A Kindness || Para
therealnoble;
[ @therealnoble ]
Titus learned to be hungry at a young age.
From the moment he could begin to collect memories, the hollow pang of an empty belly was the clearest and most familiar. His mother had always done her best to provide, but there was only so much kindness that the fishermen could spare before their own families began to suffer. After she passed away, it was not particularly unusual for the little halfshark to go for several days without a meal (which was likely the reason he had been so God damned small). Even once he came aboard his first ship the rations were meager compared to the work required of him, though you never would have heard the lad complain about them. Reckless as he might have been, it was better to know he had something to line his stomach, even if it was only piece of grimy bread and pork that made him incomprehensibly thirsty.
That being said, he understood the enormous value of food much more than the average man off the street. He may not have known how to cook it without having to call the fire department and he may have been only just barely squeezing in time for eating into his busy day, but there was never a morsel that he did not appreciate to the fullest extent.
“You made this for me?”
So when he came home that night to find his supper already on the table, he was so overwhelmed with the sudden surge of gratitude that it was all he could do to keep from crying. Just the scent of it was enough to stir a grumbling in his gut, and he was all at once acutely aware of the fact he had not eaten since…well, since yesterday evening.
He rushed into the kitchen, briskly hanging his keys up on the wall–and nearly missing the hook while he was at it. There was even a plate waiting for him, silverware lined up like little toy soldiers and a glass full of dark, fizzing beer that smelled like ginger. He did not know exactly when he had mentioned his favorite kind of alcohol to them (and suspected that it was probably after he had had a few drinks of it), but more important was that they had remembered what today was.
The Clave had the document that marked October Third as the day Ata, Janus, and Sol Noble paid the cost for harboring a fugitive, but for the last remaining member of the family, it would forever be the day his chest felt as empty as his belly.
For you see, Titus Noble had learned not only to be hungry, but also to be lonely.
Fuck it, he was going to cry anyway. Brusquely rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, the mer slumped into his chair before his knees could get any weaker than they already felt. “Merci,” he said with unusual softness. “Merci beaucoup. Vous êtes l'ami plus aimable je pourrais demander.”
It had been a long time. Months even? It was hard to tell, but Elliot had lost blood – or he thought he had lost blood? There was blood anyway, his or not – and was not specifically willful to go back to those docks or to see people related to the incident again. He'd nearly been caught, and he had been hurt, even if only the kind of hurt that was fearful and nervous.
But that was a living breathing thing wasn't it, something Elliot understood?
Because he owed Titus and explanation, he he hoped their weird arrangement of offers of helps still stood.
Anyway, it didn't really matter since Elliot had a lot of patience and was reasonably good about doors and letting himself into place he wasn't sure he actually belonged in or not, because he was of the opinion that if he was in a room, well that's where he did in fact of the moment, belong.
And where Elliot decided he belonged at that moment, was in fact, Titus's kitchen. Which was a dismal kitchen really, and Elliot was glad he at least had mind enough to bring his own vegetables because he just about had a bit of salt and a nick of pepper to rub together about the place and the pantries were so oddly stocked he wondered if maybe Titus was on a semi-permanent mental hunting trip.
He'd gotten pretty far with making everything, to the point he almost wondered if he should leave the oven on the 'warm' setting and just resign himself to a watered-down glass of wine or something and a book, when he heard noise.
And then the lack of noise?
Also French.
And his brain was scrambled up so much in the moment of sudden appearance of the actual inhabitant of the place his brain could hardly keep up with the rest of what was going on in the world around him. He managed to puzzle out 'kind friend' and an awful lot of shock, his body getting up and moving around the room that suddenly seemed a bit small in reaction.
“Titus, it's just lasagne.” Elliot said softly, and he paused a second, awkwardly patting them. “Well actually,” He said, tilting his head, “I made salad with fried eggplant and zucchini too because I wasn't really sure if you ate lasagne.” But in general people liked pasta, except vegetarians which to Elliot, well, vegetarians might as well have been some kind of weird new-age sort of vampire because he couldn't imagine a world in which a being that had teeth and a stomach designed to consume meat or meat by-products just wouldn't want to. For moral obligations! “I didn't know it'd upset you.”
