Pff, could've fooled me. What with you fussing over him nonstop, I figured he'd be the same.

[And once the stuff is at the stove, Lance picks out a chef's knife from the drawer. There's a missed beat as he stares at the utensil -- back at camp, he'd often wondered if one of these things would end up being found in someone's head on a Friday. He shudders, pushing the thought out of mind and hands the knife, handle first, to Boa.[

Okay, start peeling the plantains and then chop 'em up into slices. If you can handle those, you can start on the onions afterwards. I'll get the chicken cleaned.

[He nabs the package of chicken breasts and heads back over to the sink to wash his own hands.]