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Cooking For Beginners [private]

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Default on Sun May 14, 2017 2:08 pm

Recipe for Disaster
This was the twelfth night in a row that bachelor decided to get take-out. Foreign take-out was his flavor, cuisine from a far distant country. It was considered exotic in some parts of Fiore. 'Gong Bao Chicken', these were the magical words that kept Maarschalks stomach full on many a lonely nights. Loneliness wasn't exactly a part of his dinner -- he filled this gap with liquor. Nothing top shelf, he usually settled for the regular local beer. Since his newfound-body his attempts at trying to cut down his beer intake had failed many times. Unfortunately, most of his budget poofed in thin air as a result.

Money is a big motivator for the male. Trying to live a cheap life wasn't exactly what he had in mind; but spending his gold and jewels wisely was something he tried achieving. Pride wasn't a large factor in this; and to overcome this he had set his mind on a new objective.

It wasn't more than a few days ago when he picked up a recipe for a pizza. Of course, it ended horribly.

Pizza wrote:the base
300g strong bread flour
1 tsp instant yeast
1 tsp salt

100ml passata
handful fresh basil

125g ball mozzarella, sliced
handful grated parmesan
handful cherry tomatoes, halved

The surface of the baking-sheet wasn't floured, nor was the kitchen counter he prepared it on. Half the pizza-base ripped when he pulled it from the kitchen counter, and then it ripped in two when he pulled it out the oven and from the baking sheet.

The culinary arts weren't Maarschalks expertise, as he made the same mistake twice. To top it off, he put the topping under the sauce.

This man needed desperate help.

And luckily, he recognized his own flaws.

Therefore, he's standing in a kitchen foreign to him. In a place called Olly's Bakery or whatever. An apron around his waist indicated that he was going to do stuff other than just stare at someone doing all the work for him. Olly's Bakery was hosting a cooking and baking class for beginners.

The class was dubbed, 'Olly's introductory cooking class' - and as you could have guessed most of the class was filled with single parents. A few figures stuck out like a sore thumb, like a 50-year-old-looking geezer who had the appearance of a man who gave his last fuck about ten years ago.

This class was hosted right after a baking contest, resulting in some parts of the kitchen being messy.

Maarschalk sat down on a wooden chair, wondering who like him, wasn't paying attention to any of what Olly was saying. About the principles, and etiquette in the kitchen. A thought popped up in his mind; could I smoke a cigarette here? Who would stop him? Just as Maarschalk reached down his pocket, he could see a vein appear on Olly's forehead. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. His fingers tumbled against the butt of a cigarette, he decided to let it sit in his pocket and took his hand out.


Default on Sun May 14, 2017 4:14 pm

“It’s perfect, darling, absolutely beautiful—you surpassed yourself,” Ella whispered in awe, carefully observing each and every centimeter of its surface. The cake was flawless in every aspect, gorgeously decorated and, to put it simple, well deserving of the 1st place. As expected, Seira thought to herself and flashed the bakeress a mischievous smile. “Why thank you,” she responded and shrugged helplessly, pretending to be surprised at the outcome of the contest. Seira had never been anything but excellent when it came to cooking and baking, pastries were her favourite and she was a perfectionist, so the results weren’t much of a shock, especially not considering the fact that she had participated in Olly’s baking contests several times—and always won. Ella, who had been working here for many years and assisted the owner in everything she did was an overexcited, middle aged lady with a little bit too much passion for her job; but she was kind and the Sorceress couldn’t really hold it against her.  This store was one of the few reasons why Seira loved Magnolia Town and she would never say no to a visit, especially during such a busy day. Ella did the baking contest while Olly followed up with a beginner’s cooking course—not that Seira needed something like that, but she was curious enough to observe and decided to stay for a while.

Seira wore her hair in a braided ponytail over her right shoulder. Her white summer dress was shorter than the purple apron she had brought along, and even though she wasn’t someone to make a mess, spots of flour could be found here and there all over her body. She wasn’t the only person participating in the contest after all. The other participants had already left when Seira and Ella began cleaning up and the woman quickly noticed a good amount of people gathering in the store—and none of them looked like they had anything to do with cooking. Probably why they are here, she thought with a smirk. None of them stood out to her in particular and, unsurprisingly, most of them were male. “They are bachelors trying to turn their lives around, but it’s hopeless for most of them,” Ella remarked and disappeared into the kitchen with a giggle. Seira was left alone at the counter together with Olly, whose struggle to remain patient grew more obvious by the minute. He was a good man but, much like Ella, he had too much passion for what he was doing and said passion could morph into other emotions within the blink of an eye—all it took was the right trigger.

Suddenly, Olly began to gesticulate wildly, pointing out an individual that clearly needed some assistance. His intend became blatantly obvious when Seira laid eyes upon said man and the woman exhaled deeply before deciding to take pity on Olly—just this one time—and moved over to assist them. He appeared to be massive, especially in comparison to her petite self, but Seira wasn’t impressed by physical traits, not even when they were as outstanding as his. She approached the dark-haired man from behind and leaned over to his left, and for the few seconds she was still out of his sight subtly inhaled his scent. A mixture of alcohol and cigarette smoke, ironically a perfect match for what Ella had described earlier.

“Excuse me, Sir. You look a little lost,” she paused to flash him a smile, “Perhaps I can help? If you are here to learn about cooking I will gladly show you around.”


Default on Mon May 15, 2017 6:11 am

Recipe for Disaster
After the explanation that Olly gave the beginners were instructed to go to their appropriate kitchen counter and start following the recipe that was handed to them. Luckily, the recipe was shielded with a plastic cover. Otherwise it was inevitable that the recipe was going to end up destroyed under Maarschalks possession. Some women with disproving faces were staring into the class. Not that Maarschalk cared for those stares anyway. This day wasn't about his male masculinity and his caveman pride. It was much of the opposite. As a man of the modern decennium he couldn't keep acting like a caveman. Luckily, he was mature enough to overcome his pride with a minor amount of liquor required.

That's right.

If it wasn't yet indicated by his blood-red shot eyes, his breath should make it clear when he turned to face the female who grabbed his attention; he was drunk as fuck.

'This wasn't as French and gay I was expecting.'

He expected the instructor to be a French male with a drawn-on pen-moustache with 3 baguettes under his arm.

'Lost? Is this not Olly's Pancake House?'

Naturally his eyes squinted at his statement. Questioning his own existence, and whether he was in the wrong Olly's Whatever Place.

'Cooking? Yes! That's what I came here for. I came here to bake soup ... I mean cook it?'

The pausing in his sentence was intentional, since he wasn't completely sure if soup was baked or cooked. He squinted his eyes as tight as possible, closely studying her facial expressions. That was the only way for him not to humiliate himself. So, depending on her reaction he would pretend to know the answer. A nervous chuckle followed. If questioned about his inability to cook he would say something close to, 'Oh yes, haha! Cooking just isn't my thing -- just like how modern-technology isn't a thing for most old people.' Or something as such. Even though he sucked at both. He'd also say it much less elegantly.

His dark red colored plaid blouse was a good offset for his deep olive colored apron. Speaking of appearances; his height compared to shorty in front of him was quite remarkable. His upper body stuck out like a sore thumb since he stood up. If it weren't for the poor lighting in the bakery, he'd certainly cast a shadow over her. Intimidating wasn't his goal, but it is something that happened without his conscious decision to do so. Because of his tall figure, his children would rarely look him into his eyes -- this one didn't seem to mind however. Maybe it was a hint towards the power that she held. These subtleties were recognizable for the male were he not in his current state.

Holding his spine was a difficult task in itself. A functioning alcoholic is a bad way to describe the male. A dysfunctioning alcoholic was a better way. Though he did do his best to remain inconspicuous about it. Whether this was done consciously or not remained to be seen.

'It's a good thing you came. According to this recipe, I need a mixer.'

'What is a mixer?'

And just like that, it was revealed how hopeless Maarschalk was. His flexible figure bent over to search through the cabins under the kitchen counter. His first task was gathering all the utensils he needed to perform the cooking. Or baking. At this point he wasn't sure which one it was going to be yet. The recipe that Olly distributed were all different, Maarschalk received one for a bagel sandwich.


Default on Mon May 15, 2017 9:14 am

“No, you are most definitely at the right place,” Seira spoke and took the recipe from him. The woman quickly skimmed through the list and walked into the bakery’s kitchen, where she would open some cabins and pick up a number of suspicious looking potions. After a little bit of fiddling around with them she poured a bluish liquid into a small glass and returned to the man’s side. Placing the recipe back onto the counter where he could see it, Seira turned towards him and handed him the glass, “Drink this, it will sober you up. And next time you attend a class like this be more considerate of the people willing to waste their time on you and do not show up drunk again.” She said all of this with a voice that was sweet like sugar and an expression that couldn’t be more innocent—but she meant it.  

“Bagels really aren’t that difficult to make, once you’ve figured it out you can just buy the bread at a store, warm it up and put whatever you want with it on it,” Seira shoved the man aside—which took both her hands—so she could access the cabins and pulled the mixer out onto the table, along with a bowl and some other utensils he would need. If he was willing to drink what she had given him he should have been sober by now and the Sorceress gave him a judgemental glance before turning away and hopping onto the nearby counter to watch him do his work. “You need flour, milk, yeast, sugar, salt, baking soda and some sesame and poppy seeds for later. If you know what all of those things look like you will find them within 5 minutes. They are not too far from you,” her voice sounded almost mocking now, but she tried her best to keep it sweet. “My name is Seira, and I’ll assist you for the day. I’m surprised a hopeless figure such as yourself even made it here in first place. You must be from around town if you knew about this bakery?”


Default on Mon May 15, 2017 3:55 pm

Recipe for Disaster
As the female explained, or rather assured him that he was in the right place. Though quickly her nimble fingers proved to be quite stealthy, disarming Maarschalk of the recipe that he held. He lacked the sobriety to stop her. She headed into the kitchen and grabbed some things, and returned with a small glass with a light liquid. A similar experience popped up in his mind, but -- since he lived life on the edge he took a big swing of whatever she gave him. It was supposed to sober him up, at least what's what she claimed. What about a hangover? Would that be gone as well. Might as well pray and hope it was over with. The bags under his eyes faded away while time passed.

Quick note was made of her fidgety attitude. She proclaimed that bagels were easy to make.

'Oh yeah? Easy-to-make? Why are they so expensive then?'

He returned with a little bit of sass. There was no chance in hell it wouldn't backfire, but alas Maarschalk was at the point in his life where he cared little about backtalk. Being proud of his backhanded, wise-ass remarks was all Maarschalk had going.

From the things she mentioned, he only knew what four of them were. He thought baking soda was a thing made up in a song about cocaine.

As a response, his left hand went searching for the back of his head, innocently scratching away.

Maarschalk. Hopeless? Well I'll be never. Just as he set his left foot forwards, indicating, or rather feinting a hint of anger his body language proceeded to cave in. She was right. Ramen noodles for the past few years had damaged his mental works. There were days in his life where he couldn't see the color blue.

'Say-ra. That's a nice name. You must be proud of your wise parents, who gave you a decent name--unlike mine anyway.'

The tips of his fingers fumbled against the upper side of his apron. To any other smoker this was a telltale sign of Maarschalks subconscious stress, slowly built up as his ineptness caused his downfall.

'I'm a stranger to these parts; I came because some cheeky-brat shoved a poster into my hands, told me I should come here or he would beat my ass.'

There was no way he was admitting the fact that he went here on his own will. And thus, some of what he said was fabricated.

'Me? My name, well... you might have heard of the great MAARSCHALK!'

With his arms on his hips, he stood proudly. Without realizing that his name was basically unknown -- yet this didn't take away from the moment. Yet, he yelled loud enough for the entire bakery to hear - alas unbeknownst to him that nobody recognized his name or appearance.

'Now you have learned my up most respectable name-and title, I hope that you treat me no different than you would have in the first place.'

Smugly his smile lit up as his index finger rubbed the underside of his nose. Proud of his worthless feats and achievements. Maarschalk then broke the moment to move to the kitchen. He strutted, for the total distance of two meters he had to cover to be able to reach the kitchen counter. Of course, most of this was a play to him -- there was little to no intentions of him revealing too much about himself to some bakery assistant.

The next part is about Maarschalks two left-hands. He grabbed two butter knives and begun stabbing the flour that Olly had prepared. Like some kind of mall ninja assassin, he showed the flour who was the boss. And it wasn't more than a single moment where he showed real skill with the butter knife he held, instead of his regular tomfoolery with the knives. Most likely what occurred was a result of his combat experience accidentally kicking in. Though only a keen eye could observe this happening. Maarschalk outer-surface was thickly coated with sarcasm. His inner-surface was like night-and-day. But unfortunately, rarely revealed.

'Let's have at it, chef. Teach me the ways of the culinary arts.'


Default on Tue May 16, 2017 2:33 am

“They are expensive because the people who make and sell them are smart,” Seira responded with a shrug and crossed her legs. “Isn’t that obvious?” She tilted her head to the side and stared at the man for a moment, until she came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t the smartest. That, or his dopey attitude was merely an act. She still had to inspect him a little further to make a decision. Seira completely ignored his comment on her name and watched with mild amusement as he struggled to find the right ingredients. The kitchen was perhaps bigger than what he was used to, but it wasn’t an impossible task and she couldn’t help him with everything.  He became a little antsy and nervous eventually and Seira decided to finally give in. “Well, that’s interesting,” she said softly and jumped off the counter to help him find all the ingredients, “Because as far as I know they didn’t distribute any fliers to anybody. It’s a monthly event and everyone already knows about this.”

The man then finally decided to introduce himself as ‘Maarschalk’ — a strange name she had never heard before, and he did it in the loudest, most obnoxious way. It was the complete opposite from what you would expect from a man his age, which she didn’t knew of course but he looked much older than her, from what she could tell. His edgy attitude didn’t fit with his appearance at all and something told her that this was, in fact, just an act and she reminded herself to be cautious. “It is a pleasure meeting you, but this is not how we do it.” She removed the knives from his hands and pointed at the other ingredients while dragging him towards the mixer. “Do you know what a recipe is for? You read it and follow its steps, one by one. That’s how you cook and bake. Not by stabbing the flour like you’d stab your enemies.” She flicked the piece of paper into his face and returned to the counter she had sat on before. “So, what do you do for a living, Maarschalk?” Seira was blunt with her questions, she didn’t think much of small talk after all. Maybe he’d tell her and she’d either be surprised or not and then she would decide how much time he was worth and if he was worth any at all.


Default on Wed May 17, 2017 2:19 am

Recipe for Disaster

Was it really the case of the people who sold them being smart? Or was it more in the direction of the customers being dumb? Luckily, the female didn't point out this connection. Maybe she wasn't as crude as Maarschalk expected. Most of what he proclaimed was a sniff towards her personality. Little honesty was included in his words.

His shoulders were raised up to give the most nonchalant shrug in the universe, as a response to her remark. Perhaps what he previously told her about the reason he was here wasn't overly convincing. It should be noted that he didn't try to be convincing, this interaction was sensible in his mind - he was testing how easily she could be deceived. Playing with people’s emotions was a thing that naturally came to Maarschalk. Nothing unusual from her reaction to Maarschalk saying his name as loud as he could, disturbing the most people he would have been able to. Not even a hint of second-hand embarrassment, or pretending that she doesn't know him to the people who looked at them both. His knives got taken away from him, the flour slowly

The next bit could lead Maarschalk up to pretending he couldn't read, but he thought that was too much and he'd become unbelievable. Maybe he could pretend that he couldn't read well?

'Yes, of course I know how to read. Who doesn't, pft, right?'

That ought to have done it. His profession came to question soon after. Maybe it was time to stop the charades, and behave like himself instead of a live personality-test. Not this time though, her reactions were too interesting. What profession could he say he does to fish something interesting out of her? Something straight-forward... and, slightly believable.

'I'm an adviser to the king.'

The smirk that he tried to hide gave the wrong kinds of signals, alas only visible to the perceptive eye. To any other person, it would look like a reflection of the pride he has in his job.

'How about you, Shay? How do you earn your bread?'

By misspeaking her name intentionally, he tested if she corrects him or not. Her physique couldn't give him hints towards what she her profession is, but her being a mage was in the realm of possibility. Most people react much differently to Maarschalk; and she seems to have a more refined reaction to his daunting presence. The flour eventually found itself in the mixer, along with a few cups of water; vegetable oil, instant yeast, and salt, these were the ingredients that he put in. Nothing too much or too little. He set the mixer to mix for five minutes. Enough time to continue his chatter with Seira.

'Olly mentioned something about a rise. This uprising would take two hours. I've never heard of a rebellion taking two hours; but he made it clear that we were to leave the bakery and come back two hours later.'

He begun undoing the backside of his apron.

'Want to get out of here with me?'

A cheesy wink followed. The stores were still open, and Maarschalk needed to do groceries before they closed. Regardless of her response, Maarschalk needed to leave the store. After putting his apron on the kitchen counter, he tied the laces of his left boot since they were loose. His keen eye would remain on the female, unless she had left already. Olly and co. were also leaving, some left earlier since they were much quicker than 'clueless' Maarschalk. Olly waited at the front of the store, so he could lock it for an hour or two and do his own stuff. Maarschalks clothing style was nothing interesting. His usual black shirt was pressed tight against his body. His pants shared the same color, and typically seen worn by survivalist. They resembled cargo pants, but were slightly different. And naturally, combat-boots that covered his feet. He made his way out of the store, and looked left and right before crossing the street.


Default on Wed May 17, 2017 4:02 pm

Seira’s gaze wandered off and she noticed soon that Olly had intentions of closing the shop—for reasons that were unbeknownst to her—while they were still in the midst of work. She turned the mixer off and covered the bowl with a kitchen towel to keep the dough fresh before setting it aside. “Adviser to the King?” She chirped sweetly and feigned ignorance, “What a noble profession—how did you get to it?” The woman didn’t believe a word he said, but this seemingly had turned into a game and whereas she had absolutely no intentions of revealing anything about herself, not that there was much to reveal to begin with, she was curious as to how far he thought his lies could get him before they got tangled up in between each other and stopped making sense. “As for me, I do not work. I come from a wealthy family, money has never been an issue for me. I simply do what I want,” she smirked, and shrugged it off. The best lies were always extremely close to the truth—Seira did come from a wealthy family, but they were all dead and not much of their wealth was left.

All that was left, however, remained with Seira.

“Yes, let’s leave, I have been here long enough anyways,” she sounded almost relieved to get out of the bakery suddenly and the Sorceress quickly removed the apron and reached for her purse before following Maarschalk outside. “I honestly do not know what he is up to,” she mumbled to herself, still a little confused as to why Olly would close up at this time of the day while planning to re-open and lightly shook her head. “But it’s none of my business anyways, I suppose if you want to improve your cooking skills you’ll have to wait. Or continue to order take out like you’ve most likely been doing the entire time and try to add in a vegetable or two every now and then.” Maarschalk would live, she was sure of it. Seira dug through her purse to find her phone so she could check on the time, knowing that it was already getting late. Perhaps late enough for him to drop that attitude—but even if he didn’t she probably wouldn’t care.


Default on Thu May 18, 2017 1:02 pm

Recipe for Disaster
What kind of answer could he give? How does one become such an important adviser? The game of cat-'n-mouse that the two were playing was starting to near its end.

'Commander-in-chief. That used to by my title.'

Perhaps keeping stuff open-ended, and enigmatic could make things seem more truthful. He avoided the biggest most liars made, and combined it with reflecting a certain degree of truth. He knew enough about the politics in Fiore, and about how the entire defense ministry was running. This was his court now, no question he couldn't answer about the subject. So, with him not fully telling the truth, but having a certain truth buried in it, the female did something similar and proclaim to be the descendant from a wealthy family. A quick inspection of the clothes she wore didn't indicate this--perhaps she was the cliched, run-away princess. Prying about it too much usually backfired, so Maarschalk kept his mouth shut about her background.

'Who are you talking about?'

The he she referred was an unknown entity to Maarschalk, it was Olly--but this was still unknown to Maarschalk. She suggested adding a vegetable to most of his meals. Almost like she read his mind.

'Heh. I was just about to go and pick up some groceries.'

Perhaps he could reveal his true cooking skill at the market. Cooking for two children and a waifu for a decent amount of time amounted to him knowing a thing or two about a thing or two. A convenience store was rarely the place where he grabbed his goods from; the market he visited were basically a gathering of a bunch of food stalls. The smell around the place is a familiar scent, the scent of fresh strawberries, asparagus and other combinations of vegetables and fruits. Almost as if the air itself was healthy to breathe in. He dubbed this place as; The Garden of Eden. His attention begun to become divided among the food stalls, and the woman. The big crowd that made the marketplace difficult to navigate through could cause the two to lose each other. Luckily Maarschalk turned to look back from time-to-time. Being as tall as him, he'd surely stick out as a sore thumb.

'I'm on the lookout for the following items,'

A paper rested in the palm of his hand. A grocery list. Giving her the ample opportunity to grab it from his hand and read what was upon it.


3 piecesgarlic
1L bottle ofsunflower oil
2 cartonsmilk
pack ofstrawberries
batch oftohmatoes
half a kilopotatoes
couple ofonions

'Pull my sleeve if you see any for cheap, it's quite crowded in hear and I might not be able to hear you. Or just barter it yourself, I'll pay you back later.'

His left hand held a brown bag, he would store the items in it. Negotiating a price was a thing here, his bartering skill and her came to a true test.


Default on Fri May 19, 2017 1:27 pm

A frown crossed Seira’s pretty face and her eyes followed his every movement as he spoke and revealed his position to her. “I see,” her response was mild, seemingly disinterested and although she thought she was doing quite good at their little game, the woman genuinely began to wonder about how much truth was lingering within his lies. Maarschalk’s age was, perhaps, the one factor she was most curious about and while there was a certain degree of maturity to his appearance and she had naturally guessed that he was her senior before, he was in fantastic shape and could very well be the same age as herself. Seira wasn’t going to ask, of course, that was considered rude after all, but maybe she could get a better glimpse at who he truly was if she followed him around. He mentioned groceries and Seira silently agreed.

The man led them towards the street markets, rather than a simple grocery store, and for once she was actually truly surprised. Usually, people who didn’t cook much didn’t invest much in proper ingredients either and the grocery store was the simplest and often cheapest alternative. Not everyone had the nerves and patience to bargain with the street vendors and even fewer actually knew which goods were still fresh and good. Maarschalk offered her the grocery list and Seira took it without question. She scanned it quickly and then nodded in agreement to his words, “Yes, can do, will do.” Everything on this list seemed surprisingly healthy and she figured that a nutritious diet was how he kept his appearance. Seira had been to this market before so she knew somewhat where the items he wanted could be found and fortunately he just so happened to be a giant and was easily located.

Even though none of this was any of her business she liked the company and didn’t mind helping out. Besides, Seira was a bit of a workaholic and enjoyed getting stuff done, even if it was for other people. She snuck past him and took him by the word—as soon as Seira spotted some delicious looking strawberries that were not too expensive, she slipped away and tasted one to check whether or not they were also sweet. As soon as she could confirm that she returned to Maarschalk’s side, grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him towards the small shop. “Strawberries,” she exclaimed and pointed to her left. “I think I’m going to buy some for myself as well. Say, do you visit this market a lot? You seemed determined in your approach, but for someone who visits a cooking course for beginners that’s unusual. Unless you can actually cook and simply showed up out of boredom.” Seira took a wild guess and openly admitted to it. A crooked smile sat on her lips as she started picking out strawberries for herself, curious as to what his response would be.


Default on Wed May 24, 2017 3:53 pm

Recipe for Disaster
Maarschalk picked up some cucumbers, garlic, onions, and tomatoes. For some odd reason, he wrote down 'tohmahtoes' --or something of that variant. The potatoes that he got for cheap rested at the bottom of the brown bag which held most of the other groceries. Maarschalk is in his element in places such as these. With his bargaining experience, he made it easy to get a good price.

'Me? Visit this market? Rarely, if ever.'

He wasn't lying this time. Before he had the opportunity to ask her why, she carried on through the conversation. Accusing him of pretending to be a beginner-cook. How dare she? Accusing Maarschalk of such a hideous thing.


She was correct.

His face was taken a back--and in this crucial moment, in which he decides to reveal the truth, or double down more to make his lie more convincing;

'It is true, I am a master chef, and I'm visiting Olly's to award him a Michelin star.'

The number of fuckery-layers were slowly stacking up. Sometimes, the decisions that Maarschalk took weren't as black-and-white as people expect them to be. In this instance of him lying about his cooking ability, he told the truth, but also lied. Maybe the woman was perceptive enough to pick this up; but perhaps his poisonous tongue finally reached her. He'd doubt this to be the case though, as she has shown signs of interpreting things with an eye of skepticism.

Strawberries were cool, they mostly served him use during more sensual activities. He'd add a pack to his bag, should the female already retrieved it.

'I'll pick up the rest of the groceries later. Let's get out of here.'

Maarschalk proposed, moving out of the market. Leaving the familiar place where he felt home in. Though the next matter at hand came up; he still had an hour of time left before the dough was ready.

'I'm going to drop this stuff off at my home. Don't know what to do next, do you have any suggestions?'

He'd ask if the female hadn't run off by now. His mind was set on walking back to the place he rented.


Default on Thu May 25, 2017 3:37 am

The market place was cramped; loud voices, crowds of people and the constant being pushed and shoved around was slowly, but surely, getting on the woman’s nerves. She was too passive to act on it and Seira remained calm, even in spite of the stressful situation, but there was a reason why she avoided visiting during the busy hours. She felt a strong buzzing noise rumbling through her eardrums and the unpleasant sensation made her squint and rub her palms over the sensitive hearing organs. Her eyes found Maarschalk and she focused on him while blending out the noise of the surrounding world. It worked and the woman took a deep breath while nodding in agreement. She didn’t even bother responding to his comments at this point, seeing how most of the words coming out of his mouth were either lies, or truths twisted in ways that were complicated and needed time to be unraveled.

Time that Seira wasn’t willing to sacrifice on a stranger.

With quick steps the petite girl followed him until they were out of the crowds and away from the market. She removed her hands from her ears and gave him a quick glance before looking around to scan the situation. “I suggest that you take your groceries home with you,” she spoke softly and granted him a smile. “If you already know how to cook, then there is no need for me to stay around so I will excuse myself. As for your laziness in regards to preparing meals, something like that I cannot assist with.” Maarschalk was a mystery, and although he had sparked her curiosity in certain aspects, Seira was by no means going to explore any further. She turned towards him and dropped a curtsey. “It was nice meeting you. If we ever cross paths again, don’t be a stranger.” With that being said, Seira turned on her heel and quickly walked away.

There were many reasons why a person would get themselves caught up in lies for no apparent reason, and while she didn’t know Maarschalk’s, Seira did have a few ideas. He was either bored with life, and she wasn’t going to just entertain him like that. Perhaps he had a lot to hide, and someone who twisted words so easily like that meant trouble and part of her thought that she might have dodged a bullet with this one. Either way, she returned home and decided to leave town, not because of that meeting but because she had business elsewhere.

[ Exit ]

note;; thank you for the thread, perhaps we'll meet again under more interesting circumstances~

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