FicWad

All the enlisted soldiers with any cooking skills had been rounded up and brought to the kitchen. "All right, folks, listen up!" Rebecca proclaimed, "We are about to embark, once again, on the most challenging mission this kitchen ever experiences." She paused for dramatic effect, "We need to cook enough Celsiyule dinner for the entire base!"

The ones who had been here last year nodded resignedly; the newer soldiers began to glance about nervously. Rebecca's booming voice didn't give them a chance to start discussing it, though.

"All the food and necessary supplies have already been brought in!" she continued, "So let's get to it!" She began sorting out the necessary groups and dividing them into different portions of the kitchen. Soon, the different tasks were proceeding apace, and Rebecca went around to look over shoulders and generally oversee the preparation.

"You'll have to mash those potatoes harder than that, Private," she told one, moving to demonstrate, "See, you hold the masher like this, it's easier to use your full strength that way." She moved on, "Potter, what are you doing with that turkey and stuffing?" She sighed, "Really. Let me see that, before you give us all salmonella." She showed him the proper way to stuff a turkey, then wandered along the line. "No, no, no, Major!" she cried, dashing over to help another one, "You did this same thing last year! Stir the cranberries more often, or else you'll end up with a mess of burned gelatin!"

It wasn't until preparations were nearly complete that she noticed something very wrong in the dessert section. Eyes flashing, she stormed over to deal with the troublemaker there herself.

"Lord Botta," she stated icily, eyes flashing, "And just what do you think you're doing?"

Botta had, in fact, been trying to steal some cookie dough, and his cheeks flared faintly pink at being caught. "Hello, Rebecca," he said evenly, "Is this normally how you address your superior officers?"

"Command of this kitchen is mine and mine alone until the meal is finished," Rebecca told him in the same tone as before, "By order of Lord Yuan. And you and your damned sweet tooth/," she paused to smack his hand away from the pile of freshly-baked cookies, "have previously been instructed to stay away from the kitchen until both dinner /and dessert are eaten."

Botta shuffled his feet, fully aware of all the amused and/or curious gazes directed his way. "Yes, ma'am," he said finally, a touch of petulance in his attitude. He made as if to leave...then suddenly whipped around, grabbed a single cookie, and ran.

Unfortunately for him, Rebecca was faster. She grabbed the nearest non-sharp object she could find - which turned out to be an egg this year - and threw it at him. Botta tried to duck, but the rest of the kitchen got just a glimpse of him fleeing the scene with bits of egg scattered throughout his hair.

Rebecca stared after where he'd gone for a moment, then began to chuckle. "All right, nothing more to see here," she said, "Everyone back to work!"

---

A few minutes later, right on cue, there was a knock on Yuan's door. He debated whether it would be more efficient to get the medkit now, or wait until his Second was actually in the room. Deciding that there was always the possibility that Rebecca had missed or not actually injured Botta this year, he went and opened the door...and watched, bemused, as Botta made his way into the room, still holding his ill-gotten cookie.

"You're getting egg on my carpet," he noted, barely suppressing a laugh. Botta just nodded. "You do this every year," Yuan continued, "It's not like she isn't expecting it, you know. You're lucky she's learned to keep smaller, lighter objects on hand."

"Of course I do it every year," Botta replied evenly, "It's a tradition. Besides," he took a bite of the cookie, "they taste better stolen."

That was the last straw for Yuan's humor; his laughter could be heard echoing down the halls all the way to the kitchen.