[ SORTA... FUEL? ] - sleep is difficult in this kind of cold, and early morning hours can be better spent preparing a warm meal regardless; when it seems like dawn is nearly an hour away, jiaoqiu fetches a few different things mixed in with different supplies that feel ( and smell ) edible and a pot to cook with before returning to the fire. there was a grain of some kind, one that felt appropriate for making a porridge -- a barrel of chilly ( but still fresh ) water, and a few other simple raw ingredients, like salt and sugar.
all in all, the options were quite plain: not enough to lift spirits. the spices in a satchel on his belt are usually for medicinal purposes, but for now... they would be better than nothing. but as he listens to the water in the pot for ten minutes, then twenty, it feels and sounds as though nothing is happening. "perhaps the fire isn't hot enough," he mutters quietly, then thinks he hears something ( or someone ) else shifting nearby: with that cue, jiaoqiu clears his throat to speak a little louder. "ahem... is anyone else nearby awake? I'm trying to prepare some breakfast for everyone, but the fire isn't hot enough right now to get our water boiling: it probably needs a little more fuel. and, of course, help with the food preparation is also welcome... sweet porridge with some sugar, plus a little cinnamon and clove I have on-hand is my current idea."
perhaps it's just the wind, and no one else has risen just before dawn.
Sleep is difficult in this kind of cold, and not least of all because it is bitter to swallow - it's the kind of cold wont to seep into your bones and claw knots in the pit of your stomach.
(It's the exact kind of cold that'll send even one accustomed to meandering Belobog's snowy plains with his hips out to the world running for a warmer outer layer. But you didn't hear that here.)
It's even the kind of cold that might convince a one of its many guests this wintry festival to keep busy in the earliest hush of morning, looking to lift his fellows' spirits. It's touching, really. The kind of show to convince even a tired salesman to wanna pitch a hand, maybe.
Maybe.
It is pretty darn cold, you know?
But at this point, Sampo's already stirred, and he doubts he'll be catching anymore warmth no matter how long he stays huddled up by his sad lonesome.
"Haaaaa... yeah, I'm up. Just a sec." Finding his feet, Sampo shakes the shivers loose, redoes up the top button of his coat, and wanders over. "All righty, just let ol' Sampo have a look-see..."
He doesn't wait for confirmation before installing himself. He takes to the controls at once, fiddling with this and that, that and this.
"Ah, looks like this Geomarrow coil's another what's gone and tried to kick the bucket on us," is the official layman's diagnosis Sampo cheerfully offers after tinkering with the device another spot. "Just a moment, friend."
All right, maybe he isn't a Geomarrow pro, but! he's been known to handle himself the odd gadget now and again (his lovely smoke bombs come to mind!), so, something like this shouldn't fall entirely outta his purview. Certainly, it isn't completely foreign to him. Clink. Clank.
"Wait, did you say cinnamon and clove?"
How rare. Especially for some of the Under dwellers gathered here today. A treat...! "Where'd you pick that up, stranger?" A question of idle curiosity, maybe - but a businessman's nose never rests, don'tcha know!
Clank. Clink. Whirrrr. Aha! There we go. "Now that's the purr Sampo was lookin' for, hehe~ We should have ourselves a boil before long. Mmmm but, I think you're right about the fuel being low, though, so lemme have a gander and see what I can rustle up round here. Oh, what else did you say you wanted a hand with?"
Potential customers do tend to be much happier when they aren't suffering empty bellies, after all. So helping this guy out? It's the least he can do.
