( a tidy tornado has swept through part of the kitchen, bowls and measuring cups and ingredients waiting to be used or put away; a dash of flour across the counter. the scent of warm vanilla sugar is potent here, layered under the tart, mouthwatering smell of cooking fruit, as mccoy stands at the stove, stirring a pot with surgical precision. )
C'mon, cook down, you bastards...
( it's as much a non sequitur as one can be, halfway between mournful complaint and idle threat, and he casts around the space before his gaze falls on itachi. the sword is... hm. not unexpected, he decides. )
Sorryโ making preserves. ( he tips the pot so its bright red contents can be seen, bubbling away merrily. )
I didn't mean to alarm you, but I could use your help. Gwen's birthday is tomorrow.
Edited (changin my mind oops) 2022-12-19 00:53 (UTC)
๏ผ the preserves get a wary look, and then itachi glances at mccoy's... mess. it's boisterous, and so entirely unlike the way the man keeps his operating theatre that it's broadly bemusing. itachi looks, for a moment, entirely uncertain about whether or not he should be advancing or retreating. ๏ผ
I see.
๏ผ which is just a polite way of buying himself time while internally he is going what the fuck. ๏ผ
They're for the cake. ( pot back on the burner, he gives it another stir, and itachi a calculating sort of look, as if he might just leap over the island to tackle him if he tries to run. )
Half of it's done, but the other pan scorched. ( now he scowls into the berries, annoyed. )
Somethin' off with the ovenโ anyway. This is takin' longer than expected, and I'm two hands short.
๏ผ automatically, the motion unseen with the way his body is turned just slightly, he forms the shadow clone seal. another itachi, identical in every detectable way, poofs into existence. itachi gestures to the clone. ๏ผ
See to the pan.
๏ผ and then he begins rolling his sleeves up, past the burns on his right arm. his sweatshirt is baggy, and scrunches at the elbows as he turns the fabric over on itself. ๏ผ
Direct me. I am unfamiliar with this sort of baking.
( his instruction to the clone is quick and precise, as if he were a colleague stepping in on a routine procedure, handing over the tools to let him finish.
those burns though... mccoy's gaze strays across them, questioning, and reluctantly files them away. )
You'll get the hang of it; just gotta keep your measurements precise. We're halving the recipe anyway. Grab you a bowl there, and the butter-
๏ผ bones is about to learn that itachi takes direction about as seriously as a heart attack.
itachi, as it happens, is very, very good at being precise. terrifyingly good, actually. like, 'this is not a normal level of precision to bring to a cake-making event' type of stuff. honestly, the entire clan is full of weirdos, itachi is not an outlier.
while his clone focuses on clean-up, itachi takes the bowl. and the butter. every time bones gives him another ingredient and its necessary measurement, he is immediate in getting that very thing in that very amount.
sugar is painstakingly measured out by weight. even the tiniest overage has him adjusting the amount until he's satisfied. every subsequent ingredient or step (creaming the butter! mixing the dry ingredients before adding them to the main bowl!) is treated likewise, and after much direction and whisking and breaking of eggs and general shenaniganry, the batter is done. itachi is eyeing it critically, as if daring it to somehow be Incorrect. when it does nothing more onerous than sit viscously in its bowl, he finally asks: ๏ผ
( it's... a relief? yes, actually, a relief that itachi takes to it so well, with such intense precision. should it be at all surprising? no, not really.
by the time the batter is ready, the preserves are cooling on the counter, and he hands off the empty pot to the clone. )
Butter the pan, ( the one he places on the counter at itachi's elbow, ) and dust it lightly with flour until it's all coated. Then the batter goes in, and it's ready to bake.
( and he's getting started on hot water for tea, while they wait. )
๏ผ these instructions are also obediently followed. the pan is greased, the flour dusted, the batter poured.
the clone takes the bowl once it's empty, and itachi then gestures to the oven. ๏ผ
Is it heated appropriately?
๏ผ he knows a little, though baking of this nature is hardly an area of expertise. all he really has are fragments of childhood memory, the smell of his mother's baking filling the house. there was a period, while his father was away on business, when she was of middling pregnancy with sasuke, where she'd baked nothing but sweets for a week. he remembers her and kushina giggling together like schoolgirls over a platter of butter cookies, warm and fond in each other's company. ๏ผ
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
C'mon, cook down, you bastards...
( it's as much a non sequitur as one can be, halfway between mournful complaint and idle threat, and he casts around the space before his gaze falls on itachi. the sword is... hm. not unexpected, he decides. )
Sorryโ making preserves. ( he tips the pot so its bright red contents can be seen, bubbling away merrily. )
I didn't mean to alarm you, but I could use your help. Gwen's birthday is tomorrow.
no subject
I see.
๏ผ which is just a polite way of buying himself time while internally he is going what the fuck. ๏ผ
Are the preserves a part of that?
no subject
Half of it's done, but the other pan scorched. ( now he scowls into the berries, annoyed. )
Somethin' off with the ovenโ anyway. This is takin' longer than expected, and I'm two hands short.
no subject
See to the pan.
๏ผ and then he begins rolling his sleeves up, past the burns on his right arm. his sweatshirt is baggy, and scrunches at the elbows as he turns the fabric over on itself. ๏ผ
Direct me. I am unfamiliar with this sort of baking.
no subject
those burns though... mccoy's gaze strays across them, questioning, and reluctantly files them away. )
You'll get the hang of it; just gotta keep your measurements precise. We're halving the recipe anyway. Grab you a bowl there, and the butter-
( time to make vanilla sponge cake! )
no subject
itachi, as it happens, is very, very good at being precise. terrifyingly good, actually. like, 'this is not a normal level of precision to bring to a cake-making event' type of stuff. honestly, the entire clan is full of weirdos, itachi is not an outlier.
while his clone focuses on clean-up, itachi takes the bowl. and the butter. every time bones gives him another ingredient and its necessary measurement, he is immediate in getting that very thing in that very amount.
sugar is painstakingly measured out by weight. even the tiniest overage has him adjusting the amount until he's satisfied. every subsequent ingredient or step (creaming the butter! mixing the dry ingredients before adding them to the main bowl!) is treated likewise, and after much direction and whisking and breaking of eggs and general shenaniganry, the batter is done. itachi is eyeing it critically, as if daring it to somehow be Incorrect. when it does nothing more onerous than sit viscously in its bowl, he finally asks: ๏ผ
What is the next step?
no subject
by the time the batter is ready, the preserves are cooling on the counter, and he hands off the empty pot to the clone. )
Butter the pan, ( the one he places on the counter at itachi's elbow, ) and dust it lightly with flour until it's all coated. Then the batter goes in, and it's ready to bake.
( and he's getting started on hot water for tea, while they wait. )
I'll show you how to make frosting once it cools.
no subject
the clone takes the bowl once it's empty, and itachi then gestures to the oven. ๏ผ
Is it heated appropriately?
๏ผ he knows a little, though baking of this nature is hardly an area of expertise. all he really has are fragments of childhood memory, the smell of his mother's baking filling the house. there was a period, while his father was away on business, when she was of middling pregnancy with sasuke, where she'd baked nothing but sweets for a week. he remembers her and kushina giggling together like schoolgirls over a platter of butter cookies, warm and fond in each other's company. ๏ผ