She hums a tune as she chops the onion, something popular in Baldurian taverns. The cuts are rough and uneven in shape and size, but the onion is undeniably in multiple pieces. Technically a success.
The fumes sting her sinuses, so she's red-eyed and sniffly when she brings the cutting board over. If anyone asks, she will be saying that Gale's tour brought her to tears.
"Not bad," Gale agrees as he scoops the onions into the pan, where they start to sizzle. "But it will be easier if you hold the knife properly." Without asking permission, he puts his hand over hers, adjusting her grip. He also shows her how to curl the fingers of her off hand under so that she can grasp what she's cutting without risking her fingertips. He gives her peppers to chop next, standing beside her to finely chop garlic.
Something about him reaching across her and touching her hands makes her posture automatically switch to flirt mode. She stands up straighter and squeezes her arms against the sides of her ribcage, which makes her breasts plump together under her stays. She inclines her head just so to let her perfumed hair slip off her shoulder and expose the pale length of her throat. Her eyelids lower so she can peer through her lashes.
It's a cheap trick, but one that works often enough that it's become a habit.
The heat creeping up the back of her neck is entirely involuntary, however.
"So how were you selected for the grand high honor of being my guide?"
Instead, he frowns down at her hands, shaking his head.
"I know it feels awkward at first, but if you don't curve your fingers
under, you'll eventually slice the tips off. Like this." He shows her again
the way he holds the little garlic clove as he slices it.
Her question makes him frown, obviously annoyed by something, but he seems
to realize this might be offensive, so he fixes his face before continuing,
"The headmaster said that... It would be good for me, to meet new people."
He actually said it would be good for Gale to practice socializing with his
peers, but that's too embarrassing to admit.
Well, that takes the wind out of her sails. She stops trying to push her tits up to the heavens and focuses on curling her fingers out of the way as she chops peppers.
"Aha! I'm punishment." She tries to say it with light humor but there's an undercurrent of bitterness. She knew it.
"If you were intended to be punishment, then they chose poorly. If they wanted to punish me, they'd have made me spend time with Vandemaar," Gale replies evenly. The garlic and the peppers go into the skillet, and it already smells wonderful, Gale starts measuring in spices with little spoons, which ramps the smell up, but also stings their eyes a little. One way or another, he's going to keep making her cry. "Besides, what would I possibly need to be punished for?" Well, there's plenty of trouble he gets into, but he's the top student, so he gets away with most of it.
"Who is Vandemaar?" She sensed the glimmering thread of gossip and can't resist tugging those strings.
She also, after such a successful turn as sous chef, nicks her finger while rinsing the knife. She hisses a little foul language and sucks on her knuckle.
Gale frowns, adding tomatoes to the pan with the previous ingredients.
While he talks, he slices bread and starts it toasting. "Someone who
doesn't focus nearly as much on his studies as he should. At this rate,
he'll never finish his education. He'll be here his entire life. Yet he's
all the more popular for it, which is entirely—" She curses, and he turns
to rush over, demanding, "Let me see. How bad is it?"
It seems to Harley that Vandemaar is probably more fun at parties than Gale, and that Gale might think a party should involve at least two hours of diligent note taking. That train of thought might have contributed to her distraction.
She startles at Gale suddenly getting bossy at her and hides her hand behind her back.
Gale frowns at that. As a rule, teenage boys don't like being called
mother. "A wizard ought to be more careful with his or her hands." He takes
out an embroidered handkerchief and presses it to her fingers, then starts
looking through a cabinet. "Hold that. There should be a potion or two for
kitchen accidents."
She scoffs and wraps her finger in a fold of skirt.
"Well I'm not a wizard yet, so I can mistreat my hands as much as I like. Stop that, it will be good as healed by morning. This isn't worth wasting an entire potion."
"Oh, hush, it's your dinner burnt too!" Gale complains. He tosses the burnt
bread aside with a frown, fingertips still throbbing, then cracks a few
eggs into the sauce, letting them cook unmixed in the sauce. He holds his
injured hand close to his chest, protective, while he rifles through
cabinets with the off-hand until he pulls out a glass bottle. It's nothing
fancy, but the contents are a familiar red, and there are at least a dozen
more behind it. He uncorks it with his teeth and downs half of it, setting
the other half on the counter. "Since you don't want to waste, we can split
it. It should still be sufficient." He tosses two more slices of bread on
to toast. He's definitely not pouting about being mocked.
"An entire half bottle for a pain that could have been kissed better! Absurd."
But. Since it's already opened. She holds her over the basin and carefully tips the bottle for one drop to land on her cut. It doesn't fully heal but it looks at least a few hours old, and won't get infected. He had to go and uncork it with his mouth like a savage, so she has to cut the cork down past his bite marks before stopping it back up.
"No wonder this is such an expensive vocation, if all of wizardry is so wasteful with their goods."
The bottle is slipped into her pocket. She can get several uses out of that, yet.
"A kiss isn't going to do anything for an injury," he says
matter-of-factly. He watches her pour just a drop onto her cut fingers and
rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything smartass about it. He has noticed
that her clothes are hardly new, and he isn't so inconsiderate as to have
no idea what that might mean about the life she's led, even if it took him
a while to think about it.
"You have no idea. The paper and ink alone costs a small fortune,"
he says, trying to joke about it, to smooth things over, but it just comes
out a little dry and awkward.
Gale clears his throat and turns back to the food. He had been hoping to
impress with his cooking, but now he's just looking forward to the fact
that eating will relieve him from the expectation to talk. He dishes
shakshuka into two bowls, tops each with crumbled feta and parsley, and
tucks toast into the side of each bowl, one burnt and one under-toasted
piece each. He pours them each a cup of water, then hands her her own cup
and bowl. "This way," he says, nodding for her to follow him into the
dining hall.
"Then perhaps you have not been kissing right," she answers just as matter-of-fact. She punctuates with an imperious toss of her hair, which is an unfair advantage and difficult to argue with.
Her faces turns with worry when thinking about the cost of even the most basic tools, and she's so deep in running the numbers that she almost misses being handed dinner.
She takes the cup and bowl and follows him, looking around with as much interest as she had for the proper tour.
"How did you know?" she asks abruptly. "That you wanted to be a wizard."
"Perhaps I haven't," he replies. He has kissed people before, of course, but it's hardly a priority of his. His education and his future are far more important.
The dining hall is as magical as the rest of Blackstaff, with arcane lights taking the place of lamps or candles. It's big enough to seat the entire student body for meals, which makes it feel cavernous when it's just the two of them. Gale sets his plate down at a table, then holds her chair out for her before taking his own seat.
"Oh. Hmm," he says, tipping his head like this isn't something he's ever been asked before. "I was exceptionally talented with the Weave from a young age. I suppose it was a foregone conclusion."
Harley doesn't expect him to pull her chair out for her and stands there confused at why he would set his plate in one place and then choose to sit in another. Oh, he's -- she's only read about that. She gives him a curious look as she sits.
"I don't think I've ever been exceptionally anything."
She cranes her neck to look around the massive, echoing dining hall. The giant room, the weight of history and expectation, the exhaustion of a ten day on the road. Suddenly it all makes her feel so, so small. She swallows with a click in her throat and tries to rally with a smile.
"I find that hard to believe," Gale replies, and it doesn't sound like he's
trying to be kind. He says it matter-of-factly. Harley seems like such a
force of nature, the type of bold personality he has always aspired to
through mimicry. How could she not be exceptional?
"You're welcome. I, ah- sorry it's burnt. I've been trying to improve my
cooking, not that you could tell it today."
She tips her head and scrutinizes him, trying to figure out if he's flirting with her or making fun of her. It doesn’t seem like either. She ... doesn't know what to do with that neutral middle ground.
"I've been on the road for days. Anything other than hardtack and dried meat is the height of luxury."
She takes a bite of her first cooked meal in days and immediately melts into bliss.
"Oh fuck me," she moans in a way that echoes lewdly in the empty hall. She startles and giggles self-consciously behind her hand.
He raises his eyebrows, startled by this declaration, and immediately
started turning red.
"Ah, well, um..." He tries, stammers, fails. Gale takes a moment to remove
himself that it's merely a colorful turn of phrase. "I, uh, an glad to be
of service, then. If you think that's something, though, you should try my
mother's cooking. I'm trying to learn, though."
If he had made dessert too then it would have been an invitation and not just a turn of phrase. But he didn't, so their budding romance meets an early demise, and Harley has a new love already.
"Then I think I would like to marry your mother. I'll be a good father to you, and love you as my own."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The fumes sting her sinuses, so she's red-eyed and sniffly when she brings the cutting board over. If anyone asks, she will be saying that Gale's tour brought her to tears.
"Still got ten fingers. Not bad."
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Something about him reaching across her and touching her hands makes her posture automatically switch to flirt mode. She stands up straighter and squeezes her arms against the sides of her ribcage, which makes her breasts plump together under her stays. She inclines her head just so to let her perfumed hair slip off her shoulder and expose the pale length of her throat. Her eyelids lower so she can peer through her lashes.
It's a cheap trick, but one that works often enough that it's become a habit.
The heat creeping up the back of her neck is entirely involuntary, however.
"So how were you selected for the grand high honor of being my guide?"
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Gale doesn't notice the change in posture.
Instead, he frowns down at her hands, shaking his head.
"I know it feels awkward at first, but if you don't curve your fingers under, you'll eventually slice the tips off. Like this." He shows her again the way he holds the little garlic clove as he slices it.
Her question makes him frown, obviously annoyed by something, but he seems to realize this might be offensive, so he fixes his face before continuing, "The headmaster said that... It would be good for me, to meet new people." He actually said it would be good for Gale to practice socializing with his peers, but that's too embarrassing to admit.
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"Aha! I'm punishment." She tries to say it with light humor but there's an undercurrent of bitterness. She knew it.
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She also, after such a successful turn as sous chef, nicks her finger while rinsing the knife. She hisses a little foul language and sucks on her knuckle.
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Gale frowns, adding tomatoes to the pan with the previous ingredients. While he talks, he slices bread and starts it toasting. "Someone who doesn't focus nearly as much on his studies as he should. At this rate, he'll never finish his education. He'll be here his entire life. Yet he's all the more popular for it, which is entirely—" She curses, and he turns to rush over, demanding, "Let me see. How bad is it?"
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She startles at Gale suddenly getting bossy at her and hides her hand behind her back.
"It's fine!"
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"Why are you hiding?" He asks, holding out his hand expectantly, now convinced that it most be really bad. "Let me see."
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"It's nothing, mother Gale."
The cut is shallow but fingers do be bleeding.
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Gale frowns at that. As a rule, teenage boys don't like being called mother. "A wizard ought to be more careful with his or her hands." He takes out an embroidered handkerchief and presses it to her fingers, then starts looking through a cabinet. "Hold that. There should be a potion or two for kitchen accidents."
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"Well I'm not a wizard yet, so I can mistreat my hands as much as I like. Stop that, it will be good as healed by morning. This isn't worth wasting an entire potion."
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Gale frowns in consternation. "There are no shortage of potions in Blackstaff, no students assigned to replenish them even if there were."
He fundamentally does not understand her reluctance. Even outside of school, while not wealthy, he has never wanted for much.
"I don't—"
He smells burning bread and remembers the task at hand as he whirls to get the charred toast, cursing and burning his fingertips.
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Vicioustepid mockery, first level.no subject
"Oh, hush, it's your dinner burnt too!" Gale complains. He tosses the burnt bread aside with a frown, fingertips still throbbing, then cracks a few eggs into the sauce, letting them cook unmixed in the sauce. He holds his injured hand close to his chest, protective, while he rifles through cabinets with the off-hand until he pulls out a glass bottle. It's nothing fancy, but the contents are a familiar red, and there are at least a dozen more behind it. He uncorks it with his teeth and downs half of it, setting the other half on the counter. "Since you don't want to waste, we can split it. It should still be sufficient." He tosses two more slices of bread on to toast. He's definitely not pouting about being mocked.
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But. Since it's already opened. She holds her over the basin and carefully tips the bottle for one drop to land on her cut. It doesn't fully heal but it looks at least a few hours old, and won't get infected. He had to go and uncork it with his mouth like a savage, so she has to cut the cork down past his bite marks before stopping it back up.
"No wonder this is such an expensive vocation, if all of wizardry is so wasteful with their goods."
The bottle is slipped into her pocket. She can get several uses out of that, yet.
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"A kiss isn't going to do anything for an injury," he says matter-of-factly. He watches her pour just a drop onto her cut fingers and rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything smartass about it. He has noticed that her clothes are hardly new, and he isn't so inconsiderate as to have no idea what that might mean about the life she's led, even if it took him a while to think about it.
"You have no idea. The paper and ink alone costs a small fortune," he says, trying to joke about it, to smooth things over, but it just comes out a little dry and awkward.
Gale clears his throat and turns back to the food. He had been hoping to impress with his cooking, but now he's just looking forward to the fact that eating will relieve him from the expectation to talk. He dishes shakshuka into two bowls, tops each with crumbled feta and parsley, and tucks toast into the side of each bowl, one burnt and one under-toasted piece each. He pours them each a cup of water, then hands her her own cup and bowl. "This way," he says, nodding for her to follow him into the dining hall.
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Her faces turns with worry when thinking about the cost of even the most basic tools, and she's so deep in running the numbers that she almost misses being handed dinner.
She takes the cup and bowl and follows him, looking around with as much interest as she had for the proper tour.
"How did you know?" she asks abruptly. "That you wanted to be a wizard."
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The dining hall is as magical as the rest of Blackstaff, with arcane lights taking the place of lamps or candles. It's big enough to seat the entire student body for meals, which makes it feel cavernous when it's just the two of them. Gale sets his plate down at a table, then holds her chair out for her before taking his own seat.
"Oh. Hmm," he says, tipping his head like this isn't something he's ever been asked before. "I was exceptionally talented with the Weave from a young age. I suppose it was a foregone conclusion."
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"I don't think I've ever been exceptionally anything."
She cranes her neck to look around the massive, echoing dining hall. The giant room, the weight of history and expectation, the exhaustion of a ten day on the road. Suddenly it all makes her feel so, so small. She swallows with a click in her throat and tries to rally with a smile.
"Thank you for dinner."
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"I find that hard to believe," Gale replies, and it doesn't sound like he's trying to be kind. He says it matter-of-factly. Harley seems like such a force of nature, the type of bold personality he has always aspired to through mimicry. How could she not be exceptional?
"You're welcome. I, ah- sorry it's burnt. I've been trying to improve my cooking, not that you could tell it today."
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"I've been on the road for days. Anything other than hardtack and dried meat is the height of luxury."
She takes a bite of her first cooked meal in days and immediately melts into bliss.
"Oh fuck me," she moans in a way that echoes lewdly in the empty hall. She startles and giggles self-consciously behind her hand.
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He raises his eyebrows, startled by this declaration, and immediately started turning red.
"Ah, well, um..." He tries, stammers, fails. Gale takes a moment to remove himself that it's merely a colorful turn of phrase. "I, uh, an glad to be of service, then. If you think that's something, though, you should try my mother's cooking. I'm trying to learn, though."
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"Then I think I would like to marry your mother. I'll be a good father to you, and love you as my own."
Call her daddy.
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