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Hunter stares at the basket of small, glass canisters, each filled with some kind of crushed plant or seed. He hopes the bewilderment he feels isn’t evident in his expression when he looks up at the woman, their immediate neighbor to the west, Kyly. “Thank you,” he says.
Kyly grins at him. “You don’t know what they are, do you?”
Hunter considers lying, but he considers a moment too long for it to be convincing. “No,” he admits.
“They’re seasonings,” Kyly says, as though that simply explains it.
It doesn’t.
“Ah,” Hunter says anyway.
Kyly rolls her eyes. “For cooking. For flavor .” She starts sorting through the bottles, rattling off the meaningless names of each. That’s when Hunter notices they are labeled in pretty, decorative font…probably hand written by Kyly herself.
“Let me know if you need any help figuring out what to use with what,” Kyly concludes with a charming, toothy smile. She wiggles her fingers when she waves goodbye, and walks away, disappearing around the corner.
A snicker behind him makes Hunter’s face and ears burn.
“Making friends, are we?” Crosshair asks. “Pretty friends.”
“Knock it off, Cross. Kyly just brought us a housewarming gift,” Hunter mutters, turning and shouldering past his brother to deposit the basket of seasonings on the kitchen counter.
Crosshair plucks one of the bottles from the basket, holds it up and shakes it. “What the kriff is this stuff?”
“Seasoning,” Hunter says. “For cooking.”
Crosshair manages to screw off the lid one handed, sniffing at the contents suspiciously. He makes a face. “I do not want this on my food.”
Hunter snatches it away from him. “You wouldn’t know good flavor if it bit you in the shebs,” Hunter says. He doesn’t mention that he can smell the seasoning in question without lifting it to his nose, nor does he admit that it doesn’t smell appetizing. Instead, he screws the lid on tight and puts the questionable seasoning aside.
“And you do?” Crosshair snarks back. “Maybe you should take Kyly up on her cooking lessons.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “It isn’t intergalactic science. I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“You do that,” Crosshair says with an annoying smirk Hunter wants to slap off his face.
Crosshair must sense the threat, good soldier that he is, and slips through the front door before Hunter does anything drastic.
Omega and Wrecker return from the docks as the usual time for evening meal approaches. As they approach the house, Omega sniffs at the air. “Do you smell that?”
Wrecker takes a deep breath through his nose, carefree expression crumbling into a look of utter disgust. “It smells like something died.”
“That stench is dinner.” Crosshair slinks out from behind the house, arms crossed with a pleased look on his face.
Wrecker and Omega exchanged horrified glances.
“What happened to it?” Omega asks.
Crosshair flashes her a feral grin. “Hunter.”
Wrecker gapes. “How?
“Oh, I assure you he took great care in destroying every semblance of edibility,” Crosshair says.
Omega makes a face. “Hunter wouldn’t ruin food on purpose.”
“He’s trying to impress our neighbor by using the housewarming gift she brought this afternoon,” Crosshair says loftily, leaning against the railing of the front porch. “Problem is, he doesn't know kark about seasonings.”
“Hey, language,” Wrecker grumbles.
Omega, unfazed, clasps her hands together. “You mean Kyly?”
“Yep,” Crosshair says, popping the ‘p’ with finality.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Omega coos, but another waft of clashing flavors drifts by, and her demeanor crumbles. “Maybe we should ask her how to use them instead of just…”
Crosshair huffs. “I tried to tell him that.” He pokes Omega in the forehead. “It's your turn.”
“Me?” Omega squeaks. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings!”
“You think I do?” Crosshair asks.
Omega narrows her eyes. “It hasn’t stopped you from telling him anything before.”
Crosshair shrugs, conceding the point.
“Well, one of us has to tell him,” Wrecker groans. “Otherwise, we’re never gonna eat anything good ever again.”
“Be our guest, Wrecker,” Crosshair says. “Break a poor man’s heart.”
Wrecker balks. “He has to know. I mean, can’t he smell it? What’s the point of enhanced senses if you can’t smell what you’re cooking?”
“As hard as it is to believe, Hunter isn’t perfect,” Crosshair retorts.
Omega’s shoulders sag. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”
The moment they walk in the door, Hunter is on them. “Just in time for late meal,” he says cheerfully.
Omega’s resolve melts like an ice cone in the late afternoon sun.
Crosshair gives her shoulder a nudge, and Omega subtly shakes her head. Her youngest brother sighs. “You said…”
“Shh,” Omega hisses.
They sit down at the table. Some sort of dish is displayed in the middle.
“It’s called a casserole,” Hunter tells them. “I found the recipe on the holonet.”
“Did you follow it?” Crosshair asks.
Omega kicks his shin under the table.
“What’s in it?” Wrecker eyes the food like it’s a coiled snake about to strike.
Hunter lists off the ingredients. “There were measurements, but we don’t have measuring spoons. Any seasonings we didn’t have, I substituted for ones that looked the same color and texture.”
“Maker, help us,” Crosshair breathes.
Omega takes a deep breath. Maybe it will taste better than it smells. Bravely, she wraps a fist around the serving spoon and scoops a generous helping of casserole onto her plate. She has to bite her cheek from grimacing at the reek that curls up in rolling steam.
She is surprised when Crosshair follows her example next, then Wrecker. Hunter serves himself last.
Then they sit in loud silence, waiting for someone else to try it first. Finally, Wrecker picks up his fork, spears the prongs into the casserole, and takes a bite. Omega and Crosshair watch him carefully, waiting for the facial contortion soon to follow the courageous act. Wrecker barely chews, swallowing with a gulp.
“Mmmm,” he says, but his eye twitches.
Hunter frowns, looks down at his own plate for a moment, then takes a huge bite. His eyes widen before he spits the mouthful out into his napkin. “It’s awful!”
“It’s not that bad,” Wrecker says.
Hunter casts him a withering look. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Crosshair heaves a heavy sigh, shoving his plate across the table. “In his defense, you should have known it was terrible before either of you took a bite.”
“What are you talking about?” Hunter asks, looking genuinely confused.
“Can’t you smell it? It smells terrible…Wrecker thought something died when he and Omega got back to the house…and they spent the day at the docks ,” Crosshair says. Omega tries to catch Crosshair’s eye, tries to signal him to shut up , but Crosshair successfully misses every cue thrown his way as he adds, “I bet Kyly could smell it from her house.”
Hunter looks mortified. “And you didn’t tell me? Why didn’t you say something before I kriffing served it?” He stands up and begins gathering the plates, dumping the untouched casserole back into the dish. He gives a sharp whistle, and Batcher comes bounding into the dining area, a place she is normally forbidden. “Here, girl. Got something special for you,” Hunter says, putting the dish on the ground.
Batcher snuffles at it loudly before slowly backing away.
Omega can’t help the snort of laughter that bubbles up, and she claps both hands over her mouth to try and stifle it. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with Wrecker or Crosshair.
“Well,” Hunter mutters, “looks like we’ll be eating in the market tonight.”
The next morning, Omega knocked on Kyly’s door. The woman answered immediately. “Omega! What a pleasant surprise. I was just making morning tea. Please, please, won’t you join me?”
Before Omega could answer one way or another, she was pulled inside and guided to a lovely little table covered in a crocheted cloth and a vase stuffed full of wild island flowers. Kyly left to the kitchen and returned with another cup and saucer and placed them at the other seat.
“Do you take cream or sugar?” Kyly asks, sitting down across from Omega and pouring the hot, aromatic beverage into Omega’s delicate cup.
Omega admires the thin curving teacup, so different from the thick mugs her brothers drank caf from each morning. “I like both, please,” Omega says.
Kyly drops two large lumps of sugar and a generous splash of cream. Omega carefully imitates Kyly in stirring the tea with a spoon, the soft tink , tink , tink sounding absolutely musical.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Kyly asks.
“I wanted to thank you for the seasonings you brought yesterday,” Omega says. She takes a careful sip of tea and is pleasantly surprised by its mild, sweet flavor.
Kyly smiles. “I grew the herbs in my garden and dried them myself. Have you gotten to try any of them yet?”
“Hunter used some last night,” Omega admits carefully. “I’m not sure we know how to use them…properly. We grew up on rations and formulated meals from Kamino. We don’t have a lot of experience being–” Omega searches for the proper word.
“Domestic?” Kyly supplies.
Omega grins.
“Perhaps,” Kyly says slowly, “I might be able to lend a hand.”
“I need your help,” Omega says, standing in Hunter’s doorway.
Hunter is towling his hair dry after washing up from his morning and afternoon spent down on the docks with his brothers. He glances at his sister. “With what?”
“Late meal,” Omega chirps happily, bouncing on her toes.
Hunter levels her an unamused glare. “Hard pass.”
“Ah, c’mon, Hunter,” Omega says. “I promise it will turn out better than last night.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hunter deadpans.
“Kyly told me this recipe is Hunter-proof,” Omega says, matching Hunter’s tone; however, her eyes are glittering with stark amusement.
Burning embarrassment scorches up Hunter’s neck and across his face. “Kyly said that?”
“Well,” Omega amends gleefully, “maybe she didn’t say Hunter -proof.”
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, we’re blaming you. I can only be responsible for one botched supper a week.”
“Fine by me,” Omega says, shrugging one shoulder and grinning at him.
Hunter huffs and follows his giggling sister into the kitchen.
That night, when a hearty fish stew tastes every bit as wonderful as it smells, Omega gives Hunter all the credit.