1 Fried Eggs (1/2)

Nikolai struggled with eggs.

It wasn't as if he didn't know how to make them. He'd trooped through jungles; mountains and the Fates knew what else and relied on eggs from his trusty chickens for supplies. He'd refined boiling eggs into an art form, the yolk just short of solidifying and the whites a delicious gooey mess that were heavenly with salt and pepper.

His guards and entourage would come to his tent anytime he brought out his small cauldron to boil another batch of eggs. They'd been hesitant at using an alchemical cauldron for preparing food, but after the first bite their taste buds were conquered, and he'd have a group of loyal comrades who'd scour the camps for more eggs, whether they be chicken, quail, Dramak and who knew what else.

For Nikolai, those were some of his fondest memories of the army and he'd hoped to continue the tradition in his new home. With some of his reward money he bought a new cauldron and placed the old one in the kitchen with strict orders to leave it for his use alone.

Things had started off well, boiled eggs popping out of his cauldron and satisfying many a palette.

It was when he started making fried eggs that things went wrong. To his dismay, no magical tools existed for frying, and he'd tapped into some of his contacts in the army to see if there were any experimental prototypes in the field, but he'd been met with laughter and dismissal.

Undeterred, he'd started work on his own, but in the meantime his attempts were in the traditional manner.

Poor attempts.

Burned or under-cooked was the norm, occasional successes marred by continuous failures.

He poked at his current creation with his knife, digging at the rubbery texture and grimacing at the taste.

”I don't see why you have to eat it when it's so… disappointing Niki.” His mother Eva Morales lightly fanned herself as she spoke, despite the cool weather here on the border. ”Dear, tell him to let the cooks do their work, this sort of behaviour is unconscionable for a decorated War Hero.”

Baron Artem Morales looked up from his broadsheet and rolled eyes at his son, begging him to accede to Eva's wishes. The Baron was a dignified solitary man, a retired soldier who had earned his title the hard way by fighting in the Emperor's name. He still wore his sword at all times, a habit Nikolai had picked up despite his appalling sword skills.

”Mother, you enjoyed the boiled eggs didn't you.” Nikolai grinned at the audible gulps that swept the room. There really was no one who could remain calm in the face of them. ”This is just more practice. You said I'm a decorated War Hero, and this is my vacation so let me be.”

”Then get better quicker Niki. The sight of you prodding your… creations is distasteful.” She spread the fan in front of her face to emphasize the point.