synodiporiavalorliminal | Skills can be taught; character you either have or don't have (Post Masterchef Chiron Liminal)

Who: The New Travellers, the Minor Arcana, and possibly a Major or two
Where: Liminal Space.
When: Post Masterchef Chiron jaunt
What: A reward for a job well done, and a glimpse at what's next.
Warnings: None come to mind atypical of Synodiporia Valor.

Liminal Space is on the deck of a floating, bustling night market in the style of Taiwan.

Everywhere is the sizzle of cooking oil, the unique smell of wok hei rising from the intense heat applied to pans, the aromas of star anise and cumin, burnt sugar, caramelizing noodles, grilling meats, baking bread, soy and ginger, ketchup and mustard, pickles and relishes, chutneys and chilis.

In the center of it all is an elaborate drink machine marked with something that's not not a taijutu, with a number of ancient coins of the kind called 'cash,' with holes in them to string them up in a bundle. Put a coin in the slot and punch in the button, and you'll get whatever drink you want in a cup with appropriate utensils - straws, spoons, whatever - and your coin back.

Below decks are the created rooms and the Hotel Leonardo.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

birdchasingecho

There's one exception to this in liminal space, and that's the one who won the Prize. She has, in fact, set up a stall, all to her own; and while, for now, it is vaguely reminiscent of the casino-like atomosphere of the competition, already it starts to differentiate itself. carefully inlaid edgings of bloomwood, red like blood and carefully cleared of spores, cover the spartan metal of the stove from where she's cleared the gilded facade by hand.

Several pots boil dashi, while the grill itself waits, hot, and she warms her hands over it.

Time for the morning practice, or, as it were, her own breakfast.

She sets the egg pan on the griddle and while it heats, beats several eggs; the cleaned surface soon has gleefully frying meat of some description, fatty and low on the priority list-- but that's the point. Cheap, easy to make, and the oil will help later.

Batter is made up for pancakes. It's too much for herself, but perhaps someone will come and partake as well.

... In fact, much of this seems of a size to be made for two.

"... seems my habits get the best of me again..."

Edited Date: 2026-01-05 08:26 am (UTC)

From:

powersthatduel

"Hey, I'd be more than happy to take the other half off your hands, you Master Chef, you."

This from a young woman who can't be much older than Mei.

Her curious uniform - a modified wetsuit, black with highlights in teal, under a biker's plastic breastplate with the curious device of an equilateral triangle slashed into three triangles bracketing a hexagon into which is a heart, peirced by a sword, chained to an anchor - is further embellished with shoulderpads with gold fringe to make any duelist of Othori proud, along with a bandolier of bells. At her hip is a curious weapon, a slim and unassuming metal rod with a button on it, a hilt without a blade.

"Now that it's over, I can say that all we needed for you was to cement the fiftieth mission year of peace between two factions that had once been locked in a secret war, with the good will you garnered from Morgan's little publicity stunt," she says, and giggles like a much younger girl. "Getting the actual prize, well. You did great."

"If we were fitting you for suits, that stunt would have pushed you towards Cups, buuuuut you've got a little leeway as we spin you softballs. 5 jaunts to find your feet before the Minor Leagues start for real. Well. Four now."

Edited Date: 2026-01-05 09:04 am (UTC)

From:

birdchasingecho

"Welcome to the stall~" She says, as if out of long habit. Perhaps, in fact, that self was.

Other than that, she hums and listens. "I see. So decidin' to fight the others was never the point. 'Least not there."

Which implies there are others, where that will. And of course, she listens carefully to the slightly occult knowledge being shared with her. "Izzat so? Didn't get into the occult, so I dunno about what all that means, but I can take a couple guesses if y'want."

'Cups' meaning acting from compassion and memory, perhaps? She starts to set up the grill for the pancakes, onions, and leftover rice.

From:

powersthatduel

"The strength to heal, the heart to feel," she says. "Diplomacy, emotion, compassion, love. It's funny - if I wasn't a soldier as a child, I probably would have been Cups myself, after my turn on the chessboard - as the Queens of Wands and Discs would call Travelling. But I've been forging plowshares into lightsabers for far too long to have been anything else than an Ace of Swords."

She sighs, shaking her head, the long locks the color of a field of wheat in a land that was not quite France. "For all I wear my heart on my sleeve, and have loved, I am a fighter. With love as my weapon, not just for it's own sake. And I'll be the first to say what a raw deal that is, Torioi Mei, Bird-Seeking Plum, Traveller Together."

She pauses. And grimaces. And examines that weapon, brushed metal, a hilt without a blade.

"So then. You cannot speak to foul play, huh?"

Edited Date: 2026-01-05 09:14 am (UTC)

From:

birdchasingecho

"... Would that I felt anything." Which is a lie as blatant as Mei has ever spoken. For who makes breakfast for one, but makes it two out of habit? There are more loves than the romantic, and well she knows it.

But as to the meat of the matter--

There is a brief moment where her shock overcomes her typical iron expression, and then, she nods. "Indeed. I shall not speak ill of my guardian."

And if that's not enough of a hint, what could be?

The onions sizzle as she watches them, carefully, and waits for the right moment for other vegetables. Memory supplies... carefully chopped bamboo shoots. Seems she has a ways to go, but she'll take it.

Edited Date: 2026-01-05 09:22 am (UTC)

Skills can be taught; character you either have or don't have (Post Masterchef Chiron Liminal)

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