[Closed Post: Cinnamon Roll]

[timebethine]

A few days' recovery have left Laertes feeling refreshed enough to return to his baking, although not quite ready to dive into anything particularly complicated. Thus, he abandons the more complex direktørsnegl recipe he'd been meaning to try in favor of perfecting the humble cinnamon roll.

The days are getting shorter--even Laertes can feel it, though his sense of time is poor. He can no longer rely on the sunrise to wake him at a decent hour for baking, and so today he's up a little before the sun, kneading the bready dough by hand rather than using the paddle of the stand mixer in the hopes that the physical exertion will wake him up a little. It's not working particularly well; his eyelids keep drooping.

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[timebethine]

"Very well--what dost thou miss most about thy home?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, the hustle and bustle of it all," Susan says, immediately. "I like crowds, and new people to meet - but also the ability to walk away and not see someone again if you've erred. I miss my classes and my job and my flat, too, but I've kept up with my studies somewhat with the books here, and there's rather no need to work when lodging and food are both provided to you by magic."

[timebethine]

The distractions, Laertes thinks. The way it might be possible to absent oneself from oneself, for a time, and gain distance to breathe. He is not unfamiliar with that impulse. "Hast thou made a space thine own here?" Laertes asks, since the flat seems unaccounted for.<sup>1

1</sup> The mansion's translation took an interesting detour for flat, into the Latin insula, and so the word as it comes to Laertes has connotations of a place that is private and interior and secret.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, my rooms are fine," Susan says, a little dismissively. "Though I miss my flatmate - we used to throw parties for our friends fairly regularly. And I suppose my rooms aren't quite the same because I didn't come with anything from home. There were... some belongings I cherished. But then again, one couldn't find Calormene rugs in London like one can here, so I suppose in some ways it's like comparing apples and oranges." She pauses. "I should like to know your favorite place you've ever traveled, and why."

[timebethine]

Laertes thinks for a moment. It's in him to say here, but he hasn't really traveled here, exactly; he's only appeared as though in a dream. "I think it must have been Caen," he says at last. "For there I met some of the most decent Normans one might wish to know, and I wish I had known them longer. Alas, the work of diplomacy did not permit my family stay."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Caen," Susan repeats. She knows of a Caen... and what became of it, during the War. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure. What did you like about it? Primarily the people?"

[timebethine]

"Ay, the people above all else. Paris and Toulouse are unmatched for architecture; Lyon lies glittering upon the river's edge; the Alps ring Grenoble around like banks of heightening clouds. The eating in Marseille and Bordeaux alone is worth the travel. But ... nowhere but Caen did I feel as though I might be home, until I came here."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

It's good that Laertes preferred the people; Susan wouldn't have the heart to tell him the city itself is still struggling to be anything but ruins. "So you've a fondness for France, then."

[timebethine]

"Ay, and no little fondness. My heart fixed on it in my youth, and would not be swayed from it. I know now that it was only longing to be away from Denmark--but I did come to love France, all the same." Since it's his turn to ask a question, he looks up at her and asks, "What of thee? Where was thy favorite place, in all thy travels?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"On Earth, I suppose it would have to be New York," Susan says, thoughtfully. "Though I imagine that's in no small part because it felt ever so much more removed from the War than anywhere in Europe at the time. But of course my real answer is Narnia. Or if I should choose a place I've never lived, Archenland. It was a kingdom to our south - I think it might be compared in some ways to Andorra."

[timebethine]

Laertes tilts his head. "I think I recognize the name, but know not where it lies. What is Andorra like? And what is Archenland like?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"It's on the border of France and Spain," Susan says, "as Archenland is on the border of Narnia and Calormen. They're both small, mountainous, and decidedly neutral. I've never been to Andorra, but I understand that they're both remarkably beautiful, as well."

[timebethine]

"Oh, thou speakest of Catalonia," says Laertes, suddenly attentive. "Enjolras is from very near to there. From Toulouse. They speak Occitan there, though, and not Catalan. It's called Andorra in thine age? And what's Calormen like--is it like Spain?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I rather speak of Andorra," Susan frowns. "I understand it has abutted Catalonia as its own principality since the thirteenth century. Close enough to speak Catalan, but not technically Catalonia." By now, she's sorted through the rest of his question. "I believe Calormen is closer to Arabia and the Orient than Spain. It's largely a desert nation."

[timebethine]

"My apologies," says Laertes. "Thou knowest more than I, clearly."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan shoots him a rueful look. "It was a good catch."

[timebethine]

"Respectfully, it was not." For want of something to do with himself, Laertes starts assembling ingredients for breakfast--just something simple, this time: eggs and bacon and rye bread for toast, as well as the end of a knob of butter. "Hast thou broken thy fast yet?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan gestures with her cooling cup of tea. "Just this, I'm afraid."

[timebethine]

"Then what wouldst thou have? And is it eggs, bacon, and toast?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, quite happily." Susan peers at Laertes's assembly. "What sort of bacon? I hadn't a clue there were so many varieties before I got here."

[timebethine]

"... are there?" Laertes glances down at the waxed paper package. "I only thought 'bacon,' and bacon appeared. I know not what variety it is."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I grew up on rashers, and learned of the joys of streaky bacon when I went to New York," Susan explains. "But the icebox has given me something different every time I've asked for bacon here."

[timebethine]

"Ah--so thou speakest not of the difference between a cut of bacon and guanciale, then? It's still cut from the belly of the pig, but of different quality?" Is the bacon he's looking at streaky? What's a rasher? He has no way of knowing.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan purses her lips thoughtfully. "Cuts of meat aren't an area of expertise," she admits. "But I believe rashers are mostly from the loin? With some belly attached. I do know that streaky bacon is so named due to the streaks of fat and meat."

[timebethine]

"I've cooked so many recipes with bacon, and not a one of them has specified," says Laertes as he starts heating a pan. "It seems as though it would matter; the fat hath a different texture than the flesh. Every time I think I understand this art a little, I find some new lurking ignorance."