five ○ voice / action

[mylegacy]

Who: Caesar & u
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: Marsiva, kitchens & gym!
When: Ostensibly 11/15, but really whenever

[His voice sounds muted, almost bored, but anybody who actually knows him might be a little worried at the lack of underlying irritation there. There's the clank of pots and pans in the background, also muted.]

Since we're stuck here for the foreseeable future - I understand that people are coping. [As people do. For what good it does.] I don't have the proper augment, but I know how to cook if anyone wants to learn. I don't have anything else to do. [Besides watch The Princess Bride on endless repeat.]

[. . . And then, almost as an afterthought:]

I can fight, too. If anyone wants that.

[Find him in the kitchens, or the gym on request. Close CR can assume a delivery of a comfort food of their choice.]

Comments

[sinuosity]

[ Something small cracks in her expression, and she nods at him. ]

« I grieve with you.​ ​»

[ Friends are hard to lose. She wouldn't know, she never really had one. She just lost her everything. That's not half as bad. ]

[mylegacy]

[He nods in return, and brushes it away along with a patch of flour on his sleeve.]

« The one who killed him is also the man who killed my father. And he's dead now, too. ​»

[For a few moments he kneads, and then realizes his error.]

« Not by my hand. I wasn't able to do that. But it was done. ​»

[sinuosity]

[ Her eyes narrow. ]

« A shame. Justice was yours to deliver.​ ​»

[mylegacy]

« It wasn't taken from me. I tried and failed. ​»

[Is it worse or better, saying that in his father's language? He can't decide. Even his last words were English. It's like slipping into a scalding bath, and then breathing it in.]

[In his indecision, he punches the dough a little harder than necessary.]

[sinuosity]

[ There are balms, and then there's Nyssa, who cuts it out and doesn't know where the panacea goes. She comes over to stand next to him. So, this is what he regrets; this is the cause of the ruin and why the stone cross won't lift. Is it? ]

« He killed you, didn't he?​ ​»

[mylegacy]

[It's fine; he doesn't do very well with kindness anyway. Not subtle kindness, for certain. Blunt edges and sharp words do nicely.]

[He looks up at her from the dough. It's almost shy, but not quite.]

« He killed me. And then I was here. ​»

[The soft huff of a laugh as he looks down again.]

« Sorry. I'm not good at small talk. ​»

[sinuosity]

[ She is all sharp edges, but Nyssa's expression in turn is almost soft, and not quite. Softness is something held, and oxidised, not unlike blood under fingernails. ]

« I'm condemned to death. And then I was here. Small talk is overrated. ​»

[mylegacy]

[Condemned to death. Maybe sometimes he felt that way, even if he didn't let himself think about it so explicitly. Slowly, his arms begin to move again, slowly kneading.]

« He killed my father. Ate him, actually. And then Mark. And then . . . I went to get revenge, and we fought, in the place you saw. And I thought I'd won, but I hadn't. He was a better fighter than me. And I had a choice between a slim chance to save myself, or a sure bet on saving my friend. So I took the sure bet. ​»

[sinuosity]

[ She is silent, for a moment. ]

« I know someone who'd say you made the right choice. I'm not so sure. I desire justice above all else. ​»

[ And she's never had friends. ]

[mylegacy]

[That makes him smile.]

« It wasn't completely selfless. I knew that he would get justice for me. I knew he would do that. So it was a little self-serving. ​»

[But not completely.]

[sinuosity]

[ She smiles, small, and sincere. Not a mirror of his — something of her own. ]

« I'll be sure to remind you should sainthood be up for discussion. ​»

[mylegacy]

« Ugh.​ ​»

[He laughs, very quiet.]

« I'd make an awful saint anyway. Not ascetic enough. ​»

[Way too much wine, women, and song.]

[sinuosity]

[ It's a good sound. Unexpectedly warm. She hands him the box of pistachio walnut. ]

« You're right. These are sinful. ​»

[mylegacy]

[The look of surprise he gives her makes it pretty clear that he didn't actually try them before sending them to her. He dusts off his hands on a cloth and takes the box from her, pops one in his mouth. He's - surprised again. Pleased. Chews, swallows, very polite.]

« I did all right. ​»

[sinuosity]

[ Scandal!! A cook must always eat their own food first. She closes the box — more than enough sweets for now — and peers over the dough. ]

« What do you like making? ​»

[mylegacy]

« Oh. ​»

[He brightens immediately, looking down at his hands; he remembers his family, the five of them in their tiny home, him and his sisters in the kitchen before the younger one got distracted and fluttered away elsewhere, leaving him and the elder elbows-deep in something-or-other.]

« Simple things. Filling things. Bread and pasta, soups and stews. ​»

[Cheap ingredients, things that keep, meals that please picky palates and soothe hungry stomachs.]

[sinuosity]

[ Simple things, for steady hands. He'd be a terrible assassin and a loyal friend. ]

« I'd like pasta, please. Fusilli. If not, the little ones that look like elbows. ​»

[mylegacy]

[Macaroni would be easier. But easier isn't always better. He tips his head to one side at her.]

« Fusilli, then. And several more boxes of baklava. ​»

[sinuosity]

[ She giggles — or, more accurately, it's a sound closest to a giggle. ]

« What'll I do with it? Even I can't eat that much! ​»

[ please don't expect her to share this delicious meal ]

[mylegacy]

« Baklava doesn't go bad that fast. Just make sure you eat a little each day. That won't be hard, will it? ​»

[He is pretty sure she can manage it.]

« Or you could share, if you wanted. That's up to you. ​»

[sinuosity]

« They will have to line up to fight me for it. ​»

[ He gave it to her; that means it's all hers to eat. ]

[mylegacy]

[That's . . . actually kind of sweet.]

« I'm glad you like it that much, then. ​»

[sinuosity]

« What do I owe you? ​»

[mylegacy]

« Owe me? ​»

[He looks surprised. Really surprised. What?]

[sinuosity]

[ Simply, ]

« Nothing is free. »