koilungfish (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
koilungfish) wrote2007-06-11 04:15 pm
koilungfish) wrote2007-06-11 04:15 pm
Entry tags:
Puerility
5/6/07 - 10/6/07 - Ill
11/6/07 - Elsewhere, In A Swamp
The wetlands of Proxima Centauri were disconcerting to the ear of the off-worlder, there being no birds and no animals. Insects ruled the southern continent, insects and slimy things. Currently, Manuel de Gustas was harvesting those slimy things - specifically, tooka leaves.
He and his partner, the eponymous uncomfortable offworlder Brad Courtney, were aboard Manuel's long lean hovercraft, the Swamp Bug, drifting very slowly between the ranks of tooka plants as they crossed the plantation back and forth. The dark, mottled brittlewood trunks of the tookas did not sway. Their heart-shaped dark-pink 'leaves' curled around them in a spiral, like a staircase for swamp fairies.
"Manuel, hey," Brad said, beckoning with his knife-hand, "this one's mouldy."
Manuel swung his legs back over the side of the hovercraft, throttled it down to a stop, and leaned over Brad. The leaf was thickly blotched with green along one side. "Ah. Punked. Cut it off, give it me." Brad did. Manuel cut the blotched part off and tossed it into the water. He examined the cut sides of the leaf; the sap oozing out was a clean, deep rose-pink. "Aha. Now I make army food." Manuel stuck a piece of wire through the fleshy lobe of tooka-leaf, hooked the other end of the wire through a hole on the Swamp Bug's exhaust, and started the engine.
"Is that safe to eat?" Brad asked, going back to cutting off the thickest, juiciest leaves and throwing them in the big plastic tub between then.
"Sure, is only the green bits that are no good," Manuel replied, cutting off a leaf here, a leaf there.
It took the Swamp Bug, travelling at less than walking pace, fifteen minutes to reach the two tall brittlewood palms that marked the end of the row. Their ridged, flaking trunks rose a slender, tapering twelve feet high; their tousled mess of ferny leaves were loaded with spore-curls. Manuel took the Swamp Bug off autopilot and maneuvered it between the palms himself, not wanting a shower of palm spores to ruin their morning's work.
"What's army food?" Brad asked as they started down the next row.
"Tooka cooked in its skin," Manuel said, snicking off moulded leaves. "You cook the tooka in the skin, it don't have room to puff up, so it go crunchy like honeycomb chocolate. Very sweet. Tiny little leaf fill you right up."
"So why's it called army food?" Brad brushed an insect nest off a plump, promising leaf.
"Army use it instead of rations, I guess," Manuel shrugged, adjusting his stained panama hat before the tookas knocked it off. "Is a whole tooka leaf squashed into a little thing." He leaned around the exhaust column and unhooked the wire. The leaf was blackened and bloated. Manuel wiped his knife on his canvas trousers and slit the skin open. Underneath, the normally pale and puffy tooka-flesh was dark, almost red. It looked like gelatin and smelt like burnt sugar. Manuel broke the stuff in half and handed part of it to Brad.
The offworlder looked at the army food suspiciously. "It looks like ... I don't know, the inside of someone's tongue."
"Tastes good," Manuel said, stuffing the whole of his piece into his mouth. It was hot and sweet and sticky, the marshmallow-like flavour of the tooka intensifying to a powerful sweet-mushroom taste. Manuel chewed and sucked on it as he kept half an eye on the tooka-plants for fat, ripe leaves.
Brad eyed the army food suspiciously, then bit a piece off. He chewed, face changing from suspicion to surprise to distinct enjoyment, at which point he scarfed down the rest. "'s good."
"Yah, just don't eat too much," Manuel said, nodding. "One of those is enough for a whole meal."
"Probably why the army use it," Brad muttered. "How much more do we need?"
"Just enough to fill the box," Manuel said, leaning back against the Swamp Bug's engine and waiting for a ripe leaf. "Any more is wasted."
"Before I came here," Brad said, which was the start to all his stories, "I was always told you should never eat tooka with the sap still running."
"Overcooked," Manuel said, clicking his teeth and shaking his head. "Everyone outside the wetlands overcooks the poor things. You only want to cook it until it puffs enough for the outside to go dusty. Then you eat it, with the sap still running and sweet."
"It's certainly better that way," Brad agreed, tossing a leaf in the tub. "Looks almost full."
"It does," Manuel said. "Put the lid on." As Brad did, Manuel moved to the Swamp Bug's piloting seat and switched the autopilot off. "You want eggs with your lunch?"
"Not particularly," Brad said, sitting on the tub as Manuel speeded the Swamp Bug up, heading it home. "I'm full after that stuff."
Manuel nodded. "We'll get some eggs tomorrow."
Brad frowned. "Wait, I thought there weren't any birds on this continent?"
Manuel nodded again. "We'll get some dragonfly eggs."
Brad paled. "Dragonfly eggs? They weren't wrong when they told me the food here was strange ..."
11/6/07 - Elsewhere, In A Swamp
The wetlands of Proxima Centauri were disconcerting to the ear of the off-worlder, there being no birds and no animals. Insects ruled the southern continent, insects and slimy things. Currently, Manuel de Gustas was harvesting those slimy things - specifically, tooka leaves.
He and his partner, the eponymous uncomfortable offworlder Brad Courtney, were aboard Manuel's long lean hovercraft, the Swamp Bug, drifting very slowly between the ranks of tooka plants as they crossed the plantation back and forth. The dark, mottled brittlewood trunks of the tookas did not sway. Their heart-shaped dark-pink 'leaves' curled around them in a spiral, like a staircase for swamp fairies.
"Manuel, hey," Brad said, beckoning with his knife-hand, "this one's mouldy."
Manuel swung his legs back over the side of the hovercraft, throttled it down to a stop, and leaned over Brad. The leaf was thickly blotched with green along one side. "Ah. Punked. Cut it off, give it me." Brad did. Manuel cut the blotched part off and tossed it into the water. He examined the cut sides of the leaf; the sap oozing out was a clean, deep rose-pink. "Aha. Now I make army food." Manuel stuck a piece of wire through the fleshy lobe of tooka-leaf, hooked the other end of the wire through a hole on the Swamp Bug's exhaust, and started the engine.
"Is that safe to eat?" Brad asked, going back to cutting off the thickest, juiciest leaves and throwing them in the big plastic tub between then.
"Sure, is only the green bits that are no good," Manuel replied, cutting off a leaf here, a leaf there.
It took the Swamp Bug, travelling at less than walking pace, fifteen minutes to reach the two tall brittlewood palms that marked the end of the row. Their ridged, flaking trunks rose a slender, tapering twelve feet high; their tousled mess of ferny leaves were loaded with spore-curls. Manuel took the Swamp Bug off autopilot and maneuvered it between the palms himself, not wanting a shower of palm spores to ruin their morning's work.
"What's army food?" Brad asked as they started down the next row.
"Tooka cooked in its skin," Manuel said, snicking off moulded leaves. "You cook the tooka in the skin, it don't have room to puff up, so it go crunchy like honeycomb chocolate. Very sweet. Tiny little leaf fill you right up."
"So why's it called army food?" Brad brushed an insect nest off a plump, promising leaf.
"Army use it instead of rations, I guess," Manuel shrugged, adjusting his stained panama hat before the tookas knocked it off. "Is a whole tooka leaf squashed into a little thing." He leaned around the exhaust column and unhooked the wire. The leaf was blackened and bloated. Manuel wiped his knife on his canvas trousers and slit the skin open. Underneath, the normally pale and puffy tooka-flesh was dark, almost red. It looked like gelatin and smelt like burnt sugar. Manuel broke the stuff in half and handed part of it to Brad.
The offworlder looked at the army food suspiciously. "It looks like ... I don't know, the inside of someone's tongue."
"Tastes good," Manuel said, stuffing the whole of his piece into his mouth. It was hot and sweet and sticky, the marshmallow-like flavour of the tooka intensifying to a powerful sweet-mushroom taste. Manuel chewed and sucked on it as he kept half an eye on the tooka-plants for fat, ripe leaves.
Brad eyed the army food suspiciously, then bit a piece off. He chewed, face changing from suspicion to surprise to distinct enjoyment, at which point he scarfed down the rest. "'s good."
"Yah, just don't eat too much," Manuel said, nodding. "One of those is enough for a whole meal."
"Probably why the army use it," Brad muttered. "How much more do we need?"
"Just enough to fill the box," Manuel said, leaning back against the Swamp Bug's engine and waiting for a ripe leaf. "Any more is wasted."
"Before I came here," Brad said, which was the start to all his stories, "I was always told you should never eat tooka with the sap still running."
"Overcooked," Manuel said, clicking his teeth and shaking his head. "Everyone outside the wetlands overcooks the poor things. You only want to cook it until it puffs enough for the outside to go dusty. Then you eat it, with the sap still running and sweet."
"It's certainly better that way," Brad agreed, tossing a leaf in the tub. "Looks almost full."
"It does," Manuel said. "Put the lid on." As Brad did, Manuel moved to the Swamp Bug's piloting seat and switched the autopilot off. "You want eggs with your lunch?"
"Not particularly," Brad said, sitting on the tub as Manuel speeded the Swamp Bug up, heading it home. "I'm full after that stuff."
Manuel nodded. "We'll get some eggs tomorrow."
Brad frowned. "Wait, I thought there weren't any birds on this continent?"
Manuel nodded again. "We'll get some dragonfly eggs."
Brad paled. "Dragonfly eggs? They weren't wrong when they told me the food here was strange ..."