voidtreckerexpress | Behold! The supremacy of elvish cuisine cannot to be contested!

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Behold! The supremacy of elvish cuisine cannot to be contested!

Who: Feanor and OTA.
Where: The Kitchn.
When: Post 19, in the literal dead of the night.
What: The Great Voidtracker Bake-out aka Feanor trying to lure out his son to eat.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an elf in possession of small children, must from time to time resort to bribery.

Said need usually arose when either he or Nerdanel wanted to have some actual work done. That meant that one of them had to sufficiently occupy their incredibly curious and extremely energetic sons so that the other could relish in the pure miracle of Uninterrupted Time To Concentrate. Not an easy feat to accomplish.

It was in times like those, that Feanor had acquired several skills that had nothing to do with metalwork or jewels or clever mechanisms but a lot with taming little critters that revel in getting into all sorts of trouble and ask an inordinate amount of questions.

Feanor can't decide if his good memories aren't actually more painful than the bad ones.

That's why he actively chooses for his culinary experiments the hours where all others are long asleep. He doesn't need to sleep himself. He's been idle for far too long and the last thing he needs is more occasions to dwell on his past.

A thorough search of the storage carriage and the kitchen area itself revealed that there is not a single lemon or orange in the whole train so he had to make do with the second-best option.
Almonds. Nobody can resist his almond tart.

That might ... or might not result in people on the train other than the intended recipient very much interested in the results of his experiments.

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Having a spider as a roommate alone is enough to convince him not to spend much time in that tiny space. But he does need a little sleep, even if it's more meditation than what humans and dwarves need. And not every night, either. It leaves him wandering the corridors, finding quiet places to play his harp and watch the void outside, half wondering if he'd see a glimpse of the Enemy out there.

Plus, he's learned the sheer joy of the device in the bathroom called a Shower. His hair is in much better shape now, considering he'd been homeless for centuries and having only really washed in streams when it had occurred to him or when he'd approached one of the few places he'd meet with other people.

It's different here. Travel stench, even from an elf, in a small space is never a good thing.

He's being as polite as he can though, knowing humans need a lot more sleep than his kind so doesn't play or sing while outside the doors to sleep compartments. But as soon as he notices light in the kitchen compartment, he curiously steps in before a shy little smile creeps onto his face when he sees his father at work.

And the smell! "You remembered."

"Of course I did. How could I forget?"

Feanor smiles. The bait worked. It always did. He's glad that didn't change. Maybe next time he could actually try some real food. Desserts are all fine but they're not exactly a definition of a nutritious meal.

"Come, tell me what you think."

He cuts a healthy piece of cake, puts it on a plate and holds it in his son's direction. Go on, take it. Don't make him stand like that.

"The recipe needed some adjustments. This sad excuse of an oven they have here is barely usable."

While the first batch wasn't a complete disaster, it certainly was a long way from what he was expecting. This might end in him rebuilding the accursed thing if he'll need to make everything twice because the equipment is just not reliable enough.

The smell caught her as she did a late-night jump through the train, determined to train her magic skills even with the loss of the game-like system from the labyrinth. Jump, empty car, jump, empty car, jump, the mouth-watering smell of baked goods, ju-- wait! Full brakes, go back!

To an observer, the image of a familiar spider flickered in and out of view in the corner of the kitchen. It stabilised as she took a long sniff, body vibrating as she all but absorbed it into her pores... And then she noticed who it was that was standing there, and promptly vanished again, this time for good. Happy baking, elf!

Spider materializing out of thin air? Dematerializing at will? What was she doing there? Was she stalking him?

Don't think I haven't noticed you, spider

Can she go anywhere like this? He really hopes she can't because otherwise, he's never going to feel safe on this train again. Not that he actually ever did but that's not the point. Knowledge they have a teleporting spider onboard is not making it any better.

She was hungry. She hadn't eaten all of the day before, after waking up back in her bed she had fled straight away back to the luggage carriage and spent the whole day there. It was hard to avoid people when there was one corridor running along a whole train but she had successfully not seen mister Stark all day. Or Peter.

It did mean that she went to sleep hungry and when she woke up as she oft did in the middle of the night she was starving. She crept towards the kitchens, luckily meeting no one until she actually got there. When she smelled the smell of baking she froze, creeping closer to see who it was up this late cooking before revealing herself.

It was Feanor. She watched for a moment, wondering what he was making. It smelled delicious. It might be that Feanor would become aware of a small barefooted child in his presence, in a nightdress with a red hoodie thrown over it, watching him silently.

Oh, he's aware. It's difficult not to. The sound small, bare feet on the floor brings back memories. Memories he's very fast to push away.

If she doesn't want to make her presence know he's not going to be the one to blow her cover. Children sometimes need that. He did notice, however, her absence earlier and it's not difficult to guess what she's doing in the kitchen, in the middle of the night.

"If a certain mysterious figure happened to be hungry, I happen to be in possession of more cake that I need. Let it be known that it won't be missed."

He says that with his back still turned. There is indeed a portion of the almond tart cooling on the rack within reach from where she's standing. It can mysteriously vanish if there's a need for it. He's not even looking in that direction.

Seen nothing, heard nothing.

Spotted. He might not have turned and he might be being nice about it but he knows she is there, her cover is blown. She steps out from where she is watching and approaches, cautiously.

"You did be making cake? Can you no be sleeping?"

She's not going to complain about cake in the middle of the night, but it does strike her as a little odd. Sure bakers got up very early to bake their bread but this was too early and there was no need here, especially not with cakes that weren't really food you ate at breakfast time, disappointingly.

She gets even closer, eyeing up an almond tart and then glancing at him. He didn't seem the type for tricks, but she wanted to make sure he was being serious about not missing them.

Now he looks at her.

"Yes, I am making a cake."

Maybe good example would help? Because Eru help him but half of the time he has difficulty to parse what she is even saying. The others must be used to it or resigned to not always understand what she means. Doubtful he'll ever get used to it. It grates on his nerves too much.

"I'm not sleeping because I don't need to."

He pushes the chair in her direction.

"Come, eat. I meant what I said."

There's another cake in the oven. The one on the table was merely the first attempt.

"No at all?" Priests in her world needed less sleep than everyone else but they still needed some sleep. But to not sleep at all... That would give you so much more time to get everything done.

Like making cake. She clambered onto the chair with a smile. "I do be thanking you."

She breaks off a bit of one of the cakes before trying it, she figures she will like it before she's even tasted it because it's cake. But it is very very good cake.

"We do need to rest but it's not exactly sleep."

Feanor watches her climb up the chair and dig into cake. Children everywhere are the same. He smiles when she thanks him.

"How do you like it?"

"I do be liking it very much." She grinned round a mouthful of cake, manners are still a working progress.

"I did no never be tasting anything like it before."

The food here was very different than Gauig, but she liked most of it. The sweet things at least.

Insomnia was really a terrible thing.

Restless dreams had woken Conan up in the dead of the night, leaving him with too much time to think and too much to think about to go back to sleep. After a while he'd quietly snuck out of the compartment and gone in search of something to occupy himself.

Someone working in the kitchen at this time of the night definitely qualified.

"Isn't this a strange time to cook?"

"Isn't it a strange time for children to be awake?"

It is the very middle of the night. Though concept of night and day on a train where only external environmental signs are shimmering lights of the Void is a bit on the theoretical side of things.

Still, this is a human child and thus should be sleeping at that hour.
Feanor knows results of his culinary work will be enticing to everyone. He wasn''t expecting anyone to actually wake up and come to check.

"I couldn't sleep. I thought it made more sense to go walking around."

He peers around the kitchen curiously.

He's been avoiding sleep. He can blame it on all the projects he has going on, but really it was the sleep itself he's staying away from. That last nightmare, it took a very ugly turn and he's still recovering from that embarrassment.

Speaking of embarrassments, when he steps into the kitchen on the way to the coffee pot, he crosses paths with someone he'd already pissed off earlier that day. The bruise has gone dark and obvious on his face though thankfully not swollen. Beyond that, he looks tired.

"Feanor," he says, with a nod. He wasn't going to admit it but Maglor helped him earlier on how to pronounce the name. So, even if part of him wants to call him Mr. Curfew again just to be a dick, he opts to show off that he actually can pronounce things correcly.

"Stark"

Feanor nods in response with only a hint of that self-assured smirk that people - and elves - have when they're being proven right.

Though part of him wants to be smug about it and comment on how it's not impossible for Tony to pronounce at least one of his names right... or as close to right as it's humanly possible but he ultimately decides against it.

Mostly because he just caught himself on being irritated that he can't have a moment of peace in the middle of the accursed night of all times! Shouldn't people be sleeping at this hour?! Why he has an impression the whole damned train is on their feet just exactly when he thought he'd have kitchen only for himself so he could maybe, just maybe CONCENTRATE ON WHAT HE'S DOING!

So yes, that.

He probably should stop crushing those almonds on the cutting board because they're already a paste. Oh well, might as well make marzipan while he's at it. It's not as if they're lacking sugar...

Edited 2019-08-13 19:05 (UTC)

He goes over to the coffee pot and touches the carafe. He sighs when he feels it's cold, meaning the remainder in the pot is old. He makes sure to stay as far out of Feanor's hair as he can while still dumping the liquid and starting a fresh brew.

"Whatever you're fixing smells excellent. Whoever you're making that for is getting spoiled." He turns around from the machine as it starts to gurgle, leaning a hip against the counter and regarding the elf in a mildly warm, a little more pleasant than strictly civil sort of way. "Sorry for intruding. I'll be out of your way as soon as I can."

Feanor puts the knife down. He's only a hair width away from spatting some sarcastic retort when he realizes that praise? It was genuine. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda.

"Thank you" he says looking up "It's an almond tart."

A fancy elvish almond tart. That's what makes it smell so heavenly. Not the inferior ingredients but the superior craftsmanship of the ...eh... It's just experience, really. He made it countless times. It feels good to be making something that has no potential of bringing death and destruction. Well, he's as good with cooking as he is with anything he actually makes the effort to learn but, fortunately for all, the cake shouldn't be so madly coveted by anyone here as other things he did. At least it's replaceable.

Spoiled? Feanor just sighs. "That's the plan." If he actually makes his son eat it. Eat anything. But those are his worries. No need to share them around.

"You're not intruding. It's a common kitchen." A pause to the tune of the coffee machine gurgling. "What are you brewing there?"

Tony frowns as he feels tension. It was in the elf's demeanor or mannerism or something. He can't put his finger on it, but he braces for a negative reaction. He blinks in surprise when that's not what he gets.

"Almond! That's the smell. I've always like the flavor," he remarks with a grin, and a snap of his finger at the answer to the question he hadn't realized he'd been thinking. "I've tried tarts and pies but I can't ever get the crusts just right. Cakes and cookies are easier. I've made white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies at least several dozen times now." His smile is a little distant, but much warmer than when he first entered. "They're my daughter's favorite."

The comment about the kitchen though was true, but he still didn't like intruding on someone's personal time. It's partially why he spends all his time between the medical bay and the quiet room he's taken over. There was a sign on the door to keep people out, but they kept stopping in to say hello anyway.

Feanor brings him out of his thoughts and he looks back at the counter, for a moment unsure what the man was talking about. The sound of brewing coffee was so familiar, he hardly noticed it. "This? It's a coffee maker. The pot takes in water, cooks it in the beans that are poured in the top part. Then the coffee pours down the spout in the center. Would you like a cup?"

You are a most interesting man, Mr. Stark.

Feanor wouldn't get caught dead saying that out loud but that's exactly what he thinks. That sudden shift in attitude being caused by one word and one only.

Coffee.

Tony might not know this but Valinor is a place where all kinds of plants grow. That's really all kinds. Among those is one small bush with red berries, quite delicate and difficult in its cultivation when one thinks about it. Feanor usually doesn't. Gardening is not his preferable pastime. He is however quite familiar with the end product of said gardening. Especially, when it comes to small bushes with red berries.

In short, he really likes coffee. It's a family trait. All those late nights in the forge ... It must have been the smell that brought his attention to the coffee machine, even if hadn't realized it then.

"In fact, I would." he says with a slight smile "but you know what?" He looks around quickly locating the appropriate cupboard, retrieves two plates and cuts each of them a piece of the tart. He slides one plate in Tony's direction.

"Someone I knew used to say: a coffee without a piece of cake is not a proper coffee."

He would take that as a compliment! That is, if he ever heard it. It was strange that after their last interaction, this one was so pleasant. In truth, he preferred to get along with people rather than antagonize them.. most of the time.

Oh, he knew that look! That was the 'coffee is a heaven sent blessing' look! It made him grin, pleased that he had something to offer Feanor other than wise cracks.

His eyebrows rise in obvious surprise when the elf decides to share the tart he'd clearly made for someone else. It was a gesture Tony knew not to take lightly. This was a real peace offering. As his shock fades, he smiles at the other man. "Whoever said that was a wise man...and possibly a diabetic," he jokes lightly. The tone wasn't rude like the words might suggest. Just as expected, Feanor gives him an odd look at the term. "It's a health condition for someone who eats too many sweets." That was the briefest answer he could come up with.

He gets out two mugs from the cupboard over the coffee maker. "Care for it to be steamed or anything in it?"

Edited 2019-08-24 19:42 (UTC)

Feanor wouldn't be that quick to share if that was a lemon tart. Since he wasn't able to find a single lemon in the whole train and had to acquiesce to the second-best option there is no need to hoard it. The fact that he made more than one might or might not play some part in his decision process too.

"A woman but yes, she is indeed very wise." Ouch but he brought the subject upon himself so can't really complain. Instead, Tony gets a belated answer to his medical questions. And a laugh.

"A health condition? That's certainly not the case. We don't get sick." Or sleep, or die unless killed, an image of perfection isn't it? Quite unlike some flimsy humans.

Feanor shakes his head. "I'll take it the way you prepare it for yourself." It's already different from how he would make it. No need to make it any weirder.

Tony was blissfully unaware he'd hit a nerve. It sounded like something a mother or grandmother would say, so that's who he immediately assumes said it to Feanor. "Wise woman, right." He agrees easily. He'd met plenty of brilliant women in his time so he doesn't bat an eye at the correction of gender. He could be a pig about dating, but intelligence and wisdom didn't require a certain anatomy.

"At all?" He asks, finding that answer rather decisive and strange. "Must be nice not having to worry about things like that."

Tony nods at his answer. Black it is. "Sometime I'll have to make you a latte though. It's a nice choice if you're wanting something a little more fancy." He pours the coffee and hands the mug to Feanor, being careful to not burn the man.

"So.. would I be stepping out of bounds to assume you were baking for your son, Maglor?"

Feanor nods in appreciation to Tony's correction. That's probably more than he could get 'home'. The Noldor liked to think about themselves are pretty open-minded but they could be downright asinine when it came to women. It was all talk, sure, but Feanor got literally exhausted by everybody being so fucking surprised he married his wife. Because she wasn't beautiful enough and that somehow mattered. Blessed Realm, huh.

He pushes the memory away. They don't need to worry about physical diseases but the past? The past is always with them. And you wouldn't like to get depressed the way they do.

"At all. Must be terrible to have to worry about such things."

The coffee is plain, black and hot. Not as strong as he makes it, less bitter too but good.

"Thank you." The comment about something fancy though does lift an eyebrow. "What's that? That latte? Don't just say it's a coffee drink because I figured as much myself. What makes it fancy?"

But it's mention of his son that really brings a smile.

"You would be quite correct. Indeed I am baking it for him. It's a work in progress. The oven here is horrible. I would have taken it apart and rebuilt from the ground up if I only had access to a decent forge. Which I don't and that's a pity."

He was never this open. Maybe to a few close friends and family but not to complete strangers. It's a new experience. Must be the years he spent, a solitary ghost in the Halls of Mandos... or were they hundreds? thousands? He had no reliable way to measure the passage of time there. Keeping secrets doesn't feel like it's worth the effort anymore.

Tony shrugs at the mention of disease being a worry. He'd always known he'd go out in some kind of blaze of glory. He'd never worried about things like being ill, except when he had those scraps of metal in his heart. It seemed so strange, but every once in a while, he missed the powerful magnet in his chest. It had defined him for so long...

He shook his head, ridding it of some of those memories that best stay in the past. Who would've known the elf was doing the exact same thing? Some of his pleasant demeanor fade and he rolls his eyes at Feanor sounding so defensive over the term latte. "Relax, of course I know you realize it's a coffee drink. Didn't I answer your question about the coffee maker in a more thorough manner? I'm quite aware that you're an intelligent man, Feanor."

He gestures to the machine next to the coffee maker. "A latte is 'a coffee drink' made of espresso, which is a very concentrated form of coffee. Then it's mixed with steamed milk. It has a lighter, creamier, texture. It's considered a bit of a treat over plain coffee and is often laced with a sugary flavor like chocolate or vanilla. It's quite good if made well."

He warms back up seeing the smile about Feanor's son. The comments about the oven and needing a forge was downright laughable. This guy.. what the hell? "Well, I'm glad you're baking for him. I've enjoyed talking with him. You should be proud of him."

After having thoroughly embarrassed himself by accidentally telling his mentor that he loved him, Peter had immediately retreated to his cabin and climbed into his bunk and hid his face in shame under his covers and pillow. As was obviously the only correct response to what had happened. That and throwing himself into the void since the Lavender Death Room now no long smelled like death.

He might have even managed to small nap with a very lucid dream that he did not enjoy, why is it always the bad dreams that are easier to remember? He opted to lay in bed a while longer before giving up on more sleep and climbing out of is bunk. He takes a quick glance at Gwen's empty bed and then lets himself out of the room.

He really couldn't wait until there was more to do on this train, what he wouldn't give to be able to just turn on Star Wars and fall asleep curled against Aunt May. But he can't do either of those things so heads for the kitchen. Maybe there will something he can snack on?

It sure smells like it-something smells delicious. He pauses though when he sees one of his other roommates and Mr Stark-because of course Mr Stark is there. He wants to groan in frustration at Parkerluck but instead he just yawns and pads over to sit next to Tony.

"Morning?" He offers, still not too sure why these two are still awake.

Feanor frowns. "How gracious of you." He barks without a second thought. Then he just sighs. That not everyone is out there to insult him or oppose him ... that would take time to get adjusted to. Tony did explain both his machine and the latte term so there's absolutely no reason to go all-out war on him.

Old habits die hard though. Coffee for cake exchange was a step in a good direction. Let's keep it that way.

"It does sound interesting." he admits.

But then Peter arrives and just plops next to Tony before Feanor is able to say anything else.

"That's not exactly morning yet ..." he says, hesitates for a split second then just smiles "but good morning to you anyway, Peter."

This man was curious. Tony couldn't decide whether he liked him or not. It was fine, he's had to work with plenty of people he didn't particularly like. Who knew? If the man had taken some interest in his remark about his daughter or if they find something else they have in common, things could change. Right now, they'd simply exchanged products that had been mutually beneficial.

However, that was all forgotten when Peter arrives. Tony almost chokes on his coffee when he sees the boy in pjs, messy hair, and looking a bit like he'd been run over by the train. "For godsakes, Peter! Are you allergic to brushing your hair as well as half a dozen other things?" He sets down his coffee and starts finger combing the tangled mess as best he can. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like some, kid and maybe if you ask nicely, Feanor might give you some of his cake."

Peter's not really half asleep but he's not fully awake either. It's probably for that reason that Peter doesn't pull away from Tony finger combing through his hair. Also, it doesn't feel awful so he kinda leans in a little.

"Coffee? It's like two am or something, Mi'ser Stark." He says through a yawn like he didn't drink red bull in the middle of the night back home. he glances over at Feanor while still letting Tony comb through his hair and is a little tempted to just fall asleep again again.

"After midnight, it's actually the next day and technically the morning so..." He yawns again, grinning slightly at his own joke that he's probably gonna get smack for.

Watching them brings back many fond memories so Feanor feels his mood improve. He does wonder though why Peter would refer to his father so formally but doesn't even bother to ask about it. Might be a human custom. That they are a family is quite obvious.

"Technically the morning starts with ... " Feanor says than stops in the middle of a sentence. Did he really almost say when the first rays of the silver light flow from the flowers of Telperion. by sheer force of habit? He almost did. For some reason, he finds it incredibly funny. "Technically, you're right."

He cuts a slice of cake for Peter. "Here, kid, eat something." You definitely earned it.

Tony rolls his eyes at Peter being a smartass, but there's something affectionate about it. "I'd offer you tea, but you're allergic to it and you didn't seem to like the warm milk I made you the other night."

His attention gets drawn toward the elf at that start of a counterargument. His eyebrows rose in surprise when the tall man doesn't finish his thought. He wonders what he was going to say, but then the man was giving up the fight and letting Peter have the last say. That earns a smile as Tony is fully aware of how hard it was to be annoyed at Peter when he was being sleepy and cute like this.

"Thank you," he says to Feanor in response to Peter being given the cake. He fishes in one of the drawers to find a fork to hand over to the kid. "Are you having trouble sleeping again?"

Peter sits up straighter so Tony can get him a fork, all though he kind of wants his mentor to stay put and be a pillow. Oh well. He blinks down at the cake, still seeming a little out of it.

"Suh-weet! Awesome, thanks!" Peter says happily before digging into the slice of cake. "It's awesome! Thanks!" He repeats before turning his attention to Tony's question.

"I mean.. when am I not? But I mean I least slept for a little while?"

That explains a lot. Feanor is barely sleeping himself but not because of, well, partially because of any potential problems with sleep. Peter is a human and a young one, they surely need more sleep the elves do. Yet there was not a single night he can remember that the kid didn't wake up startled at the most impossible hours. If he's not tossing around half of the night anyway.

"You said he doesn't like milk. How about cocoa?" he says. The question is directed at Tony but Feanor is looking at both of them. Peter can perfectly speak for himself if he's awake enough to do so.

Not every kid likes plain milk, especially when heated, but there's something that's popular with everybody. If they couldn't find cocoa in the kitchen or storage, maybe there's at least chocolate in the train's shop. Sorry Peter but there's nothing that calms down overexcited, or overstressed, children like warm milk. Short of actual medications.

Tony frowns, worry on his face but this particular problem is one they'd been fighting for a while now. He wished there was more he could do to help. The kid needed to find a way to let go of the past- not that Tony could do that either. He wonders like he has a few times before if knowing the fate of Skip might actually help with this situation or make it worse. There was no way Peter would approve of what Tony did but.. such is the fate of people who hurt his kid.

And no, he did't kill Skip. Just.. almost.

Tony's drawn from dark thoughts back to Feanor. He blinks a moment, running the words back in his mind to catch up. "Oh, yeah. He likes that. Second shelf on the right hand side should have the cocoa powder. Thank you, Feanor." Just like with the cake, he felt grateful to the elf for being so kind to the young man. He didn't normally go overboard on the 'thank you's but Feanor was catching him at a moment close to Tony's heart where it was easier to be genuine.

Peter's in the middle of eating that cake, his mouth full before he swallows and shakes his head hard.

"Yes. Hot cocoa is exactly what I need right now." He doubts that it'll be anywhere close to May's but he won't say that, that would be rude. He tries to ignore the look on Tony's face and hopes no one presses him about his lack of sleep.

It sucks, but there doesn't seem to be much he can do it about it, so he'll stay up and eat cake and drink hot cocoa. No skin off his back.

...at least, until he's super tired by midday tomorrow. Oh well.

They have uncovered one of his very few weak spots: children. Surely, it's only natural that Feanor had always went out of his way for his own. Who wouldn't? Less common he's not completely immune to even to those that are not his and would most certainly argue that hey are not children anymore. Like Peter.

"So I thought," he says raising from his place.

The cocoa is exactly where Tony said it would be. So Peter has to wait only a couple of minutes before being presented steaming mug of cocoa. Minutes because Feanor decided to heat the milk on the stove and not in the microwave. He already developed an intense dislike of the microwave. It is convenient, yes, but it makes everything taste awful.

"There. Maybe this will help."

Tony breathes a laugh at Peter's enthusiasm. At least the kid hadn't started talking with his mouthful again.

"Wouldn't that have been easier in the microwave?" He asks, before thinking of one reason Feanor might not have used it. "Are you familiar with how to use it? I can show you if you'd like."

He'd been distracted with Peter or he might have spoken up before Feanor poured the milk into a saucepan.

Fëanor freezes for a split second saucepan in hand hovering over the stove.

"It would," he replies and the saucepan lands on the stove as it should.

He doesn't lash out or consider Tony's question an insult. If anything else that shows how far they've gone since those first days on the train. Has he really started to feel comfortable here?

"There's no need. I know how to use it. I just don't like it. It makes everything taste horrid."

Lo and behold, someone here is even willing to explain himself. And he doesn't immediately fly into a blind rage. A true miracle.

What was it with people in 1A and not staying in their damn bunks overnight? That said, Lightning was being a huge hypocrite about the whole thing, because here she was, squinting up at the imposing guy wearing oven mitts with the gravity of a primarch. She was still in the relative safety of the doorway, because she cared if he was doing okay but not in an engaged kind of... you know what, whatever, she was worried that none of her roommates could get a night's sleep ever.

"You know if you stay up all night, it's gonna knock you out and you'll wake up in bed anyway, right?"

Feanor freezes.

One more person commenting on the fact that he's not sleeping while they are clearly not asleep themselves and he's really going to drop the cake on their head. Straight out of the oven or not ... oh ... it's her. He takes a deep breath.

It would be a waste of good cake too. He made it with a purpose. And this time he's almost happy with the result. Almost.

"No, it won't."

That's as civil answer as he's able to provide right now.

"Suit yourself," she shrugs, her duty to the artificial fellowship of 1A done. "If you're somehow immune to the train's stupid rules, I'll be the first to congratulate you."

Anyway, the whole reason she's here is to get a glass of water, so she heads over to the mug cabinet now to continue her mission despite any glaring and imaginary cake violence that may or may not be going on.

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Behold! The supremacy of elvish cuisine cannot to be contested!

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sorry for all the edits but I apparently can't write today ...

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