[Stepping further into the kitchen, Hermann takes a glance over what’s being cooked up from behind. The sweet aromas are enough to make his stomach grumble in anticipation. That alone is enough to make his cheeks run pink. All he can think about is trying to have his meal while trying to maintain a conversation with the wiry gentleman in front of him. It’s exhausting even having to ponder about it for over five seconds.
But he takes on the Doctor’s offer and seats himself on one side of the table, leaving his cane to rest on the corner.]
I promise I won’t be very long. The sooner I can satiate this subconscious craving, the better.
[ Well, you're in luck, Hermann, as the Doctor doesn't tend to need anyone else to carry a conversation along, not if he's got a topic he can start on and an audience to listen to him being clever.
Such is what happens when you spend ... well, far too much time alone on your ship, sailing off into whens-and-wheres unknown.
Still. For now, the Doctor is content with the comfortable quiet as he moves about the kitchen where he'd been stationed, and eventually comes over to set the table with those waffles Hermann had been craving. ]
Oh, there's no rush, eh? No one to run us out of the kitchen like we're only allowed here for an hour or so. Not like one of those restaurants with the time limits on them — which, ah, has happened in the past. It wasn't my fault that the Regent Prince of Chotokurus had somehow managed to fuse himself to the underside of the table.
[Hermann looks down at the sweet, delectable meal before being put forth by the Doctor. Everything seems to be cooked to perfection, with not even an undercooked crevice insight. He plucks a napkin from the dining table and dresses it over his lap. As an added layer of protection, he grabs a second napkin to bib himself on the collar of his shirt.]
Honestly, these names you speak of Doctor… [He says while picking up his cutlery.] They’re certainly not from this galaxy, and yet you make them sound like the next-door neighbour.
[And tucks into his waffles…dry. He’s going to eat the waffles dry.]
[ Does Hermann not see the spreads? The dips? The fruit? The powdered sugar? (Yes some of it might be a bit alien, but it all tastes all right, it all tastes comparable. He's made sure of it!) ]
[ This is the worst crime against culinary delights he has ever seen in his whole 1,200 years of life. This is worse than the Cybermen. This is worse than the Daleks.
The Doctor stares agog, and then in horror, eyes going from dry waffle to the sliver of butter too small to even look like anything's been changed about them.
And then he lets out a breath. Possibly to steady himself. ]
Right. [ Right, yes. The Doctor gathers his wits back around himself, scratching his head, and then rubbing the back of his neck, and then generally pivoting on the spot, hands waving like he isn't sure what they should be doing in a moment like this one. ] Right — while the waffles are very good, I'd know, I made them myself, the best part's the sugar! The jam! The — the — all of it! In those little square-shaped pockets! Don't you see?
[He nods as he gestures with a fork at the variety of toppings the Doctor has generously provided.]
That is very apparent with the array of toppings you’ve provided. But it’s far too much! I’d have to dip into every jam and syrup there is before I have a bellyache. I much prefer it if I keep things as plain as possible with this smattering of butter.
[ The sheer 'Yes! And! So! You get it, don't you?' vibes the Doctor is putting out right now could not be any clearer. And yet ...
Hermann seems perfectly content to eat his waffles in its most driest, boringest form. Not that the waffles are bad on their own — it must be reiterated that he did make them, and thus they're absolutely scrumptious, but! But. ]
Well, surely you could do with a bit of jam and a bit of the dusted sugar, at least. I'm only giving you options, loads of options — we love options! — but you don't have to use them all. The butter's just — it's nothing!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Stepping further into the kitchen, Hermann takes a glance over what’s being cooked up from behind. The sweet aromas are enough to make his stomach grumble in anticipation. That alone is enough to make his cheeks run pink. All he can think about is trying to have his meal while trying to maintain a conversation with the wiry gentleman in front of him. It’s exhausting even having to ponder about it for over five seconds.
But he takes on the Doctor’s offer and seats himself on one side of the table, leaving his cane to rest on the corner.]
I promise I won’t be very long. The sooner I can satiate this subconscious craving, the better.
no subject
Such is what happens when you spend ... well, far too much time alone on your ship, sailing off into whens-and-wheres unknown.
Still. For now, the Doctor is content with the comfortable quiet as he moves about the kitchen where he'd been stationed, and eventually comes over to set the table with those waffles Hermann had been craving. ]
Oh, there's no rush, eh? No one to run us out of the kitchen like we're only allowed here for an hour or so. Not like one of those restaurants with the time limits on them — which, ah, has happened in the past. It wasn't my fault that the Regent Prince of Chotokurus had somehow managed to fuse himself to the underside of the table.
no subject
Honestly, these names you speak of Doctor… [He says while picking up his cutlery.] They’re certainly not from this galaxy, and yet you make them sound like the next-door neighbour.
[And tucks into his waffles…dry. He’s going to eat the waffles dry.]
no subject
[ Hold. The. Phones. ]
— what are you doing?
[ Does Hermann not see the spreads? The dips? The fruit? The powdered sugar? (Yes some of it might be a bit alien, but it all tastes all right, it all tastes comparable. He's made sure of it!) ]
1/2
[He looks at his plate and then the vast array of mix-ins.
And then it dawns on him.]
Ah, yes! Of course. How silly of me.
no subject
There we are! Balanced and lubricated.
no subject
The Doctor stares agog, and then in horror, eyes going from dry waffle to the sliver of butter too small to even look like anything's been changed about them.
And then he lets out a breath. Possibly to steady himself. ]
Right. [ Right, yes. The Doctor gathers his wits back around himself, scratching his head, and then rubbing the back of his neck, and then generally pivoting on the spot, hands waving like he isn't sure what they should be doing in a moment like this one. ] Right — while the waffles are very good, I'd know, I made them myself, the best part's the sugar! The jam! The — the — all of it! In those little square-shaped pockets! Don't you see?
no subject
[He nods as he gestures with a fork at the variety of toppings the Doctor has generously provided.]
That is very apparent with the array of toppings you’ve provided. But it’s far too much! I’d have to dip into every jam and syrup there is before I have a bellyache. I much prefer it if I keep things as plain as possible with this smattering of butter.
no subject
Hermann seems perfectly content to eat his waffles in its most driest, boringest form. Not that the waffles are bad on their own — it must be reiterated that he did make them, and thus they're absolutely scrumptious, but! But. ]
Well, surely you could do with a bit of jam and a bit of the dusted sugar, at least. I'm only giving you options, loads of options — we love options! — but you don't have to use them all. The butter's just — it's nothing!