Sworded Affair

Finishing up the last of four carrots, Emma tipped the lot into the bowl with the beans, all ready for boiling. That part, she was going to leave for Elizabeth; chopping was straightforward and something Emma was familiar with, the temperature and time for cooking less so. Before, she\'d have searched for the recipe on her phone; but whilst the Weave had an email and messaging equivalent, she\'d yet to find a search engine or a cookbook in the System. Not that a recipe would have done much good, when she didn\'t even know to operate the new oven; an arcane structure of red brick and glowing violet runes, complete with a control panel that resembled a Rubik\'s Cube.

[Don\'t ask me how it works. I haven\'t cooked a meal in centuries; that\'s what servants are for.]

"Well, that explains the lack of recipes," Emma quipped. "Hypothetically, if I stab someone and capture his soul, would it remember how to cook?"

[Yes, if the capture is successful. It takes a certain threshold for a soul to linger beyond death, and a level of dedication and devotion to the skills in question, in order to retain them even in death. Thus far, you\'ve only captured creatures with innate abilities, so the question was academic at best. Simply put, a professional chef who takes pride in his work would be a suitable capture target; someone who flips burgers for minimum wage and is mostly concerned with getting through the day would not.]

"Fair enough," Emma nodded, as she reached for the grater and the parmesan cheese. "I suppose I\'ll keep an eye out for an immortal chef, then."

[Might have to go to France for one of those. England may be many things, but a culinary capital? Most definitely not. London was an exception there, in food and many other fields besides, but that ship has sailed.]

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Elizabeth wandered in at that point, having finished with her unpacking. Her magical girl outfit was gone as well, replaced with a much more familiar combination of a sweater, jeans and apron.

"I should probably get some casual clothes as well," Emma admitted, looking first at her Mom then back at the pink leotard she was wearing, fresh from the shop.

It wasn\'t exactly well-suited for housekeeping, even if Emma\'s newfound skill had kept it spotless over half an hour of prep work. The Victorian gown was hardly a better choice either.

"There\'s daily scavenging runs that head into surrounding towns and villages to look for supplies," Elizabeth informed her. "If you write down what you need, your father can get it added to tomorrow\'s checklist. It might take some time though; clothes are more difficult than food or other consumables, seeing as size and fit are both factors. I could also dig around in the Scholomance Lost and Found again?"

"It\'s fine, it\'s not an urgent issue; just something to grab if I find it on the way."

On the way to what, Emma didn\'t say; quite frankly, she wasn\'t entirely sure of the answer herself. For most of her time since the apocalypse, she\'d been moving on the basis of clearly defined goals: find her brother, find her parents, complete the dungeon and try not to die, etcetera. Now? That was all done, and she had the foundation of a home again; and the only quest in her log was one she couldn\'t begin to guess at. Where do you even look for a divine artefact fit for a cat?

[Eh, Saint will give you a hint, once she\'s done sleeping on my stomach. Lazy cat.]

"Saint left us behind because she wanted cuddles?" Emma deadpanned.

[Well its not like you were available, or radiating body heat for that matter.]

With Elizabeth now present and in command of the kitchen, Emma wandered out to the living room, relieved of her duties. Tiredness was another sensation that was rather unfamiliar to her now; whilst her armoured form still experienced mental fatigue, the sensation was altogether weaker than the genuine article. Belatedly, Emma wondered if the homunculus had ever slept before; if not, she had quite the deficit to make up. Claiming the long couch for herself, Emma decided that a short nap before dinner wouldn\'t be the worst thing in the world.

---

"What do you mean, you can\'t get me to England?" Astrid growled; an understandable reaction, given that the ticket master only told her this after taking payment in full.

"Regrettably, transit links overseas are still in flux; existing configurations were designed for drought conditions, and require updating to account for current levels of ambient mana. If you\'re willing to wait another three months..."

"Missing the solstice in the process, and the whole point of the trip," Astrid retorted, unimpressed.

"As it stands, we\'re unable to guarantee your safety if you were to making the jump..."

"I don\'t need your guarantees," Astrid spat, pouring all her disdain into the word. "Just the portal; fire it up, I\'ll jump blind if needed, just get me somewhere within the British Isles. You can manage that much, for ten thousand Thrones?"