ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

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📍 Camelot

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📍 Camelot

March, 505 AD

I frowned when the hotcake on the pan crumbled as soon as I tried to slip the spatula under it, realising that the food had gotten stuck. Then I pouted.

"Something tells me that was not supposed to happen," Merlin noted beside me.

"No crap, Watson," I mumbled in response and glared towards the hotcake mix box I'd bought at the H-E-B. I grabbed it and scanned the instructions at the back once more, "I don't get it, we did everything right... oh."

"What?" my best friend wondered.

I giggled, "We forgot to coat the pan with butter before putting it on."

"Oh!" Merlin exclaimed and he rushed to get some butter out of the pantry.

I chuckled and, in the meantime, I moved the failed hotcake onto a plate (we're not gonna waste food just 'cause it's not aesthetically pleasing, y'know?) and scraped off the stuck batter before stepping back to allow my friend to handle the buttering-up part. Then I poured on a new spoonful of batter and we exchanged a high-five and a small grin. It'll turn out good this time, for sure.

A minute later, I flipped it and smirked in triumph when everything kept going well.

Another minute went by and the hotcake was done. I moved it onto the plate and covered it while Merlin coated the pan again, and then I poured on the batter for another one.

"There's hope for us as cooks, after all," I noted while smiling up at my best friend.

"Yes, provided there is an illustrated instruction manual," he responded, giving me an amused look.

I nudged his side, "Rome wasn't built in a day, buddy."

Four successful hotcakes later, I started feeling confident and decided to attempt flipping the fifth one in the air like chefs do in the movies. It wouldn't have taken someone like Nostradamus to predict that this choice would be a mistake, for the hotcake was sent flying upwards and it got stuck to the ceiling.

"Oops," I said.

"You had to try to show off," Merlin quipped.

I was about to fire back, when the half-cooked hotcake fell and landed on my shoulder. I huffed in annoyance and looked up at my friend again, "Next time ya' wanna do something nice for Gaius – you're on your own, kid."

"Kid?" he echoed with a chuckle. "I am older than you!"

I waved him off and threw the soiled hotcake in the trash before moving to make another one. This time without crazy antics.

Ten minutes later, breakfast was served just in time for the physician to arrive from delivering an early morning baby. He seemed exhausted, though he had a big grin on his face. I suppose it must be rewarding to be in charge of helping new life come into this world... if you ignore the blood, and the agony that women go through, and how disgusting babies are...

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