Samwise Gamgee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lasttosail) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-11-28 01:42 pm
lasttosail) wrote in thecapitol2014-11-28 01:42 pm
Entry tags:
LET'S JUST GET THIS OUT OF THE WAY
Who | Samwise and Signless
What | PO. TA. TOES.
Where | District 12 kitchens
When | A few days after Sam's arrival; a few days before the Arena.
Warnings | None expected; will update if needed!
It's been a strange few days, and no mistake. The whole place, this whole country of Panem, is easier to bear since Sam found Frodo and Bilbo, and the rest; but he can't be with them every minute of the day with the curfew going, and there's plenty of hours he's left alone in the District 12 suites, feeling little less lost than he did his first hour here.
But there's something here as he hasn't seen since he left the Shire, and that's a kitchen. A proper kitchen, with a stove and an oven and a sink and a pantry and all; more than a proper kitchen, even, as Sam's got no idea what half the devices in it are meant to do, or what they could do that the things he recognizes can't. It's a means of keeping occupied, after hours - not just using it, but figuring out how to use it, one oddity at a time (and with the help of a sturdy box on which to stand).
Still: Enough things remain the same. There are bowls and pots and pans aplenty, and it takes only a politely-worded request to one of the silent servants ever hanging about the place to get the stove on, if not functioning quite as Sam would like it. He's still not sure to whom he's meant to go if it's specific things he wants, but inside the-- the icebox, he supposes it is, more or less, there's a drawer full of vegetables, firm and fresh; and among them, all the roots a body could wish for.
"I wish I knew where it came from, I do," he tells one of the lower cabinets as he puts his head into it, seeking for a pot he won't need two hands just to get up off the stovetop. "I've not seen any market in this place yet - and it's hardly the season for tomatoes, yet here they are, and sweet, too! They'll fry nice enough, I'll wager-- but it hardly seems natural, does it, to have a year's harvest all in one place, and not a farm in twenty leagues."
If he finds it odd to be talking to nobody but himself, he doesn't seem to notice; he's focused on his work as he talks, hefting a pan up onto the stovetop and beginning with deft movements to separate out the vegetables on the counter next to him.
What | PO. TA. TOES.
Where | District 12 kitchens
When | A few days after Sam's arrival; a few days before the Arena.
Warnings | None expected; will update if needed!
It's been a strange few days, and no mistake. The whole place, this whole country of Panem, is easier to bear since Sam found Frodo and Bilbo, and the rest; but he can't be with them every minute of the day with the curfew going, and there's plenty of hours he's left alone in the District 12 suites, feeling little less lost than he did his first hour here.
But there's something here as he hasn't seen since he left the Shire, and that's a kitchen. A proper kitchen, with a stove and an oven and a sink and a pantry and all; more than a proper kitchen, even, as Sam's got no idea what half the devices in it are meant to do, or what they could do that the things he recognizes can't. It's a means of keeping occupied, after hours - not just using it, but figuring out how to use it, one oddity at a time (and with the help of a sturdy box on which to stand).
Still: Enough things remain the same. There are bowls and pots and pans aplenty, and it takes only a politely-worded request to one of the silent servants ever hanging about the place to get the stove on, if not functioning quite as Sam would like it. He's still not sure to whom he's meant to go if it's specific things he wants, but inside the-- the icebox, he supposes it is, more or less, there's a drawer full of vegetables, firm and fresh; and among them, all the roots a body could wish for.
"I wish I knew where it came from, I do," he tells one of the lower cabinets as he puts his head into it, seeking for a pot he won't need two hands just to get up off the stovetop. "I've not seen any market in this place yet - and it's hardly the season for tomatoes, yet here they are, and sweet, too! They'll fry nice enough, I'll wager-- but it hardly seems natural, does it, to have a year's harvest all in one place, and not a farm in twenty leagues."
If he finds it odd to be talking to nobody but himself, he doesn't seem to notice; he's focused on his work as he talks, hefting a pan up onto the stovetop and beginning with deft movements to separate out the vegetables on the counter next to him.
no subject
With a shake of his head-- "Well. Get 'em all in the pot, anywhow, and we'll begin this soup proper." He steps up on his stool again to drop his pile of vegetables into the pot, and takes a second again to marvel at the many colors of them - an impossible array, he would have said, for this time of year.
"--We have trolls, you know, or things as call themselves trolls, where I come from," he adds. "Only so far as I know, they call taters taters, same as anyone."
no subject
"From what I've experienced, trolls where everyone else comes from are very different from the kind of troll that I am." Hiding under bridges, being cruel and violent, and more often than not imaginary. Not at all the kind of things he'd like to be associated with.
"Tell me about your trolls-- other than what they call what they eat."
no subject
He stirs as he speaks, leaning over the pot to take in the smell, and nodding at what he finds. "They're bigger n' you," he adds. "By a fair margin. And not near so well educated." For while the Signless might have no understanding of what a potato is, he's a good deal better-spoken than any troll Sam's ever heard tell of. "And they like the taste of Manflesh, or Dwarf, or Hobbit, or-- whatever it is they can find."
A doubtful sidelong look. "...You've not got that in common, I hope."
no subject
"We eat beasts and bugs and plants of all names, but that's all." He carefully glosses over the fact that trolls -- at least the trolls that can afford it-- eat their own young. It's technically not a lie to say trolls don't eat humans (or dwarfs, or hobbits). Best not to ruin it by mentioning the infant cannibalism.
"We have an aversion to the sun in common -- where I'm from the sun is harsh enough to burn and blind, and so we only go out at night. Here it's not nearly so bad."