Eliot knows he looks absolutely frightful, but he feels all right about it.
The strange townie Rapture had been an inconvenience at first, and he was only mildly annoyed at the disruption, but he’s started to worry about what might happen in the long term, if things stay like this. There are certainly plenty of transplants who have more civic pride than he does, and have invested themselves in the day to day operations of the city, and he’s beginning to feel just the tiniest bit guilty that he isn’t more involved. It’s not as if he swore an oath to this land, but still.
So Greta’s text offered a welcome distraction, and Eliot leapt at the chance to help. Now, sweating and dusted with flour up to his elbows, he actually feels good. He had the foresight to steal one of Jack’s scarves before heading over, so his hair at least will come out of this unscathed. And it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway.
It’s hard to know what kind of demand they’ll have, but Eliot did a bit of localized fussing with entropy around the kitchen’s proofing cabinet, to get the dough rising quickly and speed up production.
“Behind you!” he calls, maybe a little manic, slipping past someone to put a rack of fresh herbed fougasses into the display shelf. He brought the rosemary from home, and it was a little wilted, but he felt fine giving it a magical nudge back to green. It’s probably not safe (or the most palatable) to do something more drastic like un-spoil milk, so the recipes will likely get simpler the longer this situation lasts. He hopes it’s not too long.
no subject
The strange townie Rapture had been an inconvenience at first, and he was only mildly annoyed at the disruption, but he’s started to worry about what might happen in the long term, if things stay like this. There are certainly plenty of transplants who have more civic pride than he does, and have invested themselves in the day to day operations of the city, and he’s beginning to feel just the tiniest bit guilty that he isn’t more involved. It’s not as if he swore an oath to this land, but still.
So Greta’s text offered a welcome distraction, and Eliot leapt at the chance to help. Now, sweating and dusted with flour up to his elbows, he actually feels good. He had the foresight to steal one of Jack’s scarves before heading over, so his hair at least will come out of this unscathed. And it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway.
It’s hard to know what kind of demand they’ll have, but Eliot did a bit of localized fussing with entropy around the kitchen’s proofing cabinet, to get the dough rising quickly and speed up production.
“Behind you!” he calls, maybe a little manic, slipping past someone to put a rack of fresh herbed fougasses into the display shelf. He brought the rosemary from home, and it was a little wilted, but he felt fine giving it a magical nudge back to green. It’s probably not safe (or the most palatable) to do something more drastic like un-spoil milk, so the recipes will likely get simpler the longer this situation lasts. He hopes it’s not too long.