3180/Kumbaya, My Friends

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Kumbaya, My Friends
Date of Scene: 31 August 2020
Location: Breakstone Lake
Synopsis: Trees!
Cast of Characters: James Proudstar, Illyana Rasputina, Rahne Sinclair

James Proudstar has posed:
A blue sky with scattered clouds hovers over the Xavier Estate this late-summer day, with a gentle breeze off Breakstone Lake keeping things from being oppressively warm. Even so, a campfire by the lakeshore may seem a bit overkill, unless, of course, its' purpose is not warmth, but rather the flame-broiling of foodstuffs. To wit, there is a large cooler and a small cooler, along with a small folding table that's got a couple bags of large marshmallows, chunks of chocolate, and graham crackers, as well as buns and fixings for...what else? Tubular meat of various forms (out of the small cooler if one must know, the large being given over to a variety of beverages).

There's also a pile of skewers, but at the moment the only person at the campfire is Jimmy Proudstar, who is more concerned with tending the fire than actually cooking anything...yet.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Flamebroiling... pierogi? If it can be baked, it can be done. Illyana is flat on her knees with a package of pierogi on a forked stick. Never mind the fact the package is dappled and wet, indicative of defrosting by force. She will make her will known to the unwelcome creation of potato and cheese and the occasional chive. Investigating how to add fire will come later, considering she has her own contributions to make. "You will be tasty," she warns the poor crescent in a low growl. "I will make you afraid of soil and rain if you defy me."

Nothing like terrorizing inanimate objects for a meal, right? The girl in the cutoffs is loitering on a platform above the tree, about to abseil down with nothing more than a rope. Probably wiser. Probably keeps her from eyeing up the tire swing with ideas.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    Tubular meats are always a draw. But, in this case, it isn't exactly the full reason for Rahne to be out and about. No, Rahne is at the site because her friends are there...and the Scot has been spending entirely too much time by herself in the woods as of late. Wolves need a pack....and even introverts need some socialization.

    There is a bit of side-eye cast over to the moist packaging, with an eyebrow cocking in confusion. "Unusual campfire food selection there..." The Scottish drawl is light, but noticeable as Rahne pads over towards a section of earth, a place she staked out for her own. There is an old rectangular case there, that has seen better years, that she had placed down earlier, with a bottle of water setting nearby it. "Ye know, I don't think I ever attempted tae roast a...whatever that is over there. Hope it turns out for ye."

    In other words...good luck with that!

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy glances over to Illyana's...highly experimental cooking method, and without any sign of either exasperation or amusement, first moving to place a bare, freestanding grill over the flames, and then momentarily heading to the boat house, which is laden with many useful thinks for cooking out...in this case returning with a cast-iron skillet and a stick of butter. Butter in skillet, skillet on grill, and a glance, with a smile, to Illyana, accompanied by a not-entirely-subtle gesture that suggests she might have better luck with frying in butter over an open flame.

And at that point he turns his attention to Rahne, grabbing a couple skewers and asking, "Franks or Brats, Rahne? Or you wanna skip straight to the s'mores?" There's certainly enough to go around...looks like they were planning on wander-bys. That or Jimmy's particularly hungry today.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Highly experimental by putting a pierogi on a forked stick and coming back to thrust it into the fire? Fools. The baked pleasures of such a meal can be enjoyed over open flame; even if it's not palatable, she will wrest the chemical and caloric value out of it. Don't ask what other meals she has made of things not worthy of the name. Ignoring the cast iron pan for a moment, she waves the poor potato moon over the flames like it needs an introduction to its infernal fate. Dun dun dun!

"It will be delicious. You can put potatoes under the coals and they turn out well." This is spoken with a dour certainty. Teeth bite into her lower lip as she scowls at the flames, possibly happy about sticking her arm right into them and invoking her will if they defy her or Jimmy or Rahne. Another pierogy can be tossed onto the buttered pan for the rest. They're probably the sort who like heaps of butter instead of viewing it as a luxury few can afford.

Soviet and post-Soviet Russia were unkind about butter. Tasty joys are missing in her life, clearly. Leaning into Jimmy's side after she convinces the pierogis to plop into the pan with a wave of her hand, the plastic bag is tossed before it melts. To Rahne, she offers that narrow-eyed assessment. "Marshmallows are very strange food, da. You are right, meat and vegetables make more sense. Piotr would agree."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    "I suspect ye be right. Meat and veggies do make more sense." Spoken from one that probably did not have marshmallows in her childhood. Rahne is most likely used to an entirely different kind of marsh. But butter....oh butter she did have. And, there may be an attempt at obfuscation as a smile threatens to break the surface of Rahne's expression.

    An attempt that fails spectacularly, by the by.

    "Frank fer me, Jimmy." The answer is given at least with a normal tone, even with that offending smile upon her lips. "Ah like tae keep my mystery meats bland, ye know. Reminds me of home." Oh...now that is a joke from the girl, plain and simple. Even topped off with a wink! With a grin, she shifts to take a drink of water from the bottle, leaning gently upon that case of hers, for it is hers, as she does so. "Oh, I know about potatoes. Whenever someone hears me talkin', they start askin' if I came here to avoid the potato famine. Stupid joke from ignorant people. It's completely the wrong country!"

    Then...a laugh. "Okay, okay...so it's close. But ye accuse a Scot of bein' Irish and don't expect tae keep yer head around much longer."

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy places a frank on a skewer, and hands the implement towards Rahne, grinning just a touch, "You have no idea how many people off the Rez used to ask me if I had any Peyote. It's not an Apache thing." He skewers a frank AND a brat for himself, situating them so they rest against the grill-stand, to cook without much attention. It likely wouldn't work so well if he couldn't turn the skewers despite how hot they get, that close to the flames.

An arm slips around Illyana's shoulders in the meantime, encouraging the lean for the time being. "Potatoes under the coals next time."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Peyote? They can go dig it up themselves and prepare it," opines a queen of such sins that probably involve drugs. Illyana keeps waving around her stick now and then, toasting the one pierogy on both sides. Meting out brutal hellish justice means meritocratic justice, appropriately handling the situation while lingering close to the fire. Her stick is soon /on/ fire, scorched merrily, but she blows lazily at it.

It may be a tad too sibilant all in all; still, she smirks as she watches it crisp a little. Pulled in against Jimmy, the icy contours of her eyes gain a little blueness, not hypersaturated by any means, but that faint infusion of colour counts considering they're nearly grey through. Watching the sizzling pierogis on the pan requires effort, using the butt end of the stick to stir them out while they hiss and cook. Mostly they're not on fire, thus edible.

"Bland meat? You have capers and spices?" A query given flat to Rahne, demanding answers or disbelieving. "Your people pepper sheep stomachs. I do not believe this. Though potatoes are another matter. Wrong isle. Talk about your native sushi, it will throw them all the time."

A nudge arranges Jimmy's arm around her shoulder just so, the weight of it nestling her better underwing.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    "Oh, yes, capers and spices. My people do have those, it's true." As the skewer is accepted from Jimmy, Rahne slides just a little closer to the fire, extending an arm to heat up her chosen tube of meat. "But...my father wasn't one that believed in spicing things up. At least, not when it came tae me." There is a shrug as the weiner slowly rotates. "I guess it was his way of keepin' me in line. Not that it matters much."

    Though...the talk about native sushi does cause Rahne to lift her eyes up, smirking towards the torturer of little potatoes. "Oh, ye are right in that. Amusin' tae watch their faces." There is a quick moment, in which it is almost apparent what Rahne is thinking. Is it wrong to find amusement in the misfortune of others? Oh...bad Rahne. The smile quickly fades, replaced with a rather neutral mein as Rahne pulls out her hot dog to check it. "But...it isn't that big of a deal."

James Proudstar has posed:
"Peppered Sheep Stomachs and Scottish Sushi." Jimmy notes, looking bemused but his tone deliberately flattened, "Sounds tasty enough." Are his own people any less inclined to try to find use for every part of an animal? Not really.

"Somehow don't think too many others are likely to be keen if we were trying to cook that out here, though. But I did once see a Mexican-American family barbecue where they cooked a sheep's head underground. Which sounds crazy but definitely tasted good."

He reaches to swirl the skillet, heedless of the piping-hot cast iron. Yay for high damage resistance! Though even he can't hold on indefinitely. Still, it's long enough that he doesn't have to go fishing for a mitt in the boathouse, at least.