Burnt Waffles
Arlo Shepard was a lot of things. A fierce leader, overall team player, insane combat analysis and terrible dancer though she would never be on to admit it.
The one thing she was not- however- was a good cook.
And spirits bless her soul, boy did she try to impress him with her cooking but there’s only so much half cooked or half charred dextro sludge a turian can take before intervening in a bid for survival.
“You know I love you, right?”
Shepard gawked at him as if he had just stated the most obvious thing in the entire universe.
“What’s wrong with waffles!?” She asked, baffled that he hadn’t even taken as much as a bite out of his breakfast.
He tried to be subtle about not eating them, mainly conversing with her or picking at everything else but the ‘waffles’ on his plate. Hell he didn’t even know what an alleged ‘waffle’ was and judging by the charred square on his tray, he wasn’t keen to be acquainted with this alien cuisine.
“Honey, they’re burnt.” He deadpanned. “Even burnt is being generous, they’re incinerated.”
She stood up at that, hands firm on the table as she leaned over to investigate the abomination on his tray. “No they aren’t! They’re meant to be slightly crispy, dextro food just cooks weird.”
Garrus didn’t say anything as a look of challenge flashed in his eyes and held up a talon for her to wait, before grabbing one of the waffles and tapped it against the mess hall dining table.
He didn’t break eye contact.
It made a clinking sound with the surface. Shepard opened her mouth to protest but quickly shut it, her shoulders dropping in slight resignation.
“Okay maybe they are a bit burnt.”
He stifled a laugh as he stood up with his tray and sauntered over to her, casually wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her in close. “Score 1 for Vakarian.” He whispered and darted away before she even had a chance to get him back.
