( 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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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?