[Look, since she hadn't made any moves to stock her apartment, he just... did it for her. It's how he took care of Noctis, the rest of the group on their journey, and now, apparently, Aranea Highwind.
Besides, it's the least he could do. If he's spending time over at her small apartment, he can at least contribute to it in minor ways. And right now, that happens to be having picked up a few small edibles and prepare it at her place. (Really, he'd just wanted to make something for himself, but it would be awfully rude of him to commandeer her kitchen and not offer to share any of it. At least, that's the reasoning he'll tell himself.)
And then, as he's shuffling through the scant few pans she has (Burnt and rusted and well-worn, only one of which still even bearing a handle-) she starts humming. An obnoxiously catchy tune, one he's heard time and time again from either the radio or Prompto's enthusiastic and constant noise-making, or played at the Chocobo Post, or strummed by one of the street buskers in Lestallum--
That damned Chocobo song. He can't even place where it's from-- some commercial jingle? A children's show? Who even knows at this point. But it's ubiquitous throughout Eos, and something he hasn't heard, let alone even though of since arriving here.
He pauses and lifts his head to look over at her- and how she's flopped over the couch, absently humming and watching him. One eyebrow lifts for just a moment, before he returns to where he had been setting the pan on the stove and flickering on the heat.
...And starts humming himself, joining in at the 'chorus' of the song. After all, two can play at this game.
[ A cunning strategy. Aranea's eyes narrow a little as she considers how to respond to this tactic - this plaintive, unbothered participation. He's clearly above such childish attempts at annoyance, if he can brush it off and then join in. If her stomach weren't rumbling with such purpose, she might find his rebuttal funny. As it is, it simply goads her - to further immaturity, possibly.
So, she starts to sing, hitting the beats of the song with passive interest at best. ]
I want to ride my chocobo all day...
[ Aranea's voice isn't terrible, either. Not suited for professional singing, no, but hardly displeasing. She'd do fine at karaoke.
However, she remembers one key fact from the Vesperpool: that Prompto remembers the entire tune and only the first few lines of the song. So, that's what she sings, over and over, words disappearing in and out of her hum, voice lowering to something annoying, but not necessarily disruptive. She's playing the long game here. ]
[It's just like Prompto all over again. That damned tune, but only the one line of the song remembered and sung. Over and over. Hummed incessantly. And it's so insidious, one he's so familiar with that even if he can't hear her singing or humming over the chopping of food or sizzling of the pan, he's well aware of the cadence and beat of it, knows just what note to expect when he can hear it again.
tldr: it's well played, on her part.]
It's remarkable that chocobos enjoy all the limelight. As a child, I was more partial to moombas. Perhaps they simply weren't as marketable, not having a physical counterpart.
[Surely not as much as chocobos. And, to a lesser extent, moogles.
...Hell, even that strange malboro cartoon got airspace and merchandise in some of the districts of Insomnia.
He shrugs as he shifts the pan on the heat, slowly adding more to it. (And yes, there is some insect involved, but he won't be saying it outright. it's finely chopped enough that he'll write it off as something more benign.)]
While pleasant enough, and incredibly useful to get around, they can be rather finicky birds. And the smell never really leaves them.
[ He does succeed in getting her to stop the song, engaging her rather skillfully in conversation by just... Talking. Aranea sits up on her couch, leaning forward on a knee in a tighter sprawl that's a bit less lazy.
Watching him cook is an interesting experience. He clearly knows what he's doing. Occasionally, she finds herself studying his hands, the way they thoughtlessly move from one implement to another. ]
Why moombas?
[ They're spiky and can't say anything but their own name, allegedly. Sounds like a pretty dumb beast to her. ]
Probably for the best, really. Airships and cars are much quicker and more reliable, truth be told. [Not that he wasn't fond of the birds they'd rented. And they certainly allowed them to travel in harsher overgrowths and denser forests at a better speed than walking.]
But admittedly, there is a certain charm to them.
[He keeps working, even as he speaks. There's something calming about being in a situation he's so familiar with, even in such a different situation. Pausing to judge between two packets of spices (which were really far over budget, but after this past week, they'd likely earned it-), idly stirring the sauteing vegetables even as he does so.]
I... suppose I just found them cuter. [It sounds stupid when he says it aloud like that. But they were all eight year olds once, and likely all had their own stupid preferences.] And they seemed more interesting to me- a creature that evolves, rather than dumbly 'warks' for greens and has to be chased about.
[ The food is beginning to smell good, Aranea notes, resting her cheek against the back of the couch as she listens, watches. The faint crackle of frying vegetables and cheap oil bubbling up are surprisingly soothing; especially for the fact that it'll end with a deliciously prepared meal with no effort on her part whatsoever. ]
Don't let Prompto hear you say that.
[ It's somewhat warmly said, albeit neutered by her typical non-committal tone. ]
It's weird to think of you as a kid that found things 'cute'. [ A shrug. ] I guess the cerebral explanation makes more sense.
[That earns a short laugh, admittedly- It's light and reserved, head ducking slightly, but certainly there. Not only at the idea of Prompto angrily squawking and defending his brethren favourite creatures-- but also Aranea's admittance that the concept of him as a child being different than his current self was strange.
...Then again, he wasn't exactly a typical child. Being isolated from his peers and tutored privately, being charged with the prince's welfare at such a young age--
Well. Perhaps her comment isn't terribly surprising.]
Are you saying that you didn't find things cute as a child? [There's a faintly amused smile as he glances up, head tilting slightly-- though it doesn't last long before he's looking down at the cooking again, shifting the pan and the heat, before adding in some more of the thick sauce blend he'd put together and continues stirring it.]
So then, what creature did you prefer while growing up? [A pause, and:] I'm willing to put a few gil on cactaurs. They're rather prickly, like yourself.
[ That gets a faint laugh out of her, more a breathy chuckle than anything, but undiminished.
Eventually, part of her is going to feel a little uneasy in how effortlessly he assumes control of the conversation, how willingly and repeatedly she's invited him into her tiny, cramped home, sharing - well, sharing food, among other things. She's come a long way from being the 86th aerial fleet's venerated Lady A, living alone in one of the most expensive towers in the capital of Niflheim. It's an interesting thing to reconcile.
But we're not there yet. For now, she's distracted by an in-progress dinner and the talk of moombas and other creatures. ]
Cactuars... Sure.
[ Another little shrug, more in the cant of her head than anything. ]
Actually, I was always more partial to Tonberries. Always wondered where those little assholes got their robes.
[ Did they sew them themselves, did they contract out, did they have a guild tailor? THE MYSTERY CONTINUES ]
[Tonberries- as soon as she says it, it fits. As terrifyingly powerful as those little daemons are, there is a certain charm about them. Slow and ponderous until they draw close enough, carrying their little lanterns and knives. While he'd never seen or heard of one until the ill-fasted trip that brought them outside of the Wall, he imagines the rest of Eos to be quite familiar with all manner of daemons.]
That is a good question, isn't it? So many of the daemons simply appear from the ether, fully clothed.
[That earns a small chuckle, and it's not long before he's plating the small meal, rummaging through drawers for whatever qualifies as utensils in Aranea's small abode.]
I hadn't known about tonberries until quite recently, really. I suppose another example of how sheltered Insomnia really was. [Picking up the plates, he goes ahead and moves to the couch, holding one out for her-- but just far enough away that she'll have to actually sit up. Don't lounge while you eat, it's rude.]
Was it difficult? Growing up being unable to travel freely at night? [--Or, perhaps, even during the day. He's swiftly reminded of their close encounters with a Zuu and how people without the protection of the Wall may have to be constantly aware of local beasts as well.]
[ Aranea rolls her eyes a little but does sit up straight, planting her feet firmly on the floor to accept the food. There's no room for a kitchen table - indeed, what she has barely passes as a kitchen, attached to an insignificant "great room" with the bed just further on. The couch is the centerpiece. They'll have to eat sitting there, like mannerless heathens; part of her imagines she'll enjoy the sight of someone as prissy as him being forced into such a casual position.
As for her utensils? They were largely left here from the last person who occupied the unit. Some of them could use more of a scrub than they got, with the metal being dingy and stained. Some of them are plastic and probably quite breakable. Also, there is a weird amount of chopsticks rattling around the utensil drawer. Deal with that, Stupeo.
Resting her plate on her lap, she drowns the meat in the sauce before taking a bite. ]
Not really. It wasn't like there was a curfew. You could, if you really wanted to. [ Go out at night, she means. ] The cities were actually pretty safe when I was a kid. [ well ] From daemons, anyway.
[ Her tone sombers a bit on those last three words. Quickly seeing a distraction before he pries further, Aranea reaches down and rolls up her right pant leg to just a bit past the ankle. There's a long scar there, having since grown shiny and puckered, a shade paler than her skin. ]
See this? Ran into a Tonberry in an alley when I was, like, thirteen. First daemon I ever took out.
[Aranea needn't worry- having lived on the road for several months now, he's actually used to people sitting on the damned cooler and chowing away at whatever he's prepared, or even just leaning back against a chocobo as they eat. And so he goes ahead and sits on the other cushion, one leg moving to cross over the other as he prods at the meal with a fork missing half of its tines.]
I suppose they do seem to stay clear of well-populated areas. I assume because of the lights.
[But then she's flashing her ankle, and the scar is thin and long and old enough not to appear too impressive-- until she adds the time frame.
Taking on a tonberry at thirteen. Really, the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes how damned scrappy she is.]
....I think my worst injury at that age had been a particularly gruesome paper-cut from one of Noctis's school projects, [It's spoken lightly, lips curled up in a wry smile. Of course later on he'd accumulate his own injuries, but having access to magical potions did fairly well at removing the evidence.
doesn't do a thing for the acne scars tho]
That's impressive, though. Had you already taken to carrying weapons?
[ Aranea is rolling her trouser leg back down as she answers. ]
Yeah. Not for the daemons, though. Growin' up alone in Niflheim's capital isn't always easy for a girl.
[ She still doesn't want to elaborate, though. Not yet, anyway, and not with him. It was so long ago. The fact that all the work she's put into rising to a comfortable, secure life has been so summarily ripped away from her for New Amsterdam's many variant wonders still chafes.
So, a subject change - or rather, a turnabout subject, bringing them back to his previous words. ]
You did the prince's homework, too? You must've made one hell of a royal nanny.
I would imagine Gralea to be like most cities: equal parts affluent and treacherous, and sometimes in the places you'd least expect. [While he'd never really had any bad encounters in Insomnia, he knew it was a city like any other. No matter where people gathered, society would shape itself to fill every nook and cranny.
He'll pause to take a few bites of food, though, leaving a bit of a break between her subject change and his answer. At least that's one he'd heard plenty to times before- that he was more a 'nanny' or a minder or any number of words, some more vulgar than others, to refer to his extraneous actions in regards to caring for Noctis.]
I assisted him when needed. I was more of a tutor. [...Okay, well he definitely wrote at least one paper for him, but that was in exceptional circumstance.]
But yes, I did help him with his schooling. It was interesting, though, getting to see his experiences with the public school system.
[A shrug, and then he'll gesture with the half-broken fork in her direction.] Is it to your liking?
[ Honestly, none of this is terrible. Four Eyes might have had, in her opinion, a boring life, but he's half again more tolerable than many of the people she's had to deal with during her time in the Imperial Army.
[There's a brief pause at the question- just a slightly, half-moment's hesitation in fork-to-mouth movement, as though swiftly making a decision. Better not to lie to her, he imagines.]
Well- the recipe called for a quarter-cup of ground locusts to add texture and protein to the sauce, but of course I had to substitute that.
[Another moment as he finished his mouthful, and finally shrugs a shoulder, fully anticipating getting a heel to the ribs in a moment.]
[ As he's talking, her own fork is halfway to her mouth...
With a sound (and almost ominous) clink, the very same utensil is set back down onto the plate. Her expression is inarguably serious and a bit severe as she stares at him. She never made him promise not to feed her bugs, per se, but that's only because it never occurred to her. Because she is a sane individual.
For several seconds, silence looms. And then: ]
Okay. I think it's time we set some ground rules for this little arrangement of ours.
[He would have preferred to be kicked, to be quiet honest.
He frowns, slightly- Sure, he knows everyone has had their own personal hangups over one of the main ingredients used in daily cooking here being insects, rather than meat from larger creatures- but that was just a part of life here. And it wasn't as though they were large, dirty grubs shoves gracelessly into the meal!
A swallow, and he wishes they had managed to scrounge for some wine. Or anything that would ease some of the sting of the conversation they have to have now.]
[ Her husky drawl is as confident as ever. She doesn't continue eating quite yet, though - whether or not that's reluctance or just theatrics is yet to be determined. ]
I get the bugs. Doesn't mean I wanna know they're there. Keep me ignorant, Four Eyes. Just tell me it's chicken next time.
[He listens, and it's fair enough. She can eat them, so long as she isn't aware. Something he can respect, even if she's giving him blanket permission to lie in regards to any insect-additions to foodstuffs. Unlike Aranea, though, he's clearly not bothered by the food.]
...Very well. What sort of penalties? Or would that be dependent on the specific delinquency?
[He shifts his legs slightly, sitting back against the couch, now that he's not worried about getting a foot in his side.]
As for three: No retroactive penalties. No one can be expected to adhere to a rule that didn't exist. And I suggest that four is that rules can be added, removed, or revised by any party at any time, provided they both agree to it.
[ A firm, agreeable nod. Aranea once again drowns the, uh, meat in the sauce before taking a bite. There's no crunch, which is good. She probably would have thought too hard about her meal if there turned out to be a crunch. ]
Penalties are assigned after an infraction, but all parties have to agree. [ Beat. ] That's you an' me.
[ She gestures lazily toward her meal. ]
For this, I'll give you a get-out-of-jail-free card. No penalties tonight.
[Hey, it's still meat, ok. Well, fish. But there's just a little extra something to it. But yes, at least there's no crunch where there shouldn't be crunches. Though that does give ideas for adding some to breading and crusts--]
Agreed. [If he'd had a drink, he'd lift it in a half-toast of agreement.] And I appreciate your generosity in not already breaking the aforementioned third rule after my initial breaking of the first.
[There's a small smile at that, and he glances down at his own meal.] Speaking of the food- do you have any preferences of your own? I imagine you can't be terribly choosey in the military, but if you could be?
[ Trained, left, went back... It just feels important to point out. Her life has straddled the line of mercenary work and military discipline, often depending on her whims and the benefit of an established paygrade versus the benefits of freelance work.
As for his question? ]
Always preferred fish to fowl. Anything deep fried is good by me, too. [ A thoughtful little pause. ] Not much of a girl for greens. Always felt salad was like bird food. Maybe you could change my mind.
[He's at least started to notice her dry, one-line comments in regards to her time before their meeting- and while he's sure she would outright tell him if he was treading too close to uncomfortable subjects, or asking too many nosy questions, he can at least take something of a hint and back off.
Besides, learning about someone's tastes is much more interesting.]
I'm certain there's some way they could be prepared to your liking. I'm not sure how much of a variety there is here, but different types have all different tastes, as well.
[There's a bit of a proud smile at the half-challenge of 'changing her mind' about it. Look he's gotta take his wins where he can, and this is something he's absolutely comfortable in.] Perhaps I'll try that next: something palatable but vegetarian.
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Besides, it's the least he could do. If he's spending time over at her small apartment, he can at least contribute to it in minor ways. And right now, that happens to be having picked up a few small edibles and prepare it at her place. (Really, he'd just wanted to make something for himself, but it would be awfully rude of him to commandeer her kitchen and not offer to share any of it. At least, that's the reasoning he'll tell himself.)
And then, as he's shuffling through the scant few pans she has (Burnt and rusted and well-worn, only one of which still even bearing a handle-) she starts humming. An obnoxiously catchy tune, one he's heard time and time again from either the radio or Prompto's enthusiastic and constant noise-making, or played at the Chocobo Post, or strummed by one of the street buskers in Lestallum--
That damned Chocobo song. He can't even place where it's from-- some commercial jingle? A children's show? Who even knows at this point. But it's ubiquitous throughout Eos, and something he hasn't heard, let alone even though of since arriving here.
He pauses and lifts his head to look over at her- and how she's flopped over the couch, absently humming and watching him. One eyebrow lifts for just a moment, before he returns to where he had been setting the pan on the stove and flickering on the heat.
...And starts humming himself, joining in at the 'chorus' of the song. After all, two can play at this game.
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So, she starts to sing, hitting the beats of the song with passive interest at best. ]
I want to ride my chocobo all day...
[ Aranea's voice isn't terrible, either. Not suited for professional singing, no, but hardly displeasing. She'd do fine at karaoke.
However, she remembers one key fact from the Vesperpool: that Prompto remembers the entire tune and only the first few lines of the song. So, that's what she sings, over and over, words disappearing in and out of her hum, voice lowering to something annoying, but not necessarily disruptive. She's playing the long game here. ]
I want to ride my chocobo all day... ♫
[ And again, and again, and again... ]
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tldr: it's well played, on her part.]
It's remarkable that chocobos enjoy all the limelight. As a child, I was more partial to moombas. Perhaps they simply weren't as marketable, not having a physical counterpart.
[Surely not as much as chocobos. And, to a lesser extent, moogles.
...Hell, even that strange malboro cartoon got airspace and merchandise in some of the districts of Insomnia.
He shrugs as he shifts the pan on the heat, slowly adding more to it. (And yes, there is some insect involved, but he won't be saying it outright. it's finely chopped enough that he'll write it off as something more benign.)]
While pleasant enough, and incredibly useful to get around, they can be rather finicky birds. And the smell never really leaves them.
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[ He does succeed in getting her to stop the song, engaging her rather skillfully in conversation by just... Talking. Aranea sits up on her couch, leaning forward on a knee in a tighter sprawl that's a bit less lazy.
Watching him cook is an interesting experience. He clearly knows what he's doing. Occasionally, she finds herself studying his hands, the way they thoughtlessly move from one implement to another. ]
Why moombas?
[ They're spiky and can't say anything but their own name, allegedly. Sounds like a pretty dumb beast to her. ]
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But admittedly, there is a certain charm to them.
[He keeps working, even as he speaks. There's something calming about being in a situation he's so familiar with, even in such a different situation. Pausing to judge between two packets of spices (which were really far over budget, but after this past week, they'd likely earned it-), idly stirring the sauteing vegetables even as he does so.]
I... suppose I just found them cuter. [It sounds stupid when he says it aloud like that. But they were all eight year olds once, and likely all had their own stupid preferences.] And they seemed more interesting to me- a creature that evolves, rather than dumbly 'warks' for greens and has to be chased about.
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Don't let Prompto hear you say that.
[ It's somewhat warmly said, albeit neutered by her typical non-committal tone. ]
It's weird to think of you as a kid that found things 'cute'. [ A shrug. ] I guess the cerebral explanation makes more sense.
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brethrenfavourite creatures-- but also Aranea's admittance that the concept of him as a child being different than his current self was strange....Then again, he wasn't exactly a typical child. Being isolated from his peers and tutored privately, being charged with the prince's welfare at such a young age--
Well. Perhaps her comment isn't terribly surprising.]
Are you saying that you didn't find things cute as a child? [There's a faintly amused smile as he glances up, head tilting slightly-- though it doesn't last long before he's looking down at the cooking again, shifting the pan and the heat, before adding in some more of the thick sauce blend he'd put together and continues stirring it.]
So then, what creature did you prefer while growing up? [A pause, and:] I'm willing to put a few gil on cactaurs. They're rather prickly, like yourself.
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Eventually, part of her is going to feel a little uneasy in how effortlessly he assumes control of the conversation, how willingly and repeatedly she's invited him into her tiny, cramped home, sharing - well, sharing food, among other things. She's come a long way from being the 86th aerial fleet's venerated Lady A, living alone in one of the most expensive towers in the capital of Niflheim. It's an interesting thing to reconcile.
But we're not there yet. For now, she's distracted by an in-progress dinner and the talk of moombas and other creatures. ]
Cactuars... Sure.
[ Another little shrug, more in the cant of her head than anything. ]
Actually, I was always more partial to Tonberries. Always wondered where those little assholes got their robes.
[ Did they sew them themselves, did they contract out, did they have a guild tailor? THE MYSTERY CONTINUES ]
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That is a good question, isn't it? So many of the daemons simply appear from the ether, fully clothed.
[That earns a small chuckle, and it's not long before he's plating the small meal, rummaging through drawers for whatever qualifies as utensils in Aranea's small abode.]
I hadn't known about tonberries until quite recently, really. I suppose another example of how sheltered Insomnia really was. [Picking up the plates, he goes ahead and moves to the couch, holding one out for her-- but just far enough away that she'll have to actually sit up. Don't lounge while you eat, it's rude.]
Was it difficult? Growing up being unable to travel freely at night? [--Or, perhaps, even during the day. He's swiftly reminded of their close encounters with a Zuu and how people without the protection of the Wall may have to be constantly aware of local beasts as well.]
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As for her utensils? They were largely left here from the last person who occupied the unit. Some of them could use more of a scrub than they got, with the metal being dingy and stained. Some of them are plastic and probably quite breakable. Also, there is a weird amount of chopsticks rattling around the utensil drawer. Deal with that, Stupeo.
Resting her plate on her lap, she drowns the meat in the sauce before taking a bite. ]
Not really. It wasn't like there was a curfew. You could, if you really wanted to. [ Go out at night, she means. ] The cities were actually pretty safe when I was a kid. [ well ] From daemons, anyway.
[ Her tone sombers a bit on those last three words. Quickly seeing a distraction before he pries further, Aranea reaches down and rolls up her right pant leg to just a bit past the ankle. There's a long scar there, having since grown shiny and puckered, a shade paler than her skin. ]
See this? Ran into a Tonberry in an alley when I was, like, thirteen. First daemon I ever took out.
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I suppose they do seem to stay clear of well-populated areas. I assume because of the lights.
[But then she's flashing her ankle, and the scar is thin and long and old enough not to appear too impressive-- until she adds the time frame.
Taking on a tonberry at thirteen. Really, the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes how damned scrappy she is.]
....I think my worst injury at that age had been a particularly gruesome paper-cut from one of Noctis's school projects, [It's spoken lightly, lips curled up in a wry smile. Of course later on he'd accumulate his own injuries, but having access to magical potions did fairly well at removing the evidence.
doesn't do a thing for the acne scars tho]That's impressive, though. Had you already taken to carrying weapons?
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Yeah. Not for the daemons, though. Growin' up alone in Niflheim's capital isn't always easy for a girl.
[ She still doesn't want to elaborate, though. Not yet, anyway, and not with him. It was so long ago. The fact that all the work she's put into rising to a comfortable, secure life has been so summarily ripped away from her for New Amsterdam's many variant wonders still chafes.
So, a subject change - or rather, a turnabout subject, bringing them back to his previous words. ]
You did the prince's homework, too? You must've made one hell of a royal nanny.
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He'll pause to take a few bites of food, though, leaving a bit of a break between her subject change and his answer. At least that's one he'd heard plenty to times before- that he was more a 'nanny' or a minder or any number of words, some more vulgar than others, to refer to his extraneous actions in regards to caring for Noctis.]
I assisted him when needed. I was more of a tutor. [...Okay, well he definitely wrote at least one paper for him, but that was in exceptional circumstance.]
But yes, I did help him with his schooling. It was interesting, though, getting to see his experiences with the public school system.
[A shrug, and then he'll gesture with the half-broken fork in her direction.] Is it to your liking?
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[ Honestly, none of this is terrible. Four Eyes might have had, in her opinion, a boring life, but he's half again more tolerable than many of the people she's had to deal with during her time in the Imperial Army.
Although... ]
What's in this, though? You never told me.
[ danger, danger ]
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Well- the recipe called for a quarter-cup of ground locusts to add texture and protein to the sauce, but of course I had to substitute that.
[Another moment as he finished his mouthful, and finally shrugs a shoulder, fully anticipating getting a heel to the ribs in a moment.]
The crickets were cheaper.
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With a sound (and almost ominous) clink, the very same utensil is set back down onto the plate. Her expression is inarguably serious and a bit severe as she stares at him. She never made him promise not to feed her bugs, per se, but that's only because it never occurred to her. Because she is a sane individual.
For several seconds, silence looms. And then: ]
Okay. I think it's time we set some ground rules for this little arrangement of ours.
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He frowns, slightly- Sure, he knows everyone has had their own personal hangups over one of the main ingredients used in daily cooking here being insects, rather than meat from larger creatures- but that was just a part of life here. And it wasn't as though they were large, dirty grubs shoves gracelessly into the meal!
A swallow, and he wishes they had managed to scrounge for some wine. Or anything that would ease some of the sting of the conversation they have to have now.]
...Alright. Go ahead.
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[ Her husky drawl is as confident as ever. She doesn't continue eating quite yet, though - whether or not that's reluctance or just theatrics is yet to be determined. ]
I get the bugs. Doesn't mean I wanna know they're there. Keep me ignorant, Four Eyes. Just tell me it's chicken next time.
[ Did he think he was getting off easy? Well -- ]
Two. Penalty for infractions.
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...Very well. What sort of penalties? Or would that be dependent on the specific delinquency?
[He shifts his legs slightly, sitting back against the couch, now that he's not worried about getting a foot in his side.]
As for three: No retroactive penalties. No one can be expected to adhere to a rule that didn't exist. And I suggest that four is that rules can be added, removed, or revised by any party at any time, provided they both agree to it.
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[ A firm, agreeable nod. Aranea once again drowns the, uh, meat in the sauce before taking a bite. There's no crunch, which is good. She probably would have thought too hard about her meal if there turned out to be a crunch. ]
Penalties are assigned after an infraction, but all parties have to agree. [ Beat. ] That's you an' me.
[ She gestures lazily toward her meal. ]
For this, I'll give you a get-out-of-jail-free card. No penalties tonight.
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Agreed. [If he'd had a drink, he'd lift it in a half-toast of agreement.] And I appreciate your generosity in not already breaking the aforementioned third rule after my initial breaking of the first.
[There's a small smile at that, and he glances down at his own meal.] Speaking of the food- do you have any preferences of your own? I imagine you can't be terribly choosey in the military, but if you could be?
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[ Trained, left, went back... It just feels important to point out. Her life has straddled the line of mercenary work and military discipline, often depending on her whims and the benefit of an established paygrade versus the benefits of freelance work.
As for his question? ]
Always preferred fish to fowl. Anything deep fried is good by me, too. [ A thoughtful little pause. ] Not much of a girl for greens. Always felt salad was like bird food. Maybe you could change my mind.
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Besides, learning about someone's tastes is much more interesting.]
I'm certain there's some way they could be prepared to your liking. I'm not sure how much of a variety there is here, but different types have all different tastes, as well.
[There's a bit of a proud smile at the half-challenge of 'changing her mind' about it. Look he's gotta take his wins where he can, and this is something he's absolutely comfortable in.] Perhaps I'll try that next: something palatable but vegetarian.
And then you won't have anything bugging you.
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Rule 4.
[ Look at what you did, Ignis. ]
No puns.
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I can't in good conscious agree to a rule I'm destined to break.
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