❝ — oh , is it your turn to cook ? ❞ soft spoken words follows the young chosen’s inquiry ; azure hues lingering at the ingredients bestowed upon the auburn mercenary . her curiosity momentarily saturated as she peers closer , her growing keen nose inhaling the thick scent of burning wood and exposed condiments . ❝ even though lloyd doesn’t say it … i think he really likes your cooking . he doesn’t like tomatoes , you see … ❞
his eyes are frigid cauldrons, unable to be passed into by light or genuine worry. she was nawt but a bounty for cruxis; the eventual vessel for martel. but the way she spoke was without a care in the world. as if the weight on her shoulders could disappear whenever she frolicked around her friends.
❝ do you disapprove, chosen? ❞ he’s set out many ingredients; most importantly fish. there is onion to be sauteed, garlic to be added and no small amount of chili pepper cut up for heat. he holds a lemon in his hand, a clean pan in the other. ❝ so you’ve noticed... they’re simply too acidic for my tastes. ❞