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I figured I should post an actual goodbye. There's nothing wrong with the site - I actually enjoyed the people here. Unfortunately, I'm not enjoying playing a canon much at all. This was actually my first time playing a canon of any variety, and while people say I play a good Feliciano, I didn't enjoy playing a canon as much as I did OCs. Canon RPing simply isn't for me, sadly!

I'm sure I'll see some of you around, and I'll be checking in occasionally to see how the site is, but this is it for me. Thanks for the great time, guys!

Couldn't fight? Feliciano gave a knowing look. He couldn't fight either, although he had a feeling that Ludwig had meant something different then 'fighting scares me'. "Lucky. You get to stay off the front lines!" Yup, that was lucky in Feliciano's eyes. He didn't want to be on the front lines, and getting 'trapped' at the camp was working out pretty good for him.

Needless to say, he was also highly oblivious of the fact that Ludwig wasn't enjoying his company. Why would someone not enjoy it? When he was on shift those few short times, he'd always loved having someone visiting him.

In truth, Feliciano did not have a post to return to, at the moment. His shift had ended when he'd finished cooking, and he was up the tower on his own time - not something that many could admit too. Going back to the barracks meant wandering into every single guard who was off duty, and while Feliciano could get along well enough with single guards, groups of them made his clearly accented German stand out. It was more comfortable alone, after all.

"Ludwig?" He didn't even make a try at the last name - far, far too German, and the last time he'd tripped over a German last name, he'd gotten yelled at for it. Better to stick with Ludwig. He returned the shake with none of the stiffness that Ludwig held, shaking it enthusiastically. He was vaguely aware of the protocol, but had long ago chosen to ignore it. "You're new to the camp, right? Why aren't you at the front lines?"

Feliciano had all the tact and grace of a freight train.

How could someone not tell when Pasta was done? It was easy as looking - hold it up, see if it's noodly, if not, leave it in. He paused what he was doing, turning around but not moving. If Arthur couldn't do this, what's the point? "Just hold up a noodle, and look at it. Is it still stiff, or would you eat it as it is?"

Feliciano frowned at the mention of soldiers tasting blood. Sure, he knew what it taste like, but it wasn't a pleasant taste at all. "No no, it would ruin the food." Didn't Arthur get that? Even in war time, when food was so scarce, serving bad food was just not to be done. He had some pride as a cook, after all. "It would make everything taste odd."

He was trying to do his own work - but finding it difficult. He couldn't even chop a single vegetable before he turned around, squinting in Arthur's directions to be entirely sure that nothing had caught on fire. His progress was entirely slowed by his consistent turning, and he let out a short sigh. "How does it look? Like proper pasta, or is it still stiff now?"

Feliciano was a very, very bad guard. The other guard hadn't even been eating for five minutes and he was already bored, staring out over the compound with only the smallest of glances. Guarding was a boring job, and he was happy that he was only rarely on shift. Mostly it was blamed on the fact that he was not technically a German soldier (along with the occasional insinuation that he was a 'lazy Italian'), but it was also because he was simply far more useful in the kitchen, making meals that were tasty rather then just edible.

He grinned widely at the thank you, giving a little nod as he turned around, leaning forward slightly. "It wasn't a problem! I try and drop off food every so often so that the guards don't go hungry - or die of boredom." It was a boring job, the very worst.

"I don't think I caught your name." Actually, it was kind of rude the guy hadn't introduced himself, but Feliciano was a forgiving person.

Washing it off was not an option when it came to blood, and Feliciano quickly shook his head. "No way. It's just not safe. You wouldn't want to eat food with someone elses blood on it, would you?" Blood didn't just wash off! The taste stayed, nevermind whatever health concerns there might be. Some freaky parasite or who-knew-what? It was already in the trash anyway, and Feliciano grabbed a knife, swiftly chopping what remained of the carrot.

At least Arthur was honest, and wasn't trying to claim he was some chef. He had no skill, and he admitted it, and it certainly raised him a notch in Feliciano's book - even if that was the same notch he'd just dropped by cutting himself with carrots. "Alright... I'm going to put on a pot with some pasta, and all you have to do is stir it gently every few minutes so it doesn't settle, alright?" Stirring was something Feliciano was fairly sure you couldn't mess up. Pasta was easy to make, after all. He just had to try a little bit.

Feliciano's plan had not been very subtle. Really, he was just going to eat, say, a quarter of it, and then say he was full, and that if someone didn't eat the 'leftovers', it would have to go in the trash. He wouldn't have put it in the trash, really, but it would have given the other guard a nice excuse. His plan was unneeded, though, and he grinned widely as the other guard seemed to protest.

Feliciano held it right out, passing it over with the crude fork. "Eat away. I can watch the camp while you do." Which was probably the worst idea ever, because he was a terrible guard, but he was sure he could manage for however long it took the guy to eat. Maybe.

Arthur Kirkland had not even been in the kitchen for a solid five minutes and Feliciano was already entirely sure some people would be going hungry that night. Despite how needed food was, there were still a few standards being held too - and one of those standards was 'don't feed anyone food that's had blood sprayed on it'. Really, it was a standard safety thing, and Feliciano looked annoyed as Arthur started sucking on it. "Stop that!" It wasn't even that bad - just a little cut, but even so, he felt an unpleasant jerk in his stomach as he headed to the corner, retrieving the tiny medkit kept for situations like this. It was the tiniest slice, and it would stop bleeding in a moment, and he was still mentally worrying about Arthur like he was going to die from it. Fishing out a little bit of gauze, he held it out. "Wrap it around the area, pull it tight, clip it on. if I had gloves, I'd give you some, but we don't." Passing it over, he turned to the chopping board, which he was thankful, for once, was metal. Shoving the bloody carrots into the trash, he quickly grabbed the ones not covered in blood and moved them over, dumping the bloody board into the sink.

"Is there anything you can do in the kitchen properly?" It wasn't even meant as an insult - he was genuinely curious. Maybe he'd been taught something? Anything?

Feliciano was finding himself a little bit upset over the whole thing. Why did this guard have to be so difficult? Why couldn't he just eat it like everyone else? Really, it was bothering Feliciano far more then it should have, but as the guard was nice enough to thank him, he was even more determined that the guard was going to end up eating it - one way or another.

Finishing his climb up the ladder, Feliciano leaned against one wall, pulling the top of the pan off to release that downright delicious smell. "Well, if you're not going to eat it, I wouldn't want it to get cold on the way back. It'd be a real shame. I'll just have to eat it, and help you guard." Maybe the guard didn't know how bad he was at guarding - that would be nice for once. Maybe he'd actually do well.

Feliciano was having issues. Simply put, he just couldn't get why the guy was saying no. No one ever said no. It was good, warm food, and it was still being turned down. Feliciano's face fell slightly, although he managed to at least catch that it was something about 'breaking the rules' that was making him turn it down. "Everyone's gotten a meal before. Everyone does it, so it's not that bad, right?" Well, almost everyone. Everyone who'd worked the shift since not long after Feliciano had gotten there, anyway.

Feliciano could likely have managed in the kitchen just fine on his own but generally it wasn't a bad thing to have some help. There were a few prisoners that were always showing up for cooking duty, and having someone else competent in the kitchen was always nice. Generally he left them chopping or cutting or mashing while he did the more delicate work, and it sped things along nicely to have help. Of course, he never ended up finding out who was helping, and that was a bit of a bother. Some helpers were about as good as he was when it came to cooking, and could be trusted to make a whole sidedish by themselves. Some, however, were useful for little more then some cutting, and even managed to mess that up. Really, he'd have liked to know who would show up on time, but it was always so last minute he never found out until the prisoner showed up at the kitchen door.

When there was a knock on the door, right at the correct time, Feliciano pulled it open with a grin that died the moment he saw who was at the door. Arthur Kirkland. He was extremely thankful he'd never had to cook with him before, but he'd heard the horror stories. Water that caught on fire. Pans burnt so badly they were ruined. The whole camp going hungry for days because one Arthur Kirkland had managed to use up so much food and none of it was edible.

Why did it have to be him!? Feliciano struggled to keep a grin on his face, stepping out of the way to let Arthur in as he frantically tried to decide where he could stick Arthur without him giving everyone in the camp food poisoning. "...I don't suppose you know how to cut carrots?" Maybe he could just chop. Maybe.

This is a short term away. I'm leaving tomorrow to head to California, and will likely be busy all of tomorrow, and less active for the next few days.

I'll still be posting - just not as fast, and likely not tomorrow.

Well, at least the other guard had calmed down - mostly. As he put the gun away, Feliciano very, very slowly edged his way upwards, finally getting off the ladder with a precariously balanced tray in one hand that he quickly stabilized with his now free hand.

Had... he just turned it down? Feliciano was forced to stand there, considering for several long seconds. No one had ever turned it down before. Everyone always took it, and was happy they had some warm food in their belly. Maybe the guy was new enough he thought it was a trick or something?

"Well, it's already up here, and if I have to take it all the way back to the kitchens, it'll get cold. You'd better just eat it." See? Nice and logical. If he didn't eat it now, it'd get cold, and that'd be a shame. "I'm Feliciano Vargas, by the way." He said, his German fairly obviously foreign. Despite all his practice, he'd never quite got the knack for the language, and was doomed to stand out eternally.

Feliciano was grinning wide when he popped out of the little opening, but when he opened his eyes, the grin was rapidly replaced by fear. He let out a tiny shriek, ducking down back into the hole with the plate quickly thrust overhead like a shield, and if not for the flipped over pan holding the head in, it likely would have gone flying. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

Thankfully, the guard went right on to lower his gun, and Feliciano slowly peeked his head back over the edge. "I was just bringing you some food. I'm not on duty until tomorrow." He said, voice still very, very soft, because there was still a gun in the guards hand - even if he had no idea who the guard really was. He didn't think he'd spoken too him, really, and he was rather new. Maybe a few words, but not much beyond that.