the remaining bones. He didn’t want sailors choking on his watch. Lastly, he took care of the shrimp. Grabbing them with one hand, he peeled the shell off, and the head with it with his other hand, then pinched the tail and pulled. Grabbing a smaller paring knife Orin made a small cut down the center of the shrimp then used the tip to dig out the vein. Slowly, but surely, the shrimp piled up. Orin reached into the second net, only to come up empty-handed.

Of course, years of experience had allowed him to schedule his time in the kitchen rather well. Twice already he’d overturned the hourglass and as he glanced at it once again, he could see that it was almost done with its fourth cycle. Hurrying over to the crabs, Orin cautiously poured out the still hot water into his other larger pot, using the pot lid to prevent the crabs from sliding out. That water would add some much needed flavoring to the stew. Once that was done, he dumped the now dead and boiled crabs onto his work station. First, Orin grabbed the base of each leg and claw and pulled, setting those aside for later. Next he flipped the crab onto its back and removed the plate there, which was either narrowly pointed or a wide triangle for reasons Orin couldn’t begin to fathom. Not that it mattered all that much. Once the innards of the crab were exposed, Orin placed his thumbs on the top and bottom of the crab and pulled it apart. After a bit of tension, it gave, and the gross looking but mostly quite tasty inside was revealed.

Checking the cookbook in front of him, since crabs always gave him a bit of trouble, Orin pulled off the entire front of the crab, none of which was apparently edible. Discarding it, he moved onto the lungs, which were a weirdly feather-like substance around the sides. He had to double check to make sure he removed all of it, since the book, in bold, capitalized and underlined letters spelled out that this particular organ was not safe for consumption. Orin figured that with a warning that clear he should be especially careful. Next came a semi-solid greenish substance that, while theoretically could be eaten, tasted horrible. Orin, who wasn’t at all picky about what he ate, and in fact welcomed exotic tastes, had spat it out the first time he’d tried it. So he definitely wasn’t going to serve it to anyone else.

He lucked out with this particular specimen. Once he’d cleared away some of the unwanted material, Orin saw orange, and nearly cheered. Apparently this particular crab was a lady crab and she was carrying little crab babies. Though he knew they were really called roe, Orin always thought of them as little crab babies. Maybe because he’d had some particular rough experiences with the nasty animals, and his hands had the marks to prove it. In fact, before he’d read that he was supposed to wrap or cover his hands so they couldn’t get clawed, Orin hadn’t the slightest idea how to actually deal with crabs. Now though, he took a vindictive pleasure in killing them and then essentially mutilating their dead bodies. And since it was all in the name of a good cause he didn’t even have to feel guilty about any of it. Still, regardless of Orin’s feelings towards crabs, finding roe was great news, since it would definitely improve the taste of his food.

Once he’d set aside the meat from the main compartment of the crab’s body, he turned his attention to the top of the shell. Poking at the various cavities and crevices there, he got as much of the meat as could from there. Next he turned his attention to the legs and claws. The claw meat was relatively easy to retrieve. Orin simply pulled off the lower half, which brought the meat along with it, then pinched it off whatever it was still attached to. The legs required a bit more work. For those, he had to pull what he could from the top, then break it open along the joints to get the rest. Finally, though, he had quite a respectable pile of meat. Unfortunately, that was just one crab, and he sighed as he looked at the rest of the pile. One down, many, many more to go. The final product would definitely be worth all the work though and he was sure that the crew would appreciate his efforts.

[Orin Fenix]

Eventually, Orin managed to work through all the seafood, and he stretched out his slightly aching fingers. Even though he’d been working on a ship for a while, he still was having some trouble adjusting to the differences. One of them was that he had to be extra careful when using any bladed object, since he never knew when the ship would rock and send his implement flying. He’d gotten quite a few cuts before he’d wised up and learned to compensate for the pitch and swell of a ship. Another was the type of ingredients he had on hand, since obviously he was expected to use the sea’s bounty, which wouldn’t always have been his first choice. Still, Orin finally felt that he was making some progress in terms of understanding the problems and solutions that were a daily part of a ship’s cook. Sadly, he was probably towards the end of his journey, and if he had to admit it, he wasn’t enjoying this life enough to want to get back to it any time soon. In fact, looking back, Orin would have never left on this journey if he'd had even an inkling of what it would end up like. He wasn't made for the life of a traveler, the rocking of a ship under his feet or the long road stretching off into the distance. Stability and safety and the familiar surroundings of home called to him.

But he refused to turn back. When he was growing up he'd dreamed of exploring the world. It had been the only escape he'd had from a miserable existence. And though he wasn't getting much out of the path he was taking currently, he had no idea what he'd discover at the end of the trail. Or sea, rather. After all, everything he'd heard of this Abura which was their final destination painted it in strokes that were at once majestic and melancholic, and filled with an ethereal beauty. Besides, Orin hadn't quit anything in his life before and he certainly wasn't going to start now just because the going got a little rough.

Despite all his misgivings, while he was here, he still had to make the most of it, especially if he wanted to get paid. Pushing himself back into action, Orin went over to where he kept his scant supplies. Gathering up the spices and the few other ingredients that were still usable from their stop in Riverfall, Orin took them to a clean part of the counter. Arraying them out before them, Orin selected a clean knife. First, he diced the tomatoes, a little past their prime, into fine pieces. Following that he worked on some onions, peeling off the outer skin and chopping them up into smaller pieces. Afterwards, he moved onto the celery and garlic, which mostly would be used for seasoning rather than adding body to the stew. Parsley, a few bay leaves, salt and pepper rounded out the non-meat ingredients. All of that he dumped into the pot, before adding the meats he’d painstakingly prepared.

[Orin Fenix]

However, he still wasn’t quite done yet. Dragging the much heavier pot over to the fire, he placed it on the coolest part of the oven. Orin honestly wasn’t sure if he could lift it once everything was inside and he didn’t want to find out that he’d have to get rid of some of it later. Quickly, he darted over to his liquid reserves, and pulled out a bottle of olive oil, a bottle of red wine vinegar, and a large cup of that quickly dwindling water. Juggling the three so that he didn’t drop any of it, he darted back to the pot. He added just a splash of the olive oil and vinegar before placing them down carefully and dumping the entire cup into the mixture, which already smelled wonderful even though it hadn’t really started cooking yet. As the last step, Orin wrestled down the enormous pot lid from its home on the wall, and slammed it down on top, just managing to get his fingers out of the way in time.

Pushing it slightly farther in, Orin smiled in satisfaction. It would cook slowly over the next five or six bells, and the result would be a wonderful stew the sailors would love and that would feed them for days. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Orin started humming as he set about cleaning up. The bottles were recapped and set carefully aside in specially prepared pouches strapped to the wall, which Orin could seal off. In a storm, it was extremely dangerous to have any loose materials, and more than once Orin had been forced to lash everything down so it wouldn’t fly through the air. It had gotten to the point where he simply tied all that he could so he had less work to do if a squall came upon them suddenly. And glass, with its extremely fragile nature, needed extra care. That done, he scraped the bits and pieces of detritus off the table into the bucket. That, he took over to a hatch that was his only window and was tossed outside. The window he left open, the beautiful sea breeze wafting into the room and bringing with it the scent of brine and freedom. The smaller container he left to soak while he scrubbed down the table vigorously with soap and water, prepping it for the next project.

Finally, rag grasped in one hand, Orin placed his hands on his hips and surveyed his domain, pleased with his progress. It was practically spotless, and Orin prided himself on his cleanliness. “Clean hands, tasty food, happy customers,” was practically a mantra for him. Tossing the rag to the table, he grabbed a basket of ship’s biscuit and jam and then hefted a small cask of grog under the other arm. He staggered a few steps before correcting for the weight, then made his slow way up above. The crew would grumble at having to eat biscuit again, but they’d definitely perk up once he told them about the stew. So, for now, his work here was done.

[Liminal]

A really well done thread!

+2 Cooking.
Lore: The Only Good Crab Is A Dead Crab