There was a loud clatter echoing in the mess and Obi-Wan glanced up, trying to pinpoint the noise and finding equally confused soldiers around him. It didn’t click until the sound of laughter bubbled up from the kitchen area.
Sharing a look with his commander, the two of them ventured across the large room and through the open doorway.
In the kitchen, the crew stood in appropriate attire: blacks and shoes, a secondary tunic covering them from shoulder to thigh in attempts to keep the underlying blacks cleaner longer. He could name all of them with ease, but there were new faces as well as some missing.
During the last mission, after the fighting had been concluded, the soldiers had stuck around long enough to help the nearby town get cleaned up and fed. Half of the kitchen crew spread out with a purpose, and with the assistance of the local people, were able to gather enough edible plants to feed everyone, with a supplement of emergency rations.
When a building had started to collapse, the nearby soldiers had ran forward catching what they could and pulling people out. The near disaster left a handful of them injured. Poor Whisk and (Paring) Knife were placed on light duties until Evac declared their broken legs healed enough, and two other soldiers volunteered to take their place.
They were new, arriving on board just before the last battle, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to use their numbers, unless they told him. He focused on the young man in the middle of the group. Embarrassment clouded around him, but as did pride and a feeling of belonging.
“Are you okay…?”
“Fumble, sir,” he answered, glancing up, and Obi-Wan felt the embarrassment grow a touch as the soldier’s cheeks colored. “But apparently I have a kitchen name now.”
“A kitchen name?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to smother a smile.
“Yes sir. Sticky.”
Obi-Wan struggled for a moment before voicing his question. “Why are you Sticky?”
The sigh that escaped the man was forlorn, though his emotions were laced with amusement as well. “Because I dropped the tray again.”
Only then did Obi-Wan pay attention to the mess of fruit pulp that splattered the floor and Fumble-Sticky’s boots and blacks, up to his knees. A snort of laughter escaped the Jedi General, which was enough to set off the rest of the kitchen crew with their own laughter. Fumble-Sticky’s own lips quirked with a smile.
“Go get cleaned up,” the man currently in charge of the kitchen, Butter (Knife), said, patting his back. “We’ll see you on second shift.”
With a nod, Fumble-Sticky exited the area -after wiping off his boots- and Obi-Wan looked at Butter.
“Don’t be mean.”
“He started it,” someone said from the back, followed by an ‘ow!’ as someone else smacked his head. “What!? He’s the one that said ‘well now I’m sticky’.”
“That may be so, but he just got his first name,” Obi-Wan said. “He doesn’t need five more.”
“If he’s okay with it, we’ll only use it in the kitchen,” Butter said, glancing around at the others, all of them nodding. “We know he’s back up if one of us is out. Honorary kitchen crew.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, satisfied. His soldiers might tease each other, but Cody had yet to report problems about it.
He was about to leave when he looked at the second temporary member of the kitchen crew, head tilting slightly.
“Do you have a name you would like to use?” he asked, wishing to get to know him as well.
The grin the soldier gave him was a bit concerning.
“It’s Roast, sir!” he said cheerfully, and Obi-Wan didn’t know if that was his chosen name, his kitchen name, or both.
