Just a Little Bent

[andhiswife]

As far as Darrow antics go, this one might top the list for bloody eeriness. At the cottage, they can almost pretend nothing's happened. Between the garden, the chickens, and the staples she always keeps well-stocked, there's no immediate threat of starvation. The power hasn't failed yet, but even if it does, she thinks they'll be able to work around it — neither she nor Anne are exactly accustomed to being without it anymore, but that doesn't mean they've forgotten how to get by.

And surely things will go back to normal sooner or later. They always do, and she refuses to believe that—that whatever this is might be special in that regard.

But it's still unsettling. Even though it only seems to be the locals who have vanished, there were always far more of them than anyone else, and never has she felt the difference so keenly. Whole blocks are abandoned, shops either permanently shuttered or, more often, left unmanned mid-shift: the lights still on, but no one at home. But what she hates most are the littler signs of lives abruptly interrupted. A lone briefcase sitting at a bus stop; half-drunk beverages glued to their coasters by dried condensation; shopping carts left idle halfway down an aisle.

Regan is taking it especially hard, and no wonder.

It would be easier to avoid town entirely, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted. But she can't abide the thought of hiding out in the countryside when there are still plenty of people who need help. Not when her hands still remember how to feed a Village.

So she's stolen a bakery. Or, well... borrowed. She's borrowing a bakery.

It hadn't been hard to find. Even cleaning it up hadn't been too much of a challenge: people had already made off with the displays' contents, so there was little rotten food to be dealt with. Obviously there were no fresh ingredients worth salvaging, but things like flour, baking soda, and spices don't go bad overnight. There's plenty to start with, at least.

Getting the word out had been the bigger challenge. She's texted everyone she can, and Saoirse has made some very colorful signage to post in the bakery windows and in other places around the city, letting people know that there are fresh-baked goods available. She can't imagine charging for any of it, but after the first few hours (and some discussion with Anne), she'd added some signage suggesting that she wouldn't question where any raw ingredients might have come from, if people wanted to bring some.

It's mid-afternoon when she slides two more trays of muffins into the oven, sets a timer on her phone, and then steps out of the kitchen for some slightly cooler air. Her hair is falling out of its bun and she's probably a mess, but it's satisfying to see people eating something she made: something fresh and good that hasn't come from a bloody can.

[ooc: a mini-gathering for the vanishing NPC plot! If your pup knows Greta, you can assume they've received a text; otherwise, there's plenty of signage letting people know there's still one functioning bakery in town.]

Comments

[nextchance]

Jyn can't help but smile just a little at the assessment of the supplies she's brought. She really doesn't know much about baking, only what she's learned from Greta and from watching TV here in Darrow. Though she has a few vague, distant memories of her mother teaching her about baking in their little home on Lah'mu, the actual instructions are long gone to her. Only the feeling has lingered, and that really isn't something she likes to think about very much anyway. For now, she's just glad that she seems to have chosen well, and, too, that there might be something she can do to help. A baker, she might not be, but kneading is definitely in her wheelhouse.

"I can do some kneading," she agrees with a nod. It's better than just standing around and waiting, or going back out into the quiet, or hanging out back here while Greta does all the work. "I'm also very good at taste testing." A flicker of amusement crosses her face, a clear sign that she's teasing. As much as she may enjoy that aspect of things, it isn't actually true, anyway. She's much too far from picky to be any good as a taste tester.

[andhiswife]

"Oh, excellent," Greta says with a grin that's only a little bit weary. "Saoirse's been taking quality control very seriously, but there's only so much she can do before she might make herself sick."

It's the kneading that she's looking forward to relinquishing most, though, and she shows Jyn where she can wash up before directing her to the little bread station she has set up along one stretch of counter-top. A loaf of bread — one made properly, anyway — is a fairly lengthy baking process, needing generous pauses for the dough to rise, so she has several loaves cycling through varying stages of readiness. But the heaviest kneading is at the front of the line, and Greta has a ball of freshly-mixed dough that's ready for some attention.

"Like this," she says, demonstrating the rhythmic fold, press, and turn motion for a few moments before stepping aside to Jyn take a crack at it. "Sort of funny, really," she adds as she watches Jyn work, making sure it's correct and then nodding in satisfaction. "It's been ages since I had to churn things out in such numbers. I'd almost forgotten what a production it was." Bake-Off had been a whirlwind, of course, but the challenges were never about sheer bloody stamina.

[nextchance]

Though Jyn has watched enough Bake-Off that she's not totally clueless, there's still a difference between watching on a screen and watching in person, and between watching and actually doing. She pays close attention as Greta demonstrates, taking in the way she kneads the dough before she tries it herself. As with anything, it's a bit strange at first, but it doesn't take her long to fall into a rhythm. It feels sort of good, actually — more difficult than it might look at a glance, making it clear why Greta would have enlisted her help with this part of the process, but she hardly minds that. Hell, it's nice just to have something to do.

"I guess it's different doing this much of it than, I don't know, sculpting bread into some fancy shape, isn't it?" she replies, half-joking, a wry little smile on her face as she kneads. "Makes sense that everyone left would want some now, too. Everything in stores must've long since gone bad by now." If the fresh fruit she saw had, she assumes the same must be true for all the bread and related products as well. While she's hardly about to balk at the thought of eating something slightly stale, she's not about to make a sandwich on something that looks like a science project.

[andhiswife]

"Exactly," Greta replies, shaking her head. Her memories of doing Bake-Off are largely fond, but she doesn't often miss the challenges, and she never misses the deadlines. At least now, if she decides to try something fancy, it doesn't matter if she makes a botch of it. She can always try again.

"Even running a bakery back home was different. We'd get up before sunrise and make things, but once we sold out for the day, that was it. Now..." she glances towards the doors that lead out to the front, though there isn't much to see through the two little porthole windows, especially from her current angle. "Well, it's as you say. Anything that was fresh when this started has gone off by now, and people ought to have something real. It wouldn't feel right to just... hang up the apron because I'm bored, or something." She knows no one's starving out there — plenty of canned goods are still perfectly fine — but bread is a staple she thinks people ought to have, and she's not sure there are many people left who have any experience churning it out like she does.

[nextchance]

"Not a whole lot of people who can do this themselves," Jyn says by way of agreement, still steadily kneading the dough under her hands. It's not easy by any means — she understands a lot better some of the comments she's heard while watching Bake-Off episodes — but it feels good, too, almost an outlet of sorts and something deeply satisfying about it. She's one of the people in question, after all, with virtually no skills in the kitchen because there was never anyone to teach her, never any occasion for her to learn. She vaguely remembers her mother showing her things, but she was far too young then to retain them, and it isn't as if she ever had a chance to put those few lessons to use.

This might be the gruntwork side of baking, but it makes her feel useful, which is a first during this whole particular turn of events. Idleness has never suited her, and there's been little else the last few weeks. "It's nice. Going to all this effort. Giving people something fresh and homemade to eat."