Post by Kella on Jun 25, 2011 23:55:04 GMT -5
Food. Of all the things in the Universe, few were as powerful as food. Food was more than just a conduit for nutrients consumed. It was a unifying force, a diversifying factor; a conversation starter, an argument ender; an expressive art, a basic utility.
Grizzelda, in her lifetime, had consumed a great deal and variety of food. And, she could say from experience, the food of the Dantooine Liberation Army was pretty damn good.
She leaned back in the rigid metal chair, surrounded by the spartan cafeteria, hearty scents of meat and spices wandering over from the kitchen. A rural ditty grated from a radio in the corner, oddly comforting. This was the time when many a person would sit and wonder, if they had been born in a different time and place, could this have been home?
Nope, Grizzelda concluded, any sense of nostalgia quickly shattered. It was a nice moment, but was already growing exceedingly boring. She wanted to shoot something. Or someone. Or drink a bit or maybe do some seducing.
But first, there was an important matter to attend to. Eating. She leaned in to the table, using her fork to subjugate a rich meat-and-rice... dish. She was a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages, not rural food-scapes. Currently, she was alone in the small cafeteria, which was really more a room off the kitchen crammed with tables and chairs. Grizzelda would have vehemently denied this having anything to do with the fact that she’d sweet-talked one of the cooks into treating her early. Depressingly easy, too, you’d think Dantooine would have good enough women to at least make impressing a small challenge.
Vague murmurs in the hall announced the first few members of the dinner rush. Dinner was one of the few activities that attracted every kind of DLA member -- not that there were all that many kinds. Though it wouldn’t involve shooting or drinking or seducing, Grizzelda expected that a healthy conversation would tide her over until another conflict came along to cure her boredom.
She heard the cafeteria door swing open, and the murmurs became crisp voices. If no one came over to talk, she’d have to choose her own victim.
Grizzelda, in her lifetime, had consumed a great deal and variety of food. And, she could say from experience, the food of the Dantooine Liberation Army was pretty damn good.
She leaned back in the rigid metal chair, surrounded by the spartan cafeteria, hearty scents of meat and spices wandering over from the kitchen. A rural ditty grated from a radio in the corner, oddly comforting. This was the time when many a person would sit and wonder, if they had been born in a different time and place, could this have been home?
Nope, Grizzelda concluded, any sense of nostalgia quickly shattered. It was a nice moment, but was already growing exceedingly boring. She wanted to shoot something. Or someone. Or drink a bit or maybe do some seducing.
But first, there was an important matter to attend to. Eating. She leaned in to the table, using her fork to subjugate a rich meat-and-rice... dish. She was a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages, not rural food-scapes. Currently, she was alone in the small cafeteria, which was really more a room off the kitchen crammed with tables and chairs. Grizzelda would have vehemently denied this having anything to do with the fact that she’d sweet-talked one of the cooks into treating her early. Depressingly easy, too, you’d think Dantooine would have good enough women to at least make impressing a small challenge.
Vague murmurs in the hall announced the first few members of the dinner rush. Dinner was one of the few activities that attracted every kind of DLA member -- not that there were all that many kinds. Though it wouldn’t involve shooting or drinking or seducing, Grizzelda expected that a healthy conversation would tide her over until another conflict came along to cure her boredom.
She heard the cafeteria door swing open, and the murmurs became crisp voices. If no one came over to talk, she’d have to choose her own victim.
