It was late. Much later than when you’d usually find yourself in the kitchen of the Moby Dick, but alas, you had missed dinner after a long day of cleaning the ship. All thanks to the mischievous deeds of Ace, resident prankster and notoriously troublesome member of the crew. You had begrudgingly helped along with his punishment, if only to spare the poor pirate several hours more of chores.
He’d been thankful, of course. So much so, that he’d dragged you to the kitchen close to midnight after finishing the last of the barnacle removal from the outer hull, vowing to make you a delicious meal. Never one to turn down some nice dinner, you found yourself at his side, helping with the smallest amount of work he would allow you.
Watching your boyfriend stare for longer than was reassuring at the recipe in one of Thatch’s cookbooks, you raise a brow in his direction. Your wrist never slows, whisking the marinade until all of the ingredients become a pleasant mixture. Ace, however, frowns down at the words in a concerning silence.
“Are you sure you’ve cooked before?”
“Of course! Relax, Y/N.” He shoots you his signature, confident grin. And while you’re typically put at ease at the sight of it, this time around you’re still skeptical. “Thatch used to let me help out in the kitchen if he needed an extra hand.”
“Used to?” The use of past-tense didn’t inspire your confidence. “Why not anymore?”
“That’s not important.”
He waved away your concern with his hand, finally setting down the book and grabbed the knife from the knife block. You look between the utensil and the filet of fish he had set on the cutting board, worry seeping into your thoughts. This surely couldn’t go well…
However, you let out a sigh of relief as he cut the fish according to the guide, tossing the remains into the trash beside the counter. While they didn’t look the prettiest, they were recognizable as fish. They still looked edible, for the most part.
Satisfied that he’d done well, he sets the filets on the cooking pan, filling the rest of the space up with the asparagus and other vegetables that were meant to bake alongside the fish. Your mouth watered at the scent of the marinade and the sight of the done-up pan. You couldn’t wait to eat.
After finishing the final preparations, he looked back at the cookbook and squinted at the final step. “Is the marinade done? I need to pour it over the top.”
“Yep, here you go.”
You hand over the bowl, and watch as he carefully pours the mixture over top the fish and vegetables. It was just enough to add flavor without having them sit in so much liquid. Perfect amount. Your mouth waters even more, stomach grumbling in agreement.
“See? I know what I’m doing.” He said with a laugh. “Now to pop this bad boy in the oven and bake for 30 min-”
He stops, blinking, and shoots his eyes over to the oven. You flick your gaze between him and the appliance, his same realization dawning on you as his smile faded away.
“You forgot to preheat the oven, didn’t you?”
“…yes…”
You can’t help but let out a sigh, knowing it would take a good 20 minutes for the oven to rise to the appropriate temperature, and in that time the marinade will have made the vegetables mushy.
Perhaps because of you quiet noise of disappointment, Ace sets his features in thought, taking a few moments to analyze the problem and come up with a solution of his own.
You see the moment his brain shoves an idea into his subconscious, his brows raising and his smile returning in full force. “Hey, don’t worry, I have an idea!”
“What is it?”
“We don’t need the oven, I’ll just use my flames instead!” He said with such stupid confidence. His smile and the twinkle in his eyes is nearly as bright as the sun, beaming at you in pride. “What’s the difference anyway? Fire makes heat, and that’s all we need.”
“Uh…” It almost breaks your heart knowing that you had to play devil’s advocate, but truly, it was a bad plan. You raise a hand to stop him. “Ace, I don’t think that’s-”
FWOOSH
Before you can complete the sentence, his hands engulf themselves in hot flames, which in turn envelops the pan he’s currently holding in the same flames, metal pan immediately glowing a bright red and beginning to melt from the high temperature.
You gasp, flinching away from the disaster of flaming fish, flaming vegetables and a flaming pan in abject panic. “ACE!”
“Y/N!” The pirate yells in similar panic, holding the pan out at arm’s length as it burns several feet in the air. “What do I do!?”
“I don’t know, can’t you put out the flames!?”
Ace’s hands extinguish themselves, but the damage is already done. The burning pile of what was supposed to have been your dinner doesn’t cease it’s angry burn, throwing smoke up into the air.
“It’s not working!” He cries out.
“Put the pan down!”
He does so, dropping the melting mass of metal and ruined food onto the counter, where it promptly began melting the countertop material as well.
“Get some water!” You say, finally relinquishing most of your thought process and shifting into action. You grab the bowl already dirtied by the marinade you’d whisked, shoving the sink’s faucet up to full pressure, bouncing in place impatiently as it filled too slow for your liking.
Ace, of course, was simply staring at the growing inferno with eyes the size of dinner plates, hands in his hair at the damage that was only getting worse.
With the bowl half-empty, you turn and throw the water onto the raging fire, relieved to see the flames somewhat die down as smoke cascades upwards, but just one bowlful isn’t enough to completely put it out. The kitchen’s ceiling is almost completely black with smoke now, and you return to the sink to get more water.
Ace finally snaps out of his overwhelming panic and thinks to grab a bowl for himself, holding it under the faucet the moment you turn away to splash more water on the burning pile of metal.
It takes several bowls to fully put out the flames, and even then you continue dousing the smoking hunk of blackened metal with more water just so it doesn’t ignite again.
“I think…it’s out.” You say in panting breaths, watching the still-sizzling, disfigured remains of the pan and your fish dinner as it sat in the indent it had melted into the counter top. The countertop is a mess of water and ash and blackened bits of what you think are the vegetables strewn about.
The kitchen is filled with a thick silence, the fear that had ballooned between you at the thought that you’d nearly burned down the Moby Dick settling in the aftermath.
Ace looks at you, guilt laden in his expression, but you only shake your head, nonverbally telling him that while it was his stupid idea after all, you weren’t mad at him after all was said and done. You place the bowl into the sink with a shaky hand, followed suit by him a moment later.
You both stare at what you had been planning to eat in dismay, before you finally turn to him with a raise brow.
“So…toast?”
He nods. “Toast.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thatch let out a happy sigh, walking down the hallway towards the kitchen to begin preparations for the crew’s breakfast. He’d gotten a pleasantly deep sleep the night before, and was fresh and ready for the coming day. There was a pep in his step that really brought a smile to his face.
Pushing through the kitchen door, he reached over to flip on the light switch, all the while sniffing the air at the peculiar lingering stench of…smoke.
He stops, eyeing the sight before him.
“Wha…” He looks around, first at the black ring staining the top of the kitchen ceiling, followed by the black pile of…something sitting on the countertop, which was now indented and ruined. Cracks lined the edges of where the debris currently say. He looked down, seeing puddles of water all over the floor.
And to top it all off, the tub of butter was left sitting out on the counter, a used butter knife resting on top of the container.
The overwhelming sense of impending outrage crashed down on Thatch’s good morning.
“What the hell happened to my kitchen!?”
ns 15.158.61.20da2
