Interlude – In which our hero ventures forth and makes breakfast for his comrade-in-arms.

A pause. A lull. A rare moment of calm.

After all that, all that march and hubbub and stress and death, Watanabe and Rabanowicz were now expected to return to normal and rest while the Republic ventured forth to other business that didn’t need either of them.

From outside of his window, the window of their house in Libertycave which he and Rabanowicz shared, he could see the elementary school. All-new faces, since the first batch of people had finished their education, attended by teachers that he and Rabanowicz had trained prior. From those who looked old and infirm, to the children who could barely contain themselves; it seemed everybody wanted to use this golden opportunity to get freely educated in matters that only the burghers and nobles of old would know of. From the cramped mud house that they had started educating in, to the newly-built copper-rooved brick-laid school that had shelves complete with textbooks and other reading material for practice.

Of course, right now, Watanabe was far away from all that excitement. His head was laid on the dinner table, half-asleep, lazily lying the scene outside of his window. The early bird got the worm… the worm he got was “stay quiet and groggy until the other person in the house wakes up.”

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for his fellow early bird to descend down the stairs. “Good morning, monsieur.”

“Good morning, doctor.”

Not much more needed to be said. Watanabe got up, yawned and stretched, before making his way to the stove. It was time, for the sweet and sour sauce. Or, well, something vaguely resembling it. He had found out quickly that cornstarch, soy sauce and ketchup were noticeably absent. Sugar could be easily obtained from slime, and vinegar was a-plenty. Sugar, plus vinegar, boiled in a copper pan, it made something that tasted close enough.

One of the things that had taken getting used to, for Watanabe and for any other otherworlders making it to Gemeinplatz from modern day Earth, was cooking. No longer did he have easy access to cup noodles to pour some hot water into in the morning, nor did the stove light up with a twist of the knob, nor did anyone (even including John Brown) know what a “rice cooker” was.

Thus, the first lessons the errant otherworlder learnt was in fire making. Right next to the stove, there was a bundle of amadou: tinder fungus processed to use as kindling. Strip ‘em, soak their fleshy bits in water, cut ‘em into strips, dust a bit of gunpowder on ‘em, and it makes for quite the decent kindling.

The arrival of the dwarves had already brought cheaper steel, which meant that Watanabe could “flint and steel!” For some reason, he yelled that out every time he grabbed the flint and began beating it against the steel. No longer did they have to borrow John Brown’s belt buckle to light fires, thank goodness. It was always a bit awkward to watch the old man take his belt out, no matter how nonchalant about it he was. A few “click, clanks” later, and the kindle had lit up. It took a minute or two, and incessant blowing, to get the firewood that Watanabe put in to light up. Then a bit more for the stove to actually warm up, then even more for the pan to warm up… it did take quite a bit for food to be ready around these parts. Watanabe could practically kill to get at least a gas stove here. Even one of those cheap little things used for camping.

At last, a few strips of chicken on the pan, another saucepan for mixing the vinegar and slime together, and a bit of waiting later, breakfast was ready. ‘Sweet and sour’ chicken, for himself and the doctor. Neatly plated on a copper plate, complete with a fork and knife for dining.

“Thank you, leave it there.” Rabanowicz had already gotten busy with writing by the time Watanabe finished. By the time he could barely wake up and get ready, she was always ready to jump into work. He left her plate on her corner of the table, and then he retreated to his own corner. She was dead silent, one hand busy serving as a platform to rest her chin while the other waggled a quill. Normally Watanabe would say something like “your food will get cold”, but that was an inevitability with Rabanowicz as he has found out. Her food would always get cold, until she had to pause to think. Only then did she have time to raise the fork up to her mouth… before the brief break gave her an idea on what to write, so her food was abandoned once more.

Watanabe was long finished by the time Rabanowicz had taken her second bite. He got up, to clean his plate and get to work of his own… after a tea break, of course. “Tea, doctor?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Passing her by, he caught a brief glimpse of her handwriting. It was messy, what one could safely call “doctor’s handwriting.” Plus, it was in some form of custom shorthand, so it was completely ineligible to anyone but the Rabanowicz writing it. “What are you writing with such great fervor, doctor?”

“A good chivalric romance, no title as of yet. All the dreck I read during the campaign trail made me realize the people here do not have good taste in literature.” From the way she aggressively penned her letters, it seemed like she was personally stabbing each and single author she disliked. “Every story has dragons! Dragons, dragons, dragons, where are the wyverns? The gryphons, the demons, the… adohe shelmiy Boczhe, you get it, monsieur.”

Watanabe didn’t really get it, but he gave a nod and a “Yeah.” With that, he was off to brew some tea. Tilia, slime, water, and it made something quite sweet and delectable.

Thus started the ordinary day, of a Watanabe and a Rabanowicz.