driftfleet | 3 AM we seemed alright, on our way into the mingle

[He looks up when Dany's footsteps catch his ears, the same bright smile on his face as ever. Hands wrist-deep in dough, he nods a response to the wave, then shakes his head.]

Not yet, I'm just making some noodles to put in a soup. Would you like some?

[He's pretty much always making something here, isn't he.]

[She takes a seat, continuing to watch him work.]

I would, if you're willing to share.

[Noodles sounded amazing, honestly.]

[He can't help but laugh a little at that.]

I don't think there's been a day when I've remembered I'm only making food for myself. I'm still not used to it, even after six months.

[It doesn't take long, the way he stretches and shapes the dough, splitting each one into its own string of malleable goodness. The pot he's been working in already teems with a strong scent, something hinting at spice but still remaining smooth.]

And you seem quite good at it too. Perhaps you might even be a better cook than the machines?

[She's teasing just a bit. He probably was a better cook, truthfully.]

What will you serve with the noodles? Perhaps I can help?

[Though queens and cooking... she only has calluses on her hands from horse riding. Cooking is still somewhat foreign to her when it comes to the appliances and things in the kitchen.]

[With a laugh, he stretches the last of the dough to its proper shape.]

Well, I have been working in a restaurant for some eight years or so. I may not have been a chef, but we all pitched in now and then, since it was all family.

[At her question, he seems happy to scoot over a bit, scraping a bit of dough from his hands.]

It's more or less ready. The broth is there, simmering with some vegetables and meat. If you'd like, you can take the onion and finish slicing it - have you sliced vegetables before?

[There's a warmth to his voice, talking about cooking, that isn't always there. Not that he's ever unfriendly, but there's more emotion to this; it's something he associates with the 'good' in his life.]

You worked serving food? Like a merchant?

[She watches the last bit of dough take shape, marveling at it. The texture looked soft but firm. They looked like quality noodles to her.]

Somewhat. Mostly what I meant to eat. Everything was cooked on a fire and most of my meals were prepared by cooks.

[And slaves, unfortunately. The Dothraki were never short on slaves. They collected them as tribute to their strength from villages they raided.]

Sort of. I was a waiter, sometimes a bartender - the two are similar, actually.

[He gestures for Dany to come closer, setting a handful of vegetables on the cutting board now that he's done with the noodles. Some approximation of carrots and celery, at least.]

Here. It's not hard to do, but you have to kind of be careful where your hands are. You hold the knife like this- [He shows her, with that gentle, unassuming nature of his, resting the handle loosely in his hand and holding it in place with his thumb and forefinger.] and your other hand goes on the vegetables like this- [His fingers curl until his knuckles jut out in front of them, fingertips resting a half-inch or so back on the pseudocarrot.] sort of like a cat's paw. This way, if you don't lift the whole knife up, the flat side just brushes your knuckles; you can't cut yourself.

[And then, of course, he shows her - rocking the back of the knife up and down, sliding his hands to position them for the next cut.]

[She watches the fluid way he works the knife, captivated that someone could be so skilled with a tool that could easily become a weapon. It was a skill she lacked.]

You're- you're so good at it. I can't hope to be so skilled.

[Seriously how does he avoid cutting himself??? Still, he's a good teacher which is why she tentatively holds her hand out to take the knife and the pseudocarrot so that she can try.]

[Blinking once, he looks up at Dany with an amused smile on his lips.]

I hope you don't think I woke up like this one day. I've been doing this for a long time - my nǎinai - my granny - and my mother taught me starting when I was little. I used to cut really slowly, until I sort of... learned how to feel where the knife was and the material under it was.

[Look, Dany, just go slow with it. YOU'LL BE FINE, PROMISE.]

They sound as if they are wonderful people. The only family I had growing up was my brother. My parents and our eldest brother, his wife, and his children all perished before I was born and my mother perished after giving giving me life.

[Dany does take it slow, cutting the food given to her to practice with with careful movements. She watches what she is doing, her hands moving carefully before she is finished her task.]

I do love my family. [There is a pretty big unspoken 'but' on that sentence, but he ignores it in favour of listening to Dany. The story, such that it is, draws an understanding frown from Qing.]

I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds as though your life was a tough one, but you've risen above it quite remarkably, I think. [He watches her practice, a smile on his face, only leaning in once.]

Here. If you grip a little more lightly and let your wrist swivel, it might help. [His fingers, small and warm, tap gently at her cutting-hand wrist and he leans back again.] It doesn't feel too unnatural, I hope.

It's lead me to some interesting places, I like to think. [She smiles to herself, trying to adjust her hold on the knife when he taps her wrist. She felt less tense this way and hopefully less awkward.]

No, not at all. Thank you. I'm afraid I'm a novice but it's nice to learn something new.

In some measure, I'm a little envious of that. Before here, I never really had anything terribly interesting going on. [Really, but what did she expect herself to be?]

Even masters at their craft tend to have started as novices, after all.

Sometimes, I wonder... though I'm sure everyone does. If things hadn't been the way they were, would I have met the people I did? Or would I even be here? [She laughs lightly, still concentrating on her work and moving on to another vegetable in need of chopping.]

I suppose that's a question for the philosophers. We can make food instead and leave them to it.

That's a natural thing, I agree. How we would change if things were different... it's kind of fun to think about, sometimes.

[And sometimes it makes them think about something they would rather be, but.]

Mm, agreed. Make them the food they need to sustain their philosophical thoughts. [A bright laugh, as he starts to put the chopped vegetables together in a bowl.]

3 AM we seemed alright, on our way into the mingle

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