The Diego Diaries: Cuppa 2 (dd3 451)
-0-In the (messed up) bosom of love
Ratchet glanced at his kitchen, dining room and the corner of their expanded living room where the boxes had landed when he kicked them out of the way and vented a sigh. "Uh, the place is a mess at the moment. Come in anyway."
They nodded and stepped in pausing to stare at the cutting board. A pink mass smeared with a brownish-greenish layer of something was plopped there.
Ratchet blanched.
Internally.
"That's a ... a turducken."
They looked at him, four nice hardworking young mechs who were the forwards and goalie of an amateur rugby team in the newly formed and highly popular Martian Amateur Rugby League. It was so popular Earth was trying to negotiate for two teams to play an exhibition match in London's Wembley Stadium from mere glimpses of a game on 'Platoon: Autobot City' the week before.
That one.
"What's a turducken?" -four youngling mechs
"Uh, its a chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey. You cook it and eat it. Apparently." Ratchet looked at them noting their incomprehension, then tossed a towel over the corpse-like confection. "How can I assist you?" he said with a bright cheery expression on his face.
The spell broken, the mechs grinned. "We're here to help you." One of them looked at the sink. "You need to move that stuff," he said pointing to the toys and other things that the infants kept there in the empty space below.
Not knowing it was the place for a dishwasher, Ratchet had let them use it for a fort and storage. "Oh," he said moving to comply. It piled up beside a stack of dirty bowls.
They returned to the hallway and things began to swing. Boxes were taken apart, appliances removed and a dishwasher carried in. It took only seconds for them to hookup and explain it. "This is designed to be automated and easy," one of them said. "This is the control panel. You press this button for scanning of your load. It'll let you know if its good to go, then scan the level of cleanliness needed. It'll then wash, sterilize and dry the load in ten minutes using only one quart of water. It'll be recycled in the gray water system of this building.
"The soap and other things necessary are in the machine and we hooked it up. When the light here," he said pointing to a round button, "turns red, then you pull this switch and the cartridge comes out. Bring it to the Appliance Center part of The Home Store and we'll refill it. It should last you about a year or so. When the scanning is over, you press this green button and it'll go from there. Easy."
Ratchet who stood transfixed at the awesomeness before him nodded. "It's a miracle."
They laughed, then turned to the next part. "Where do you want the washer and dryer?" one asked.
Ratchet who until he was bonded with Ironhide had never heard of personal washers and dryers stood a moment lost in amazement. "Where do you suggest?" he asked.
"You have hook ups in your wash rack," the youngling said.
Ratchet blinked in surprise having considered the extra fixtures in the wash rack extensions on the hose system for bathing. He nodded toward his berth room and they set out for it hoisting the cobalt blue machines with them. He followed them in and watched as they cheerfully began to assemble the wonder of the universe to his low caste optics.
Never in his life had he ever seen this in a personal home. He never had anything like this growing up and he never had one bonded. He was sure that Ali did. They came from wealth. Ratchet himself came from the slums, the Jumble. One didn't have things to wash or you did what little you had in the common sink in your tenement. The idea of washing what few things they had in the privacy and comfort of their own home was a new paradigm for the hustler and bustler from the slums.
-0-Prime's Residence
Prowl sat at the dining room table continuing a practice he had begun the moment the little mechs had come home with them that first fateful orn. It was a Praxian custom that was the obligation of genitors for their infants. Before him arrayed were the implements of his practice. Sheets of microscopically thin steel 'paper' were stacked neatly. An engraving device that was as light as a ball point pen was in his servo. It was attached by a long thin tube to an ink dispenser that was capable of creating any shade that he desired with the mere touch of a button.
Stacked nearby were four books with beautiful copper and silver bindings that bore the names of all four of his children. There was one for Bluestreak but it stopped at his bonding, when Bluestreak's life became his own and the story that came from it his to write.
The practice of documenting the life of an infant through emancipation into adulthood was one of great antiquity among the Praxians of Cybertron, perhaps coming into being from the orns when they were equipment ready to sell to anyone without thought to their feelings of belonging to others and sense of family.
Their city, Praxus, was one of learning and science, art, dance, languages and culture. It was filled with museums, universities and colleges as well as institutes for the arts and sciences. The Praxians were highly educated, appreciating fine things in art and decoration. They were also a hot bed of unrest regarding the inequities of The System and other unjust circumstances of life on Cybertron.
The Missionary Movement was started there, the Knights of Cybertron reborn there. The Circle of Light was headquartered in the city and as a consequence, Praxus was leveled to the ground during the war.
What would remain and be remembered was now in the servos of the survivors. Prowl had discussed the importance of the infants having their own books when he gave Bluestreak his after the bonding ceremony. Blue had nodded and thus began Books of Life for Kaon and the twinnies. Even the twins themselves added their own comments and observations on the smooth pages of the books. Sunstreaker also added images of this and that including uncanny drawings of the babies as infants.
Prowl with the precision of a machine entered his observations of the orn, the colony and words for each infant. He told them of his pride and love, of their effort to learn giving both he and Prime the warmest sense of love for them as well as his happiness at their own. He did what a Praxian genitor did and with each finished sheet, he slipped them into the binding of the book they belonged to.
The binding held the sheets in order and the books would grow fat, running to several volumes each before the orn he would pass them as a gift to his sons at their moment of emancipation. A candle burning nearby, flameless yet beautiful flickered in the mirror nearby as music played softly in the background. It was a zen moment of peaceful reflection as Prowl ensured that his children would know themselves and the family they belonged to when they were older.
-0-A few floors below
Ratchet traded slag with the younglings as they worked, good natured commentary between those who knew the value of a back and willing servo. They accompanied them to the door when they were finished, then glanced around. They took the grocery boxes with them as a mercy act putting them on the automated hand trucks that they'd used. They would drop them at the grocery store where they would be reused on their way back to their own.
Ratchet waved, then shut the door. Hurrying into the wash rack he took a moment to marvel. A computer interface on the washer would tell him how to use both. For now, he was just happy to touch its smooth shiny surfaces and smile. "I have to get this for my ada and atar." he said softly. Then he walked to the kitchen. Bending to look inside, he opened the dishwasher and noted its many crannies and slots. It was awesome.
Standing up again, he grinned. :Ironhide:
:What?:
:Expect to get fragged tonight: (grin)
(grin) :okay: Ironhide paused to let a family enter a train car. The door closed, then the train went onward. He waited on the platform under the Industrial Park for one that would take them back to Luna. "Your old ada is one happy slagger, infant," he said as Prowler listened seriously.
Ironhide looked down at the infant who smiled radiantly. He grinned himself. "Yes, getting the advantages is a good thing." They'd wander the city doing the job all afternoon long.
-0-Turducken
"Ready."
"Once the duck is covered in stuffing, take the chicken, place it like this and put the rest of the stuffing on it. You don't have to spread it. keep it in a long rectangular loaf shape like this."
Ratchet watched that, then complied. The big pink mass was starting to pall. "Ready."
"Now you roll it and sew it shut. Watch as I do it." Hemp pulled the parts together enclosing the structure. Then he began to sew with a huge needle and thread capable of being baked until the entire thing was sealed. "There. You do it. I'll wait."
"You better, fragger," Ratchet said with a grin. He transformed digits and began to suture the structure shut using heat resistant thread. In no time it was better than Hemp's. "*HA! I, Ratchet of Iacon sewed this shut*!" He grinned. "Ready, slagger."
"Okay, now the easy part..." -Hemp
"Finally!" -Ratchet
"Take item 42, the butter," Hemp said as Ratchet reached for and picked up the 'butter'. "Okay. What now, fragger?"
"Take the epidermis layer and insert under it on top of the fleshy part pats of butter so that it can melt and flavor the turducken even more. Like this," he said putting pats underneath. He also smeared some on top.
"You should have put it on before I sewed it shut," Ratchet said slipping some in the cracks and smearing the top. "Ready."
"We didn't put it in when open because we don't want to overload the turducken. The butter on top will crisp up the bird."
"Oh," Ratchet said with a laugh. He 'seasoned the top to taste' then stared at it. It looked like the slagger on the video but his confidence was flagging. "Ready."
"Now put the lid on or foil it," Hemp said as both images appeared. "Put it in the oven at 350 degrees for three joors. Ten minutes before its cooked to completion remove the lid to crisp the top. When it comes out, let it sit about a breem, then slice it like a loaf of bread. It'll be delicious. You've just completed one of the most difficult recipes you can make from the American Celebration recipe book.
"There are more recipes that follow this one that are companions to the feasts this dish is served. Try them and enjoy. You're awesome. Bon apetit." The image faded and others were shown in their own boxes with links. They were dishes served with this one at Thanksgiving in America.
Ratchet vented a deep sigh, then turned to the stove. He forgot to heat it up. "Frag."
Ten minutes later...
He opened the door, then slid the big dish in. It fit, thank Primus, Then he shut it, set the timer and stepped back. "*HA! I DID IT*!" He looked around at the mess. "A housewipe's job is never done." He grinned and began to gather dishes up for the counter. Ingredients disappeared into their cupboard or fridge. Sighing over the mess, he began to scrape the gunk into the disposal that ran all the way to the bottom of the building's third sub floor.
It would be meticulously scanned for anything or anyone of value, nuked for bugs, then burned. Three times it would be burned in their tertiary system until nothing was left, not even smoke. The power generated would be added to the grid.
It was a win-win for the colony that reflected in practice their concern in its pristine immaculate cleanliness. Going from nothing to the pinnacle, some for the first time ever, had made them proud and they worked to keep their colony clean, beautiful and pollution free.
After the last batch disappeared down the hole, Ratchet covered it, pressed a button and a disinfectant liquid cleansed the drain all the way down. Looking at his dishes, he opened his washer. Staring at it a moment, touching all the parts and bits with amazement, Ratchet began to put the dishes inside. It took a while and oddly enough felt completely different from the sterilizers he used as a doctor. This moment was awesome.
When it was full and nothing more was left, he closed it gently. Pressing the button, he watched it do its scanning/assessing thing, then wait for him to start it. He did, a moment that would last forever. It began to work as he returned to sit at the table to watch.
His turducken was cooking in the oven over the stove. His dishwasher was washing under the sink where apparently dishwashers were supposed to go. In the wash rack the washer and dryer awaited him. He decided to wait for Ironhide. Why should he have these religious experiences alone?
TBC September 26, 2013 8-2-19