Random Insanity

Day 15: Sharing Cultures


Cultural Exchange

"So this is your favorite food?" Katara asks, admiring the plating of the dish. 

Zuko grins as he cuts the round bread into four large pieces. "It's called a Fire Fritter. It's filled with sweet cream and fried then drizzled with Fire Flake sauce."

"Both sweet and spicy, huh? That seems to be common in the Fire Nation." Katara takes a tentative bite of the fried dough, being careful to get more of the sweet filling than the flaming-red icing. The bread itself is moist with a hint of sweetness, but the filling melts in her mouth full of sugar and a hint of mango, but then a bit of the Fire Flake sauce bursts on top of the sweetness, adding just a touch of heat that slightly burns the roof of her mouth before she swallows.

"So?" Zuko asks, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the plate. He's looking anywhere but at her.

Katara licks her lips, considering the mish-mash of flavors. "It's amazing Zuko, although the sauce is a little too spicy for my tastes, but I could eat the rest every day."

A smile spreads across his face. "They make a version with a milder sauce—you can try that one next time."

Katara smiles, too, as she takes another bite, this time avoiding the Fire Flake sauce. She really could eat the sweet cream filling all day long. "You have really good food in the Fire Nation," she tells him, licking her fingers free of every crumb. "Lots of variety and flavors."

 

Despite Mal's insistent protests that Serenity wasn't a democracy, the crew voted six to two in favor of celebrating Christmas. Jayne was Mal's lone support— grumbling something about wasting money on people he barely liked before skulking off to his room.

Two days later, as Kaylee and Shepard Book tried their best to decorate the common room with some twinkly lights and gaudy baubles they picked up at port the day before, Jayne strode in with several horribly wrapped packages and dumped them on the floor at the foot of the tiny flocked tree.

“Maybe I like y'all a bit,” he said with a smirk.

“Hmph,” Mal scoffed from the corner.

“Don't be such a Scrooge, Cap'n,” Kaylee said.

That night, Mal slipped into the common room as quietly as he could. Carefully, he laid out eight small boxes covered in brown paper and tied with twine. He arranged them neatly with the other gifts around the little tree then leaned back on his heels with a sigh.

Suddenly, the lights came on. “Ha,” Kaylee hollered, “we caught you Cap'n.”

Mal’s face flushed. “We'll y'all are family,” he mumbled.

“I knew you couldn't resist,” whispered Kaylee as she hugged him.

It's the first Christmas for Angel Investigations, but Angel isn't really in the mood. Too bad Cordelia has other plans. Set in season one sometimes after Doyle died. This story was originally written in 2014. It’s been lightly edited for composition and clarity and reposted for the holidays.
1550 words | [PG]

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Cordelia balanced on a chair, a string of brightly colored lights in her hand. She smiled down at him. “It’s Christmas, silly.”

“Yeah, but what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

Angel crossed his arms. “It looks like you’re decorating my office with Christmas lights.”

“Ding, ding. Ten points for the vampire with the grasp of the obvious.”

Wesley came in before Angel could retort, lights twisted around both arms and his neck. He held out the strand, apparently looking for the ends. “I think these things came straight from Hell to torment me. Who put these away last year?”

They both glanced at Angel. “I don’t do Christmas. Take them down.”

“Angel-”

Four years after they lost everything, Bellamy and Murphy have a quiet moment to remember and find hope for a future that may never happen. Canon-divergent from the end of season 4. A little glimpse of what life might have been like on the ring.
470 words | PG

 

Things would run a lot smoother in camp if people would just get their heads out of their asses and listen to Clarke. And by “people” she means Bellamy.
Takes place in the first weeks on the ground but without them ever contacting the Ark.

The sun breaks through the canopy of leaves, dappling the ground in pools of light and shadow, and a warm breeze flutters Clarke’s hair as she strolls down the ramp of the dropship. She’s been making rounds all morning—checking on the other kids to see if anyone needs anything—and there’s just one name left on her list.

Clarke finds Bellamy a few minutes later, following the sound of thwacking she hears in the distance. She watches him from the cover of the trees as he uses his hatchet to carve a little wedge out of one side of a tree. He pauses long enough to pull off his shirt, dabbing at his sweaty face, before he goes to work on the other side of the trunk.

She tries not to stare, but she’s suddenly overly fascinated with the way his muscles move under his skin. Her heart rate kicks up a notch. Not something she wants. This is Bellamy after all.

He spins the hatchet in his hand, glaring at the tree. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he says suddenly.

Clarke jumps—embarrassed at being caught. He shoots her a satisfied smirk then slams the hatchet into the tree once more. A good kick sends it toppling. When he doesn’t say anything else, Clarke clears her throat, coming a few steps closer.

Bellamy picks up his bottle of water and sucks it dry. “What do you want? Besides to ogle me?”“Don’t flatter yourself,” she mutters, but she’s sure her flaming face gives her away. She didn’t come to get into a fight, though. “I was just checking on you.”