[ G'raha is certain Eliot's been through far worse than this based on his line of work alone, nevermind all the strangeness that comes with living in Panorama. But this is still different. And disturbingly unexpected.
He's definitely taking any stairs two by two (yes his legs are long enough for that) and looks appropriately surprised by Eliot's appearance. It's not extreme in any fashion, but if this just...appeared... ]
Eliot...
[ His brows furrow in a mix of confusion and concern. ]
[ He makes sure to shut and lock the door behind them, and then points Graha towards the seat at table in the kitchenette. Busies himself grabbing some glasses and a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge as he says: ]
Interrupted a mugging. Not soon enough to stop the kid from getting hurt but...
[ He pours them both a glass, despite the fact that G'raha never asked for anything, and then sits down opposite him. ]
I dealt with the muggers— [ a shrug, as though to say not a problem ] —and figured I'd give the whole healing thing another go.
Finally worked this time.
[ It's said with a wry sort of smile as he gestures at his own face. To feel pain suddenly bloom, to feel his flesh slowly open up— he may have not wanted G'raha here worrying about him but now that he is he can't help but hope he's got some answers. ]
[ G'raha wants to fret, but he doesn't object to Eliot playing host. Clearly he's fine and it's the mystery of how this could happen in the first place that should be his primary focus, and yet it still feels awful seeing him like that.
G'raha takes the seat, resting his staff against the edge of the table just to have it nearby. So Eliot had tried to intervene on someone else's behalf? That suits him, G'raha thinks. Not only to try and stop someone from becoming a victim, but then going the extra mile afterwards. That he felt emboldened enough to try the magic on his own does make G'raha feel a bloom of pride in his chest, even if it turned out so...sour. ]
It did, indeed...
[ G'raha's fingers rest on the edge of his glass, but he doesn't pick it up. ]
...Do you recall how I said it was important to use the ambient aether around you? And that your own is just like a lure to pull it in?
[ He remembers. He's been trying so hard and for so long that it's like the words are burned into his mind. Eliot lays his hand out on the table between them, palm up. His brow furrows as he concentrates, fingers twitching, not so much pulling as... It feels like inhaling, like expanding his chest and letting the air rush in, and in a move reminiscent of what G'raha did all those months ago, calls a healing ball of aether to his hand.
Except, that definitely doesn't look nor feel anything like what G'raha did, the aether shot through with dark strands and almost sticky feeling. Did it look like that before? Eliot will admit that he wasn't particularly paying attention but it's not like he's doing anything different. Maybe he's the problem. ]
[ As Eliot works, G'raha feels out the aether around him. He cannot see into people like Y'shtola can, but he is aware of the ambient nature of it in the environment, as is needed for both White and Black Magicks.
It feels right. He can sense the air coalescing in Eliot's palm rather than feeling a rush of his own aether coming in to fill all the gaps. He's doing it right--until suddenly he isn't. The air dissipates and something dark and sickly takes its place.
G'raha's eyes widen, ears shooting up in alarm. ]
No...no it isn't.
[ G'raha holds his hand out, then hesitates as it hovers over the ball. ]
[ Eliot opens his mouth to say 'of course', wondering why G'raha feels the need to even ask, before his brain catches up with him and it takes everything he has to not jerk his hand back away from him. ]
I don't know what it'll do to you so be careful if you're gonna mess around with my aether, okay.
[ G'raha nods, appreciating the concern. But this is a mystery that needs solving regardless, even if it does have some negative effects during the investigation. ]
I shall.
[ He brings his hand closer, trying to get a better sense of its alignment without directly touching. Strange...it's almost necrotic. The look of concern on G'raha's face deepens, though he tries to keep it as neutral as possible for Eliot's sake. ]
I'm going to supply some of my own aether...
[ Just a small, measured amount. Much less than what a low-level Cure would provide, but enough to be noticeable. A bright red seeps out of G'raha's palms into the ball and he watches it for a reaction. ]
[ Eliot watches it with something approaching anxiety, tensed for the first signs of something going wrong. And he doesn't have to wait long. The moment G'raha's aether touches the ball in his palm, the darkness spreads, up along the length of G'raha's aether with alarming speed like fire and gasoline. Like an infection growing.
Eliot throws himself out of his chair and away from G'raha, aether dispelling as fast as he can make it. ]
Are you okay?
[ His voice is surprisingly measured for how much panic he's feeling right now, part of him wanting to check on G'raha while the other part isn't all too sure that it's safe for him to be that close. ]
[ He does feel something, sharp and unlike what he's come to expect from Eliot's aether. But it's more of a gleaning than actual pain, like the promise of something with bite before it can bare its teeth.
Eliot throws himself backwards and G'raha likewise jumps in his chair in surprise, eyes wide and ears flat against the top of his head. There's a short moment of surprise until it's clear--Eliot wasn't hurt, he was afraid for G'raha.
He exhales, his own aether having long since dissipated and shakes his head. ]
No, I'm quite alright.
[ Well, he thinks Eliot wasn't hurt, but given the reason for G'raha coming over-- ]
[ It takes a while before he can convince himself that the danger has passed. Eliot takes his seat back at the table, face throbbing from all his sudden movements now that the adrenaline has drained.
I'm fine, is what he wants to say. What comes out is: ] I don't know what I'm doing here, G'raha.
[ Magic and aether and healing? What was he thinking? Though, he thinks sardonically to himself, only being able to heal someone by taking on their injuries himself seem fitting. Can't argue with the method. ]
[ His shoulders feel the urge to droop at that, but G'raha holds himself still. While it's true that failure is expected in the learning process, what is happening here is very unexpected. Unprecedented, even. He wishes he had a quick answer. ]
...I know.
[ Instead, he tries to offer reassurances without discounting Eliot's fears, ]
But I led you into this world.
[ G'raha holds out his hand again. ]
So I won't abandon you to it. We can find out together.
Not your fault, okay. I didn't ask you here— [ well, okay, he didn't ask G'raha to come over in the first place but details ] —to put the blame on you. It is what it is.
[ And what it is is likely Eliot's fault anyhow.
Eliot holds his hand out too and places it on the table between them. Calls up some aether once more and watches as it forms into something dark and sickly. He wonders how G'raha can even stand to touch it. It's Eliot's and so it doesn't feel wrong to him but he can tell that it doesn't feel good. ]
[ No, G'raha absolutely made it his business to be here--because it is his business. Eliot could easily blame him, it is G'raha's instructions that brought them to this point, after all. He knows Eliot won't, but...
That doesn't change how he worries.
Still, Eliot is letting him try again so G'raha won't push the blame back onto himself. The way the aether shifts is just so against what ought to be happening. But everything he can sense around Eliot feels right. He's going through all the same motions, but producing a drastically different result. G'raha inhales lightly through his nose, holding his breath and reaches out to touch it--properly this time.
At first, there's a little sting that makes his ears twitch, but he holds fast. It feels warm, hot and almost uncomfortable. ]
[ It's not the word he would have used if he'd thought about it. Mostly because that's a weird and kinda creepy thing to say. But there's something... broken about it. Or maybe backwards, like it's spinning in the wrong direction, pulling instead of pushing, black instead of white. Something wrong, and in order to right itself it needs... it just needs. Never enough though. Like a black hole, ever expanding and always...
hungry. ]
Feels like an attack dog on a leash right now. Not out of control just... If I let go right now it feels like it'd just gobble you up.
[ He watches G'raha's hand carefully, watches the way tendrils of aether seems to stick to his hand. ]
I don't think this is meant for healing, and me trying to, I don't know, force it to heal is why this— [ He gestures at his face with his spare hand. ] —happened.
[ Hungry is a very particular way to describe it, but it does make sense. He scans Eliot's face, taking in the injuries and recalls what he'd said in the text. Hungry...hungry for pain? It does end up healing, in a way, but at a great cost.
Gods...if Eliot had tried healing someone with more dire injuries, what a state he could be in now.
G'raha doesn't force any of his aether into the ball, not wanting something worse to happen to Eliot with such experimentation. Instead, he carefully extracts his hand until it's forced to release him. No harm done. To himself, at least. ]
I will say, there's nothing inherently in your natural aether that makes me feel like it should be acting like this.
[ It can't be you, Eliot. He refuses to believe it. Mayhaps he's too biased. ]
I'll have to think on how we can tackle this.
[ If only he had Y'shtola and Urianger around. He can try consulting Aria and see what she thinks, being an expert healer in another vein. His own knowledge of how healing works in regards to fairies is very limited. ]
[ Eliot catches his hand before he can withdraw completely. ]
Listen. [ He tugs a little on G'raha's hand just to make sure G'raha's giving Eliot his full attention. This is important. ] I know you've got me, okay? But I'll be okay even if we never figure it out. So don't beat yourself up over this.
[ In the grand scheme of things he hasn't known G'raha all that long but... He knows the type. Of course he knows the type; like recognises like after all, and Eliot is surrounded by people who like to take on more than their fair share of the blame.
Was. Was surrounded.
At any rate, G'raha has only ever wanted to help, and Eliot won't let that be tarnished.
After a beat he lets go of his hand and then reaches for his iced tea, uses the couple of seconds as reprieve from such a heavy topic. And then, when he sets down his glass, says: ] Hey, you sticking around for a bit? Got some beef marinating that I was planning on cooking for dinner.
[ G'raha's eyes immediately jump back up to Eliot's face, ears bouncing in light surprise as well. Of course Eliot clocks him immediately——yes, they haven't known each other for that long, but it does strangely feel like it ought to be.
His ears relax a bit as his gaze falls to their hands. He's seen Eliot in a fight, knows that they are more than capable of causing injury when they want to. But he's also seen them be kind, to help build and repair. This...making Eliot feel as if his efforts to heal are tainted is cruel. G'raha will fix this, somehow. Even if Eliot will be okay.
Still, he lets a small, somewhat tired smile pull at his lips. ]
You know me too well.
[ Already. But he relents with a nod, finally bringing his gaze back up to Eliot's. ]
I will endeavour not to.
[ It's only when the other man finally pulls back that G'raha realizes what just transpired. A...moment, of sorts. Of understanding. (Just that.) He finds himself swallowing a little awkwardly and grabbing at his own glass just to give his hands something new to do. The tip of his tail twitches offbeat with excess energy.
And...dinner? ]
It would be rude to impose myself further considering I, well, you didn't exactly invite me...but if you wouldn't mind the company, I would be remiss to refuse.
Eliot gives a quiet laugh and eases himself up out of his seat to head into his kitchenette. ]
If you're not imposing on me then we ain't friends. Show up unannounced. Call me at 3am. Help yourself to shit in my fridge. That's how I know we're friends.
[ So saying, he opens the fridge himself, rummaging around until he emerges with his bowl of marinating beef and some sweet and some russet potatoes that he sets down on the counter next to a jar of pickled vegetables. ]
Anyway, you'd be doing me a favour anyway. I'm trying out a new marinade. Could do with a taste tester.
[ Also, G'raha is good company, and Eliot knows himself well enough to know that he should not be alone with his thoughts right now. ]
[ He doesn't want to—! Well, he's made his point, and so has Eliot. To be so welcomed by someone he's come to care about in no small measure is certainly pleasing. G'raha's unable to stop himself from smiling so he doesn't try. Some joy should be shared, even if he can be a little sheepish about it. ]
An increasingly dangerous offer, lest you find me "raiding" your kitchen, as I'm told the saying goes.
[ He's hip and with it for 300-something.
The mention of a new marinade does pique his interest. G'raha's ears do that thing where they perk up for a second as he moves to stand as well to investigate. He keeps a respectable distance so Eliot still has room to work, but he's definitely watching. ]
[ Eliot looks up as G'raha approaches. Gives him a smile that says he doesn't mind the company if G'raha wanted to get closer. ]
Kind of. For all this place resembles my star a lot, there's some food completely unique to here, some food that are close approximations to what's available on my star, and things from my star that you can't get here. So some of my recipes need to be tweaked or— [ and here, he gestures at the beef in the bowl ] —completely reinvented.
[ He leaves the cling film on the bowl for now, instead gathering up the potatoes to wash them in the sink and then place them on a cutting board. As he starts cutting them into cubes: ] But meat marinades are all the same. Something acidic like vinegar or lemon juice or wine to tenderise the meat, some oil, and then whatever seasonings you want.
[ He tosses the cubed potatoes in some oil, salt, and some chopped rosemary, and then puts them in a little plug and play oven that very obviously didn't come with the place. And then he reaches for the bowl of meat. ]
[ Oh now this is very interesting to him. G'raha does, indeed, draw closer to really see what Eliot is doing (and to just be in his presence). He tilts his head to the side, being someone that enjoys food, but doesn't really know the true nuances of how to combine or get specific flavors. Lyna would doubtlessly back up that assertion. ]
I see, yes of course.
[ This is all rather reminiscent of the garage, except with less motor oil and more vegetable oil. ]
I can cook. But that is very different from being a good cook.
[ His smile is a little lopsided as he watches all of Eliot's ministrations. ]
But you seem quite at home.
just pretend the timing on cooking this meal isn't janky as fuck
[ The cling film goes in the trash and Eliot tosses the meat a little in the bowl and then lets it sit while he gets out a frying pan. He doesn't have a grill like he wants so they'll just have to make due with him frying it. Which is Fine, but he's still gonna pout about it. He sets the frying pan on the stove, sprays it down with some oil, and then turns the stove on. ]
Yeah, I, uh. After I got out of the military, I was kinda at loose ends for a while. [ Well. He was doing the kind of mercenary work that no one should be doing, but 'loose ends' sounds nicer. ] Friend of mine got me into cooking. You know, classes and everything. Some kind of scheme for veterans. And it worked.
[ He keeps his voice light, adds enough lies to make the whole thing sound easy, smooth. Not like he was spinning out dangerously before Toby put a knife in his hand and taught him how to make something with it. ]
I really took to it. Ended up with my own place and everything.
[ The frying pan is hot enough so he starts placing the beef onto it. Immediately the air is filled with the sound of it sizzling, and the scent of his marinade fills the room. Eliot nurses it carefully, flipping it as needed to make sure the outside is cooked evenly, and then says: ] Hey, grab me that cutting board over there, will you?
[ Right, he's a military man of many skills. But it is nice to see that he had taken it up as a hobby, not just as a necessity. That requires a different sort of interest and dedication as well as a window into some of Eliot's preferences that G'raha wouldn't have guessed.
He smiles as he listens and watches. ]
A "scheme" for veterans? As a means to redirect your energy to something else?
[ He doesn't want to say "something more productive", but former military members losing their purpose outside their previous position is well-known across many nations. If only there was framework in place more often to address the consequences. ]
Your own place?
[ His eyes widen a bit. Like his own restaurant? Spencer's Gifts may have been a lie, but maybe that stall in the mall should have been Orange Eliot's instead. ]
It already smells delicious. What do you usually like to cook?
[ And does it all smell this tantalizing? Or is G'raha just easy... ]
Oh! Yes, of course.
[ G'raha quickly grabs the cutting board and hands it to the resident chef. And after a moment of hesitation, he ventures— ]
Is there anything I can do to assist...?
[ The kitchen can be a sacred space, so he knows that he might just be a hindrance. But it still feels only right to offer. ]
these potatoes will Not be cooked but it's fine. it's Fine
[ As a means to redirect your energy to something else? Eliot smiles but it's pretty mirthless. ]
On my star, in my country, the government is really fucking eager to get people— to get kids to sign up to go to war. But once you're done and you get to go home... they wash their hands of you. These types of schemes are there to— [ stop them from killing themselves ] —reintegrate them back into society. Help them get jobs. That kind of thing.
[ He stops there, because he has a lot of opinions about the way veterans are treated, and if he doesn't stop he's gonna end up yelling about it and that's gonna ruin their nice dinner.
He takes the cutting board G'raha hands him with a quiet Thanks and lays the piping hot beef out on it so he can slice it up. His mouth twists a little at the offer for help—G'raha's a guest, what do you mean is there anything I can do to assist—but he also knows that G'raha doesn't do all too well sitting idle so: ]
Yeah, can you grab me some plates out the cupboard and put some cutlery on the table? Thanks.
[ He puts the rest of the beef in to cook. ]
Well where I grew up we had a lot of fried foods, lot of meat. Barbecue. Good, filling food. Lotta comfort to be found there. But, well. As much as a cop-out it is, I just like cooking. If people are around to enjoy it then that's even better.
[ G'raha believes he understands to some small degree, if only from the sidelines. For all the battles he's fought in, he participated either as a scholar at first, or later as a leader of the military itself. He doesn't know what it is like to be sought out, to be used and discarded. And however simply Eliot puts it, it's clear there's much more behind it. Something nefarious.
So while he can conceptualize it, he really can't understand. And what G'raha does understand is that he's lucky for that. ]
I'm sorry.
[ No one deserves that, Eliot least of all. And he can't presume to know how deeply Eliot has been affected by it either, even though he seems very put together from what G'raha can tell. ]
People are never disposable, but it seems that the notion is a common thread no matter where you are.
[ Just because G'raha tried to model the Crystarium in his vision of how a society should be ran means he is acutely aware of how often people are failed by their government. But even then, the Crystarium wasn't perfect.
G'raha is, however, glad to go about setting the table. He doesn't need another suggestion and immediately goes to open a few of the cupboards until he finds out which one has the plates. ]
I would hardly call it a "cop-out". If you found something you enjoy, that's a lovely thing, isn't it?
[ Or someone?
He sets out the plates and then goes to find the cutlery. Two of each? One of each, maybe. Just in case. ]
I've also found that frying tends to elevate most things, though I speak entirely from the perspective of a consumer.
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He's definitely taking any stairs two by two (yes his legs are long enough for that) and looks appropriately surprised by Eliot's appearance. It's not extreme in any fashion, but if this just...appeared... ]
Eliot...
[ His brows furrow in a mix of confusion and concern. ]
Tell me everything.
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Interrupted a mugging. Not soon enough to stop the kid from getting hurt but...
[ He pours them both a glass, despite the fact that G'raha never asked for anything, and then sits down opposite him. ]
I dealt with the muggers— [ a shrug, as though to say not a problem ] —and figured I'd give the whole healing thing another go.
Finally worked this time.
[ It's said with a wry sort of smile as he gestures at his own face. To feel pain suddenly bloom, to feel his flesh slowly open up— he may have not wanted G'raha here worrying about him but now that he is he can't help but hope he's got some answers. ]
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G'raha takes the seat, resting his staff against the edge of the table just to have it nearby. So Eliot had tried to intervene on someone else's behalf? That suits him, G'raha thinks. Not only to try and stop someone from becoming a victim, but then going the extra mile afterwards. That he felt emboldened enough to try the magic on his own does make G'raha feel a bloom of pride in his chest, even if it turned out so...sour. ]
It did, indeed...
[ G'raha's fingers rest on the edge of his glass, but he doesn't pick it up. ]
...Do you recall how I said it was important to use the ambient aether around you? And that your own is just like a lure to pull it in?
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[ He remembers. He's been trying so hard and for so long that it's like the words are burned into his mind. Eliot lays his hand out on the table between them, palm up. His brow furrows as he concentrates, fingers twitching, not so much pulling as... It feels like inhaling, like expanding his chest and letting the air rush in, and in a move reminiscent of what G'raha did all those months ago, calls a healing ball of aether to his hand.
Except, that definitely doesn't look nor feel anything like what G'raha did, the aether shot through with dark strands and almost sticky feeling. Did it look like that before? Eliot will admit that he wasn't particularly paying attention but it's not like he's doing anything different. Maybe he's the problem. ]
I'm guessing that's not right.
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It feels right. He can sense the air coalescing in Eliot's palm rather than feeling a rush of his own aether coming in to fill all the gaps. He's doing it right--until suddenly he isn't. The air dissipates and something dark and sickly takes its place.
G'raha's eyes widen, ears shooting up in alarm. ]
No...no it isn't.
[ G'raha holds his hand out, then hesitates as it hovers over the ball. ]
May I?
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I don't know what it'll do to you so be careful if you're gonna mess around with my aether, okay.
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I shall.
[ He brings his hand closer, trying to get a better sense of its alignment without directly touching. Strange...it's almost necrotic. The look of concern on G'raha's face deepens, though he tries to keep it as neutral as possible for Eliot's sake. ]
I'm going to supply some of my own aether...
[ Just a small, measured amount. Much less than what a low-level Cure would provide, but enough to be noticeable. A bright red seeps out of G'raha's palms into the ball and he watches it for a reaction. ]
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Eliot throws himself out of his chair and away from G'raha, aether dispelling as fast as he can make it. ]
Are you okay?
[ His voice is surprisingly measured for how much panic he's feeling right now, part of him wanting to check on G'raha while the other part isn't all too sure that it's safe for him to be that close. ]
I didn't hurt you, did I?
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Eliot throws himself backwards and G'raha likewise jumps in his chair in surprise, eyes wide and ears flat against the top of his head. There's a short moment of surprise until it's clear--Eliot wasn't hurt, he was afraid for G'raha.
He exhales, his own aether having long since dissipated and shakes his head. ]
No, I'm quite alright.
[ Well, he thinks Eliot wasn't hurt, but given the reason for G'raha coming over-- ]
Are you alright?
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I'm fine, is what he wants to say. What comes out is: ] I don't know what I'm doing here, G'raha.
[ Magic and aether and healing? What was he thinking? Though, he thinks sardonically to himself, only being able to heal someone by taking on their injuries himself seem fitting. Can't argue with the method. ]
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...I know.
[ Instead, he tries to offer reassurances without discounting Eliot's fears, ]
But I led you into this world.
[ G'raha holds out his hand again. ]
So I won't abandon you to it. We can find out together.
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Not your fault, okay. I didn't ask you here— [ well, okay, he didn't ask G'raha to come over in the first place but details ] —to put the blame on you. It is what it is.
[ And what it is is likely Eliot's fault anyhow.
Eliot holds his hand out too and places it on the table between them. Calls up some aether once more and watches as it forms into something dark and sickly. He wonders how G'raha can even stand to touch it. It's Eliot's and so it doesn't feel wrong to him but he can tell that it doesn't feel good. ]
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That doesn't change how he worries.
Still, Eliot is letting him try again so G'raha won't push the blame back onto himself. The way the aether shifts is just so against what ought to be happening. But everything he can sense around Eliot feels right. He's going through all the same motions, but producing a drastically different result. G'raha inhales lightly through his nose, holding his breath and reaches out to touch it--properly this time.
At first, there's a little sting that makes his ears twitch, but he holds fast. It feels warm, hot and almost uncomfortable. ]
Do you feel anything?
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[ It's not the word he would have used if he'd thought about it. Mostly because that's a weird and kinda creepy thing to say. But there's something... broken about it. Or maybe backwards, like it's spinning in the wrong direction, pulling instead of pushing, black instead of white. Something wrong, and in order to right itself it needs... it just needs. Never enough though. Like a black hole, ever expanding and always...
hungry. ]
Feels like an attack dog on a leash right now. Not out of control just... If I let go right now it feels like it'd just gobble you up.
[ He watches G'raha's hand carefully, watches the way tendrils of aether seems to stick to his hand. ]
I don't think this is meant for healing, and me trying to, I don't know, force it to heal is why this— [ He gestures at his face with his spare hand. ] —happened.
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Gods...if Eliot had tried healing someone with more dire injuries, what a state he could be in now.
G'raha doesn't force any of his aether into the ball, not wanting something worse to happen to Eliot with such experimentation. Instead, he carefully extracts his hand until it's forced to release him. No harm done. To himself, at least. ]
I will say, there's nothing inherently in your natural aether that makes me feel like it should be acting like this.
[ It can't be you, Eliot. He refuses to believe it. Mayhaps he's too biased. ]
I'll have to think on how we can tackle this.
[ If only he had Y'shtola and Urianger around. He can try consulting Aria and see what she thinks, being an expert healer in another vein. His own knowledge of how healing works in regards to fairies is very limited. ]
But...we'll find something. I promise.
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Listen. [ He tugs a little on G'raha's hand just to make sure G'raha's giving Eliot his full attention. This is important. ] I know you've got me, okay? But I'll be okay even if we never figure it out. So don't beat yourself up over this.
[ In the grand scheme of things he hasn't known G'raha all that long but... He knows the type. Of course he knows the type; like recognises like after all, and Eliot is surrounded by people who like to take on more than their fair share of the blame.
Was. Was surrounded.
At any rate, G'raha has only ever wanted to help, and Eliot won't let that be tarnished.
After a beat he lets go of his hand and then reaches for his iced tea, uses the couple of seconds as reprieve from such a heavy topic. And then, when he sets down his glass, says: ] Hey, you sticking around for a bit? Got some beef marinating that I was planning on cooking for dinner.
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His ears relax a bit as his gaze falls to their hands. He's seen Eliot in a fight, knows that they are more than capable of causing injury when they want to. But he's also seen them be kind, to help build and repair. This...making Eliot feel as if his efforts to heal are tainted is cruel. G'raha will fix this, somehow. Even if Eliot will be okay.
Still, he lets a small, somewhat tired smile pull at his lips. ]
You know me too well.
[ Already. But he relents with a nod, finally bringing his gaze back up to Eliot's. ]
I will endeavour not to.
[ It's only when the other man finally pulls back that G'raha realizes what just transpired. A...moment, of sorts. Of understanding. (Just that.) He finds himself swallowing a little awkwardly and grabbing at his own glass just to give his hands something new to do. The tip of his tail twitches offbeat with excess energy.
And...dinner? ]
It would be rude to impose myself further considering I, well, you didn't exactly invite me...but if you wouldn't mind the company, I would be remiss to refuse.
[ Ahem. ]
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Eliot gives a quiet laugh and eases himself up out of his seat to head into his kitchenette. ]
If you're not imposing on me then we ain't friends. Show up unannounced. Call me at 3am. Help yourself to shit in my fridge. That's how I know we're friends.
[ So saying, he opens the fridge himself, rummaging around until he emerges with his bowl of marinating beef and some sweet and some russet potatoes that he sets down on the counter next to a jar of pickled vegetables. ]
Anyway, you'd be doing me a favour anyway. I'm trying out a new marinade. Could do with a taste tester.
[ Also, G'raha is good company, and Eliot knows himself well enough to know that he should not be alone with his thoughts right now. ]
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An increasingly dangerous offer, lest you find me "raiding" your kitchen, as I'm told the saying goes.
[ He's hip and with it for 300-something.
The mention of a new marinade does pique his interest. G'raha's ears do that thing where they perk up for a second as he moves to stand as well to investigate. He keeps a respectable distance so Eliot still has room to work, but he's definitely watching. ]
Is this a recipe you came up with yourself?
no subject
Kind of. For all this place resembles my star a lot, there's some food completely unique to here, some food that are close approximations to what's available on my star, and things from my star that you can't get here. So some of my recipes need to be tweaked or— [ and here, he gestures at the beef in the bowl ] —completely reinvented.
[ He leaves the cling film on the bowl for now, instead gathering up the potatoes to wash them in the sink and then place them on a cutting board. As he starts cutting them into cubes: ] But meat marinades are all the same. Something acidic like vinegar or lemon juice or wine to tenderise the meat, some oil, and then whatever seasonings you want.
[ He tosses the cubed potatoes in some oil, salt, and some chopped rosemary, and then puts them in a little plug and play oven that very obviously didn't come with the place. And then he reaches for the bowl of meat. ]
You cook?
no subject
I see, yes of course.
[ This is all rather reminiscent of the garage, except with less motor oil and more vegetable oil. ]
I can cook. But that is very different from being a good cook.
[ His smile is a little lopsided as he watches all of Eliot's ministrations. ]
But you seem quite at home.
just pretend the timing on cooking this meal isn't janky as fuck
Yeah, I, uh. After I got out of the military, I was kinda at loose ends for a while. [ Well. He was doing the kind of mercenary work that no one should be doing, but 'loose ends' sounds nicer. ] Friend of mine got me into cooking. You know, classes and everything. Some kind of scheme for veterans. And it worked.
[ He keeps his voice light, adds enough lies to make the whole thing sound easy, smooth. Not like he was spinning out dangerously before Toby put a knife in his hand and taught him how to make something with it. ]
I really took to it. Ended up with my own place and everything.
[ The frying pan is hot enough so he starts placing the beef onto it. Immediately the air is filled with the sound of it sizzling, and the scent of his marinade fills the room. Eliot nurses it carefully, flipping it as needed to make sure the outside is cooked evenly, and then says: ] Hey, grab me that cutting board over there, will you?
it's perfect i see no jank
He smiles as he listens and watches. ]
A "scheme" for veterans? As a means to redirect your energy to something else?
[ He doesn't want to say "something more productive", but former military members losing their purpose outside their previous position is well-known across many nations. If only there was framework in place more often to address the consequences. ]
Your own place?
[ His eyes widen a bit. Like his own restaurant? Spencer's Gifts may have been a lie, but maybe that stall in the mall should have been Orange Eliot's instead. ]
It already smells delicious. What do you usually like to cook?
[ And does it all smell this tantalizing? Or is G'raha just easy... ]
Oh! Yes, of course.
[ G'raha quickly grabs the cutting board and hands it to the resident chef. And after a moment of hesitation, he ventures— ]
Is there anything I can do to assist...?
[ The kitchen can be a sacred space, so he knows that he might just be a hindrance. But it still feels only right to offer. ]
these potatoes will Not be cooked but it's fine. it's Fine
On my star, in my country, the government is really fucking eager to get people— to get kids to sign up to go to war. But once you're done and you get to go home... they wash their hands of you. These types of schemes are there to— [ stop them from killing themselves ] —reintegrate them back into society. Help them get jobs. That kind of thing.
[ He stops there, because he has a lot of opinions about the way veterans are treated, and if he doesn't stop he's gonna end up yelling about it and that's gonna ruin their nice dinner.
He takes the cutting board G'raha hands him with a quiet Thanks and lays the piping hot beef out on it so he can slice it up. His mouth twists a little at the offer for help—G'raha's a guest, what do you mean is there anything I can do to assist—but he also knows that G'raha doesn't do all too well sitting idle so: ]
Yeah, can you grab me some plates out the cupboard and put some cutlery on the table? Thanks.
[ He puts the rest of the beef in to cook. ]
Well where I grew up we had a lot of fried foods, lot of meat. Barbecue. Good, filling food. Lotta comfort to be found there. But, well. As much as a cop-out it is, I just like cooking. If people are around to enjoy it then that's even better.
they cooked when they saw eliot he's so hot
So while he can conceptualize it, he really can't understand. And what G'raha does understand is that he's lucky for that. ]
I'm sorry.
[ No one deserves that, Eliot least of all. And he can't presume to know how deeply Eliot has been affected by it either, even though he seems very put together from what G'raha can tell. ]
People are never disposable, but it seems that the notion is a common thread no matter where you are.
[ Just because G'raha tried to model the Crystarium in his vision of how a society should be ran means he is acutely aware of how often people are failed by their government. But even then, the Crystarium wasn't perfect.
G'raha is, however, glad to go about setting the table. He doesn't need another suggestion and immediately goes to open a few of the cupboards until he finds out which one has the plates. ]
I would hardly call it a "cop-out". If you found something you enjoy, that's a lovely thing, isn't it?
[
Or someone?He sets out the plates and then goes to find the cutlery. Two of each? One of each, maybe. Just in case. ]
I've also found that frying tends to elevate most things, though I speak entirely from the perspective of a consumer.
[ Do not let him around a deep fryer. ]
o///o