Work Text:
When honing your culinary skills, the kitchen serves as a demanding stage where flavors and ingredients dress up and perform. A chef must know recipes in order to navigate the complex choreography of chopping, frying, and baking, just as an actress memorizes lines. The stove turns into a method actor who demands authenticity in every performance. Timing becomes the actor's cue, and precision is the blocking that elevates a dish from a mere scene to a culinary act. The heat of the oven is the spotlight, exposing the vulnerability of ingredients transforming under the audience's gaze. As actors embody characters, chefs breathe life into recipes, infusing them with passion and creativity. The challenge of cooking, just like a captivating theatrical piece, lies in mastering the art of improvisation while maintaining the essence of the culinary script. Each dish is an engaging performance, a gourmet play that unfolds on the tongue with each bite.
Enter stage left, our theatrical leading lady, an experienced performer used to the spotlight who is now confronted with the dreaded gastronomic stage. Armed with the belief that talented performers can excel in any role, including that of a cook, wears an apron with the confidence of a Shakespearean hero. However, as the kitchen becomes her stage, the script proves more difficult than expected.
Our actress attempts the culinary dance with a sweep of the spatula, expecting a standing ovation for her role as a cook. Unfortunately, the onions prove to be powerful scene partners, bringing our artist to dramatic tears. The heat from the stove becomes a harsh critic, demanding precise temperature management. Still, Furina approaches the challenge with the confidence that lights up her performances, refusing to give up. However, as pots and pans become props in this culinary drama again, the script puzzles her even more and the ingredients refuse to take their cues. Furina, the leading lady of the stage, stumbles through the culinary dance.
As the recipe's narrative falls apart, so does our actress' initial arrogance.
Standing amidst the remnants of her cooking attempt, Furina looks at the fridge with a sigh.
"Perhaps the kitchen stage isn't where your brilliance truly shines," she says to herself with a chuckle, as if sharing a backstage conversation. "Macaroni, my faithful companion, you've never let me down. Maybe it's time I appreciate what I have.”
With a playful twirl, she adds, "Tonight, it's you and me, macaroni, stealing the show once again."
Furina calls it a tragicomedy.
Furina sits down with a bowl of cold leftover macaroni, surrounded by the mess of her burnt or overly salty dishes. To hide her disappointment, she puts on a cheerful act, handling it as a comedy act. As she takes a bite, tears well up in her eyes and fall into the bland noodles.
A knock echoes through Furina's apartment, breaking the silence. Furina, still seated with the lackluster macaroni, pauses for a moment. The knock persists, a gentle reminder of reality just outside her safe walls.
Furina approaches the door with a mixture of curiosity and reluctance before sliding it open. Arlecchino stands tall and composed. Furina's usual nervousness about Arlecchino's presence flickers in her eyes, but something is different this time.
Arlecchino holds the door open, not giving Furina a chance to second guess her action of opening the door. She holds out a covered platter without saying anything. The welcoming aroma wafts through the air, enveloping the space in a warm hug. Furina's hesitancy fades, replaced with a glimmer of enthusiasm. She wants to accept the gesture but her attention turns to Arlecchino and memories of the prophecy and diplomatic meetings resurface.
Furina, attempting to maintain her prideful demeanor, eyes the dish with a feigned nonchalance.
"Is this some kind of pity offering from the Fatui Harbinger?" She asks, with a defensive tone in her voice.
Furina notices Arlecchino's gaze shift, and she is certain the Harbinger is staring at the charred and crumbled dish on the dining table.
"I'm not looking for pity. Just because I had a minor kitchen mishap doesn't mean I can't handle things on my own."
Arlecchino, her expression unwavering, met Furina's gaze again with a touch of sincerity in her eyes. "No pity here, Miss Furina," she calmly replied. "This is more of a gratitude offering."
Furina, skeptical, arches an eyebrow. "Gratitude? For what?"
Arlecchino responds, unapologetic but sincere. "I'm not going to apologize for pushing you. It was natural to be concerned. But I do want to express my gratitude. Furina, you saved Fontaine, and that ought to be recognized."
Furina digested Arlecchino's comments, her pride weakening but not quite giving in. "I suppose you have a point," she said, "but I don't need thanks for doing what needed to be done and for something I would have never managed to do on my own."
With a small smile, Arlecchino walks swiftly past Furina to set the dish on the table. "Consider it a token of appreciation, then," she said.
Furina blinks twice and turns back with wide eyes in complete shock over how fast and quiet Arlecchino moves. She shrugs off the shock, closes the door and quickly walks to the table.
"I'm not one to surrender easily," she declares, her voice passionate. "I've handled tougher challenges."
Arlecchino rests a soothing hand on Furina's shoulder despite her emotionless expression. "Of course, you have," Arlecchino agrees, her eyes focused and understanding. "But what's the harm in accepting some help now and then?"
Furina sighs, slightly resigned.
"Fine," she admits, albeit with a moment's reluctance. "But only this once. Don't get used to it."
She points at the dish while retaining her strict expression.
"That's all I'm asking for," Arlecchino responds, her tone pleasant despite her cold demeanor. "No need to guard your pride when there's nothing left to prove, Furina.”
A rush of relief washes over Furina as she uncovers the dish. It's more than just food; it's an attentive gesture. The aroma and warmth tell of a well-prepared meal. Furina can't help but smile, grateful for this unexpected turn. The repetitive macaroni fades into the background with the first bite she takes not even bothering to sit down.
Arlecchino observes this shift with a knowing smile, pleased to see the other woman relaxing and enjoying the cooked meal.
Arlecchino shifts the conversation from the previous one about their official meetings and disagreement.
"Any exciting roles coming up? I heard from Lyney and Lynette that the stage is always brighter when you're in the spotlight. You sure dust yourself off quickly" Arlecchino wonders.
Furina, now more at ease, nods with a hint of enthusiasm.
"There's a new play in the works. It's a challenging role, but that's what makes it exciting. Any intense diplomatic disputes on your agenda?" Furina responds.
Arlecchino, chuckling, leans back, embracing the casual banter.
"Miss Furina. The world is buzzing with its usual chaos, and I'm just navigating through it.”
"You appear to be from another realm to me. Is it a Fatui thing? Because, if I recall correctly, Sir Tartaglia loved chasing chaos as well." Furina remarks after swallowing her dinner.
“Please resist comparing him to me, Miss Furina. He pursues chaos, while I keep it under control. Speaking of different realms, did you hear about that bizarre bookstore that opened downtown? They say it holds books from realms you'd never imagine," Arlecchino shifts the topic of her work to something else.
Furina perks up in interest but doesn't put her fork down.
"A bookstore with otherworldly books? That sounds a little dangerous," Furina thinks out loud as she glances down at her food.
Arlecchino lifts an eyebrow, amused by how easily Furina is fooled.
"Who knows, maybe they have a culinary section. You could find the perfect recipe to redeem today's mishap," Arlecchino teases.
“HEYY! you… scared me for a second!”
"After seeing the charred food, I realized you'd need more than just regular cookbooks. Lady Furina, you need a power from beyond to save your poor cooking skills."
Furina, now fully immersed in the lightened atmosphere, laughs. She feels gentle warmth radiate between her and Arlecchino, akin to the soft glow of stage lights casting a romantic ambiance but she shakes her head softly holding her finished plate and taking it to the kitchen. The silver haired woman follows her wordlessly and scans the kitchen, picking up used plates, bowls and pans.
"You- I can clean the kitchen just fine!" Furina frowns, embarrassed by the state of her kitchen.
"Two people cleaning is more efficient," Arlecchino replies, her gaze locked on Furina's.
Furina notices that both of their eyes are unusual, but this does not diminish their humanity. Arlecchino is not a saint by any means, but she behaves like any other human being. It soothes Furina's subconscious, which is attempting to revert to the role of a god, a saint, with every second of her newly obtained freedom.
Furina twirls the broom with a touch of playfulness as if performing a practiced pas de deux, her gaze fixed on Arlecchino's. "Every good performance deserves a clean stage, don't you think?" she quips, a whisper of tenderness lingering in her voice.
Arlecchino shakes her head with a slight smile but joins in with a hand behind her back and a plate in the other like a high class butler matching the theatrical tone.
“Lead the way, petit metteur en scène.”
—
Furina sighs as she walks away from a clean kitchen, and Arlecchino follows her calmly, settling comfortably on the couch. "Thank you," Furina murmurs quietly, but Arlecchino hears her and pats her thigh, saying, "No need. My children are usually nearby if you need anything. That is their message to you."
"You will be going back to Snezhnaya, right?"
"Yes, don't get too lonely."
"I won't. I have more patience than you can imagine."