Elen hates this. Hates the sun, hates the heat, hates the annoying bugs buzzing around that she has to smack away before they get at her blood. And this isn’t even the hottest Terra can get! Litha is still three weeks away! But, no. The kind spring weather has suddenly been replaced with sweltering, humid heat just a couple of days ago as if deciding roasted mortals smell yummy. Elen had already changed her tights to short white socks, and fans herself with her hand and drinks from a previously frozen bottle of water. It hardly helps.
‘Why is my school so god-damn strict about summer uniforms being changed in June? Beltane is supposed to be the start of summer in the Celtic calendar. And why is the uniform mostly black anyway?’
She miserably crosses the street and leans her forehead on the cool, shaded part of the closest building. That feels nice. She doesn't even mind the uneven surface digging into her skin.
“Elen!” She looks up to see Salacia skipping up the street with all the vigor of the Energizer Bunny. It’s almost enviable. “Hey! Heat gettin’ to you?”
Salacia puts a hand on Elen’s forehead and gods above does that feel good! She leans into Salacia’s touch, glad for her lack of understanding of personal space. Elen takes Salacia’s other hand and puts it on her cheek. It’s just as cool and nice. “You just came from the rink, didn’t you?”
“No, I’ve always just been naturally cold. You're not used to the heat?”
“I’m from central Oregon. I’m no stranger to the heat. I’ve just never been good with it.”
Salacia chuckles. “Hestia’s kitchens would likely be miserable for you.”
Elen groans. Right. That’s today. She was so focused on working on her quarterly assignment and avoiding Jessie that she’d nearly forgotten.
She’s cut out of her thoughts when she feels an even colder energy on her skin. Elen opens her eyes to see a blue light coming from Salacia’s hands and her entire body is instantly cooler.
“Better?” Salacia asks. Elen smiles and nods. Salacia pulls her hands back to puff out her chest. “I’ve been practicing my Magick the past few days. I think I’ve mostly gotten the hang of it.”
Elen cocks an eyebrow. “‘Mostly’?”
Salacia gets a sheepish expression and turns to avoid eye contact. “Well…” Elen leans over and Salacia turns her head more. “I accidentally flooded the bathroom while I was practicing for the first time. And then I froze the water and panicked when my parents knocked on the door.”
Elen puts a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She could totally imagine it! Salacia was clumsy in the fight, so of course she’d be the same when doing Magick for the first time.
With pursed lips, Salacia glances over to Elen. “So you can smile. You’ve always been dour and serious the entire time I’ve seen you. This is the first time I’ve seen you smile.”
“Every time you see me I’ve been thinking of things I don’t like.”
“You must not have a very fun mind.”
“No, not really. Come on. Let’s get going.”
Salacia nods and they start towards where the Hestia Cooking Institute is. It’s quite a large building, and when Elen and Salacia enter the blessedly air-conditioned lobby, they see just how fancy the inside is. Elen doesn’t know if it’s real marble or not, but the flooring and the pillars certainly look as if they are. There are plants tastefully placed around the room, and gilded collage photo frames for every graduating class and instructors of the past sixty-five years since the school was first opened. Elen looks at the newest frame and easily finds Fredrick’s photo in the fourth row.
"Hello! Are you here for the Quarterly Cooking Contest?”
Elen and Salacia turn to the attendant who comes up to them with a large, obviously strained smile on their face. So, having also practiced her Magick, she focuses her power to see their aura. It’s tired, flickering, and a muddy navy blue.
‘Gaia’s schools are free to attend because the government puts priority on education. But that doesn’t mean that they don’t accept donations. This person has probably had to deal with rude entitled people who think they’re royalty shouting at them just because they write a check.’
So Elen smiles that’s sweet and modest and similar to what she’d seen in comics with noblewomen. She slides a foot back while pinching her skirt to give a little curtsy, noticing it has the desired effect as the attendant’s aura brightens to a pale yellow.
“We are,” Elen confirms. “We have a friend that goes to this school and we’re here to support them. We are also acquainted with an alumni here, Fredrick Xavier Reynolds.”
The attendant’s smile relaxes into a genuine one, and their aura turns a brighter yellow. “Oh, yes! Mr. Reynolds had called and told me that you two would be coming here. Come this way Ms. Magnum, Ms. Sonnen.”
Elen starts following towards where the attendant is walking when she notices that Salacia is standing in the same place with an expression like a smacked mackerel. She rolls her eyes, takes her hand, and leads Salacia behind her to the elevator.
They don’t speak but go up to the fourth floor and are led to an observation room with a window looking over the kitchen area. There are already quite a few snobbish-looking people with their noses stuck in the air, with some rowdy children with no apparent supervision running around. Elen’s pity for the attendant increases.
“I hope you have a nice time.” The attendant gives a small bow and leaves the room.
Elen and Salacia take two empty spots in the second row and put their bags under their seats. She glances to her right to see Salacia squirm in her seat before leaning over to whisper, “Are you the daughter of a noble family or something?”
She stifles another giggle. “No, but probably the closest to it. My mother was a former debutante and she taught me some things she’d learned.”
Salacia's eyes glimmer. “So are you going to be a deb yourself? Are you going to participate in a ball?”
“My family’s standing tanked years ago, so I doubt it.”
"So you're from a fallen upper-class family who's in exile and now you’re working to regain your wealth and reputation and take revenge on the people who’ve conspired against you?”
“Exactly how many comics have you read?”
“Lost count. I read them for inspiration for my routines.”
Elen can’t say she doesn’t do the same for some of her songs, so she doesn’t say anything in retort. She looks instead around the room to observe the other audience members. Everyone obviously has money, with clothing brands that Elen has lamented not being able to afford and almost gaudy-looking jewelry. The children are putting their faces to the window and giving it a healthy coating of spit that nobody is reprimanding them for. The poor supervisors stationed around the room can’t even touch or scold the children so they’re completely helpless.
“It’s a shame that this school is in Gaia,” one of the women says to her friend. “If it weren’t one of the best in the world, I would never step foot in this godless country.”
Her nails bite into her palms and Elen breathes to keep her composure.
“I can’t believe that this idolatry nation was even allowed to exist! What was the UN thinking when they allowed them to take this island a century ago? If it were me, I’d have just told those whiners to get over it.”
“Señiore Marucci was right that the world is going to Hell if this country continues. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were good, god-fearing humans, but they have them worshipping beside such savages.”
‘Ah. So they’re part of that cult.’ Elen glances over to Salacia who’s just looking at the snickering women confused. Right. Salacia had told her that she was born and raised in Gaia and had never been outside of the country. Religious freedom and freedom of speech are protected by the Gaian constitution to a point, but everyone is generally tolerant of others and never causes drama. And if they do have any biases, they typically just keep to themselves and opt to be polite. She likely has no experience with this.
Elen chuckles. “‘For what have I to do to judge them also that are without? Do not ye judge them that are within?’ 1 Corinthians 5:12.” The adults look towards Elen with wide eyes, who’s playing with her pentacle pendant to let it glint in the light. “Also…” She points to the children, now rolling on the ground and screaming their heads off. “‘The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.’ Proverbs 29:15.”
The parents turn red. They quickly and silently break apart the kids to make them sit down in their seats and don’t say another word to each other.
Elen simply leans over to Salacia and mutters, “I grew up in a town that’s mostly part of that cult. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that!”
Salacia breathes back, “So is this normal outside of Gaia?”
“99% of Christians outside of Gaia are pretty cool, and I even agree with the pope to a degree. I think it’s just the 1% that are nut-jobs that were in my town and these bitches.”
Salacia nods and glances over to the still red-faced people. ‘They must have very boring lives if they’re that bitter.’
“Welcome to Hestia Cooking Institute. The Quarterly Cooking Contest’s baking division will soon begin!”
Elen and Salacia sit up as the announcer speaks over the PA system. The students file into the kitchen, all dressed in their chef’s uniforms and going to their respective stations. They search the students, finally spotting Áine at one at the far-end of the room. Elen's chest starts to heat and she looks down to see both her and Salacia’s Marks start glowing.
“The theme for today’s dish is ‘Taste of Childhood’. The contestants will have two hours to create a dish that represents their childhood. Once the two hours are up, our panel of judges made up of our esteemed professors will choose which dish fully encompasses the theme, presentation, and of course overall taste. Students, good luck!”
A buzzer rings and a digital countdown starts. All at once, every student whips up a frenzy of cracking eggs, sifting flour, and creaming butter. Áine turn the oven on then crouches down and takes out plastic-wrapped dough. She spreads some white powder on the counter, maybe flour, and rolls the dough out. She sprinkles more powder, rolls it again, and starts folding.
Elen is no professional, but even she can see that there are no extraneous movements. Áine’s slicing of the dough, arranging them on the baking sheet before popping them in the oven, the way she immediately starts to heat something on a pan. It’s a mesmerizing sight and Elen’s Mark starts to burn hotter and hotter.
Áine puts the pan aside, takes out the cookie sheet, and puts the pastries on a baking rack. Salacia thinks it's almost an art form the way she chops what she had heated in the pan with another ingredient then whisking the milk on the stovetop. She almost dances as she places each of the pastries in individual crème brûlée cups, adding the chopped ingredients and pouring in the milk.
Áine wipes sweat from her brow as she tops the mixture with another pastry and something white. Salacia sees the sparkle in her eyes. The kiss of a smile on her lips. ‘She really enjoys this,’ she thinks as Áine places the baking sheet of the cups in the oven. Her chest warms, seeing a few bubbles splashing on Áine’s cheek as she washes the used dishes, and Salacia has the urge to wipe them away. Would she appreciate that? Would she smile at her if she did? What if…
*BUZZZZZ*
Salacia startles out of her reverie. Has it really been two hours already? Each student lays out their dishes, some desserts like cakes and cookies, some more savory foods like quiches and meats. Áine lays out her own dish, looking increasingly more nervous the longer the judges take to get to her. When they eventually do, Áine straightens her posture.
“What dish do you have for us today?”
Áine clears her throat. “This is a traditional Egyptian bread pudding called Umm Ali which means ‘mother of Ali’. I made it with palmiers, hazelnuts, pistachios, dried figs and raisins, and topped it with more palmiers and domiati cheese.”
“I see,” mulls one of the judges. “And why did you decide to make this?”
“My mother is Egyptian-born, and I was born in France. She used to always make this whenever we had special occasions. This is a dish that honors my mother, my heritage, and the childhood I spent in France, since I used a French pastry to make this.”
The judges nod, and each of them takes a cup and spoon to taste it.
“It’s very sweet,” comments one of the judges.
Another hums. “But the cheese is salty, balancing it out. The nuts and the fruits give it a very nice texture.”
Áine smiles at their comments and visibly relaxes when they leave her station.
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