Pickling Perfection

Pickling Perfection

The air inside the BioDome was crisp and fragrant, carrying the tangy aroma of dill mingled with the fresh, watery scent of cucumbers. Rows upon rows of leafy green plants stretched out, their soft shadows dancing under the glowing artificial sun.

Quaraun reclined on a pink velvet lounge, surrounded by frilly pink silk cushions, his usual pink parasol poised in one hand while he sipped black tea from a porcelain cup painted with pink roses.

“Glinta, you’re bruising them!” he snapped, watching GhoulSpawn fumble with a particularly large cucumber.

“I’m not bruising them!” GhoulSpawn retorted, his tone exasperated as he carefully placed the cucumber in the wicker basket by his side. His green velvet coat was rolled up to his elbows, and a smudge of dirt marred his glasses. “You’re the one who insists I do this by hand. We could use a harvesting machine, you know.”

“And deprive you of learning proper care for the plants?” Quaraun huffed. “You are my apprentice, not some common field hand. Precision is key in crafting the perfect pickle.”

"What do you know about crafting pickles? BoomFuzzy is the chef, not you!"

"I supervise."

BoomFuzzy, seated at a wooden table set under a blooming wisteria vine, chuckled as he sliced cucumbers into thin, even rounds. His steampunk goggles perched on his nose, magnifying his silver-clouded eyes as he worked. The Faerie king’s strong, stocky hands moved deftly, the blade of his obsidian knife glinting in the soft light.

“Leave the poor lad alone, Love,” BoomFuzzy said, not looking up from his task. “He’s doin’ fine. Ya just like barkin’ orders while loungin’ about like a pampered princess.”

Quaraun arched an elegant silver eyebrow, his lips pursing.

“I am not a princess. I am The Pink Necromancer, royal court mage of King Gwallmaiic—”

“Who happens to be me,” BoomFuzzy interrupted with a sly grin. "And as your king I am telling ya to leave the Goat alone."

"I'm a Sheep," GhoulSpawn corrected.

“And I will not be insulted,” Quaraun finished, ignoring them both.

BoomFuzzy laughed, setting aside the knife to pluck a slice of cucumber from the pile. He held it up to Quaraun’s lips.

“Here, taste this. Tell me if it’s crisp enough for ya wee delicate sensibilities.”

Quaraun’s blue eyes narrowed, but he obediently took the slice, his golden prosthetic hand brushing BoomFuzzy’s fingers. The cucumber was cool and fresh, its snap satisfying as he bit into it. A faint hint of sweetness balanced its earthy flavor, and he nodded approvingly.

“It will do,” Quaraun said, though his tone suggested it was more than adequate.

“High praise from the arrogant JellyElf,” BoomFuzzy teased, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Quaraun’s temple. “Now, let me make ya a proper Scottish cucumber sandwich.”

“I thought that’s what you were doing,” GhoulSpawn muttered, brushing dirt off his hands as he straightened up. “Meanwhile, I’m doing all the hard labour.”

Quaraun smirked, sipping his tea.

“You’re young. You need the exercise.”

"You elderly senile citizens need exercise too."

"I am not senile."

GhoulSpawn rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He picked up the basket brimming with cucumbers and carried it over to BoomFuzzy, who was assembling a small feast on the table. Thin slices of bread were arranged neatly beside a jar of creamy butter, a bowl of freshly cut dill, and the cucumber rounds.

BoomFuzzy worked with quick precision, spreading butter on the bread and layering it with cucumbers and a sprinkle of dill.

“Cucumber sandwiches are a work of art,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “Simple, aye, but the balance has to be just right. Too much butter, and it’s heavy. Too little, and it’s dry. Best meal for hard work. High water content keeps ya hydrated.”

Quaraun tilted his head, watching BoomFuzzy with an indulgent smile.

“You take such care with the smallest things.”

“Because it’s the small things that matter most, love,” BoomFuzzy replied, handing Quaraun a perfectly crafted sandwich. “Here, try this.”

Quaraun took a delicate bite, his expression softening as the flavors melded together—rich butter, crisp cucumber, and the bright, almost citrusy tang of dill.

“It is exquisite,” he said.

BoomFuzzy grinned, his rough hand brushing against Quaraun’s cheek.

“Glad ye approve.”

While the two shared their quiet moment, GhoulSpawn plopped down on the bench across from them, reaching for a sandwich.

“I hope you made enough for all of us,” he said, his tone dry.

“Aye, there’s plenty,” BoomFuzzy said, pushing the plate toward him. “But don’t think for a second ya’re gettin’ out of picklin’ duty. These cucumbers ain’t gonna preserve themselves.”

GhoulSpawn groaned, but his mouth was already full of sandwich, and he couldn’t argue.

As they ate, BoomFuzzy poured black tea into delicate china cups, the rich, earthy aroma filling the air. Quaraun sipped his tea slowly, savoring the warmth that spread through him. He leaned against BoomFuzzy’s sturdy frame, his silver jellyfish tentacle hair spilling over both of them like a shimmering venomous waterfall.

“You know,” Quaraun began, his voice soft, “I used to despise this world. The cold, the darkness, the endless snow. But you…” He trailed off, glancing up at BoomFuzzy. “You make it beautiful.”

BoomFuzzy’s grin softened into something more tender.

“And ya make it worth livin’, love.”

He kissed Quaraun’s forehead, his fingers tangling in the Elf’s silky hair.

“Can we skip the mushy stuff?” GhoulSpawn grumbled, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Not a chance,” BoomFuzzy said, tossing a slice of cucumber at him. "Lusting after me Elf is my favourite hobby."

The afternoon passed in a rhythm of work and laughter. Once the sandwiches were gone, BoomFuzzy set about teaching them the art of pickling. He boiled brine, packed jars with cucumbers, coriander, cloves, peppercorns, vinegar, and dill, and explained the importance of balance in the process.

Quaraun, of course, supervised from his seat, offering unsolicited, and usually inaccurate, advice that BoomFuzzy largely ignored.

By the time they finished, rows of gleaming jars filled with bright green pickles lined the table.

“There,” BoomFuzzy said, wiping his hands on a towel. “That’s what I call a job well done.”

Quaraun nodded, his expression unusually content.

“You are a marvel, Unicorn.”

BoomFuzzy chuckled, pulling Quaraun into a tight hug.

“And ya’re my inspiration, me wee pink JellyElf.”

GhoulSpawn sighed, shaking his head as he cleaned up the remains of their meal.

“You two are hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” Quaraun corrected, leaning into BoomFuzzy with a satisfied smile.

And for once, GhoulSpawn didn’t argue.

quaraun-boomfuzzy-ghoulspawn-art-by-wendy-christine-allen

quaraun-boomfuzzy-unnicorn-pink-necromancer-wendy-c-allen-2024-03

wow, this blog is 29 years old! I've been on Blogger 29 years!

I started my blog in 1996. It was BlogSpot back then, Google not only didn't own it yet, Google had not yet been invented. So my Blogger blog is actually older then Google by almost 5 years. And it still has it's original template. You are right about the templates looking from the 1990s. That's because they ARE from the 1990s. My blog is 29 years old, will be 30 years old next year, and I don't remember Blogger adding a single new template in that entire time. The thing about Blogger is this: people go there to read personal daily diary type blogs, fiction blogs, crafting blogs, fanfiction blogs, and mommy blogs... and that's it. If you try to do any sort of SEO or affiliate marketing or spammy advice type blog, and you'll sink like a rock. Blogger has its own algorithm and search features and people who go to Blogger to read blog posts, they are looking for old school 1990s daily personal life updates type of blogs. Aka, if your blog ain't something that ...

EK's Star Log

Search This Blog

Pickling Perfection

Labels

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I hate UFO Hunters

wow, this blog is 29 years old! I've been on Blogger 29 years!

The Trade Caravan