03.Jan.14, 04:22 PM
She stared down at the fish on the cutting board. At least it wasn’t alive and moving, she supposed. Equipped with a knife, she was met with the challenge of trying to skin and de-bone the thing. Of all the animals she’d ever cooked, fish seemed her nemesis. It wasn’t often that Sennia was simply –bad- at something. She firmly believed with enough practice she could do anything. Except impress a dragon. But skinning a fish?! How hard could it really be?
One of the cooks had been so reluctant to part with the large catch, murmuring under their breath how she was going to butcher a perfectly good fish.
This was the one chore most preferred Sennia did not do. Which, of course, meant she had to figure it out. She’d been shown how to separate it, how to skin it without ruining the cuts of meat. She even knew how to cut it with the skin on and descale it. In her mind, the movements were methodical and precise. In reality, the cuts were never clean, she got scales everywhere and the meat turned into clumps full of slender bones she couldn’t see until someone had pointed them out.
The cooks had reluctantly offered her two fish to practice on. The one in front of her, the other sitting ready off to the side. But no one moved to help. Of course, she’d already been labeled hopeless for this task. If she couldn’t learn in 5 turns of periodic attempts, it simply wasn’t going to happen. When asked, she proclaimed her reason for trying at all was stubbornness. But really, she needed something to do. And maybe she was loath to succeed in this because… then what was there for her? The challenge of slicing up a fish, albeit it petty and unimportant, was still a challenge. And it made her feel good, with every failure, that there was still something she –could- overcome but simply hadn’t. Not that she’d ever intentionally failed. But Sennia suspected that the multiple attempts held more satisfaction than when she’d actually manage to do it.
She laid the knife on the fish several times, trying to plan her cuts. Trying to envision just what it was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to go. All she needed was a clean cut behind the gills. But how far behind was it supposed to be? Finger width? Or did the knife need to be closer? Once she committed, that would be that. She’d tried, in a previous attempt, to re-slice but fish meat was too temperamental and fell apart when no longer attached to the rough scaly skin.
One of the cooks had been so reluctant to part with the large catch, murmuring under their breath how she was going to butcher a perfectly good fish.
This was the one chore most preferred Sennia did not do. Which, of course, meant she had to figure it out. She’d been shown how to separate it, how to skin it without ruining the cuts of meat. She even knew how to cut it with the skin on and descale it. In her mind, the movements were methodical and precise. In reality, the cuts were never clean, she got scales everywhere and the meat turned into clumps full of slender bones she couldn’t see until someone had pointed them out.
The cooks had reluctantly offered her two fish to practice on. The one in front of her, the other sitting ready off to the side. But no one moved to help. Of course, she’d already been labeled hopeless for this task. If she couldn’t learn in 5 turns of periodic attempts, it simply wasn’t going to happen. When asked, she proclaimed her reason for trying at all was stubbornness. But really, she needed something to do. And maybe she was loath to succeed in this because… then what was there for her? The challenge of slicing up a fish, albeit it petty and unimportant, was still a challenge. And it made her feel good, with every failure, that there was still something she –could- overcome but simply hadn’t. Not that she’d ever intentionally failed. But Sennia suspected that the multiple attempts held more satisfaction than when she’d actually manage to do it.
She laid the knife on the fish several times, trying to plan her cuts. Trying to envision just what it was supposed to look like and how it was supposed to go. All she needed was a clean cut behind the gills. But how far behind was it supposed to be? Finger width? Or did the knife need to be closer? Once she committed, that would be that. She’d tried, in a previous attempt, to re-slice but fish meat was too temperamental and fell apart when no longer attached to the rough scaly skin.
Come along now, come along with me