Friday night.

[x-rahne.livejournal.com]

Late in Rahne's baking, evening, Paige comes in to investigate... oh, and call dibs on the apple-oatmeal bars.



Rahne was half-humming to herself, tunes that were unidentifiable largely because she kept shifting to snatches of different ones, as she mixed up her next bowl of dough and tried to decide which preserves to use. Maybe a mix this time....

The lights in the corridors surrounding the kitchen were off, giving it a peculiar warm-island effect to anyone approaching. And it smelled *good*.

It was really no wonder that Paige was so curious, what with the delicious smells coming from downstairs and promises of Rahne baking on her computer. She was sore, bruises in various stages of purple to yellow, and tired eyes from reading much too long, but even all that would not keep her from skulking into the kitchen.

Lightly rapping on the counter, Paige tried to catch the younger girl's attention. "How's the master chef doing?"

Rahne looked up, hands still busy with the mixing, and smiled a little shyly. "That's a good question; I've not seen Lorna this evening. I'm well though." Her eyes flicked down to Paige's arms and hands, widening a little at the bruises and barked knuckles. "What about you?"

Smiling a little wider at Rahne's jibe Paige fully entered the room, boosting herself up onto an unused counter. It took her a moment to figure out the girl's look of astonishment if not a bit of fear, and stuffed her hands into her zipper pullover's pockets upon the realization, blushing mildly.

"Not so bad. Just couldn't keep myself away from the fantastic smells down here. I figure I deserve a break, Friday night and all."

"I'm sure of that -- I saw some of your posts early on about all the classes you wanted to take." Rahne beamed at the compliment to her cooking and took a hand away from steadying the mixing bowl to gesture at one pan cooling and the plates where she'd carefully stacked the sets of bars that were already cut, though some were sinking into the others' purple and might be a bit sticky after all. "And you look almost as if you just came out of a rough combat practice...." She added quickly, "Have some of any of these if you like -- or did you want to pick the next flavor?"

"My workaholic genes are notorious in my family. I like to tease Sam that while he got all the looks, I got the brains." Sneakily picking off a piece of the finished oatmeal fruit bars, she popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Of course it's not entirely true, Sam's a genius when he wants to be, he just does silly things like sleeping and having fun."

She grinned before she continued. "These are fabulous you know, but would you mind if we made some apple ones? I have a horrible obsession with apples and would be perfectly willing to help out. You know, getting things and measuring and what not. It would not be in your best interest to let me near the oven. Clumsy me." She pulled her hands out of her pullover to finger her bruises absently. "But really, you don't have to worry about making perfectly reasonable observations or even asking me things, Rahne. It does look like I just got a very sound beating from Mr. Logan. I've just been taking out my aggression on one of the poor punching bags in the gymnasium."

"It looks painful." Rahne shook her head; she didn't think she understood that. "If you want apple bars, there shall be apple ones." She grinned. "That will be fun -- we could put slices on top, maybe, and now I've an excuse to put in cinnamon and vanilla and things, because I *know* they go with apple."

"That sounds heavenly. I am so sick of the only dessert around here being ice cream. I'm beginning to think that there's something in it. Like Vanilla Coke, you know? You don't really like it, but you crave it." Paige looked around, hopping off of the counter. "So, what can I do?"

"Hmm... well, I've mostly kept my hands clean, but only mostly -- if you could get out the apple jam and measure it -- about a cup and a half should do." Rahne grinned. "At least there's plenty of it -- some of the others look very interesting, but I donnae want to use all of anything, and some are small jars."

"Can do!" Paige chirped, rummaging around for the jar. "If you end up getting adventurous, though, I'm sure no one would mind if you used the more interesting of the jams. What's the school's endless supply of funds for anyway if not experimenting and learning, even if it is in the kitchen?"

"Some of them might belong to specific people, though -- I suppose they might label them then, but if not I just don't know. Anyway, there are plenty of others. I could always mix flavours."

"I like your style Miss Sinclair!" Paige said, handing over a cup of the apple jam and working on the half. "You're very considerate of others. It's nice to see."

"I don't like to be troublesome." Rahne flicked a little bit of stuck oatmeal-mixture off the hand that had been steadying the bowl while she added liberal and enthusiastic quantities of vanilla and cinnamon, pulled a glass pan into easy reach, and promptly dug both hands into the mix to begin spreading it into the pan. She grinned a bit and ducked her head. "Nor to have people angry with me."

Paige sighed somewhat dramatically, helping Rahne measure. "My Daddy always called me his little spitfire. I really need to get some control over my temper one of these days - I don't mean to make people angry, I just have this bad habit of speaking my mind when it should remain silent."

Finding some unlabeled spice in the cabinets, Paige sniffed at it cautiously. "It's just very lucky that I like you so much, huh?"

"I suppose so." Rahne looked up. "What's that one?"

"I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it doesn't belong in oatmeal bars." Wrinkling her nose, Paige put it back. She pulled out another one, eying it levelly, and handing it over. "Try this?"

Rahne sniffed and smiled, then sprinkled some over the pressed-down mixture before starting to spread the jam. "Nutmeg? That's good. We ought to label the ones we can work out -- I canna see why anyone would leave them without. Very confusing."

"I get the feeling that time is not in abundance all that often here," Paige commented idly.

"But surely they must have come with labels to start with...." Rahne shrugged, smoothed out the jam, and began covering it with crumbs. "It seems 'tis for some, but then, there's everyone who's been gone...." She tilted her head. "Sam's been here for a while, hasn't he? I suppose you'd know a good bit more about what's usual than I."

Paige couldn't help but laugh, managing to leave out the bitterness. "Sam doesn't mean to be, but he gets rather secretive. We would get letters all the time when he left, but they weren't all that specific about the more hush-hush part of this school."

"Oh. Well... I suppose it wouldn't count as, er, hush-hush if you did, maybe...."

"It's all right, really. It just means I knew no more than the next guy... er... girl when I came here. I'm just as much in the dark as you are, chickpea." Paige smiled encouragingly. "I just like to pretend I know what I'm doing. Shh, though. Secret."

"Well, at least you'd heard of this place a wee bit sooner." Rahne regarded her creation thoughtfully and slipped it into the oven. "And speaking of letters home, I truly should write to Reverend Craig again soon."

"Touché as the French say," Paige replied, starting to put things away. She paused, biting her lip in contemplation before asking, "Can you tell me about this Reverend Craig?"

"He's my guardian -- he didna know about the school until the Lady Moira came and told him, though."

"Did you grow up with him?" Paige asked carefully.

"Oh, aye. I remember my mother a wee bit, but she died when I was very small."

Paige nodded, wiping down one of the counters in an attempt to keep herself busy. "Yeah. What... what do you remember of your mother? If I may ask."

"Not much. ...She smelt nice, I think, and was soft, and she had red hair." Rahne tugged at a lock of her with a sheepish smile. "As if that's a surprise."

Smiling softly at the girl, Paige wrung out her dishcloth, folding it neatly on the sink. "I always wanted red hair like yours when I was little, you know that? My little brother, Joshua, has red hair. I used to beg him to let me play with it."

"I... wouldna mind if you wanted to play with mine, though there's not so much of it -- I know it's long in the one old photo, but it hasn't grown past my shoulders for a few years." Rahne covered her mouth and yawned. "Well -- later maybe. I'll just finish watching this batch, and then if I'm awake enough I might try to begin a letter, but I think that's about all for me tonight."

"Shoo, chickpea, I can finish up here. You need ample time to write that letter. And don't forget your evening prayers!" Picking up a dishtowel, Paige swatted at the redhead with it, grinning.

"Och, I wouldna forget that. Only the Lord can read a sleepy heart a sight easier than Reverend Craig could read my sleepy handwriting." Rahne hesitated. "Are you sure? I can finish this, truly."

"Of course! Well, as long as I get first dibs on the products of your labour."

"Well, I did make the mess, and I'd not like to shirk...." She hesitated again, then grinned. "But you can have all of them you want -- just be careful not to burn yourself -- and I'll thank you for washing up, and I can always make more if nobody minds. These are easy."

"Deal, Rahne. I still think I win, though. Now go before I have to throw kitchen utensils at you."

"I'm going. Thank you!" And Rahne, effectively shooed, left the kitchen in search of stationery and sleep.