hot chicken is good for the soul | idunn & azelle
ignifilis:
A warm shelter is a welcome distraction from the incessant cold. Azelle hates how it turns his blood sluggish, all his innate body heat evaporating into invisible steam. Even his slightly higher-than-normal temperature is no match for endless days of snow and icy wind.
Now, seated as far away as possible from the door and crammed between a forgotten barrel and a subdued group of students, he thinks the edge of frost has finally faded from his limbs. His own bucket of chicken rests forgotten on his lap; it’s far too interesting watching an impressively bold young lad try and sweat through his own.
The boy–boisterous in his scoffing this was an easy challenge–now sits in the room’s center, tears occasionally falling down his cheeks from the intensity of spices. Sympathy wars with morbid curiosity. How long will he go before admitting defeat?
Someone moves in front of him, blocking his vision.He blinks in momentary surprise at the offer. “I am cold, yes. Ah, thank you.” Etiquette demands he accept the piece of chicken, reaching out with tentative fingers. Grease immediately drips along his skin, accompanied by faint licks of heat.
There’s scattered applause. He wonders if the boy finally accepted the inevitable. Glancing up at the girl once more, Azelle takes a cautious bite of his deceptively innocent looking chicken.
Spicy food was never something he avoided. The extra heat was a welcome addition to most meals, so long as it was done with care. This was concocted without care. It’s a raging inferno in the form of a chicken thigh, meant to burn from the first bite to the last.
Azelle holds the chicken away, couching into the crook of his free arm, tears welling in his own eyes. “Fire…does not taste like that.”
Idunn watched as the boy took the piece of fiery chicken, nodding in satisfaction. She knew that humans especially needed to cover themselves up with cloth and other things to remain warm- and those with magic burning at their cores, so perhaps this would help as well. She heard some strange noise around them- people hitting their hands with each other, making a loud popping noise, but they seemed amused by it. Or…did they do it because they were amused by something?
Humans had strange behaviors that were still a mystery to Idunn. She knew what certain facial expressions meant and she could usually tell from how their smell changed as well, but there were many small actions that they did that she didn’t understand. This popping noise they made with their hands, or how at the academy in some of the quieter rooms they’d stand there with their palms pressed to one another close to their faces and eyes closed, or how at times they’d do a snapping sound with their middle finger and thumb to get attention instead of simply shouting or using their voices.
Their culture was intriguing, but she wished to learn all of it.
“What is that?” Her eyes were fixated on the crowd, but it was clear that her question was directed to the boy next to her. She then looked down to her own hands- a bit dirty with all the chicken and sauce, and tried repeating the action. She hit one palm against the other, first slowly and carefully- then with more intensity. Pop. “This gesture. What is it for?”
Then she heard the boy cough, her attention immediately going to his figure. His eyes were teary and his face seemed flushed. “Are you sad?” Humans cried when they were upset by something, that much she knew. Was he upset by the chicken? “This is the taste of fire. It burns inside.” In fact the sensation was still very much there, but she still took another bite as if the piece of meat was nothing.
“It upsets you?” Idunn couldn’t smell blood from him not the adrenaline that rushes when a human is injured or distressed, so what was was the source of his tears?
@ignifilis
Covering his hand with an oversized sleeve, Azelle wipes the tears off his cheeks, the initial shock finally wearing off. Crimson eyes consider the chicken once more. It's not horrible, not really, merely a sensory overload even for those with a high spicy food tolerance. But it had succeeded in thoroughly warming him from the inside out after just one bite.
He's considering another mouthful when the girl speaks. Everyone else has moved on from the poor boy doing his best to prove his bravery. "Clapping? It has a few different meanings, but people usually do it as a sign of approval or congratulations. I think, in this case, they were trying to support that boy." He gestures with the chicken to the boy--who is now guzzling a glass of milk.
"Hm?" Azelle squints at this girl. Her questions feel like a prank, but she seems genuine. Far be it from him to squash anyone's curiosity, no matter how seemingly obvious the inquiry.
"No, I'm not sad." A deep breath, feeling the last embers of spice cool on his tongue. "Fire tastes...ashy. Like smoke." Now he swallows memories best left buried. She'll undoubtedly press the issue if he says more; that's a topic he has no desire to discuss at present.
The chicken lowers. "This is merely a side effect of eating extremely spicy food. I don't mind it, normally. I've never eaten anything quite like this, though."
And yet. The meat itself is cooked to perfection. Not too chewy, not too charred. Against his better judgment, he takes another, smaller bite, eyes immediately watering once more.
