Private It's Not Done Cooking

[Roki]

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"Wonder what this place is," the hush of Roki's voice came slow as his bright golden eyes peered about the vine-ridden stonework. Steady hands set to stir the frothy liquid that bubbled up from the belly of the stout cast iron pot. His ears listening to the low gurgle and hiss of the contents inside. The birdsong was bright in his ears, and the way which the sun poured through the vaulted windows made all look aglow. "Probably a shrine to old gods," he thought, spoon sure with its easy turns.

His mentor, and guardian during this long trek across the lands, Syr Lefelen, was out scouting with Syr Dunnird. The trio of chrysanthemums on the hunt for a supposedly blighted pack of wolves that had terrorized wagoneers between the towns of Ilona and Ruhavi.

They had told Roki they would not engage the twisted beasts without him. That his weave work might be needed, to help put the creature down for good But truth be told, he didn't right care if he ever met a blighted beast. The thought of it turned his stomach.

A wild creature, a dear or a falcon, turned to that strange and abyssal form. All tendril and puss, with cancerous growths that swoll to sickly yellow and purpling red.

Snap of branch and fall of leaf pulled the Squire's eyes out one of the windows. His head flicked, and set the violet wave of his locks to bounce. Big batty ears twitched as they listened.

"Someone there?" he called out.

 

[Illia]

She was exceptionally talented at avoiding things.

The Blight was the tang of rotting flesh, the souring of organs caught against any light from on high, the still-water of algae in many shades of green… and so, Illia simply wandered in the opposite direction. There wasn’t much that stirred her soul, but the thought of her feet treading upon tainted ground made the Unicorn's inner-self shiver as if touched by an ancient evil. The enemy of life. The comfort of towering stones tumbling over themselves brought much needed relief from the thought of such an unholy plague creeping ever-near.

Ruins oft sank themselves deep beneath the decaying surface to draw up spring water, because mortal-kind was smart like that. Where they walked, like birds dispersing seeds, tender shoots tended to grow in many different ways; she had not forgotten the joy of finding wild tomatoes once at an abandoned camp ground. Pure, tasty bliss. But it was not the richness of tomatoes she caught in the wind in that moment, but something… else. Something unfamiliar. Despite in her human guise the woman lifted her head and sniffed about like a hound on blood, hands upon an dilapidated archway as she went. Something warm. Something not rotting.

Absolutely no attempt to conceal herself was made as she idly trampled over vine and stem, pausing only for a moment when the voice rang out-- and then deciding that in fact, yes, this was good. Someone speaking common tongue, a camp perhaps? Clasping her dirtied hands together Illia made a soft sound of contentment, mind entirely conjuring visions of bread and onion and leek and oh, oh she had to have it. Illia appeared in an arch-way with the sun cascading over her form like a divine herself had come to bless the sanctuary Roki worked within, except, less divine, more dirty, horned person.

“You there.” She called with a voice very much akin to the bird-song, all pitch with practised softness; yet the words… greatly conflicted the tone. “Whatever you are making there… I wish to have it.”

Illia’s expression was entirely neutral as she gracefully hopped down from her perch and advanced upon the other with absolutely no kind of fear. Squared pupils settled unblinkingly upon the orcs stooped form,

“I have nothing, so you should do a kindness onto me and share.”

 

[Roki]

Mid stir of spoon, swirled with steam, Roki stood still, bent toward the pot when the sound of approaching footfalls caused ears to twitch. Head to better turn to find from where the sound had come. There, beneath the rays of pale gold, a vision that had his breath fall from lips pursed to confounded o, with the jut of two curled tusks to frame them.

Was this a spirit?

Eyes wide with question marked by quirked brow.

You there...I wish to have it."

He saw the grime that clung to her. Fingers and bared feet. "Oh, um," his eyes looked down at the soup. Still bubbling and gurgling in the cauldron. "Are you hungry?" he asked. Worked the spoon once, twice, thrice more quick before he pulled the wooden instrument from its sticky purpose. Jammy browning onions stuck to the round head of it. A few knocks of the spoon shaft against iron rim, to see some of the mess fling off, and he puts the spoon there beside the cook fire. Lids the pot. "Please, come uh, join me?" he says with a wide sweep of the hand about the campsite.

Bed rolls, supply packs, and a long willow-wood staff, settled in different spots betwixt the ruin walls.

Roki hurried to his pack. A thing embroidered along its body with half finished patterns of red and gold threads, blue and green strands. Flipped the lid open and rifled through. Pulled a piece of stoneware, bundled bread, a cloth rag, and a water skin. Slung and secured them. Hurried back.

"It's not ready yet!" he let her know, setting down the items one by one. "It'll take some time, but, I, um..." he stopped, slipped fingers there beneath the blue fabric tied neatly around his waist. Pulled a plump little sack tied off by a red string. "Roasted walnuts make for a good snack!" he smiled wide, holding out his offer to the stranger with the striking horn.

 

[Illia]

The orc’s kindness was taken for granted; it had been the appropriate response, after all. To allow a fellow creature to starve whilst you toiled over an entire pot would have been not a cardinal sin, but a moral injustice that would have to be scorned. If she had something to offer in return there would have been an exchange to prove her dignity, but in truth, it was quite clear that the woman had nothing-- nothing to give, nothing to steal, not a single clinking of coin in shallow pockets and nought but the haggard clothes upon her back.

“I will join you.” A very… human response.

And Illia did not dignify poor Roki with a response to the question (if she wasn’t hungry, would she have asked?) but did entertain the gestured-to area by breezily wandering past him and planting herself upon the stone floor without much worry. This one did not have the stainings of a horrid soul. Though she had met many orcs and found most to be outlandish and troublesome, there was something so animalistic about them that it felt very much like wandering past wolves in the forests… they made their intentions clear without words. The Unicorn could respect that, as a fellow beast of the woodlands. Cyan eyes followed the others fretful flitterings about the makeshift camp in a vague attempt to set about a human-esque (civilized) feel to the sun-kissed ruined floor without any emotion coming to rest upon her blank face,

“... It is very like the mortal-folk to toy with the raw energy of nature.” Came the airy comment in response to it ‘not being ready’; why did things need to be ready? Why did things need to be stirred and flipped and greeted to the lickings of fire or drowned in water? It was spoken so suddenly and without any sort of tone-indicator that it speared the silence that had been brewing between them (accented only by Roki’s scurrying) like a fork of lightning. Illia remained unaffected by the awkwardness of the moment. She dipped her head in silent thanks at the offering of walnuts and took the bag gently, not bothering to hide the way the long, silver, tufted tail that had suddenly slipped from its hiding place against her back began to sweep the floor slowly in measured and muted excitement…

Walnuts!

A couple was shaken from the bag into an eagerly awaiting open palm instead of being plucked out one-by-one, and, funnily enough, Illia ate them from her hand very much like a horse nosing a friendly mitt-- fire-licked. Smokey. They weren’t bad at all, but,

“I think the fire has taken away something special.”

 

[Roki]

A quick sidle and step to the cauldron. A peak into its open mouth, and the round belly in which the onions bubbled and stuck. Browned nicely, but just needed a touch longer.

...it is very like the mortal folk...

His golden eyes flit to the pallid stare that met him. Blue so frigid it seemed to encase the one behind them. His lips quirked down, just a tad, but held on to their willful curl. More so when he saw the swish of her tail.

"Aren't we mortals just as much a part of nature?" he asked without a hint of hurt. Voice bright as the sun's light that poured through the ruins and the canopy.

Hand remembered to keep their steady stir, and he watched with a building excitement as she poured them out unto her palm. He had added just a hint of honey to this batch, a pinch of cinnamon and a a dash of nutmeg. Sprinkled on some salt and-

I think the fire has taken away something special,

Roki's jaw dropped. He shook his head and looked down at the cauldron. Spoon slowed to a stop as the flame went on with its spittle and hiss. Cracked a log, and spat a spark up about the black walls of the pot. He huffed a breath. Laughed it off. Nod.

"You like them raw then?" he asked, curious as his eyes found her again. This strange and fascinating... person? "I'll try and remember that," his voice as certain as the summer wind.

She looked like a person. Acted, different. But then, who didn't? Too rude to be a spirit really. And, last he checked, spirits didn't munch on walnuts.

He knocked the spoon clean once more. Set it aside, and took up the water skin. Uncorked it, and poured it in with the hiss and plume of steam. Gentle and measured, his hands cupped and tilt the leather, as the spiggot's mouth glugged and glugged out clean water. Corked it, and stepped to his guest once more. Offered her the skin.

"I'm sure you are thirsty too," that ever present smile of his, still there about his tusks. "Have as much as you'd like, and," he turned about and looked lost a moment. Found the cloth, snatched it up, handed it to her. "If you want, you can wash off your hands and feet?" a bounce of a laugh as he turned back to the pot, and stirred the bourgeoning soup. Picked up the stoneware box, "Always makes me feel better after a long bit of travel," he slid it open, and pulled a dark cube of something gelatinous from its runed confines, the hand carved lines a-shimmer with feintest shroudglow. "That, or jumping in a river," he grinned, eyes squinty and proud as he let the cube fall into the soup.

Went on, stirring.

"Oh, I'm Roki by the way," he offered.

 

[Illia]

A large part of her was glad for the others’ breezy personality; many a-time others had bared their fangs at her for the lack of liveliness Illia spoke with, offended in some way by a tone they themselves had forged in their head. After all, she was not being rude, the woman was simply being truthful about her feelings with a manner of rawness that many did not possess these days… the stained-folk lied. The beast in turn could not tell if Roki was simply feigning happiness and steadiness, she was merely thankful that he was, at the very least, pretending.

She also did not know what exactly the orc was doing at the pot. As the flame ignited the golds of his gentle eyes Illia watched meticulously as he flitted in and out of brief bouts of concentration for the metal object and its rolling gurgle, transfixed like the old witches of the woods and their spells… it was a passion. ‘People’ had those, but never before had Illia seen something actually being cooked with any sort of devotion (not that she had seen many things being cooked ever, usually food-stuffs just appeared in markets without any of the beforehand). Maybe it would taste special because of his affection. Maybe the fire and water did do something. It smelt so good, was the trading of raw nourishment worth it for the taste…? Were the herd-beliefs wrong?

“... I have been taught a series of things about the world by my elders. One of those things is that nature is best when left alone.” Illia spoke with a curiosity about her, challenging the archaic views of the herd was always an interesting topic. “Things from the earth come with dirt, grit and character… but mortals come and strip that away in favour for taste. Something akin to carving the soul out of another once living thing. There is a difference between mortal-folk and things that are birthed from her soil.”

A tip of the head, resting a cheek against pale fingers brought upwards…

“That something special, the history of a turnip shorn of nibble marks from crawling things, the coring of an apple's heart, the slicing of a potato's eye…”

One would think she was talking about something that actually lived and breathed as a sentient being upon the earth, but nope! The wistful sigh Illia gave was not of sadness but of ponderment-- there was indeed something to be explored here, and her mouth formed an ‘o’ as a question was about to tumble from pale lips directed at the other before a waterskin was gently thrust in her direction-- nope. Like a cat suddenly spying a cucumber from the corner of its eye the Unicorn suddenly leapt to her bare feet and scurried away from the object with eyes uncharacteristically wide--

“O-Oh, thank you… but the river will do fine.” Drinking from it, bathing from it, it was all good… because drinking from water wrapped in the skin of an animal was a type of common barbaric practise that Illia had not yet gotten used to. The cloth, walnut-sack and waterskin were left dutifully against the closeby rock.

“Ser... Roki, Is… it far?” This was the part where the woman was supposed to offer her name in return, forgotten due to the promise of a river. The Unicorn could not smell any water, or anything really but the (admittedly, more delicious smelling by the second) soup, could not hear nought but the crackling of the ever-hungry fire. Roki’s back was turned, his attention once again upon the curling of ingredients in the whirling pot, but even if the poor Orc did turn around Illia would not have paused in her actions; decoupling the weak chain of her cape, grabbing the hem of her skirt and slowly working the coils of fabric up her body and over her head.

Snowy white skin sometimes intersected with four-point star-like scars, the dashing of dirt like pepper in interspersed patches, the curl of ribs beneath small breasts, the furling of white, gently curled hair between flushed legs. Illia’s long, whispy tail swept the dusty floor as she began to snuffle at the air like she had done upon entering the ruins, casting her clothes over her shoulder…

“And the water is not… infected?”

 

[Roki]

Roki's plum colored brow quirked at the thoughts that had been offered. How they fluttered about his mind, like the flavor of something he could not quite place.

Time almost felt slower as he went on with his stirring. Steam tickling his nose as words echoed in his mind.

...I have been taught...nature is best when left alone.

Beliefs passed on. Beliefs shared.

He nod, slow as each measure of wisdom passed through his mind. A mixing of elements. Thoughtfully picked and placed, but so often a matter of what one had on hand. What was around and plentiful.

Strong enough to keep.

The old bottle of Manjavan White he had poured into the broth, a thing he had kept well smuggled beneath blankets and kit, less the Syrs take to imbibing after a rough ranging.

The old onions that had been stinking half a day ago, and starting to turn soft and slimy, to the point of slipping and sliding while he had pressed sure fingers there against their fibers held them down and sliced them to ribbons. Syr Dunnird had told him to toss them out days before they had gone soft.

First signs of rot. The old deva had told him.

Roki knew better. Least in that moment. In that matter. Just means a little more complexity to the flavor.

Things from the earth come with dirt, grit and character... akin to carving the soul out of another...

He nod, absently in his agreement. Steam curling about his nose as he watched the little strings of onions gooeify, bubble, and hiss.

O-oh, thank you...but the river will be fine.

His eyes looked to her. An apology half formed on his lips when he saw how she had near popped away from the skin.

Some part of his mind understood. When a potatoe's eye was a wonder, such a piece of leather must have been a horror. He licked his lips, and adjust his mouth. Trying to get the right words on his tongue before he blabbed out anything that could cause offense.

His eyes fell back to the soup. Bubbling and gurgling as it was.

Ser... Roki, is... it far?

"Nah, it's just a short walk to the west," he said without much thought. When he turned to find her eyes, his own golden gaze near doubled in size. His jaw dropped. The stirring stopped.

The pot went on bubbling. The fire went on burning. And Roki felt his whole self run hot and cold in a wash.

He snapped his eyes back to the pot. Stirred. Stirred. Stirred! Some soup spilling over the kettle's lip, and sizzling to steam in the fire's bright and happy tongues.

Her tail. Just SWISHING.

And the water is not... infected?

"N-no! It's," he forced himself to pass down the spit that suddenly seemed to choke him. Gulped. "It's clean!" nod, nod. "G-good water, easy to swim in,"

His grip on the spoon was white kuckle.

Just look at the soup. Tend the soup. Don't think of the curls. White like steam.

Vayd Tree's Nuts.

He peeped to see if he still spied a toe.

 

[Illia]

She did not care a lick about his staring.

If she wasn’t so thin she would have probably been beautiful, Illia thought idly to herself. At least to the two-legged. The woman had realized early in her adventures that mortal-folks wore clothes to curb some inner desire of theirs that made them act 'out of character', and as a result they were pretty strict about what and where one could be fully in their skin… but it made little sense to a Unicorn, especially one that had so little experience in the world. She was more comfortable out of clothes, natural, like the way the celestials had formed them upon the wild earth; but of course a magical horse would think that. The stallions rearing for the ladies to show their assets against their pink bellies, the mares posturing through the trees with haunches raised-- animals were animals, and they were all animals.

“Good… thank you.”

Lia turned to disappear through the arch, her curly tail headed by a small streak of white fur that led up to her lower-back.

The tumbling of the gentle river over mossy rocks caught her long ears the moment the pot’s sudden angry hissing was not in the way. It was a shame, really, that Roki could not yet be trusted with the entire secret of her being, because how she would have loved to wade about in the water as a beast rather than a person… but what if he saw? There were too many supplies at that camp, the pot was too big, and it was not often that two-legs rooted about in the wilderness alone. This was not a single chef in the middle of nowhere cooking for himself, but instead, somewhere… there were others lurking. There was no way to tell how many. What a tragedy it would be if she would have to kill someone that had shown her kindness, simply because of the unknown motives of others…

Illia slipped herself into the water with a relieved sigh, shivering not from its coolness, and drinking from it without fear of ever being sick by it. The current was nourishing. The soft patches of dirt upon her skin were scrubbed by worn fingertips, and the greyish parts of heavy curls were turning white as they were freed from the odd tiny twig that had gotten stuck there. The fish were not fooled by her disguise and swum lazily in all sizes around thin legs, and for a brief moment the woman wondered if she should snatch one up and give it to Roki… but meat was forbidden for Unicorns to eat. This was not salt water. There was no kelp or seaweed to bring ashore. Yet, inspired by the waters beauty and wanting to show an act of kindness to one who had treated her kindly in turn the woman began to search the beds of reeds, the upturned muddy bank, the wild forests of ivy kissing the waters edge-- all while on her hands and knees, once more sniffing. It was there, but where?

The poor Orc was left alone for twenty minutes. When he finally has company again it is she, naked (but only somewhat wet, she had shaken herself like a dog many times!) and wandering with some sort of hast directly at him--

“Look, here.”

And in her hand, she held out four flowers. They were medium sized, multi-headed, lilac and stemmed by leaves that any chef in their right mind would know for their distinctive shape… mint. Watermint, to be precise. Illia had smelt it out and it had taken a fair moment of rummaging, but now, away from the water, the sharp scent could briefly be smelt every time the breeze carried the soups steam away from them. The womans blank expression did a good job of hiding her subtle pride at the find; it was a favourite of the equines, after all! Somewhere, someplace else, Lia's mother and father would be proud.

 

[Roki]

His tusks felt heavy, how they curled about his mouth. Too present in his own mind. Breath brushed across his lips. His eyes trailed. Up, and up. Heat creeping up his neck. Flesh across his nose, and cheeks, to turn his rich green skin ruddy. As if rusty grains of red grass, come sprout across the field of his visage, shimmering with the flow of unseen wind.

He blinked. Eyes full. Slowed his stirring. Stomach coiling.

Good... thank you.

Another blink. Found the curious square pupils there at the center of eyes like frosted pools touched by dawn's pine painted light.

A slow nod. "Y-you are welcome," he said, one more dip of the head before she turned and left. Tail bobbing behind her.

He blinked again. Looked back at the soup. Hand worked the wooden tool slow, coated with jammy brown. "Wonder what her name is,"

The time passed easy and quick with his mind on all that had transpired in so short a time.

A specter shine through beams of sunlight. Horned and tailed. He looked to where she had left her clothes. All crumpled there in a pile. Green cloak ragged and worn. Edges frayed from travel.

Just because he didn't feel so free as to walk about cheeks to the wind, didn't mean other people didn't. Lip quirked, as head tilt, eyes on the swirling steam and soup.

Ladling the finished soup into two wooden bowls. Took joy in watching it drip, run, and splash as it filled up. White steam swirled and mixed there above that gathered concoction.

Through the haze he saw her pacing. All white curls and reaping limbs set to motion and bounce. Floof of tail swished, and bright horn pointed. A little choked sound left his throat. The last of the soup splashed out the ladle with a sploosh.

Look, here.

The flowers jut out, and he looked down at them. Remembered to breath. "Watermint!" he said through bright smile.

Set the bowl aside as his eyes spied the purple flowers. He bent a tad closer to give them a sniff. Felt the chill rush of peppermint run cool through his nose. Saw how the oily leaves were crushed gently by fingers that looked rosy and pink about the deeper green of the stems.

"Mind if I try one?" he asked, mouth hung open about the float of fanned leaf. His breath stirred its membrane about before he gave it a happy chomp. Popped up. Back sure in its lean, as he mulled the taste. Bright purple hair bobbed as the zing of citrus flavor coated tongue and mouth. "Clean and fresh!" he said on bright breath. "Little bitter at the end," he muttered. Tasted the flavor on the tip of his tongue. Chewed the leaf more over. "Would make a good garnish," he said with a hum. Turned and sat down unto ragged blanket over stone. Grabbed up the bowls of soup, still steaming. Offered one up to her. "Do the honors?" he smiled welcome.

 

[Illia]

Garnish?

She did not know what a ‘garnish’ was, but by the look of pleasure upon his face the woman gleaned that her gift had been well received. It was perhaps only for the promise of warm soup that Illia did not seek to gnaw on the leaves herself (was it bad manners? Would it be rude?) and instead, with a nod of acknowledgement to Roki’s exclamations of delight, she turned to return to where her clothes were haphazardly strewn about. They could have used the river too in all honesty, but travelling with soggy cloth sticking to your skin was perhaps worse than wearing the attire all together.

“My p-people cherish it.” Her quiet words had slight staggering over people, if only because her people weren’t people. “Though, nowadays, it is often picked… and only grows wild in places where others seldom tread.”

Others liked hoarding food, even things that only grew in freshwater that could not possibly thrive in little bowls within a house. As Lia idly pulled her shirt over her head and affixed her cape gently at her throat, she wondered if Roki was one such person… and then the Unicorn remembered he was not ‘one’ such person. Barefooted the woman padded to his side and stopped herself low beside the Orc, cyan eyes falling upon the bowls before turning to the one held out towards her--

“Thank you…” Illia curled her legs beneath her and rested upon now clean (soon to be dirty) knees, tail furling about neatly. “I forgot to ask earlier… but are you alone?”

A suspicious question worded in a formal way, but the gentleness of her tone suggested there was no harm meant by it-- or by her.

“You were making so much, I assumed others would return to your side… I only worry for myself, that is all.”

Outwardly, it made sense that a lone female would worry about a gaggle of men returning to see her there. Inwardly… it was a touch more complicated. Roki had been so entranced by his own lovingly made concoction that he hadn’t the time to ask questions, and this was a good thing. But now he was no longer cooking, smiling upwards from the ground innocently; and Illia would have to lie to someone so good-hearted.

And she was not good at that.

Turning her attention away from trying to predict what he would do and instead to the warm bowl within her hands, the woman forwent the spoon to instead test its surface with her tongue like an animal might with a rivers surface-- and for an instant, that blank, muted expression became a little wide-eyed with surprise. It was… different. Complex. It was not one thing, but many things all together as one, and for one who had lived off of the rawness of nature and its simplicity this was all together very, very new.

And it was so, so good.

“It’s…” She could not look at Roki; the woman could almost feel those golden eyes sizzling against her skin, awaiting the response. What was the right word? “... It is remarkable.”

Illia wanted to immediately take back everything she had said about 'mortals ruining the sanctity of raw things', because this was sweet, thin yet textured, but also zingy, it had a subtle bite, the Unicorn had wanted to mention earlier that she was supposed to be vegetarian but in that moment did not care about whether or not it had meat in it! In fact, she suddenly didn't even care that other men could be returning to the ruins heart and instead took it upon herself to shakily take up the previously forgotten about spoon to try and shove as much of the soup as she could into her mouth, erect tail now beating rhythmically against the ground.

Roki was not just some person hoarding ingredients… he was creating miracles!

 

[Roki]

Roki blinked.

Well, maybe she's shy?

He looked down at the steaming bowl of dark amber soup. The rich smell of the onions, turned to caramelized jam. Making sure to keep, just enough heat.

He looked back up and saw her amble away. Curtains of curls, white as bright clouds on a clear day.

Was it too much? Smelled too strong? It was cooked after all and, well, all the rawness of it was long gone. Not that she lacked for any of that.

A blink a blink as she stood by her clothes. He looked away at that. Remembered something. Like there was a ritual needed to be respected.

"My p-people cherish it...only grows in wild places..."

He busied himself instead, listening as he let the bowl rest down on his lap. Stretched spine, and shift weight over to reach for the boule of bread. When she came back, robed, his smile crooked quick and he offered the soup up.

"Welcome," he said and watched her set down, tail all wrapped about her. A question came. "Alone?" his head gave the answer before his mouth. "No," he said simply. Listened as she went on. Nod in agreement. "There are two others," he offered. "They are out, well, patrolling I think," he cast his eyes out to the wilds beyond the stone sanctuary of the probably-a-shrine. A tinge of worry knotted in his stomach. "They'll be back,"

It had been some time since they had set out, hadn't it? Though, there was time yet before dark. And, they were Knights Sworn. Proper stuff. They could handle some slimy old blight wolves right? No problem.

His eyes, hardly good at hiding anything that worked there behind them, fixed back onto the stranger. Still a stranger. Was she... licking the soup?

"Uh, careful!" he warned. "It's hot!"

Didnt seem to matter none tho.

"Oh," he said as he watched her light up. Smiled wide himself. Grinned. Nod.

"It's... remarkable."

Made a little laugh and pumped his stirring arm in victory, hand slapped at his bicep. "Thanks!"

She started shoveling the stuff down, and he couldn't help but watch in awe a moment. Something like wonder stirring in his guts as her tail thumped. His arms fell to his side."Woah," a moment longer, before he remembered something. "Oh wait!" he looked about, saw the little flowers and leaves laid near, leaned over and snatched them up. Tore them into even little pieces.

"Here," he said, and would wait for a moment. "Gotta add the garnish," he said warmly. With a measure of space, he would let some of the leaves down onto the soup. The flower fixed there as a crown. He'd do it to his own bowl next, and tear off some hunks of bread. Offered her one. Dunked his into the soup and munched. Chewed too happy.

Few things better in the world than sharing a meal with a new friend. Oh right. "Watsh your shname?" he said through his mouthful. Swallowed. Horked another bite down with the bread.

Felt the zing of the mint mix with the deep rich sweetness of the onion, wine, and mushroom bullion he had used as stock. "Them flowers ish nice," he said absently. Smiled wider. Ate happier.

 

[Illia]

They'll be back.

It was not as if she wished to make herself scarce; a month alone in the wilderness as a creature of company tinged the mind with a sort of sadness that could not be easily shaken, yet… with that admission, Lia paused her incessant chomping for a moment to spare him a solemn nod. She would away before the night fell.

“I will not bother you too much longer.”

This was said even if though the beast somewhat plotting to beg for seconds, but the sin of greed was best left for the Stained and sadly not creatures such as herself. The soup had indeed slightly burned her mouth, but the lack of admittance of pain would lead Roki to believe it hadn’t. This was the sort of stuff that needed to be bottled up and sold somewhere, not conjured up in the middle of absolutely nowhere where none would know its beauty but immediate travellers-- and it gave the young Unicorn an idea. It wouldn’t be shared until after the ‘garnish’ was added,

“You call it gar-nesh, but it is a plant, yes?” Lia asked with some manner of confusion, tongue swiping once about her mouth to collect any run-away soup that might have dribbled there. There was absolutely zero hesitation when it came to getting back to eating, and though the womans bowl was almost empty (and picking up leaves with a spoon did not come naturally to her)... the final touch reminded her of home once again. Warm, safe home, content home, the aroma of a thousand wild things caught in a never-ending gale that could be tasted upon the tongue. Mint as clear tasting as the waters it rested by. Mushrooms as earthy as the soil it hugged. And… something else she had no clue about (wine). By the end of it she is almost damaging the bowl trying to get the last drops out, but alas…

Celestials above… she wanted seconds.

“My name is Illia.” The Unicorn spoke into the bowl; the spoon had been useless, but licking the bowl once again conjured up the ghosts of a taste now fading… “Mmm, I was wondering… do you have a shop somewhere?”

Roki had to be a professional, right? Professionals usually had kitchens. The bowl is placed politely at her feet so that the silver-haired woman could proceed to unattractively lick at her fingers like a starved dog trying to relive the memory of when it had food. The orc would not mind. He had seemed almost gleeful at her appraisal, surely humanoids read this behaviour as some sort of appraisal, too!

“Maybe… I could come visit you sometime. I have no home, so I can travel almost anywhere.”

 

[Roki]

"Um, yea, that's right, its just a fancy word for one last touch," he said with a snap of fingers, a point, wink, and a laugh, turned to quiet oh as he watched her lick her lips, and start chowing down again. Eager to see what she thought of the complete piece.

Something like peace seemed to fall over her. No words, just a look in the eye, and the lax in her lines. Reminded him of stepping into a warm bath. Felt his cheeks flush as he recalled the site of her getting ready to do just that. Looked away a moment. Heard the excited spoon scrapes, and he laughed. Finger poke-poked the tip of his tusk.

"Take that as a job well done," he said to himself. Pride, not a thing he ever tried to hide, and his smiles always shined the brighter for it.

My name is Illia,.. I was wondering... do you have a shop somewhere?

Roki couldn't help but blush. "Names as pretty as a swamp lily," he said easy as stirring. Why was she licking the bowl like that? His tongue smacked against the roof of his mouth. "A shop?" shook his head. "No, nothing like a-" now her fingers?!

Maybe... I could come visit you sometime...

He cleared his throat, shook away some of the heat, and grabbed up the bowl at her feet, rocking on his sit bones to reach the thing and snatch it up.

"Yeah, i mean, you definitely could!" he said with a smile, a bit of a pushed laugh to help get his mind off things. Licky things. Sticky things. Toes. His face had gotten stuck in a weird twist of hot confusion. Was going to move, but... thought better of it. Shift again in his seat on the cold ground. "Uh, I come from a Monastery! Called Astenvale it is, far to the north! Past Crown's Hold, and near the Vayd Tree," he said, a bit of dream in his voice at the end of it. Even if his eyes were on the pot of soup. "That's where I, well, learned to cook!" he said looking at her. Bright again, remembering the knoll, and all the warm memories there in.

How angry he had been when he got put onto dough kneading duty. Or when they had baked a cake as tall as Rutheford, tried to sneak Pim into a pie. All the goodies he would sneak and steal. He wore a fool's grin at that. Remembered what she had said. Like a splash of cold water.

"Its open to everyone," he let her know. "You can visit whenever you'd like!" he nod. Got up, and went to scoop another hot ladel of soup for her. Came back, and set down, just a bit closer. Offered her the bowl, again. "And you know, you are no bother," he said easy. Near gentle, but he carried a little too much in his chest for that. "I'm sure the others wont mind if you travel with us a while," he nod. "We travel with new folk all the time,"

 

[Illia]

She was right; her ludicrous bowl-scraping and other actions had caused the Orc to positively glow and beam in a manner that she thought impossible for Orcs to do. They were scowlers and sneerers, their tusks shown off to the line of their gums in aggression as they snorted like bulls; but Roki was different. Roki didn’t seem like an animal to her. He was more of a ‘person’. The thought (and his compliment) brought the smallest, scarcest smile to Lia’s usually dead-pan face.

“A monastery…” A religious place where silence haunted the halls, and sometimes, they hung tapestries of her kind trapped in gold upon their walls. Old beliefs. Simple lives. Illia’s voice was somewhat confused. “I thought… you were a chef. I think, if someone holds enough passion in their art to pursue it beyond the scope of their circumstances… then they should do it.”

She stole a glance at the fading light, the onset of stars through a collapsed section of the ruin.

“There are a lot of hungry souls in this world who know nothing of bread and water… someone of your talent could change that world, I think.”

Villages burned out of people, surviving on their last breaths by eating moss. Travellers without coin alone in places of a thousand people, feeling the ache of their centers like a knife. Animals, too, pushed from their homes by the ever-growing expanse of farm-land and left to the barrens, searching for anything growing between a million rocks. Sometimes the herd would come across the bodies of those who had laid down to die, consumed by flowers and fauna alike… and she, too, had found herself time and time again eating on the whim of a kind person who took either pity, or took her company as an invite for more. In a world of war, the kindness of humanity had been her driving force to canter out into the world, and the others had laughed at her for it. There were no good people left, they noted. They all slaughtered and hoarded and spoke only in money, they saw the kings in their towers and dreamt, one day, it would be themselves pressing their heel against the oppressed for personal gain.

But Roki existed, and they were all wrong because of that simple fact.

Lia felt warm and fuzzy with hope in a way she hadn’t since she had set out upon her journey… because there were more Roki’s ahead. And Roki himself, she mentally added, noting down where he had claimed his monastery laid. Though the woman did not know the place exactly, it wouldn’t be too hard to simply ask for directions-- and a somewhat wheezy half-laughed escaped the Unicorn at the others' insistence that they could travel together. A slow shaking of her head.

“Oh, thank you very much-- was it that obvious I wanted more?” Firstly addressing the second bowl, leaning forward to inhale the cooling steam. It gave the girl goosebumps. It was better than a memory could ever be, and even better, maybe Illia was getting better at conveying emotions…! Before the spoon was picked up to begin munching again, a cryptic statement was added:

“I am thankful for your invitation of company, but I must decline… I have a magickal condition that insists I must travel alone.”

Munch, munch, munch. It was the best excuse she could have thought of, and she had had much time to think about one.

 

[Roki]

She spoke so softly. It pulled him to quiet. A brow quirked as he listened. Watched as her eyes ventured up to the span of stars just starting to twinkle with the moons above.

someone of your talent could change that world, I think...

"You really think so?" he asked, glow in his voice, warm as the last of the sunlight. "Mean, that makes sense," he said. Spoon tapping against his chin as he thought on all the things he loved to do. Grinned wide, his eyes squinty. "But that's the thing! I do what I love! When I love it! Wait no," brows scrunched, lips screwed to thoughtful pout. "I mean, I love lots of things," he muttered quietly. "Tinkering, rune carving, painting, cooking, definitely cooking, and oh!" His eyes were bright as he looked over to her again. Wide eyed and tusks pointed. "Theater! Have you ever been to a production?"

He had gotten to do just about all of those things at the monastery.

Was it that obvious I wanted more?

A few spoonfuls passed. The question clicked, he nod nod. Spoon still in his mouth. Popped right out. "I mean, you ate the first bowl so fast," he laughed, gaze lingering on those cool blue eyes that seemed to glow the warmer as the fire's light burned on brighter against the gathering night. "Seemed like you wouldn't mind some more," a cheesy grin with sure push of breath, wink and a thumbs up.

I am thankful for your invitation... I have a magickal condition...

"Oh?" he asked. Scooped up and scraped what was near his last spoonful. "I mean, I, uh, well, Syr Lefellen knows a thing or two about Magickal Maladies, and Syr Dunnird, well, she knows her way about the healing! Maybe they can help?"

Unlike himself. But he was learning.

Slowly as it went.

He pointed to her with the tip of his spoon, that bobbed betwixt thumb and curl of forefinger. "You always travel alone?"

The twisted bale of a wolf's call tore through the distance. The sound, rageful and strange. Vibrations coated with a ruin, darker than any natural distortion had the right to be.

Pulled Roki's eyes straight to the gathering shadows that deepened in their darkness about the pillars and trees. Wide and searching, his gaze tried to find any hint of the knights he had set camp with. "Damn," he cursed, and put the bowl down. Looked to her. "You, well, you are welcome to stay here," he said with a nod. Put a smile on as he grabbed up his staff from where it leaned. "Eat as much soup as you would like!" he said a little warmer, fingers and wrists twirled and spun the fine yew instrument until it rest against his back and under his arm, almost a wing. "I'll, well, I am going to go look for the others," he said with a nod, only half sure of himself as he looked out to the wilderness.

Set to go. Steps unto the forest.