[info]stopthatgirl7 wrote
on September 7th, 2009 at 11:51 pm

[fic] Mideelian Cuisine Made (not so) E-Z

Title: Mideelian Cuisine Made (not so) E-Z
Author: joudama
Fandom: FF7
Rating: PG
Word count: 1000ish
Prompt: Genesis's last attempt (and that's last as in never again) at baking.
Summary: If you can't find a place that can make it for you, you'll just have to make it your own damned self.
AN: ...This was supposed to be a commentfic on my insanejournal when I asked from prompts. It ended up so long I just made it a fic of its own, especially after I caught some typos and a half-done sentence. >XD;; And milopita is a Greek apple "pastry"/pie/cake thing. :D


"...Shiva's tits, why can I not find ONE stupid bakery in this forsaken by the gods city that can actually bake?" Genesis said, dropping his fork after one bite.

"Language," Angeal said, his eyebrow going up.

"I'll language you," Genesis said, rolling his eyes. "How old are you again now, Mom?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"'Language'," Genesis said back in a prim voice, then grinned and ducked at the balled-up napkin Angeal threw at his head. "And come on now, tell me this is not the shittiest excuse for milopita on the planet," he said, looking at piece of milopita as if he had deeply offended him. "I haven't had decent milopita since we came to Midgar."

Genesis slouched in his chair and scowled, and Angeal had to fight down a grin at Gen looking the same as he had when he was six, covering it with a swing of coffee.

And then wished he hadn't.

"By the gods. This place is false advertising," he said, putting the cup down. "That is not Mideelian-style coffee. That is bitter brown water. If I want Mideelian coffee, I'll stick with making it my own damned self. Gods."

All of a sudden, Genesis's face lit up. "That's it! If I can't find a place that can make it for me, I'll just have to make it myself!" he yelled, and Angeal had very a bad feeling.


Things were quiet for about a week, and Angeal figured Genesis had forgotten about whatever mad plot he'd started hatching.

Angeal was forcefully reminded that Genesis never forgot whatever mad plot he was hatching, just kept sort-of quiet about it until he sprang it on you explosively. Which, in this case, was Genesis kicking his door and yelling, "Wake up and let me in!"

Angeal groaned and stumbled out of bed, knowing all too well how well--namely, badly--than Genesis took being kept waiting.

"Genesis, what in the Ferryman's--what the?" he said, stopping mid-phrase once he got a good look at Genesis after smacking the button to make the door open.

Well, now he knew why Genesis had been kicking the door--he was laden down with more bags than Angeal had ever seen him holding.

"MOVE!" Genesis yelled, and Angeal quickly got out of his way before Genesis dropped something. Gen scrambled over to the kitchen and dropped the bags. "Fuck, those were hard to balance."

"Gen, what in the Ferryman's way are you doing?" Angeal finally managed, not awake to process everything. "And why are you doing it here?"

"Your kitchen is bigger," Genesis said, digging through the bags. "And you actually have pots and pans and all that shit you need for cooking."

"...You're going to cook something?" Angeal said, his eyes bugging out slightly.

Genesis held up a cookbook with a smug grin. "If I can't find someone to make it for me, I'll do it myself," he said, and Angeal took a closer look at the book.

Mideelian Cuisine Made E-Z

Angeal felt a headache coming on.

"...I'm going back to bed. Don't blow up my room," Angeal said, and fled while the fleeing was good.


Angeal was awakened by the smell of something burning, followed quickly by curses.

"...fuck," he said, burying his head under his pillow and thudding his head against the bed a few times, then he got up and took off for the kitchen.

To say his kitchen looked like someone had hit it with Quake would have been an understatement; even Quake couldn't do that much damage.

"Genesis, what under the Heavens--?" he said, his jaw dropping as he surveyed the damage. Badly peeled apples--so badly it was like half the apple had been peeled off with peel, what looked like every single piece of cookware he had was dirty or used and stacked up, pieces of nutshells all over the floor and smashed into powder from having been stepped on, there was flour all over everything, including Genesis, and oh, heavens, he couldn't even tell what the congealing mass on the floor was. "My kitchen!" he yelped.

"Oh, shut up," Genesis said sourly, scraping at the pan where something had been almost burnt into it.

"Genesis, what did you do? How--?" Angeal said, not able to comprehend any of what he was seeing. "You couldn't have waited until I woke up?"

"I've never had to bake anything for myself before!" Genesis said grumpily. "I didn't think it was that hard," he finished with a scowl, and Angeal knew that scowl, and it was what made the anger bleed out.

That was the look Gen got on his face when he was disappointed at himself and trying to cover it by getting angry.

Angeal sighed and ran and hand through his hair. "Yeah, well. Cooking's not as easy as it looks. It takes practice before you can jump into something big." He sighed again. "OK. Let's get this cleaned up, OK? And then we'll make the milopita," he finished, and Gen looked grumpy, but Angeal knew that look, too.


And for all Angeal knew a lot of things about Genesis, he was constantly reminded of some things. Which was how "them" baking ended up "Angeal" baking and Gen telling him to hurry up already.

When it was finally done, Angeal shooed Genesis over to the table to keep him from hovering over Angeal's shoulder, and once he had pieces sliced and topped with the last of the vanilla ice cream Angeal had in his freezer, he all but plopped the plate down in front of Genesis.

"Here," Angeal said. "And not one word about how it looks funny. I'm new at baking milopita, too."

Genesis took a bite of the freshly-baked milopita and his face lit up. "You know...I don't miss Banora," he said. "But I kinda missed this," he said, and smiled. "This is great."

Angeal smiled back, softly. "Thanks." Then: "You're still cleaning my kitchen. How the fuck did you even get melted butter on the ceiling?!"

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