Welcome to Gaia! ::

Food was just one of those necessities -- for better or for worse. With little to do in the triage area and having explored what she could to help with fortifications, she had to replenish her strength to continue fighting with the flying pieces of scrap heap. Rose flit through the kitchen, checking the remaining stores to see what could be made with what remained. It was like some strange episode of those horrible cooking shows she'd found amusing; living in that situation, however, was far less entertaining.

Blue eyes slid to the voice that addressed her, noting his clothes that essentially marked them both as from the Prytaneum. Offering a wane smile, she subtly shook her head, rubbing her fingertips over the dried scratch on her cheek. "I'm afraid not. Strong fish was never something I could find use for. The pasta and sauce, though, we could perhaps cobble a sad variant of spaghetti." The songstress paused, brows knit and lips curved in a smile still, slightly dimpled in perplexity. "If we have any milk or cream and an ice cream maker, I could make a pineapple sorbet, but I'm not sure how well that'd be received in a world of snow..."

She picked up a half eaten package of crackers, peeking inside and tilting her head to the side with a sigh. "I wonder if our caretakers would be good enough to send our darling Goddess cook to help with this sad state of affairs."

A soft chime of laughter answered the man's words, nodding in empathetic understanding. "Pineapple and spam. It's a sorry state of affairs but we do not ask for more, we simply...count our blessings? Something like that." Rose chuckled, wrinkling her nose subtly at the sight of the canned meat. Honestly, canned meat, in a resort like this? Did people have no shame? "I think I'd...rather take my chances to see if there's any eggs to scramble, personally," she said almost apologetically, as if the notion of what they'd make for others was beneath her (and quite frankly, she thought she'd rather eat snow than candied spam), "and even crushed stale crackers would probably be a better bet to cut the salt. Not that I'm a chef, mind you, but I'm a bit picky about the foods I associate with."

With a soft chuckle, she put the crackers in question down and crossed over to the other, extending her hand to him. "Rose, of Apollo. If I could sing the birds down, my friend, I would. I'm afraid the bow and arrows I've been bestowed with offers little against flying scrapyards."

Blue eyes turned around the kitchen, hoping she might pick out something she'd missed on the shelves. "Though I suppose if -- if we could find some frozen chicken - nuggets or otherwise - use the crackers, perhaps the pineapple...it wont be gourmet," Rose cast another smile, "but perhaps our best attempts at a deconstructed meal will be appreciated in some form."

"Goodness, no," Rose laughed softly, "just a little butter or oil rub for the crumbs to cling." She would have been absolutely tickled by the idea that she was so familiar with anything deep fried had they been in a less dire circumstance, but as it were, it wasn't a typical conversation.

Offering the man a firm shake, her brows lofted at the mention of who had Chosen him. "The first I've met under the charms of Dionysus. Don't let me halt your work, Ernst." It was not in the woman's ways to be judgmental on the beliefs (or lack thereof) when it came to their predicament -- there were flying metal birds with toxic poop. Belief was truly the least of her concerns.

She offered him a brief glance of confusion before she pieced together what he meant. "I was -- looking for rosemary oil, or something of the sort that might have been overlooked or left behind -- ah." Rose moved some boxes aside and reached back, pulling out a dark colored bottle and showing it to the man who clearly knew more than she did -- a rosemary balsamic. "Things like this. It's not ideal but it's workable." Putting the bottle down, she resumed her search, though she cast an amused look over her shoulder as the man continued. "Smoked salmon. That sounds like a delicacy here, doesn't it?" In a place that seemed ravaged by some sort of metal apocalypse, almost anything that wasn't aggressive on the tastebuds sounded ideal.

She plucked a package out from a box and wrinkled her nose delicately. "Nori. If you have use for dried seaweed." It was put back. She moved on, shuffling through a few items and reading them out loud in case he was interested: an onion based powder for soup, chicken broth, canned tuna (that met with a faint, 'really?'), a can of black olives, a jar of green olives, worcestershire, baking vanilla, some plum wine and a few jars of picked vegetables. "They weren't very well prepared for this attack, were they?" she murmured, a dry attempt at humor. How was this going to feed anyone?

Sighing, she looked back to Ernst. "If you've no ideas, and we can find some ketchup and ground beef in the fridge, I think I could make some meat loaf. If, that is, we're trying to feed others. Myself, I'm just looking for some protein to keep going." There had to be trail mix or an errant protein bar somewhere, even if it tasted like cardboard.