( ever since he's returned from the mission, ace has kind of been keeping to himself. it isn't that he really wants to, but he also can't help it. he thought that ignoring the problems would help, but as it turns out!! that didn't help at all!! and, instead, all he's gotten from his troubles is a lot of sleepless nights (which sucks because ace really, really likes sleeping) because he can't shut his brain off.
kind of ironic how fire's making him feel antsy and anxious.
after wandering the halls for a while, he finally veers off into the kitchen intent on having a late night drink and probably a snack. everywhere's been pretty quiet, most people sleeping or dealing with their own demons, so he's surprised to see someone moving around cooking.
or... attempting to, anyway.
he'd wanted to be alone, but now he's thinking maybe some company — or at the very least, some extra noise — will help. so, he comes over closer, but (hopefully) not close enough to be in the way and hops up to sit on the counter, immediately beginning to peel a tangerine. )
[Rosinante glances over briefly, decides the face is familiar but not one he's sure he can put a name to, then continues frowning at his frying pan. One problem is immediately obvious - there are oil splatters around the stove, on his shirt, and a few bright red spots on his hands that are probably the result of the same.
Another problem is that he is absolutely trying his hardest to scrape his spatula under some rice that looks very stuck to the pan.]
Always thought fried rice was easy. You put everything in and cook it together. But this stuff's like glue. I tried adding more oil...
[There are some things he's actually quite good at cooking, in his defense. But clearly this is not it. With the oil smoking like that, it's bound to get even worse any moment - in fact, hopefully it's just the rice that burns and not the rest of everything.]
( sounds like someone needs a lesson from uncle roger.
ace pops a piece of tangerine into his mouth and cheeks it for a moment, looking over the signs of war on this guy and then the smoldering pile of alleged rice in the pan. ace isn't a gourmet chef or anything, that wasn't his job, but he can cook a few things. it'd be pretty terrible of him to eat so much and never learn how to make anything.
he gestures toward the pan with his chin as he chews. )
It is easy, and fast. But, you don't do it all at once. Stuff will burn before other stuff cooks.
[Uncle Roger would be so ashamed at this gluey burned mess...
But he's ready to just give up, so he switches off the burner and starts again at trying to scrape the stuck-on bits off into pieces that may or may not be edible.]
Yeah? What's the order, then? I-
[The spatula manages to strike the pan at just the right angle to send it spinning out of his hand and into his own chest before it clatters to the floor, sending grains of rice and bits of peas and egg and onion all over the place.]
( ace is all set and ready to respond, one finger pointed up into the air as if he's some sort of expert on fried rice (he isn't, but he is an expert on eating it so that had to count for something), but then the spatula seems to have a mind of its own and instead of speaking, he bursts into laughter. )
Well, that's definitely not right.
( he points to the ruined pan, ) You should probably just get rid of that. I don't think there's any saving it. ( then he hops off the counter and pokes around looking for the onion to help. ) Oil the pan, onion, egg, rice, soy sauce, peas. That usually does the trick.
[Disappointing all around, tonight. He shakes his head, but figures the guy is right, so he dumps the rice disaster straight into the trash and then sets about trying to clean up the rest of the mess.]
Tempted to toss the pan, too. Toss the whole kitchen. I swear I'm not usually this bad.
[Maybe it's a sign he should give up for the night... but he doesn't give up easily.
Meanwhile, he's still trying to place a name to the face. His voice sounds familiar but that doesn't mean much in a small community like the station. Finally he gives up, and goes to the sink to wring out a cleaning rag while he asks,]
( ace holds up his hands in a placating sort of manner. )
Let's not get ahead of ourselves. No need to toss the whole kitchen, we still need to eat.
( he moves to find a knife (dangerous, probably) to start cutting the onion but pauses when he's closer to rosinante. if he recognizes the name, it doesn't show. instead he just grins all too brightly and sticks out his hand for a shake. )
[When the situation calls for it, Rosinante can sure mask his reactions well enough, but around here? He rarely bothers. He pauses at the name instead, and looks Ace over for a second or two before accepting the handshake - after finding a moment to dry his hands on a towel first.]
You're Ace.
[Well, he can see the resemblance between the guy and his father well enough, but only because he knows. He must have gotten plenty of his features from his mother, whoever she might be.
Anyway, he doesn't contemplate long, doesn't really stare more than that first moment, because he does have manners.]
don't ever say that to his face or they will be instant enemies instead of tentative friends. the last thing he wants to hear is that he looks like his father. nevermind that he knows this already, but he doesn't like to think about it. he'd much rather imagine he's more like whitebeard than his biological father. (yet, he knows he's not like whitebeard, either. maybe if he was, things might've been a little different.)
anyway.
he resumes chopping the onion after introductions, giving a loose shrug as some sort of response at first before offering something a little more substancial, )
Mostly self-taught. I spent a lot of time by myself before getting a crew of my own. It's nothing top shelf, but enough for sustinence.
That's all I've ever done, too. Self-sufficient bachelor cooking. Boil rice, make a fire, grill stuff over the flames. Soup, that's always easy. But I can't say I ever tried to do anything fancier than that.
[And fried rice isn't fancy either, but, baby steps. Anyway, time to dig around in the fridge for more cold rice. Must be some here somewhere.]
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late nite kitchen rendezvous
kind of ironic how fire's making him feel antsy and anxious.
after wandering the halls for a while, he finally veers off into the kitchen intent on having a late night drink and probably a snack. everywhere's been pretty quiet, most people sleeping or dealing with their own demons, so he's surprised to see someone moving around cooking.
or... attempting to, anyway.
he'd wanted to be alone, but now he's thinking maybe some company — or at the very least, some extra noise — will help. so, he comes over closer, but (hopefully) not close enough to be in the way and hops up to sit on the counter, immediately beginning to peel a tangerine. )
Smells like you're having some trouble.
no subject
[Rosinante glances over briefly, decides the face is familiar but not one he's sure he can put a name to, then continues frowning at his frying pan. One problem is immediately obvious - there are oil splatters around the stove, on his shirt, and a few bright red spots on his hands that are probably the result of the same.
Another problem is that he is absolutely trying his hardest to scrape his spatula under some rice that looks very stuck to the pan.]
Always thought fried rice was easy. You put everything in and cook it together. But this stuff's like glue. I tried adding more oil...
[There are some things he's actually quite good at cooking, in his defense. But clearly this is not it. With the oil smoking like that, it's bound to get even worse any moment - in fact, hopefully it's just the rice that burns and not the rest of everything.]
no subject
ace pops a piece of tangerine into his mouth and cheeks it for a moment, looking over the signs of war on this guy and then the smoldering pile of alleged rice in the pan. ace isn't a gourmet chef or anything, that wasn't his job, but he can cook a few things. it'd be pretty terrible of him to eat so much and never learn how to make anything.
he gestures toward the pan with his chin as he chews. )
It is easy, and fast. But, you don't do it all at once. Stuff will burn before other stuff cooks.
no subject
But he's ready to just give up, so he switches off the burner and starts again at trying to scrape the stuck-on bits off into pieces that may or may not be edible.]
Yeah? What's the order, then? I-
[The spatula manages to strike the pan at just the right angle to send it spinning out of his hand and into his own chest before it clatters to the floor, sending grains of rice and bits of peas and egg and onion all over the place.]
no subject
Well, that's definitely not right.
( he points to the ruined pan, ) You should probably just get rid of that. I don't think there's any saving it. ( then he hops off the counter and pokes around looking for the onion to help. ) Oil the pan, onion, egg, rice, soy sauce, peas. That usually does the trick.
no subject
Tempted to toss the pan, too. Toss the whole kitchen. I swear I'm not usually this bad.
[Maybe it's a sign he should give up for the night... but he doesn't give up easily.
Meanwhile, he's still trying to place a name to the face. His voice sounds familiar but that doesn't mean much in a small community like the station. Finally he gives up, and goes to the sink to wring out a cleaning rag while he asks,]
Have we met? I'm Rosinante.
no subject
Let's not get ahead of ourselves. No need to toss the whole kitchen, we still need to eat.
( he moves to find a knife (dangerous, probably) to start cutting the onion but pauses when he's closer to rosinante. if he recognizes the name, it doesn't show. instead he just grins all too brightly and sticks out his hand for a shake. )
I'm Ace. Nice to finally meet'cha.
no subject
You're Ace.
[Well, he can see the resemblance between the guy and his father well enough, but only because he knows. He must have gotten plenty of his features from his mother, whoever she might be.
Anyway, he doesn't contemplate long, doesn't really stare more than that first moment, because he does have manners.]
Nice to meet you too. Where'd you learn to cook?
no subject
don't ever say that to his face or they will be instant enemies instead of tentative friends. the last thing he wants to hear is that he looks like his father. nevermind that he knows this already, but he doesn't like to think about it. he'd much rather imagine he's more like whitebeard than his biological father. (yet, he knows he's not like whitebeard, either. maybe if he was, things might've been a little different.)
anyway.
he resumes chopping the onion after introductions, giving a loose shrug as some sort of response at first before offering something a little more substancial, )
Mostly self-taught. I spent a lot of time by myself before getting a crew of my own. It's nothing top shelf, but enough for sustinence.
no subject
[And fried rice isn't fancy either, but, baby steps. Anyway, time to dig around in the fridge for more cold rice. Must be some here somewhere.]
You had your own crew for a while? How'd that go?