"Course!" he said, too glad to help. Listened on, all eager and nod. "I'll do my best," he assured. Though, one persons mistake was oft another's solution. And another's solution could quick turn to another's mistake!

Yet, with Lou, things just, well, fell into place, more often than not.

So as she furrowed her brow, and went over details, he just watched, all keen eyed and interested. "That's cuz you are always ahead of the trend, Lou," he said, simple as breathing. "And you know, the classics are the classics! Though, suppose there's nothing wrong with pushing yourself out of the comfort zone once in a while," he hummed. Cocked a brow, "Ok, yeah! With a material like twill, I'm sure there are a lot of places a pattern might get a bit lost, or turned around,"

Wasn't exactly sure when his feet had started moving. Or how the whole world seemed to sort of, blur away while they talked. Like he could get lost in the conversation for hours, and it would only feel like minutes. Chest all fuzzy, cheeks pleasantly ached.

Like they hadn't been apart at all.

Then she said it.

"You missed me?" his voice suddenly dry as an autumn leaf. The cool breeze of Soupe de Chiens stopping him in his tracks. Cleared his throat as he looked around. Slowed his steps. "I, I missed you too, Lou," he said through a smile like cooking coals, just starting to catch light. "I really missed talking with you," inched closer, in that way of curling chords, and curling spines. Body like a hand that bent to cup a flame. All the words crackling behind his tongue. In his mind. A swirl of colors he couldn't quite pick. "and-" he sniffed the air. Eyes wide as a cat who caught scent of pray. "The cream," his eyes scanned the buildings. Saw a gold cat, sipping from a saucer swaying in the wind. Letters in a full bodied dark chocolate hue read. Crème pour le Chat. "Oh!" he called out, pointed at it. "There it is!"

Looked at Lou, all smiles again, pulled her along. "Come on!" hurried on up the way. Through the door with the ring of a silver bell. The sweet grassy smell of fresh fat filled the air.

"Welcome!" came a warm voice from across the room.
 
Warmth expanded in her chest, heart beating fast, discordant cadence affecting all of her. It felt good to know he had missed her, too. It was nicer yet to know that what he missed the most was their conversations, something Lou had missed as well. As he pulled her towards the laitmonger, Lou considered how it felt when she spoke to Roki compared to how she spoke to Ulrika.

Ulrika was her roommate and her best friend, but not because they shared a room. It was easy to share things with Ulrika; her forthright honesty had been daunting at first, but Lou soon found that she preferred it compared to only playing nice. Ulrika was outspoken but humble enough to admit when she was wrong. She never let an argument between them fester, often finding the silence unbearable and choosing to apologize instead.

Roki was different and brought forth different feelings. The trust Lou felt with Ulrika was similar to the trust she felt with Roki. But there were things she doubted she could ever tell Roki, like her outings with Ketyl. She wasn't sure if she'd ever want him to know about it. She cleared her throat as they stepped into the store, the ringing bell pulling her out of her thoughts. At the very least, she could hold on to the simple fact that they had missed each other. It felt good knowing that such a feeling could be mutual.

Crème pour le Chat was quaint and cozy. The inside was all warm maple and earthy reds. Wooden figurines of cows filled the shelves across from the counter where an older woman stood. Lou smiled at her, a little shy. The woman wasn't tall, nor was she short; all of her features were more stout and round. She had warm brown eyes, the color of the best part of bread: the crust. Her round lips formed a broad smile, revealing teeth as white as milk. Her brown curly hair looked short, tied up in a messy bun above her head, but Lou bet that when water straightened it out, her hair clung to the middle of her back.

A potted plant of sea lilies yet to bloom was next to her elbow, which rested on the painted red counter. An older man, back bent from age, hobbled over to the counter, putting up another potted plant near the woman. She sighed, picking it up and putting it out of her way.

"Papa, not now. We can redecorate later, after I finish helping these customers." She said with a raised voice, though without any hint of anger. The old man turned towards Roki and Lou, blinking as if he hadn't realized they had entered despite the ringing bell announcing their arrival.

"Oh!" he shouted. His daughter winced only a little, used to her father's shouting. "Welcome! We have the happiest cows in all of Soupe de Chiens. No cows are fatter and happier than ours." He nodded his head vigorously, as if he had just sold himself on the brag. "They are also the friendliest and best-behaved cows I've ever seen."

"Papa...." His daughter sighed.
 
Roki grinned, eyes squinted with his smile. A hand raised and fingertips twinkling. "Hey hey," stepped in to the center of the shop. Eyes on a swivel. Listened to the pitch. Nod along. Stopped in his tracks. "Wait, you... have cows?" he looked to Lou. "I didn't see any cows," he whispered to her. Eyed the wooden carvings there across the counter where the woman stood. Looked at the happy old man, proud of his cows.

Roki blinked. Looked back to the wooden cows. Pointed at them with a long finger.

"You mean those?" the question fell out of his mouth, flat on the ear.
 
Lou quietly followed after Roki, shoulders raised to her pink ears as she hunched over, hands trying to find anything to do. They ended up only rubbing thumbs over fingers, pressing hard over round knuckles. She looked over at the woman, saw her face drop as Roki pointed at the shelf behind the man. The old man turned, eyes wide and gray, fluffy brows raised high on his forehead.

"Oh," the man's voice was still loud. For a long moment, he stared at the shelf, hobbling over to it, reaching out to the bottom shelf to pick up two wooden figurines. One cow was standing, the other lying down. There was much work put into etching out their patterns with the sharp tip of a knife. "The Canker Tide took them. My Bella, my Marguerite, my two best girls. They got sick off the air, the damned winds, made their beautiful pink udders full of sores and pus." There was a tear in the corner of his eye. "Got all the other ladies sick with 'em."

Mrrrrroooowww.

A large, fat cat with a pelt reminiscent of brown and white cowhide, with big, round golden eyes, made his presence known. He meowed again, and the ugly sound was long and of one pitch, but he still sounded like a hairball was stuck in his throat. His white, fluffy belly hung low, making his legs look extra short. He struggled to jump onto a stool and struggled even more to scrabble up onto the counter, bumping his big, round head into the woman's biceps.

"Papa, you got Montbéliarde." The daughter reminded him, easily hefting up the fat cat with one arm. His legs looked even skinnier, his gold eyes even rounder. She walked around the counter, Montbéliarde half on her hip and looking like he wanted his feet on the ground. "Lil Monsieur Montbéliarde, the happiest of cats."

"Because he's the fattest. He loves his butter and cream, just like me." The old man agreed, reaching out to take the cat from his daughter. He held him close to his chest, shushing the quiet Montbéliarde as he rested his head against the man's bony shoulders. One wrinkly hand, with skin as thin as paper and veins as thick as oat roots and as blue as the sea below Soupe de Chiens, lavished the cat with long strokes down his rounded back. The shopkeeper kissed the cat on its pink nose and took a whiff of its fur on the top of its head. "He's quite friendly, very well behaved." The shopkeeper held out the cat to Lou. "Hold him, smell his fur. He smells of butter."

Lou thought about refusing; the blank look of the cat was a little unsettling, just staring at her without even a blink or a twitch of his white whiskers. But the old man was right, the cat was quite friendly when she reached out to hold him in her arms. His enormous feet rested on one forearm, his front paws neatly placed on her shoulder. Lou looked towards Roki, all big smiles and sparkling eyes.

"How he purrs," Lou whispered. "Roki, can you hear it? It's so loud!" Indeed, it was, deep and loud and rumbly. The cat was clearly loved, but better yet, it had only ever known the selfless hands of an old man. Lou could feel the love, even if the cat got unfettered access to cream and butter. The woman had her hands on her hips, smiling down at Lou before her warm eyes went to Roki.

"That's better. So how can I help you? Surely you two aren't here to hear an old man lament about the past."
 
The Canker Tide. Sounded like something from their history lectures. The title of a chapter scrawled across one of the manuscripts hidden away in the Stacks.

Had his lips tug down at both ends as he watched the way the old man held his beautiful figurines. Bella and Marguerite. Sickened by the air itself.

Took the whole herd. "Oh, I'm-" tongue tied. "That sounds horrible," he bowed his head, almost a little prayer for the lost cows.

Then came the cat. And what a cat! Large and bright, and proud for all the world to see him. And Roki saw him alright. Heard him even more as he snuffled and stalked lousy with the clicks and clacks of his nails. Up, and, almost up, then up! The big beautiful cat went.

Roki couldn't help but smile. Fingers grabbing grabby at the air as his face seemed to melt into a smile all warm butter.

"Lil Monsieur," he whispered in utter stupefied delight.

Heard how he dotted on his feline friend. For what else could you call someone who you gave all the butter and cream you could to, but a friend? A lover? Well... Certainly not in the Lil Monsieur's case.

"Hold him, smell his fur He smells of butter."

"What?" Roki said, all hushed excitement. Watched Lou drape the big fluffy cat across her shoulder. Beaming. Brighter still for all the soft light through the windowpanes. Felt his own smile grow the wider. Felt his cheeks ache. Huffed a laugh. I can feel em!" he said as he ran a hand over th big cat. "The big purrs rumbling through the air. All call to come hither." Srunched his face up, like he had caught a prize between his snaggle tusks.
"Learn what true luxury, true comfort, true love feels like," a plaful purr of his own in how he hushed, knuckle careful to nuzzle, just the right spot behind the big cat's ear. "For no cat, can purr as loud as the Lil Monsieur," he looked to Lou, as serious as one can when ending a story, calm to the last line. "Montbéliarde." a dumb little smile on his face. Only inchest between them. And a Giant lump of fluff. Rumbling warm and happy. Wholey unbothered by any worry the world could bring. Let alone the two of them.

...So how can I help you? Surely...

Roki's eyes pulled to the woman. Blushing, as if he had been caught doing something. "Oh, well, we, I mean I just so happened to be in need of some fresh cream! Butter too, really, and I was, well, hoping to try some!" he grinned with a nervous little laugh and a scratch at the back of his head. Eased some. Cleared his throat. Looked to the older man, more serious. "But, I, I also wouldn't mind hearing more stories, I mean," looked back to the woman. "Name's Roki, Ma'am! A squire of Anathaeum, and this here's my friend, Lou," he nod nod. Introductions were always important. "We, well, we'd love to learn more about your shop, and, well, your stories."

Stories were important. Took them with you. Shared them. Helped others learn from them. And let them know the important things about life. Like Bella and Marguerite. Like the Lil Monsieur. Like the Canker Tide, and how the wind had brought it.

"If you'd have us, of course," he added. Suddenly shy.
 
Roki's voice easily cut through Montbéliarde's rumbling purrs like a sharp, shiny steel knife through softened butter. Lou tilted her head away, letting his hand scratch the cat with no need to worry about touching the side of her face. The smile tugging on her lips continued to grow, his words nurturing her captivation of his story. But the more Roki continued with his story, the more Lou's head would start to turn his way until their eyes would meet again, like all the times before. She looked at his tusks, watching the way his lips formed words, seeing how his brows rose or lowered as the cadence changed with the rise and fall of his breath. For a long time, Lou only saw Roki, forgetting about the father and daughter—only her and Roki existing in a shapeless space. Even the purrs faded away into silence. The moment was cut short.

"A pleasure, Roki and Lou. Welcome to Crème pour le Chat. I am Raclette. This is my father, Roquefort. And you've already met the most important man in this establishment." She said with a charmingly crooked grin as she gestured to the cat still purring in Lou's arms. The warm face of Raclette eased Lou, or maybe a cat's purr truly had a healing touch for little worries inside her head.

"Where do you get the milk if all the cows are gone?" Lou asked a bold question that didn't suit her soft voice.

"My brother. He has a farm outside Soup de Chiens, away from the sea. Comes by once a week." There was a shrug of indifference that didn't match the brown eyes that looked towards her father, who gazed at his shelves of wooden figurines. "Sometimes the tides bring things that never belonged on land in the first place. It's best to keep the livestock away." Lou nodded her head, glancing at Roki. "Anyhow, still a family business, as you can see. Cream is fresh, and I make some of the best butter you can have in Altalusia."

"We have lots of butter to try," Roquefort said with a grin, teeth showing easily through his well-maintained beard. "Raclette, bring them to the counter, get the stools. I will choose my favorites!" He quickly shuffled down the shelves, looking through paper-packaged goods and glass bottles. Lou watched him suddenly become limber, bending low, standing on his toes, eyes alert as if he were searching for gold. Montbéliarde lifted his head, claws coming out as he started stretching himself over Lou's shoulder. She knelt, careful to set him down. His tail was raised high as he trotted after Roquefort. Looking back at Raclette, she realized that if the business was still open, then it was because of her.

"There's a fee to try." She said. "But worth it. Papa will pick six of his favorites, and it comes with bread. Two coppers for both of you. Quite a steal, really. Bread is fresh."

"Oh, it's alright," Lou said, feeling heat back in her cheeks. "I don't eat butter."

"You're glad Papa is nearly deaf in his old age. If he had heard you..." Raclette looked down the shelves, watching her father stack a third stick of butter in the crook of his arm.
 
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"Raclette and Roquefort," Roki repeated. "What lovely names!" he said excitedly.

Lou, of course, asked the real question. And Roki made a sound and nod along.

"I was wondering that too," he chimed.

Come the tale, and it was more straightforward than he had imagined. His mind filled with winged aurochs coming down from pastures in the sunlit sky. Instead, he saw rolling hills and pastures. Far away from shambling horrors rising out of the sea.

Sent an odd shiver down his spine.

But Raclette’s confidence helped do away with the melancholy and fear that gnawed at the edges. And Mr. Roquefort’s singleminded enthusiasm seemed… all too familiar. Had his grin spread all wide and eager.

Roki dug into his robe and fished out two coppers. “More butter for me!” he exclaimed and slapped the coins down with a little thump. Looked at Lou, too happy. “Sides, you can have some of the bread?” face pulled to a surprised o. Brows raised, and ears wobbled with a thought. His eyes flit from Lou, to the Madame of Crème pour le Chat. “Miss Raclette, does your bread make use of any animal products?” he asked. Polite, but with a pointed curiosity.
 
Raclette went to gather the stools, easily carrying two at one time and putting them down before the red counter with potted plants on top. She was quick to finish her father's decorating by taking the potted creeping thistle and Altalusian kalanchoe and setting them to the side. She was even quicker to take the coins from Roki, pocketing them into her apron before Lou could object and argue that Roki didn't need to pay for her, that there was no need to pay so much.

Lou's cheeks were pink, then soon turned red like roses. She looked away from Raclette as Roki asked a question that was solely for her sake, not for his. It was like when Ulrika spoke up for her, telling a barista that they had gotten Lou's order wrong and used cow's milk instead of soy milk.

"Bread is just flour and water. What else is there to put in bread? Wait, hold on. Is that why you don't eat butter?" Raclette asked Lou, canting her head to the side like a curious bird. Her gaze wasn't scrutinizing like Ketyl's had been; instead, it felt like a door had opened, rather than being slammed shut.

"I... My...." Lou fumbled over the words when her answer only needed to be a simple 'yes' or 'no.' The need to explain herself was great, remaining heavy in her chest even as she nodded her head. "I don't eat anything from living creatures. It's part of my culture."

"Huh," Raclette said, making a face that was very much indicative of what she was thinking. A little curious, a little unsure, but mostly considerate. "I got a little something for you then. Sit down, sit down." With a hand, she waved the two squires over to their stools. "I'll go to the back, bring out the bread, but for you, Lou, I have a real treat." With a wink, Raclette went away from the counter, past the shelves of butter, and entered a small doorway without a door but a curtain of red beads.

Lou went to her stool, sat down, and placed her hands awkwardly on her lap. The red had spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears; she looked windburned as if she had run wild across the moors like a wild hare. She felt the need to apologize for Roki paying for her, for her not offering her own paltry copper quick enough, for sitting on this stool, for taking up space.

"Thank you," Lou said instead. "I'll pay you back at the Monastery. I promise." She turned towards Roki, spring green gaze subdued in the emotion she felt beneath her breast. She couldn't bring herself to thank him for what she really wanted to, fear taking hold of her fast beating heart with icy, sharp claws belonging to wolves.
 
"What else is there to put in bread?"

Roki's ears twitched. Nose wiggled. The 'Well actually,' creeping up his throat like a frog scooting up a log it wanted to jump out of.

What else is there?

A WHOLE WORLD OF INGREDIENTS. Walnuts. Pistachios. Butter. If you folded it a million times, it would turn flaky, and your fingers would get all covered in the shiny, warm, rich, gleam of buttery fat! Then of course some people put cheese inside their bread, and even went so far as to fold thee bread proper like to fit in slices of things like turkey, or ham!

All that came out as a little "Uh," that he pushed out between his tusks. Brows arched with a question. Eyes wide. His fingers curled to show just his pointer, pointed up and about to wag.

"I... My..."Lou stammered. Had Roki's point die on his tongue.

Useless thing, really. Having a point that kept you from listening.

And Miss Raclette, she was all ears! Well, no, she wasn't an elf, so that didn't right work, did it?

A motion caught his attention, and soon enough, they were sat upon a stool at the counter. Roki, sat down easy and slow. Sure to tuck his robes under his legs as he sat. His eyes on where Miss Raclette had disappeared to. Watched Mister Roquefort go on with his butt bouncing selection processes. Even seemed to hum a little tune that Roki found himself following along.

Head bobbing as his throat rumbled with the hum of it.

Felt the stir of fingers twining about themselves. Eyes drew to the motion, to follow the limbs up to that oh so familiar face. Easy smile on his lips as he watched her knot herself into tangles. Had him smile some. "You-"

"Thank you," she said.

Had Roki smile the wider, in that bashful way of boys who played at hiding things. "No, don't even-"

"I'll pay you back at the Monastery. I promise."

It was the way she looked at him that had stunned him to silence. Breath squeezed right out of his lungs. Almost forgot to breath. "Um, yeah, alright, Lou," he said. All ache in his chest. "Back at the Monastery,"

Long way to go for two coppers.

He gulped. Felt his face. Warm and full of blood. Stomach turning. He cleared his throat and glanced to the wooden cows. Almost smiled. But rememebred their tragedy. Darted his gaze down. Saw her feet there, not far from his.

Road dusted boots. Treads worn down. Tapped the side of his foot to the inside of hers.

"Road hard?" he asked. Eyes scanned up to her. Lips pouted with curiosity.
 
The smile grew, feeling the familiar friendly foot tap against a dirty boot. For a moment, her eyes were conspiratorial and playful, as if Lou thought about giving Roki a tap from her back, or maybe a nudge or pinch. The barrier of touch had never quite existed with Lou, and sometimes, she felt it was easier to convey her emotions with a look or a touch than to find the right words to describe what her heart felt. Words never matched the intensity of her feelings, even if they had as many syllables as the moons above.

Her lower lip quivered at his question, the look of delight resembling a bright spring sky turned into a dark melancholy of overcast skies promising rain and thunder. Lou turned her head away. Throat constricted, warning Lou that she was one wrong word away from cracking like an egg, all her emotions running out like orange yolk dribbling over the harsh edges of a thin broken shell.

"Yeah," was all she could say to keep her brave face. Even if she wanted to say more, Lou had no idea where she would begin. All she knew was that she felt silly for having so much hurt built up from a few weeks' travel. She wasn't sure if Roki could understand it, the well-seasoned traveler he was becoming.
 
The way her eyes filled to the brim with tears. Caught the soft light of the day pouring in through the windows, and bouncing off the soft buttery gold of the walls. Like the last bits of sunlight peering over an overcast sky. All set to silver scales, save where the sun's warmth still touched them.

Had he said something? Done something?

His hand was already at her cheek. Thumb rasped gentle across the swell of bone to wick away the fat tear before it fell.

"That's alright," he said with a soft breath. "Road's hard sometimes," smiled softer. "Made mine easier, though," wore his smile. Hoped it might help, though there was little thinking behind it. Just as a flower needn't think to look toward the sun, or its patron moon. "Just bein' here for me to find you,"
 
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Alouette blinked, his hand warm and soft against her cheek, tethering her to her stool to keep her from drifting off into her worries. She hadn't meant to cry, but the tears still glistened around her eyes, getting stuck on her eyelashes like dew on spider webs. When that first tear fell, she hadn't thought his thumb would wipe it away. It was a bit rough, the pad of his thumb, but it held a certain sureness that belonged to Roki.

She pressed her trembling lips tight together, looking back at Roki and into his gold eyes to find comfort in them once more. Slowly, the corners of her mouth began to tilt up, his words tilting the scales in his favor.

"Is that a song?" Lou asked, tilting her head into his hand. Her loose brown hair fell over his knuckles, thin like spider silk, smooth like flower petals, the ends ghosting over the back of his hand.

Roquefort coughed, interrupting the two.

"My daughter must be getting the bread, but the butter is ready." He announced, puffing out his chest a little as he shambled behind the counter. He must have had a stepping stool behind there, for the counter naturally cut him off at his shoulders. Now, he stood with the counter against his waist. He placed the six packages on the counter and pulled out several different sorts of butter knives from behind it. One was oval, one was tipped, one was threaded. Some were more like butter spreaders, while one resembled a butter pick. Each was unique, not only in terms of width and length, but also in the shape and design of the handle.

One knife had a medallion at the end depicting a peacock, the detail of the feathers catching Lou's eye. Tiny and delicate, yet they made the knife stand out far more than the large pattern of swirling bees on the handle.

Roquefort opened up the first package, picking a large knife—the crackle of waxy paper cut through the silence louder than the knife into the brick of gold. Large flecks of salt were embedded into one side, like a translucent bark.

"We will start with slow-churned seasalt. The baseline of all the butters to come." He told them with a grin, "You see how dark the color is? The inside will be lighter and quite sweet, but throughout it, you'll get these little golden nuggets that are firmer and richer in taste. A delightful treat!"

An impatient meow and Monsieur Montbéliarde was scratching at the side of the counter, already looking for a taste of his own.
 
A little laugh. Like having her cheek there against the tops of his knuckles was as simple as breathing. "A song?" Wasn't till the wisps of her hair spilled across tendon and skin that he felt the cool tickle run through his bones. Down his spine, and flutter there in the pit of his stomach. "N-no," the word seamed to leak out of him.

Had she always been so warm? So soft? How his fingers wanted to uncurl. Hold her, just the bit better in the cup of his palm. Feel fine fuzz that glowed gold as sunlight about the round of her cheek. The side of her face, to the line of her jaw.

"It's just, how I -"

A cough.

His eyes snapped to the old lait monger, and his hand hung there in the air. All thought lost for a moment, all popped bubble. His smile went wide, and his eyes went bright. "Oh!" he turned, excited. Clapped quick and excited little claps. "The butter!" as Mr. Roquefort set himself up.

Roki's eyes flit to Lou. Grinned. Ruddy about his nose as his head tilt toward her. Something there in the how he was excited.

Enthusiasm. Yes. Earnest. Always. But it was in the why of it. The swirl of cold and warm. Almost afraid. But so sure.

Down came the packages, and the knives, and oh what a glittering assortment they were. Roki couldn't help but look at them. Rub his hands together.

Come the crack of the paper, crinkle and fold, whisper and soft thunk after the knife parted the glorious gold lump of solidified milk fat. How it glittered with salt.

"Ooooh," Roki sounded as his eyes grew twice as large. "Sparkly!"

The little Monsieur called out, and Roki laughed. "Don't worry, Montbéliarde, you will definitely get a piece," he winked at the cat. Reached down, and ruffled the littlest gentleman's big head. Then pet him behind the ears.
 

No? Lou felt the wonder of a song made up of long roads, sore feet, and shared sitting with friends dissipate like a dream did before waking. Maybe it could be an idea to float to Syr Noa and see if she could take Roki's sweet words and turn them into a song that Lou would want to listen to over and over again. Even Roki's quick claps provided a potential beat for it, and perhaps her giggle of silly joy accentuated it all the better. For a long while, Alouette watched Roki, picking out his expressions, following his gaze with all the intensity of a herding dog.

She even leaned back on her stool to watch his hand go over the brown furry head of Montbéliarde, who stared up at Roki with big eyes. The cat seemed disappointed that Roki had mistaken his meow for butter as a meow for a pet. Lou didn't have the heart to tell Roki how spoiled the cat was. Montbéliarde meowed again, looking ready to jump onto the counter.

The block of gold, thick with salt crystals, was still being admired by Roki and Roquefort when Raclette pushed aside the waterfall of beads, carrying a basket of fresh bread already cut up and three bottles in dark green or purple glass.

"Just in time," Roquefort winked at the two squires. "The bread is here, one of the finest ways to enjoy butter." He grabbed a knife and cut a series of thin slabs. Raclette set the items now, her father glancing at them and raising a brow. "The olive oil and balsamics?" He asked, looking at his daughter.

"She gets an upset stomach with cow's milk." Raclette lied easily, not even looking at Lou as she said it. She went to uncork the balsamics. "She paid, I said I'd make it worth her while. Got the persimmon white balsamic." Now she looked at Lou and winked. "And champagne vinegar. This olive oil is from the South, too. Almost as good as the butter."

"Almost but not quite," Roquefort said, laying three thin layers of butter across a piece of bread for Roki. He put it on a small plate and handed it to him. "Nothing is quite as good as butter. Go ahead, try it."
 
Roki's big eyes watched Montbéliarde, scrunched up and spine bent. The sound that poured out of him all sweet whine and chirrup.

"Well, I heard you now, I did hear you, but we gotta wait," he said gently to the littlest gentlemen.

And the softest cat's fat head already turned to look to the next step in getting what they deserved. What was owed. What was only right and deserved for such a proper and fine little man, as was only, the Lil Monsieur, Montbéliarde.

Roki fanned his hands. "Hey now, just a moment," he said, between play and caution. "Don't get any ideas, butter cat," A rain of clicks and clatters, the hiss of glass beads. The rustle shuffle shake of wickered reeds.

Attentive nose caught the scent. Whole head tilting up so it could sniff sniff the air. Shock of plum purple red hair bobbed and shift until his eyes caught the sight of the long necked bottles in their fancy colored glass. "Oh," he said all tilt and followed with his gaze. "Would you look at that," he said full of excitement. Looked to Lou, brows set to bounce, tusks set to show all the brighter as the goods were set to table. "Persimmon white balsamic," put respect on it, but all hush, like it was a secret, just between the two of them.

Snapped his eyes back up to Ms. Raclette as she put down the next bottle, so full of a rich and viscous oil.

"Almost, but not quite," Mr. Roquefort assured. Served up the butter on the bread. And the way he spread the butter, for to say he smeared it would be a disservice. An insult. Spread. No. Glided. No! Prepared. Melted. Boiled. Clarified. Spread into little scales, and hills across a valley of bread! Mr. Roquefort made it look like a painting. "... go ahead, try it."

"Ah!" Roki made a little excited sound. Eyes to Lou, did you see that? Back to the bread. Nod his head. Bowed. Took up the little bread and the butter that had been so ceremoniously slathered on. "Thank you, Monsieur Roquefort," he said before he took it from the old man's steady hands. Looked to Lou, holding his little piece of bread. Then to Raclette. "Is there, a special way to have the oil and vinegar you recommend, Mademoiselle?" a genuine curiosity.

Regional dishes always had regional ways to enjoy them. And, well. Lou deserved a show too. At the very least, his mouth needed something to do while it waited for her to dig in. It was rude to eat without her!
 
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