- Mar 13, 2015
- 2,410
- Pronouns
- she, her
- Posting Status
- Irregularly, Hiatus
One good thing about being in the culinary department was the easy access to the rooms made for it. One classroom in particular was free from class today, and Volkan had easily acquired full access to it this morning. So he was alone in this huge room, only because he wanted to practice on a pastry he's never tried making before.
He worked in only one counter among many inside the room. The sink was on the side, and there was enough tiled space for everything he needed. Volkan, after all, worked very neatly especially in the kitchen. He already had the batter mixed, and was mixing it a little bit more in a huge bowl to make the consistency right. The tiles were spotless though, as if he hadn't just brought out some flour. His other ingredients were also neatly arranged, all in bowls or cups, sliced, yet the chopping boards and knives were already washed and out of site.
Volkan put the cake batter in the oven soon. Aside from the sound the machine made on contact, the room was very quiet. The Turk wasn't the kind that hummed or talked to himself when working alone, he was quiet, even his swift and almost professional movements were. His black dress shirt was spotless, its sleeves folded very neatly to his elbows, and even the plain gray apron over that and his jeans had very minimum specks of batter on it.
Volkan belonged in this room, he was its master.
Soon enough, the oven began to produce a sweet milky scent all over the place. The windows and the door were open, easily giving way for the scent to spread nearby. Through the hallways, most especially. And while the cake was being baked, the six-and-a-half-footer man began to prepare for its chocolate coating, adding even more sweetness to the air.
@Kaiyo Arashi
He worked in only one counter among many inside the room. The sink was on the side, and there was enough tiled space for everything he needed. Volkan, after all, worked very neatly especially in the kitchen. He already had the batter mixed, and was mixing it a little bit more in a huge bowl to make the consistency right. The tiles were spotless though, as if he hadn't just brought out some flour. His other ingredients were also neatly arranged, all in bowls or cups, sliced, yet the chopping boards and knives were already washed and out of site.
Volkan put the cake batter in the oven soon. Aside from the sound the machine made on contact, the room was very quiet. The Turk wasn't the kind that hummed or talked to himself when working alone, he was quiet, even his swift and almost professional movements were. His black dress shirt was spotless, its sleeves folded very neatly to his elbows, and even the plain gray apron over that and his jeans had very minimum specks of batter on it.
Volkan belonged in this room, he was its master.
Soon enough, the oven began to produce a sweet milky scent all over the place. The windows and the door were open, easily giving way for the scent to spread nearby. Through the hallways, most especially. And while the cake was being baked, the six-and-a-half-footer man began to prepare for its chocolate coating, adding even more sweetness to the air.
@Kaiyo Arashi
