The Misadventures of Poor Finian Round Four

The Misadventures of Poor Finian Round Four

 

“ Achoo!”

“Bless you.”

“A-a-achoooo!’

“You too.” Finian sighed, leaning over a crockpot in the kitchen of the trios shared apartment. His friends were sick, probably the flu or something. Due to his superior immune system, however, Finian had gotten off scot-free! Lucky him. That means he had to take care of them. And so he stood. 

He’d tied Allyson’s light red apron around his neck, and a chef’s hat had been forced upon his head. It was lunch time, or would be after the stew was done. He’d gone for a beef stew, with fresh cut potatoes and carrots from his garden out back. He had hand chosen the herbs and spices for use from a natural food store down the road. In short, it was just about perfect.

Finian turned around to the stove, and opened the door to peer at his garlic bread. The butter had melted into the crusty bread, soaking the ground garlic and salt into it. He nodded in approval and turned the stove off.

“Hey! Sick people to the table. Hurry up, or it’ll get cold!” He laid out two bowls and forks (it was stew after all) and set a piece of the toast beside them. Then he ladled spoonfulls of the thick broth, veggies, and meat into their bowls.

Two figures shuffled into the kitchen, an ice pack on Ally’s head and a blanket wrapped around Gavin. They slumped down in their respective seats and glared suspiciously at their meals. Gavin poke cautiously at a chunk of meat and raised an eyebrow at Finian, seeming to ask a usually rather important question. Finian sighed.

“Yes it’s edible. Eat.” Gavin closed his eyes and shoved a spoonful into his mouth. His eyes flashed open and a look of complete contentment settled over his features. He sighed in ecstasy.

“Finian… why didn’t you ever tell us you could cook this good? This stew is phenomenal!” Finian smiled lightly, but shrugged off the complement. The only reason he didn’t cook was ‘cause he was too lazy.  The boys looked over to their companion.

Allyson was wolfing down her stew, not letting a drop escape her grasp. A few seconds later, She held out an empty bowl.

“Refill.” She demanded. Awed, Gavin scooped another serving in. Not even ten seconds later the bowl, re-emptied, was again held out.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Finian muttered, and moved to take the bowl away.

STAB

“Aiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!” Finian withdrew his hand and rubbed it in pain. “You stabbed me! With a fork!”

“Refill.”

“Y-yes ma’am.