Oh gods it truly was worse than they thought.
As soon as the smoke had cleared and the spot of white hair could be soon from the carnage, G’raha almost thought to rethink his previous complaints. Mayhap it was only Alphinaud, fit to arrive on scene to help whoever had created this mess. Surely, he was a grand cook; having made breakfast for the group plenty of times.
But then the tan cloth of Alisaie’s jacket made itself apparent, and he understood all too well what kind of situation they were in.
“A-Alisaie…?” There were a few gentle coughs that escaped him, ones he tried to hide as he buried his nose into his scarf. The scent was overwhelmingly terrible.
“Now before you go bickering and complaining about my lack of skill, I would ask that you consider helping me instead!” The elezen was quick to defend herself, before another billow of smoke escaped the rather angry looking stove.
This was bad. Terrible even. Alisaie could think of no better way to deal with this than just letting the whole building crumble to dust underneath the flames.
But…perhaps there were better options.
“Is there any way we can rid ourselves of it?? It simply cannot be saved at this point.” She pauses, mumbling to herself. “And to think this was supposed to be a thank you gift…”
He’s incredulous, to say the least, that whatever this godsforsaken smell was could be called a thank you gift. Whatever recipe she was following ought to be burned, just like the dish itself.
“Ye might be needin’ a new recipe on top o’ the rest of it,” A’aba says, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything of the sort, but if the smell was even burning his nose hairs, who in the hell knows how young G’raha felt?
“Out with it! Douse it and toss it,” he says, quick to do exactly as he himself had instructed, dialing down the stove’s heat and gesturing for one of the two mages to stifle its stench and smoke alike under a small Blizzard spell. Like hells he was gonna let it sit in here, stinking up the joint, all so everyone else could suffer in the same way the two of ‘em had.
And Alisaie o’course, but the perpetrator didn’t count. She was just livin’ with her own mistakes, far as her nose was concerned, if it was even half as bad to her as it was to him.
“What in the hells were ye tryin’ to make, Ali? And for whom? Ye find a girlfriend you’re not tellin’ anyone about?”
And if she did, Hydaelyn save them, they were in desperate need of teaching her how to cook. If this persists, he might have to recruit the Scions to stage a sort of intervention—or better yet, a cooking lesson.