[It's a boon that he's just going to let that attitude slide off like water on a duck's back. This is the only way to become friends with her. Even if Claude himself will still take eight years for reciprocated friendship, smh.]
But this is — at least there we knew how to c-complete the objective! This is just kneecapping us from the start!
[Her search pulls up nothing. Not even the surrounding area has anything. And from the looks of it, the other stations all come equipped with the same single sheet of paper. Horrific.
Not as horrific as what Claude says next.]
...Are you serious?
[She knows he's medieval, but like. UGH!]
Y-yes. Yes it is. This turns it on, the numbers s-say how hot it'll go. [Which he would also have no frame of reference for.] You know what? Just don't touch it. You can m-mix things, can't you?
[ He gets a little defensive at her tone. He's doing his best? They've all been yanked into new and unfamiliar territory, and all of the technology just happens to be more new and unfamiliar to him than most people.
She's correct in guessing that he has no idea what she means by "number" because they probably don't have degrees where he comes from. There's just fire. He's going to guess it's on a scale of 0 to 100, ranging from not hot to very hot.
... How hot is it supposed to be bake? ]
Sure. Lets start with the smallest quantity and work our way up based on what looks right?
[ He delicately picks up one egg, tapping it against the counter to crack it and
just ends up crushing it. ]
. . .
[ Don't look at him Toko, he's going to try again. ]
[Just fire. That's what she was afraid of. At least he has a decent plan?]
O-okay. That should be fine in th-theory.
[So should his egg cracking technique, but that goes belly up at once. Toko had been readying to measure out however many grams of flour (is whole wheat okay?) when she witnesses the tragedy.]
What did you do? D-don't mash it into the wood. [She puts the flour aside, next to the vinegar (if it's here it must be an ingredient, surely) and takes an egg of her own.] Do it gently, like thi—
[She doesn't even get to knock it against the counter. It cracks in her hands. She'd barely touched it?
Toko just stands there, mortified, egg goop seeping through her fingers.]
[Toko is meeting that dead-eyed stare with an equal look of despair.
Except no, he's right, they cannot accept this fate. Defeated by frangipane tart, unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE. She twists and runs her hand under water, leaving the egg shell in the sink because it's clearly cursed and she's not fucking with that.]
Maybe you're right. M-maybe our luck will change, depending on whether we've got the right idea. [She leans into the table, observing his pour.]
Stop! That looks normal. [She thinks.] So. Sugar. It's a d-dessert, and it's European. So it'll be really sweet.
[She takes the bucket and scoops a mound in. Then a second one. All's well!]
[ After living off peasant gruel for a over a month, Claude is having a hard time conceptualizing the amount of sugar that Toko is putting in. That's a lot of flavour.
But anyway, things seem to be progressing... smoothly? Are they getting the hang of it? ]
Okay, so the recipe also lists butter.
[ He picks up the brick, ready to plop it in the bowl but he misses. Somehow. Despite holding the brick literally right on top of it.
Frowning, he picks the brick up off the counter top (butter fingers) and tries again. And once again, he misses. ]
[Look it didn't explode out of her hands, it can't be that far off. (It can be that far off.)
Meanwhile it's the butter pulling feats of magical messiness now, which brings her some pause.]
Uuuuuh... [She gnaws the side of her thumb. Flips the recipe sheet over, as if instructions have magically appeared while they're not looking.] Um. With b-butter, I think you...should we soften it?
[ Fascinating... Toko had already explained to him that the large box built into the desk was the oven, but this device can be used to heat up food as well? ]
Converting solid to liquid? I suppose there is an element of science to cooking.
[ He takes a new brick of butter, which hadn't been dropped all over the table, and tosses it into the "microwave", pressing the buttons to run it for thirty seconds.
And it seems to be going well! There are a couple of sparks, but as far as Claude understands, there's always some element of fire to cooking.
Except then the entire microwave goes up in flames. ]
Well, yeah. It's b-basically just chemistry. Except you get to eat it at the end. [Instead of burn a hole through the counter, or poison yourself.
...Actually that's possible with cooking too.
While Claude has his precious few seconds of confident peace, Toko is trying to puzzle out what the next steps might be. It's some custard or paste in the center, then a pastry shell, so logically...should she start on the shell, and leave the custard to him?
SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!
IS THAT KELLOG'S RICE KRISPIES?
No it's the mark of their failure.]
CLAUDE!
[Toko's hands fly to her hair in a panic. What the hell? She hadn't even turned away for one minute?!]
P-PUT IT OUT!! PUT IT OUT!
Edited (oop it was already on fire) 2021-10-28 21:32 (UTC)
[ Claude looks oddly calm as he watches the microwave spark and set ablaze. Mostly because he's still in the mindset of "fire is required for cooking". In fact, he thinks it's very neat this machine can create fire out of nothing.
But Toko looks oddly frightened? ]
Huh? Why?
[ The microwave is now smoking, and soon starts beeping as it reaches the 30 second mark.
The flames aren't growing, contained inside the microwave, but they don't go out, simmering angrily on the remains of the aluminum wrapping paper. By now, Claude is starting to sense that he did something wrong, but he's disassociating too hard to acknowledge it. ]
[Her chill in combat has increased threefold since her time in Towa City. Her chill in the kitchen?
Well. Considering how thick the smoke is getting from the microwave, she can't be blamed can she?
Toko flings the cupboards open, searching madly until she grasps the cool metal surface. Toko whirls around, fumbles with the safety pin, and finally yanks the trigger.
KRSSSHSHSHSHHSHHHHHHHHH—
The thick white gas streams out of the extinguisher in a shockingly powerful stream. She misses the microwave at first, zigzagging her way back to the fire.
Please. PLEASE. If she survived dino car just to die in a fUCKING BAKE OFF I SWEAR TO GOD
also claude may or may not be in the line of fire]
All that remains after Toko's heroics is Claudy the Snowman.
He's a little out of his depth, because when Toko pulls out the fire extinguisher... He doesn't know what that is either, and he barely manages to snap his mouth shut from the question that was on his lips when she unleashes the hose. ]
...
[ Thoroughly bukkake'd, he says nothing as he wipes the white foam from his face, staring at the sputtering and blackened microwave. ]
... Do you think we can still use it in the recipe?
[It would be nice if there was a very small hole nearby, just her size. She needs somewhere to curl up and die.]
I...
[She looks from Claude, who is the world's sloppiest snowman, to the microwave, which is in its death throes, to their batter, which has been battered.
She drops the fire extinguisher and nearly wrenches her own hair out.]
I'M SORRY! I was j-just trying to put it out! I swear!
[ Claude begins the fun task of cleaning himself up, giving Toko's anguish an amused look. ]
And it looks like you succeeded. Probably saved me from burning the entire place down.
[ . . . ]
Even though you're the one who told me to use that machine to melt the butter. [ He sounds a little accusing. Was this a set up? ] Why didn't you warn me it would catch fire?
B-because I didn't think you'd leave the foil on! [She scowls, accusatory.] You can't put metal in a microwave! It d-does this — it makes the metal go...
[Her hands flounder in the gesture. How do microwaves work? She is suddenly aware she has no idea.]
Whatever! Here. [She snags two dish towels and atones for her sins by attempting to clear the foam off of him. One rag for Claude, one for Toko.] L-let's just make them a sandwich and get the hell out of here.
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no subject
But this is — at least there we knew how to c-complete the objective! This is just kneecapping us from the start!
[Her search pulls up nothing. Not even the surrounding area has anything. And from the looks of it, the other stations all come equipped with the same single sheet of paper. Horrific.
Not as horrific as what Claude says next.]
...Are you serious?
[She knows he's medieval, but like. UGH!]
Y-yes. Yes it is. This turns it on, the numbers s-say how hot it'll go. [Which he would also have no frame of reference for.] You know what? Just don't touch it. You can m-mix things, can't you?
no subject
She's correct in guessing that he has no idea what she means by "number" because they probably don't have degrees where he comes from. There's just fire. He's going to guess it's on a scale of 0 to 100, ranging from not hot to very hot.
... How hot is it supposed to be bake? ]
Sure. Lets start with the smallest quantity and work our way up based on what looks right?
[ He delicately picks up one egg, tapping it against the counter to crack it and
just ends up crushing it. ]
. . .
[ Don't look at him Toko, he's going to try again. ]
no subject
O-okay. That should be fine in th-theory.
[So should his egg cracking technique, but that goes belly up at once. Toko had been readying to measure out however many grams of flour (is whole wheat okay?) when she witnesses the tragedy.]
What did you do? D-don't mash it into the wood. [She puts the flour aside, next to the vinegar (if it's here it must be an ingredient, surely) and takes an egg of her own.] Do it gently, like thi—
[She doesn't even get to knock it against the counter. It cracks in her hands. She'd barely touched it?
Toko just stands there, mortified, egg goop seeping through her fingers.]
1/2
You might be right. [ He's whispering. ] This is a death sentence.
no subject
Grabbing a bowl (that miraculously stays in his hands), he pours some of the almond meal and it... goes okay? He thinks? ]
Maybe we're not actually supposed to use the eggs?
[ Or they're doing it in the wrong order. ]
no subject
Except no, he's right, they cannot accept this fate. Defeated by frangipane tart, unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE. She twists and runs her hand under water, leaving the egg shell in the sink because it's clearly cursed and she's not fucking with that.]
Maybe you're right. M-maybe our luck will change, depending on whether we've got the right idea. [She leans into the table, observing his pour.]
Stop! That looks normal. [She thinks.] So. Sugar. It's a d-dessert, and it's European. So it'll be really sweet.
[She takes the bucket and scoops a mound in. Then a second one. All's well!]
no subject
But anyway, things seem to be progressing... smoothly? Are they getting the hang of it? ]
Okay, so the recipe also lists butter.
[ He picks up the brick, ready to plop it in the bowl but he misses. Somehow. Despite holding the brick literally right on top of it.
Frowning, he picks the brick up off the counter top (butter fingers) and tries again. And once again, he misses. ]
... Am I doing the butter wrong?
no subject
Meanwhile it's the butter pulling feats of magical messiness now, which brings her some pause.]
Uuuuuh... [She gnaws the side of her thumb. Flips the recipe sheet over, as if instructions have magically appeared while they're not looking.] Um. With b-butter, I think you...should we soften it?
no subject
???????????? ]
What do you mean...?
no subject
[She makes a wee gesture that communicates nothing, but urges him towards the stove top. Or the microwave?
Yes the microwave is safer. She passes him a bowl and points him in its direction.]
P-put the butter in this and heat it up for thirty seconds.
no subject
Converting solid to liquid? I suppose there is an element of science to cooking.
[ He takes a new brick of butter, which hadn't been dropped all over the table, and tosses it into the "microwave", pressing the buttons to run it for thirty seconds.
And it seems to be going well! There are a couple of sparks, but as far as Claude understands, there's always some element of fire to cooking.
Except then the entire microwave goes up in flames. ]
no subject
...Actually that's possible with cooking too.
While Claude has his precious few seconds of confident peace, Toko is trying to puzzle out what the next steps might be. It's some custard or paste in the center, then a pastry shell, so logically...should she start on the shell, and leave the custard to him?
SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!
IS THAT KELLOG'S RICE KRISPIES?
No it's the mark of their failure.]
CLAUDE!
[Toko's hands fly to her hair in a panic. What the hell? She hadn't even turned away for one minute?!]
P-PUT IT OUT!! PUT IT OUT!
no subject
But Toko looks oddly frightened? ]
Huh? Why?
[ The microwave is now smoking, and soon starts beeping as it reaches the 30 second mark.
The flames aren't growing, contained inside the microwave, but they don't go out, simmering angrily on the remains of the aluminum wrapping paper. By now, Claude is starting to sense that he did something wrong, but he's disassociating too hard to acknowledge it. ]
You told me to melt the butter.
no subject
[Her chill in combat has increased threefold since her time in Towa City. Her chill in the kitchen?
Well. Considering how thick the smoke is getting from the microwave, she can't be blamed can she?
Toko flings the cupboards open, searching madly until she grasps the cool metal surface. Toko whirls around, fumbles with the safety pin, and finally yanks the trigger.
KRSSSHSHSHSHHSHHHHHHHHH—
The thick white gas streams out of the extinguisher in a shockingly powerful stream. She misses the microwave at first, zigzagging her way back to the fire.
Please. PLEASE. If she survived dino car just to die in a fUCKING BAKE OFF I SWEAR TO GOD
also claude may or may not be in the line of fire]
no subject
All that remains after Toko's heroics is Claudy the Snowman.
He's a little out of his depth, because when Toko pulls out the fire extinguisher... He doesn't know what that is either, and he barely manages to snap his mouth shut from the question that was on his lips when she unleashes the hose. ]
...
[ Thoroughly bukkake'd, he says nothing as he wipes the white foam from his face, staring at the sputtering and blackened microwave. ]
... Do you think we can still use it in the recipe?
no subject
I...
[She looks from Claude, who is the world's sloppiest snowman, to the microwave, which is in its death throes, to their batter, which has been battered.
She drops the fire extinguisher and nearly wrenches her own hair out.]
I'M SORRY! I was j-just trying to put it out! I swear!
no subject
And it looks like you succeeded. Probably saved me from burning the entire place down.
[ . . . ]
Even though you're the one who told me to use that machine to melt the butter. [ He sounds a little accusing. Was this a set up? ] Why didn't you warn me it would catch fire?
no subject
B-because I didn't think you'd leave the foil on! [She scowls, accusatory.] You can't put metal in a microwave! It d-does this — it makes the metal go...
[Her hands flounder in the gesture. How do microwaves work? She is suddenly aware she has no idea.]
Whatever! Here. [She snags two dish towels and atones for her sins by attempting to clear the foam off of him. One rag for Claude, one for Toko.] L-let's just make them a sandwich and get the hell out of here.