of stews and regrets ( Dad! Maul and co)
you know how long its been since I did a fic? A long time! So happy to get something out! Have some angst as a treat!
@eyecandyeoz @patchiefrog @apocalypticwafflekitten @storm89 @pixiestookourstardust @hannagoldworthy @gran-maul-seizure @mando-cyare
The insistent beep of the steamer went off, the familiar aroma of seasoned meat and vegetables wafted throughout the small ship. It was the very last the prepared food his Star had packed for him. After this it was ration bars.
He scoffs, once he had no trouble scarfing those bars when it was required for him to eat. Food was a necessity. Now his stomach protested at the thought of those dry and tasteless things.
His Starlight had spoiled him, cooking mouthwatering foods and sharing meals in close quarters. Tender meats and stews that were full of spices and burnt his tongue. A pocket potato bundled into his pack filled with cheeses and bit of bacon. He has cured the meat himself and had it smoking, he had taking a liking to preparing meats and meals alongside his Star.
A final plate of bantha steak and grilled vegetables…packed up neatly and with care. The terrors as he and the others had dubbed them aided with preparing this trove of food. The littest Danica, with her toothy grin, was pleased with herself as she had aided with the meat this time. The zabrak licked her lips after sampling a piece, declaring the meat , “ a masterpiece”
“There will be plenty more when you come back!” she declared, he gave her a smile while his Starlight would not look at him. He was leaving again.
Maul was too hasty too starved, before he registered it the plate was empty. “A clean plate!” the terrors would glady cheer. Yes a clean plate, for once he did not celebrate it.
—
“Maybe we should make…” Little Danica declared to her buir as they walked the passages of the Fortress. Aria Baras tried her best to smile and follow with Danica’s happy plans for what to prepare for when Maul returned, whenever that may be.
“Maybe some Bantha too! Ba’vodu Savage said it was nice and ready for us to cook up!” Aria was thankful for Savage, Maul’s brother was trying his all to step in as father to the youngest. Though Danica would firmly keep her storybooks tucked under her pillow, only Maul was allowed to read her to sleep, “We will lose our place, ba’vodu,” she explained, “and you don’t do the voices as well as my buir”
How long would Danica wait so hopeful that Maul would return? Aria’s eyes wandered to the closed doors of the hanger, how long would she stay and wait?
—-
Elsewhere in the galaxy Cress Oppress cursed under his breath and set back the sweet potato he has grabbed. It was only him and Leta, no need for more. At the Fortress with the terrors there was always room for more, “Extra is always best” his beloved buir would say tossing in another cut up sweet potato into the pot.
His buir always ensured there was extra food, growing up Cress was always the one who asked for seconds and maybe even thirds if possible. His ba’vodu Savage had joked that Cress had inherited double the appetite. His buir, Maul had sported a fond smile at the joke.
He didn't feel so hungry now, and put the potato away.
You aren't him. You aren't going to turn into him.
As if trying to cover the mirrors in the ship weren't always a step too far. The meat sizzled in the pan, he and his sweetheart were able to take down some game on their mission and Cress wanted to ensure she ate well. He preferred to think he was more like his buir, Starlight. Always taking care of others and making sure their tummies were full.
The mix of spices were just like hers, but it never tasted the same to him. He missed her terribly. He missed her humming away as she worked and stirred the pot, he had been at her side helping as far as he could remember. Always rewarded with the first sampling of the food. He and his twin Aster would at times battle for the first plate. She often won with a sizable bite to his hand or shoulder. His buir would scold her for the biting and send her to the table second. Cress nursing his bandaged hand. His buir always took care of him.
The pan sizzled at the drops of water splashing on the surface. He missed his buir. He missed home.
—-
Maul gagged at the chalky taste of the ration bar. Forcing another bite of it down his throat despite the protests of his stomach. He had to eat.
Finally finished he tossed the wrapper to the far side of the ship. He glanced at the meager pile of supplies. A potato a carrot… even some packed ham….he could cook up something. He knew how. He could.
Yet he remained sitting at the helm, leaving the supplies to sit there until he tossed them at the next station in exchange for more ration bars.
He deserved this. He left. He deserved this.
