(sound of drums) and another story hits the dust!
Hi there, 1Dramallama here, once again making a foolish idea to start ANOTHER story!
If you look a bit at my profile, I usually don't write in english (because it's not my mothertongue, that is for sure), but I thought, meh, why not.
I really hope you will enjoy this one, and if it's the case, feel free to post a review (I promise a bunch of virtual macaron vanilla macadamia to those who do!)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hunger Games, I am a humble fan, that's all.
As Eden finally sat, she realised it may have been the first time since she had woken up.
Well, jumped out of the bed would be more accurate.
The past forty eight hours had been nothing but a piling up of crazy things. Even if she knew it was only the beginning of it, chef Augustus had warned them for a good ten minutes -which was an eternity given his standards on useless reprimands- Tributes are little else than walking digestive tubes, barely appreciating the effort and the care we put into it. He said that with a certain disdain, surely to hide how much it hurt him.
Tributes weren't citizen of the Capitol, who were, on the contrary, a little bit to easy on the compliments.
To Eden's opinion, at least.
One could wonder why such a chef would lower itself to even think of taking the job, especially when everyone knew how little it was paid. Yet, even without financiary remuneration, cooking for a tribute was a potential gold mine, if used properly.
After all, every sponsor meeting, every strategy discussion, all happened around meals. Not to mention that a Winning Tribute would make for insane marketing.
That was why they had jumped in a train, around two days ago, and that was also why Eden was sitting in the corridor. She was sharing a room with a friend of hers, Gloria, who had somehow managed to catch the interest of a Peacekeeper in the time span of five minutes, and since Peacemakers were all sharing one dormitory...
It didn't bother Eden that much, if she were to be entirely honest. She loved Gloria, of course, but sometimes -well more often than not- Eden's head would buzz like a bee, people stopped making sense and she had to flea for a couple of minutes to try to figure it out. That corridor was at the very end of the train, hardly anyone passed, though that door slammed every now and then, and the rain was hitting the train, and the repetitive roads were giving her a toll and-
Eden closed her eyes, and counted to ten, hoping everything who just shut up, but if anything, the white noises just got worst.
It reminded her of the train station, when they had all jumped in, direction District 4, Gloria laughing, Scetus grinning like an idiot, how marveled they had been when seeing the kitchen for the first time, and with so many aids. Even Chef Augustus allowed himself to smile, for ten seconds, before ordering everyone around. They all cut to the chase and began roasting the fishes - clearly there was a theme here- , reduicing the sauces, cutting the legumes, and very soon, the kitchen turned into a turmoil of smoke -dear someone must have burnt something or what?- and noises, until chef Augustus arrived like a savior and took her apart.
She was not to help with the menu, he said, she was to create a small pastry dish, something sweet enough to go with a cup of tea or coffee alike.
So she waved her friends goodbye for a bit, her thoughts already focused on the task ahead, making her miss the flicker of jealousy in Commodus's eyes.
It also explained why she had more or less missed the Reaping Ceremony altogether.
Around twelve, Gloria had managed to drag her friend near a TV screen, but Eden was still so much caught up in the cake she didn't exactly recall what she had eaten, and barely remembered who had been Reaped this year.
What she recalled was the Chef's face when he had presented him her work. Truth be told, when the chef Augustus halted, he had every reason to.
His frown, however, may have been a bit much, but then again, chef Augustus was a man of excess.
"Darlin', what do we have here?" He asked his apprentice, not bothering to look at her. It might have been a shame, some would say, for Eden was far from being an ugly girl, but given the strange piece of pastry sitting in front of her, it was no wonder.
The cake, by itself, was a splendid as it was akward, since it would have been very difficult to tell it apart with a conch shell.
Augustus even kneeled, not daring to touch the thing for a second. All he could recall was thata nasty experience he had with a shell, a few years back. While walking lasily on the beach, he had been looking on new ideas to put on the menu when he saw something similar and sized it. That story ended up with a thing crawling out of the shell, pinching him so had it had bled.
He had made a soup out of it, and while some swore it may have been the most digusting thing he had ever cooked, he had found the sweet taste of vengeance absolutely delicious.
But it was a long time ago, and he doubted his apprentice would had merely put a conch on the table when he asked her to create a cake. He has asked for originality, true, but not that kind of stupid originality.
"We have here a bitter orange ganache montée, sculpted in the form of a conch around a vanilla insert of frozen guimauve."
"It is quite realistic, and it's also hard." He hit it with his spoon. Eden almost fainted when she heard the cake crack. Thankfully, it still managed ti keep it together.
"Yes, to keep it in shape, I put a layer of white chocolate, where I put small pieces of cacao to diffuse nicely and accord with the orange taste, tempered to obtain the brillant aspect."
"And the sand?"
"Sugar-coated paste left in the oven long enough to give that crunchy texture without burning, sir."
"That's not all." He said as he grabbed a small piece of it and let it melt under his tongue "I taste fruits down here."
"Cranberry."
"Why, you already have a orange in your cake."
"I... thought it would go nicely, bitterness and sugary... I don't know?"
"You can't do things because you merely think they will work. You have to be sure. And how do you plan to serve it? Is it a small model, or do you plan on having one per guest?"
"On per guest, sitting nicely in a simple white dish, circle, simple, to let the cake carry the show."
"Well, I hope it tastes as good as it looks." Augustus broke the chocolate shell, observed it for a moment.
A part of him wished it didn't, but he had to admit that cake did taste splendidly. The white chocolate and the vanilla accorded themselves to tame the bitterness of the orange, without even trying to nip it in the bud. The chocolate shell was thin and delicate, a nice change of texture compared to the lightness of the ganache, and of course the soft coldness of the guimauve... he remembered those sticky biscuit his nanny used to give him in summer...
For the first time since the beginning of their exchange, he looked at his student.
She had grown up, that was for sure.
He barely could recall the fourteen year old little girl, the one who couldn't make a biscuit joconde even if her life depended on it. She had grown, and learnt, more than he wanted to admit.
He was chef Augustus after all, it wasn't in his character to feel matched.
She kept looking at him, her blue eyes increasingly worried. Some part of him revelled in that fear.
"Mmh, what is it call?" He eventually said, and she held back a sight of relief.
"Oh, I thought, of... SeaFood?"
"Absolutely not, it won't be said that my kitchen sent 'Seafood' for desert." He snapped before calling the Head Waiter "Correct the menu, desert will be the 'Call of the Sea'."
"Sure sir, it will be done."
"You may think it's not much, but appearances are everything."
"I doubt anyone read the menu sir. Tributes are-"
"Not important. The host Electra however, is. She is well connected, and could do you as quickly as she could undo you."
"Yes, sir." Eden said, barely holding back a sight.
She had been up since very early in the morning, after all, and a cook without any sleep was more likely to pick some salt instead of bicarbonate. That was surely why she was given time the rest of the night off.
Eden opened her eyes. Everything seemed calmer, neater.
Strangely enough, Eden didn't feel like sleeping, at all. Her mind was still wired on adrenaline. While making a cake may not appear as stressing as being picked as tribute, it had to be said to her discharge that, until this very morning, she hadn't expected to go on this train at all, as chef Augustus had decided to 'take some time off', which was a fancy way of saying he hadn't been chosen as head Chef for the District 4. Instead, his long time rival, and his unsufferable apprentice had been.
Eden had tasted the cake that had supposedly swayed everyone, a chocolate millefeuille, an unconvincing one.
Surely it must have helped Chef Titus was more than... acquainted, with a lady of the commitee.
Yet karma had struck back when Chef Titus had met a sad demise when a silver plate had crashed four of his fingers, forcing the hostress to call back Augustus, who managed to pretend to not be interested for a good four seconds...
And here they were.
Everything felt a bit off, which she knew was stupid.
Eden knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime golden ticket, she knew her mentor had given her the biggest trampoline he could have given her. She knew, everyone told her as much, and perhaps it was what bothered her that much. It seemed this train was about everything, besides the tribute. She couldn't wrap her mind on how easily everyone seemed to dismiss them. In her mind, it seemed they were those who mattered the most. They were the reason she had woken up at four in the morning, to get in that train, and work her ass off for those small cakes. Yet, she had barely had the time to even look at today's Reaping, only managing to catch a small glance at district 4.
It was late, and she had had a long day, but she was ashamed on how little she remembered of what she had seen. A girl, perhaps sixteen, average hair, average height. The boy's incredible green eyes, that she recalled, but that was it.
He couldn't have been older than sixteen, fifteen perhaps?
She should at least remember his name, and hers.
It somehow didn't feel right.
Nah, her granny had warned her about it, right before she jumped in that train. She was becoming sntimental, again. She shouldn't. She had to be strong. Everyone who worked in the Hunger Games settings had to be. Not easy, but what an experience.
That was what she had said.
That was what Eden needed to do.
"Excuse-me, do you mind if I sit here?" Someone asked. It took a few seconds for Eden to register who it was.
"Sure." She quickly got up. "I am sorry, I thought, I am sorry, I know I am not supposed to be here-"
"I don't think I am either." He laughted, bitterly.
"I'll be going-"
"If I wanted to be alone, I would have stayed in my room, you know?" He smirked. Ah, yes, that smirk, she also recalled seeing it. "Busy day?"
"For everyone I guess. It's my first year."
"Really?" He acted flabbergasted "Me too! What a coincidence! It's like fate wanted us to meet!"
Eden couldn't help but laugh a bit
"If it's the case, you should probably ask for a refund."
"Why in the world would I want that?" He leaned a bit closer.
"A, a servant, cool, I want a hot chocolate, with something to eat, please." The girl asked, quite rashly, and given the light in her eyes, Eden guessed she hoped for some form of feedback.
Something Eden felt in no mood to incline.
"Right along, Miss." She got up on her feet. Hot chocolate, and perhaps some sugarcoated fruits. Strawberries frozen in white sugar maybe, yes, it could go splendidly, or apples dipped in caramel, with a splinch of cinnamon, or perhaps-
"I didn't quite catch your name?" The Tribute asked.
"Eden, I will be one of your cooks for the following days-"
"Eden, that's a pretty name-"
"Yes, thank you very much" The girl cut him off, and shot such a nasty glare at Eden that she immediatly turned away and left.
"That wasn't very nice."
"I don't care. Now, if you would be so kind to stop flirting for a minute, Finnick, it would be awesome, because we have a lot to talk about."
You liked it? You are wondering what a ganache montée is? You feel like it's missing some mirror glaze? Make a sandwich! Spot a unicorn, or even better, Write A review!
Until then,
1Dramallama