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Zeb didn’t mind cooking—really, he didn’t! Especially when it involved batter. The big Lasat normally quite enjoyed whisking together the flour, milk, eggs, and whatever sweet substances were on hand, and popping it all into his favorite waffle griddle. And cupcakes weren’t that different, all things considered (just less… grid-dy).
But why, oh WHY did Hera want him to join Delly’s little kitchen project on the day of the big fight?!!
“But HEEE-ra, it’s Oshvik vs. Tobalt today!!” Zeb whined—as piteously as his big, gruff voice could whine—and gestured to the holovision screen. Oshvik was Zeb’s favorite wrestler, a muscular Quarren, and Tobalt was the biggest, toughest Yuzzum on record. In flickering, purplish-blue shapes, the holograms of the two burly stars inched towards a ring.
“If their match is that anticipated, then it surely will be replayed for you to watch this evening,” Hera noted reasonably, remaining firm. “Delly’s very good in the kitchen, but she’s still a little young to be left unsupervised,” the Twi’lek then added, in her most gentle and maternal voice. She stroked her very large midriff almost unconsciously, as she pulled her jacket over the other arm. Her own baby was mere weeks away, now, hence the need for this last doctor’s visit to prepare her for the delivery. A year or so ago, with the war in its climax, they likely wouldn’t have had that luxury—but now that they did, there was no reason for Kanan and Hera not to seek out the best help they could, to give their child the healthiest start.
“Oh, and Chop doesn’t count?!” Zeb gestured in the other direction then, towards the open kitchen archway, clearly peeved. There, the little droid was using his mechanical arms to operate a whisk in a bowl, like an impromptu mixer himself. His companion, Rex’s little Ortolan girl, was mashing some shuura fruit with a fork, smiling broadly and humming softly, in that off-tune and nonsensical way children do. Both little kitchen occupants had on chefs’ hats, for an extra touch of cuteness. It was hard to stay miffed at them, but Zeb tried.
Delly was becoming a frequent sight at the Ghost crew’s flat. Even when she didn’t officially need babysitting, the two households were practically family anyway. They had already begun referring to Delly as the new baby’s “cousin” or “auntie”—it was kind of hard to tell which, depending on how Kanan and Rex viewed themselves. Regardless, Kanan and Ezra were with Ahsoka at the Jedi Temple this morning, and Rex was having a long call to his friend Wolffe, so here the munchkin was. Hera had explained to Zeb calmly that Delly had wanted to surprise her adoptive father, and the rest of them, with a new shuura cupcake recipe she found. (Even little Ortolans were often steeped in the culinary arts.) And she needed watching, by someone besides a bolted little trashbin of chaotic energy.
*Brrrrrrrrrrpppptt!* Chopper raspberried at Zeb impishly, even as he continued to whisk the batter, droplets flying.
“I’m leaving now,” Hera got her keys at the door, managing to waddle out to the family speeder; “you kids be good!” Yes, Zeb and Chopper were clearly “kids.”
Zeb’s feline ears flattened.
The grumpiness on that big, purple face was apparently quite lost on Delly, however, as her little blue one peered up at him, with all the sweetness of the shuura she was mashing. “Get the muffin-pan ready, Mr. Zeb?” she requested, handing the pan up to him, round eyes sparkling.
Zeb tried for a gentler, if sneaky, approach. “Uh, about that…” he began scratching the back of his head, as if a bit nervous; “I’d like t’ help ya, Delly, but it might be better if I stayed in the livin’ room and… kept watch for giant Coruscant sewer-owls!”
Delly’s black eyes remained just as round, though now with trepidation. “Giant… Coruscant… sewer-owls??” The What are THOSE?? was obvious in her tone. She had never heard of them in her book of zoo animals, but these monsters didn’t sound very fun, judging by their name.
*WhurrrBOO!*
“Now you hush,” Zeb addressed this rather irkedly at Chopper, who was still whisking away. Normally, the orange droid’s tone was fairly easy to read—but today, that last half-raspberry somehow hadn’t make it clear whether Chopper was backing Zeb up with his tale, or chiding him. …Or just finding this all immensely funny, and not caring to stop him. It was probably the latter.
Zeb leaned fully into his story, now. “Ohhhh, aye,” he bent down to the little Ortolan’s level, with his big growly voice—wiggling his hands like wings, or perhaps talons, in emphasis. “Terrrrrrible monsters, with giant teeth in their beaks! They’re always drawn specifically to the scent of cupcake batter! Don’t show much interest in it once it’s cooked, mind you—” he suddenly looked over his shoulder, still as if nervous; “but ‘til you get it in the oven, why, it wouldn’t surprise me if one of ‘em poked its ugly head outta a sewer drain, just outside the door there, lookin’ fer us!”
Delly gasped in fright, hugging the muffin-tin so she wouldn’t drop it (it was a close thing). Even Chopper stopped stirring momentarily (though possibly his was more for curiosity, or as if to chide Zeb again, Are you SERIOUS.)
“Aye,” the big Lasat continued to nod, then straightened up. “But! Giant Coruscant sewer-owls are still cowards when it comes to facin’ big strappin’ warriors like me. So! S’long as I stay out there watchin’ the holovision an’ guardin’ the door, with my bow-rifle at hand, no sewer-owl will likely come stickin’ its big, ugly face through the doorway of our family home. Or if it does dare, why, it’ll just get its feathers blown off!” he concluded, smiling and nodding. “And cupcake-time will be saved!”
Delly gasped and apparently applauded, waving her chubby little arms wide, the cupcake-tin still flapping in one of them. “Wheee, yay! Thank you, Mr. Zeb!” She hopped up and down.
Zeb beamed, feeling almost a little guilty at this praise, now, but still enjoying the child’s cuteness. “Oh, nothin’ to it,” he affected modestly, flexing his biceps quite casually. “You two have fun now, and don’t fret yore li’l heads one bit. Keep makin’ us the yummiest shuura cupcakes you can, and rest assured, no sewer-owl’ll get past me!”
Delly and Chopper got back to work, giggling (even Chopper’s low beeps sounded like a chuckle—though again, it was hard to tell whether they were really aimed at Zeb, or in admiration for his little stunt). Zeb plopped back comfortably on the living-room sofa, and rubbed his purple hands together, growling gleefully. (He did be sure to lay his bow-rifle nearby, near his ankles, to maintain the façade.) The match had only just begun. As Oshvik lunged into Tobalt, the big Lasat gave a hearty whoop and raised his fist.
…And then Hera, unexpectedly, swung the door back open. “I forgot my question notes—” her green eyes then nearly popped out of her head. “ZEB!!” She took in the sight of her purplish compatriot, reclining in the living room again, and with his bow-rifle of all things. The accusation was clear in her manner—even her lekku flapped a bit, as she gestured. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Zeb clutched his bow-rifle close, very timidly, like a teddy bear. “Uh… keepin’ watch fer giant Coruscant sewer-owls?” he supplied, meekly.
“Yeah! They attack houses if they smell cupcake batter!!” Delly leaned over and called to her “Aunt Hera” very seriously, with a gaspy little noise, from where she was pouring the shuura-mush into Chopper’s bowl.
Hera stared at the little Ortolan—at her wide, guileless eyes and tight, solemn mouth—and at the semi-innocent droid whistling merrily beside her. Then she snapped her gaze back at Zeb. Her voice was impassive, and her arms crossed, as she looked pointedly at her tall purple friend.
“…Garazeb Orellios.”
The big Lasat wilted, scratching his head again. “I’ll uh… go and grease the muffin pan, shall I?”