[Sunset Quarters] Aw, Shucks!

by **Nellie Hawkins** on September 8th, 2014, 2:43 am

.67th of fall, 514av.

It was a chill night; though winter was still more than a few days off, Syna had set on a breezy precursor that felt like a cruel taste of things to come. Nellie was grateful that she'd managed to coax the previous evenings' coals into a cheery blaze in the hearth.

For a moment she lost herself in the flames; even now, nearly a year later, the flickering orange-yellow of the most innocent flame had the power to suck her in, throw her back to the day her parents died. It was with great effort that she managed to shake it off and refocus her her attention. Tonight the flames would be her friend, her aid. Tonight, she cooked.

But first, regrettably, she had prep work to do. A cool dozen smallish clams were soaking, had been soaking for nearly a bell, in a bucket of seawater. Nellie grinned in anticipation: seafood stew was on the menu, and those little guys were the feature ingredient. They just needed to get undressed for the occasion.

Retrieving her cookpot from its place near the hearth, she filled it with water from the cistern. 'Need to refill that tomorrow' she noted with a frown. It was such a pain, but the stew tonight would be well worth it.

Nellie set the cookpot down by the hearth and bucket of clams, and plopped herself on the floor by the two. There was a chair, just one, but its strength was decidedly suspect and Nellie mostly used it to hold other things. Buckets, clothes, fishing gear. Things that wouldn’t bruise if the chair just sighed and gave up on life one day. When that day came, she’d give the chair a proper send-off. In the hearth.

But today it seemed to be clinging to existence just fine, and Nellie offered it a mock salute with her butter knife before reaching into the bucket for a clam. Shucking clams wasn’t her favorite way to spend an evening, but at least she knew the clams weren’t going to try to steal from her, take advantage of her, or harass her in anyway. In fact, she was going to harass them. And end up with a tasty meal at the finish, as a bonus.

Her first victim lay helplessly in the palm of her hand, little suspecting the rude and violent intrusion that was to come. A steady hand brought the knife’s edge alongside the clam, inserting it gently between the two halves of the shell. Shucking clams was messy, and could be dangerous if you weren’t paying attention, but Nellie had done this more times than she could remember, and had developed her own method. Once the knife rest comfortably between the shells, she began to twist it, prying them apart. The process took only a few ticks and then – SNAP! – the hinge of the clam jumped open.

”Shyke.” She’d neglected to keep her hand level, and now the juice from the clam covered her hand, along with traces of gritty sand that hadn’t entirely rinsed off in the bucket. Nellie shrugged philosophically, there was plenty more where that came from. 11, to be exact. Dropping the empty top shell back into the bucket, she inserted the knife once more underneath the clam, cutting the unfortunate creature out of its home and dropping it into her cookpot.

by **Nellie Hawkins** on September 8th, 2014, 3:23 am

The remaining 11 clams soon met the fate of the first, and Nellie was left with a bucket of empty clam shells and a cookpot full of clams in water. Pleased with herself and, irrationally, pleased with the clams for cooperating so nicely, Nellie set the pot on the grate in the hearth. Seasonings would come next; the clams were just begging for some salt and garlic. Whatever else was handy would probably end up in the pot, also, and Nellie got up to investigate what spices she had on hand.

Garlic and salt both, that was good. She’d need at least those two spices to make even a decent soup. Some green stuff in a small container; opening it, she smelled the distinct aroma of bay leaves. Surely those would work well? Oregano, though it was old; actually, Nellie couldn’t even remember how old it was. She sniffed it experimentally; it seemed to smell alright.

”What harm could it do,” she reasoned, adding it to her small collection of spicery. Carting her additions to the hearth, Nellie faced a small complication: she didn’t actually know how much of anything to put into the pot. Salt, she knew, could always be added at the end, if the flavor wasn’t right; she put just a small pinch into the watery broth. Too much salt could, and had, spoiled her meal in the past. She was looking forward to this one too much to risk it this time.

Garlic, on the other hand… Well, Nellie was of the opinion that you could never have too much garlic. A few pinches were added, and then still one more. The little shack smelled deliciously of the spicy vegetable and the budding chef grinned in anticipation. The first two choices had been easy, and if they were all she’d found to plump up her clams, she would be a happy fisherman, indeed.

But there were still two more ingredients to add: bay leaves and oregano. Nellie was unfamiliar with both of them, knowing only that they each had a very distinct scent. Would they go well with the clam stew? Should she really risk it? She had no other food in the house tonight, and if her stew ended up inedible, it would be a cold and hungry evening for her.

Biting her lip with indecision, she finally decided to add just one. Having no other method of choice, she resorted to the old childhood rhyme:

”Ip dip doo,
the cat’s got the flu,
the dog’s got the itching pox,
so out goes you”

Poor oregano, out and off the menu. Bay leaves it would be. With just a hint of uncertainty, Nellie plucked out several flakes of dried bay and dropped them in the pot, where the clams and company were just beginning to simmer.

by **Nellie Hawkins** on September 8th, 2014, 4:17 am

A quick stir of the contents had the entire shack smelling of the sea, and Nellie smiled happily as she breathed in the aroma, allowing it to take her back to her childhood. Her mother had often cooked fish and clams and even kelp once or twice; the house had routinely smelled of the sea. Looking around her own empty abode, Nellie felt a pang of loneliness. There would be no one here to appreciate her efforts, to enjoy the meal, to laugh along with her at the simple good fortune of being alive and reasonably healthy.

But those were the kind of thoughts that would quickly drag her down to a sad and pitiful place; self-pity was a luxury that she could ill-afford and she refused to allow herself to wallow. In any case, there was no point to it; when she was through, she would still be sitting in her shack, alone, and probably she’d have burnt her stew down to nothingness and would be hungry, to boot.

In spite of all she could bemoan, Nellie was practical enough to realize that she had much to celebrate, too. She had an apartment. It was ramshackle, not terribly windtight, and security left something to be desired – but it kept most of the rain off, and she was able to sleep at night with a reasonable sense of safety.

She had her health. Mostly. A cough here and there, maybe she skipped a few too many meals and a few too many baths, but there were certainly people worse off than she was. And she’d done it on her own. After her parents had perished, and those petching thugs had strong-armed her out of her family home and all the possessions she might have been able to sell to keep from starving, she’d managed to keep both starvation and personal degradation at bay.

Other girls were turning to the brothels, a secure place to live and a steady job were persuasive, and Nellie flushed to admit that she’d considered that path more than once. A rumbling stomach and bones chilled by endless exposure to the elements were a powerful argument for a life of relative luxury. Even now there were days where she thought that trading her body for creature comforts might not be such a bad idea.

With an expression of distaste, Nellie shook her head. It was not for her. She stirred the cookpot, allowing the scent of clams and garlic to permeate the air and comfort her mind. Lifting a spoonful of broth, she blew to cool it, still following that train of thought. The brothels would never be for her; she’d beggar herself on the streets first. There was dignity in begging ; well, there was dignity in bedding, too, she supposed, if one had any talent for it.

Of course, whether or not she had said talent remained to be seen, and Nellie would prefer that, when the time came, it would not be a trade of goods for coin.

Morally satisfied with herself, she tasted her broth and eyed the cookpot, surprised. Clearly the old counting rhyme had led her right again. The bay leaves had been a perfect choice.

by **Nellie Hawkins** on September 9th, 2014, 7:19 pm

Nellie watched her pot as it bubbled reluctantly over the flames, refusing to boil outright. With a sigh, she dropped her gaze to the hearth fire itself, studying the flickering patterns of orange and yellow.

It was something she found herself doing with disturbing frequency lately: letting herself be hypnotized by fire. It was a fascination borne out of the tragedy of her parents’ deaths, this flame-searching she’d begun. Nellie knew it was unwise, unsafe even, to allow herself to be so preoccupied, but in her home she felt it safe enough and made no effort against it, welcoming the distraction.

Sometimes the images she found were frightening, haunting her sleep at night. In fire, she’d seen distorted monsters, twisted bodies and smoking, glowing malevolence that seemed to be watching her, waiting for guard to be let down. Times like those convinced her of the folly of her fascination, and she swore she’d never spend another chime fire-gazing.

But other instances revealed more mundane images, more cheerful ones; once she sworn she’d seen a school of leaping fish, splashing in the flames and sending sparking orange drops into the air to disappear over the fire with a crackle and a hiss. Images that made her smile, though decidedly more rare than the frightening ones, kept her risking nightly terror and studying the flames once more.

Tonight, though, all that Nellie could find in the flames were flames.

Disappointed and relieved, Nellie plucked up her spoon once more, dipping it into the pot of stew and stirring lazily. The movement released a fresh waft of scent and her mouth watered in response, impatient for the flavors the aroma implied.

”Petch it. It’s got to be done by now,” she determined, hungry and tired of the wait. Using the spoon, she dragged the pot further from the flames and leaned over it, inhaling. Steam bathed her face and neck, and she closed her eyes for a moment in pure delight.

The stew was thin, more of a soup, but it looked the way Nellie thought it should. At least she’d seen, and eaten, more unappetizing stuff at The Pig’s Foot; surely this couldn’t be too bad. Dipping her spoon into the bowl, she fished around for a clam and lifted it out with a grin. Steam rose from the unfortunate creature, and Nellie blew gently to cool it before placing it, broth and all, into her mouth.

by **Avarice** on September 24th, 2014, 10:43 pm

Succumb to Your Desires
.

Nellie :

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