Catalina stared at the placid surface of the pot, her stew still as glass, the only sound in the kitchen the tick-tock of her cat-clock and the gentle drum of the rain outside. Mama had always told her a watched pot never boiled, but Catalina was patient. For her, in life as well as cooking, it was all about patience and waiting for your moment. She enjoyed those quiet moments of anticipation before things came together. The gentle simmer before it came to a rolling boil. And so, she waited with patient calm, staring at her pot of soup. Then came the loud knock at the front door, an urgent rapping that demanded attention. One of her pointed ears flicked and she turned her head in that direction -- and the moment she looked away the soup started to bubble. With an annoyed sigh, she hopped off her step stool and made her way to the front door.
Catalina lived alone, and though she was friends with her neighbors she knew none of them would come and visit so late in the evening. None of them except one. So, as she made her way past her front hall shrine to Goblina Mother Maria and reached for the lower handle to her front door, she had a good idea who it was. And unsurprisingly, it was Leon, standing on her front stoop soaking wet with his hair plastered around his face, looking miserable. He looked down at her and smiled sadly, eyes reddened with tears, and Catalina felt her heart lurch and found she could only hold out her hand and say, "Come in, dear."
Leon was a human, and on the tall side for one, so that made him gigantic compared to Catalina's more modest -- but perfectly respectable for a goblin -- three foot and a half. Practically twice her size, it was comical watching the sorrowful blonde man take her hand and stoop to enter her house, sniffling. He hung his coat up at the rack and followed her to the sitting room, where he sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. Catalina clambered up beside him and patted his side soothingly. "Is everything alright, dear?" she asked softly, knowing full well the answer.
"**Yes, **" Leon choked into his hands, shoulders shaking as he struggled to maintain some of his dignity and not burst into tears again in front of his friend. Catalina sighed and rubbed Leon's arm. "It doesn't sound fine, conejito," she murmured, sliding closer and looping his arm around her shoulder. "Tell Catalina what's wrong. Is it Rose?" Leon made a spluttering noise, confirming her suspicions. Catalina tutted and shook her head, reaching up to gently pat his chest. "Cariño, what has she done now? Are you two fighting again?"
"She's left me Catty!" Leon bawled, finally breaking down under his friend's soft touches and gentle insistence. Catalina pursed her lips. How... awful. Yes. "She- she wanted me to give up my art and- and—" he spluttered, trailing off. "And get a real job?" Catalina filled in softly, gently stroking Leon's chest. "Yes," he muttered miserably in response, slumping over. "She said it was stupid and wanted me to get a real job."
Leon of course, was an artist. And not a bad one as far as Catalina was concerned -- but painting was not exactly a lucrative career in most cases, and the sales of Leon's work hadn't exactly been stellar. But that was the life of an artist, she supposed, and sensitive as he was Catalina couldn't really imagine Leon doing anything else. "Shh shh shh, Cariño, it's OK. It's not your fault. She was bad for you, Leo. She never... it was always just a novelty to her." She took hold of one of Leon's hands and kissed it gently. "Ahh mi cielito, it was not meant to be. You love your painting. You are a... sensitive artist. A gentle boy like you was meant to be supported." Leon sniffled and wiped his eyes, staring at the floor glumly. "Sometimes I think you're the only one who believes in me, Catty," he said, looking devastated. Catalina squeezed his hand and smiled. "You're such a good friend..." he added. Her smile -- and one of her eyes -- twitched.
Life was about being patient, Catalina knew. A watched pot WOULD boil, whatever her mother said. But then again... you needed to add heat underneath the pot to get anything at all, didn't you? Her poor, poor *friend* Leon needed her help. Yes, help getting over Rose and all his anxieties and this despair that was interfering with his work. And she had very patiently soothed and supported and helped and waited on Leon for a long time. But now, it was time to add some heat to the pot. This was a job for her mother's spice rack.
Goblin maids were famed for a few things. Their beauty, of course -- far shorter than most but with generously curvy figures and naturally thin waists, bee stung lips and lustrous black hair, topping off flawless emerald green skin. They were also famous for their matriarchal culture, which put a premium on motherhood and feminine sovereignty, and gave them a reputation as vivacious and fiery lovers to some. But more than anything, Goblins were famous for their cooking. It was said warriors wielded a sword, poets wielded a pen, but a goblin wielded a skillet. Nothing was more dangerous than a goblin in front of a stove, they said. Well, the goblins said that anyway.
Catalina bit the inside of her cheek and patted poor sorrowful dense-as-a-neutron-star Leon's hand. "Cariño, the weather is bad and you're in such a state. Stay here with me, at least a little bit. I had the stove on and was just fixing supper." Leon's glum expression brightened a little, along with a brief flash of guilt in his eyes. He knew she would have been cooking, of course. It's why he came to her -- her food always made him feel better. Catalina saw through him of course but that was alright, his utter lack of guile was just one of the many things she found adorable about him. "Come come," she urged, hopping off of the couch and tugging on his arm, "We must get you warmed up, your soaking wet from the rain." As she led Leon out of the sitting room to the dining area that adjoined the kitchen, she shot a look at her statue of Goblina Mother Maria, beatific with her arms full of children, and muttered a quick prayer. One way or another, tonight was going to be her night.
Leon sat down at the dining table and cleaned himself up with a towel as Catalina went back to her soup, a nice pot of pozole, now bubbling merrily away. She pre-cooked most of her week-day meals and reheated them as she needed, but always made extra just in case she needed leftovers or to entertain a certain someone. This meant dinner was mostly already ready to go, it just needed to finish heating through. But tonight, she knew she had to sweeten the deal a bit. Because there were spices, and then there were **goblin** spices.
Opening one of her cabinets, she reached in and took out her ancestral spice rack. Carved from hard-wood and bone, its edges worn from use, this little cabinet had been passed down through her family mother to daughter for centuries. Goblins had learned a long time ago that there were certain flavors, certain seasonings that for them tasted good and interesting, but for other races there were... extra effects. Effects that helped the all-female Goblin race to integrate with species all over the world, adopting their cultures and cuisines as their own into the greater melting-pot of goblindom. This was the secret to Goblin cookery; this was the power of the most ultimate ingredient. Other races thought it was a joke, a myth, but Goblins knew more than anyone else -- the secret ingredient was love. Because that's what they called it.
'Love' was actually a spice blend made of several different kind of herbs, lichens, and dried peppers grown in caves. Its effects were as potent as they were self-descriptive. For goblins, it just tasted spicey, and gave a nice tingling mouthfeel. But for other races, the tingle went from their mouths to their brains, and overwhelmed them with feelings of affection and adoration. Or at the very least incredible horniness. But usually both. Catalina perused the unlabeled jars and shakers of her spice rack and picked out the container of 'love' which had sat unused but still potent in her mother's rack for decades. And then, taking a healthy palmful, she sprinkled it into her bubbling soup and gave it a good stir, before packing the spice rack away and going to prep the other accompaniments for the pozole. She simply must have some shredded lettuce, sliced avocado, and diced radish and onion to go with it after all.
As she worked, a warm delicious smell wafted through the house. Leon sighed contentedly, hair finally dry. He was, as Catalina had already noted, a tall man, with short blonde hair that came down to his ears, and baby blue eyes. He was clean shaven, and never seemed capable of growing anything more than stubble. Boyish, but handsome, perhaps a bit overly sensitive and emotional. And terrible luck with women, if it wasn't already apparent enough, except for Catalina. His good good 'friend' Catalina. Catalina sniffed to herself, drawing a confused look from Leon that she allayed with a smile. The night would see just how friendly friends could be after dinner.
