TLV Inbox

[greatoldjohn]

[in a rather deep voice] "This is John Doe. Please leave your message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I may respond in text if I'm currently with Arthur. Apologies."

Now Moved To: Inbox: Act II - please tag in there!

Comments

[greatoldjohn]

Here.

[ He's gotten a bowl, something for her to put the vegetables in so that they don't get overcooked. ]

We'll put them back in after the meat cookes. I prepped the chicken.

[ Properly 'velveted' according to the book he read about: cooking wine, cornstarch, white pepper, salt, and soy sauce. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ This mistake has at least redirected her grumpiness at herself-- because it's her own fault she's here learning to cook anyway. When she takes the bowl from John there's no attitude to it, nor to the "thanks" she mumbles, even if it's not the most effusive show of gratitude she's ever made.

The vegetables go in the bowl, and she cuts up the chicken into thin strips before putting them in the pan to cook. ]

It smells good, at least.

[ Please let it not turn out overcooked. ]

[greatoldjohn]

It does. But it needs a little more oil. The oil acts as a contact to transfer the heat; if you don't have enough oil, one side cooks too quickly while the other side doesn't cook enough and it ends up partially overcooked eventually.

[ A pause. ]

There's a book by a man named Alton Brown. I'll take it out of the library and bring it for you tomorrow.

[pitofguilt]

[ Her grip on the rubber spatula she's holding tightens. Why is this so fucking esoteric and arcane.

She puts the spatula down and pours more oil into the pan. ]

That look like enough?

[greatoldjohn]

[ He watches and- ]

Yes, that's enough. No more. Now it's sizzling all around. Some of it looked dry before. It's browning nicely now.

[pitofguilt]

How are you already so good at this, while I'm here trying not to make vegetable stir-mush.

[ Said as she keeps her eye on the chicken, pushing it around on the pan so nothing burns. ]

[greatoldjohn]

You're the one doing it. I'm just keeping an eye on it.

[ Very mild and gently encouraging. ]

I'm sure it smells good. You got the vegetables out just in time. The bright greens are still bright even now, meaning they'll still have some snap when you're eating.

I've got the sauce mix here and the cornflour slurry next to it. Sauce first, then slurry. You might need to mix it again.

[pitofguilt]

[ There's enough strength back in her left hand that she can hold the spatula while she pours in the sauce. It's annoying to have to pass the thing back and forth, but it gets the job done. She does the same when it's time for the slurry, then she's mixing it up. The vegetables are last, constantly moving them around so they don't become too mushy, then she moves the pan off the heat, turns off the burner, and goes to peek at the rice.

She keeps quiet throughout because this requires all her attention not to completely fuck up, and also because she will get snippy with him for just moving on to dinner instead of just telling her what he wants her to learn from this stupid forced sobriety shit. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ He does his best to stay out of her way, but he'll do all the little tasks she might have forgotten about or the bit she didn't think to do. He actually lays out a plate and a bowl and a fork and a spoon and a glass and he pulls a soft drink from the commissary out and puts it besides the glass. ]

[pitofguilt]

[ Rice, despite being the just rice, is difficult to get right. She'd much rather cheat and get a rice cooker, but this is John's kitchen, and it's frustrating enough to be a good punishment. (Well. "Good." It does its job.) Overcooked rice she can deal with. Undercooked rice makes her hate rice for being so difficult.

It looks... okay to her? She takes a fork to it, and it seems to fluff up okay? The grains aren't falling from it like undercooked noodles, so that's a plus. ]

Looks done to me. [ Or done enough, anyway.

Serves herself a bowl of rice and tops it with stir-fry. ]

Look edible to you?

[greatoldjohn]

Very much so. You did a lovely job, Natalie.

[ He floats to the opposite of the table. ]

Would you care for me to join you or should I let you eat in peace?

[pitofguilt]

[ Yay thanks she feels like a child getting a pat on the head. ]

Might as well stay. [ She takes a seat. ] I have a lesson to think about that I'd rather figure out before it gets stale.

[ Grump grump grump. ]

[greatoldjohn]

[ He'll stay where he is then. ]

Of course. Let me know how that is. I added a little more oyster sauce this time, since you mentioned it feeling 'light'.

[pitofguilt]

[ She stabs a piece of chicken with a little too much force. ]

So. I can't getintoxicated. [ She pops the piece of chicken in her mouth, chewing as she thinks, though she has to interrupt herself in that to report on the chicken. ] It's better, yeah.

[ Anyway. ]

My security blankets don't work anymore. [ She's less aggressive with a bit of red pepper. ] Trying to get me out of my comfort zone?

[greatoldjohn]

[ He looks over at Nat. ]

You think I'm trying to make you uncomfortable? Or take your means of comfort from you?

[pitofguilt]

The second one.

[ Because that's how punishment works. ]

Make me think while I'm locked up.

[ The red pepper is not crispy enough, but it's not soggy, so that's good. ]

[greatoldjohn]

So you wouldn't have thought if I hadn't done that? You would have just sat here and withstood being made to stay here instead of considering that you did something wrong?

[pitofguilt]

Oh, I would've thought. A lot, actually. But you're not letting me get through it easy.

[ The rice is a little on the mushy side. Whatever, that's better than crunchy. ]

I can't resort to altered states of mind to arrive at a conclusion. I've gotta work for it.

[greatoldjohn]

So you wanted to use drugs to get to an altered state of consciousness to help you think about it?

That was when you discovered that I'd placed that description. When you were focused on the problem...

[pitofguilt]

Yes...? Kind of. I feel like I think better when I'm sobering up.

[ She plays with her food, pushing a few pieces of stir fry around with her fork for a little while, before she sighs and rolls her eyes. ]

Which is because suddenly it all comes back and I have to think about it. You doing this means I don't get to go on a little trip. I go straight to the thinking part.

[greatoldjohn]

'A little trip'. Hmm.

[ He's just letting her eat and he'll go to the shelf and pull out a book so it isn't Awkward. ]

How does the 'trip' help you to think more instead of just... thinking?

[pitofguilt]

[ To borrow an image from Jon-- ]

Thinking without stopping feels like banging your head against the wall. It doesn't help you figure anything out.

[ Except thinking about what you've done isn't about figuring things out, and she knows that, but she just wants to get a little bit drunk please. ]

[greatoldjohn]

So you've been thinking non-stop about what you did and the only way for you to stop thinking about it is... to get high.

[pitofguilt]

[ Why can't he just let her have this oh my god. ]

What's there to think more about? I did something stupid, I played my friend and stole to make it happen, and what came out of it is I almost killed Arthur. I don't get to decide if you or anyone sticks with me or not.

[ See? She learned! She gets it! ]

And yes, I do feel like shit over it, because you and Arthur and Misty didn't deserve that.

[greatoldjohn]

So you haven't actually thought about it at all. That's what I'm hearing.

[ He's paging through a book of watercolor art pieces. ]