amicustenebris | Duplicity

No.

[ He knows how to move without being seen, even in a place like this. ]

[ Sigh. ]

Six O'clock. Room 003B in public housing.

I'll be there.

[ And he is. At exactly 6:25, because on time is late and some things still bleed through after the world ends. He knocks on the door and then stands with his back to the wall, his hood up. Eyeing his surroundings with a sharp, almost angry suspicion.

He doesn't belong here. It shows. ]

[ By the time he does finally arrive, Gold has all but begun to wonder if he hadn't planned to come after all, or more charitably, he had been caught coming up here alone. He had by this point made the decision not to be bothered by this, to accept it as a likelihood. All of this was equally strange for both of them.

So he didn't come. Gold knew better than to get his hopes up, or feel disappointed, right?

When the knock does come, he's a little surprised, but all readable expression has been wiped from his face by the time he answers. Whether it's him or the doorman, he's not about to have the look of a man -- what? Stood up? ]

...

[ He's not going to remark on his tardiness just yet; he is not in any position to issue directives, after all. So instead, he just takes a step back to allow him passage inside. ]

[ Yeah. This is happening. Carver holds his ground for a moment, watching Gold.

He kept the razor. He doesn't have it on him now - a line too far, in this place - but he kept it. A weapon like that, with a honed edge, it isn't something you waste.

Then Gold steps back and Carver steps in without a word, pushing his hood back. ]

Fancy.

[ Maybe. Comparatively. There's electricity, anyway. That's novel. ]

Not to my tastes, but it will suffice.

[ The room is also decidedly not trashed as it had been on the network. Not a thing was broken or out of place; even the wall looks unmarked.

Gold himself is still dressed well, though missing his coat. A black shirt and vest and a wine-red tie.

Immediately opening into a den and media room area, he gestures for him to make himself at home. Further in past the great room and leading out to a wide terrace -- the half of it furthest back is covered floor and ceiling with windows and skylight -- but a right turn at the corner leads elsewhere. ]

Edited 2022-03-10 12:29 (UTC)

[ Carver spares half a thought to what Gold's tastes might be, in a world where the infrastructure isn't a rotting husk and things like that still matter. Something deliberate, he thinks. Something carefully constructed. Like the clothes Gold wears, or that ring.

It doesn't matter. They're stuck here, for now.

Carver scans the area silently, taking it all in. The space is remarkably un-trashed, considering. ]

Where's the kitchen?

[ He came here for a reason. Well. Maybe more than one, but he wants to get to cooking. See what he's got to work with. ]

[ Gold shifts his cane into his off hand so he can point. ]

Through the back, when you turn the corner, there will be another turn into the galley.

[ Waiting, the counters are covered with some of the items that didn't need refrigerating, but in all, most everything needed to make the things Carver requested are there -- but not necessarily finished, ready-to-cook versions. Eggs, flour, spices, fresh vegetables, cheese, etc.

So you DID intend to make those from scratch, right? ]

[ This whole place is just ridiculously fancy. Sharp, shiny surfaces. Entirely too many windows. Carver doesn't bother acting like he doesn't belong, like his clothes aren't threadbare, like he hasn't mended them himself over years. Gotten bloody and fucked up in them. That ship has long since sailed. He wouldn't have belonged in a place like this even before the world fell but here they fucking stand, so this is happening.

He powers through. Moves - close to silently - into the kitchen.

And, wow. Okay. That's nice. And filled with groceries. He steps forward silently, examining everything. Everything he asked for. Nice versions of it, too. No packaged noodles, though. ]

Okay, [ he says after a moment. ] This will take longer than I thought.

[ He knows how to make noodles from scratch, but it takes longer. He hasn't had to do it in a while. ]

[ Gold doesn't crowd him but doesn't hesitate to wander into his own kitchen either. He sidles over to the wet bar area just off to the side of the galley and runs the tap on warm. ]

Tell me what you need.

[ Careful fingers unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and set to rolling them up. ]

[ Carver shoots Gold a look, assessing. ]

What do you know how to do?

[ He's not in the mood to teach anyone how to cook. The last one he did that for was Matthew and, no.

Just, no. ]

[ An even look. ]

I can work with everything in here, however rudimentary the tools.

[ He is replacing most of the equipment in here as soon as he's drawing a salary. ]

[ So this is what they're calling rudimentary these days. Carver snorts, not bothering to hide it. It's been years since he's been inside a kitchen this nice, with working gas and electricity. With running water. You make do with what you have. He takes the cooking duties back home whenever he has the chance to, and most of the time he's working over a camp stove or an open fire, whatever they've got.

You learn to improvise. Survival is a choice. ]

Cool. Impress me. Make the noodles. I'll handle the rest.

[ He doesn't like sharing cooking duties, or the idea of having Gold underfoot, but apparently this is happening. So. ]

[ Gold for now has no reason to tell anyone that he was born and grew up in a place where electricity existed. But hands clean, sleeves rolled up, he takes one side of the galley and begins to gather what he needs. ]

What will be accompanying? Type of sauce, ingredients?

[ Carver strips his gloves off one at a time and tucks them away , then moves over to the sink to wash his hands. Thoroughly. There's hot water and what smells like decent soap - a luxury. Not for the first time, he feels horribly out of place in these settings. Like something the cat dragged in.

Fun. ]

Kale and garlic, peppers. Cheese. Put lemon on top, it's good.

[ Hearty. Easy to size up to feed a lot of people at once. It's one of the things his grandmother taught him how to make when he was a kid, that he used to make a lot for his people whenever they came over. ]

[ He glances back. ]

Something simple or something stuffed, then?

Simple. Unless you're really dying for something else and then maybe.

[ It's said casually enough. Carver's not a huge fan of cooking with other people around - cooking calms him down in a way that almost nothing else ever does, or will, and people tend to rev him up; opposing impulses if there ever were - but he's flexible enough and he figures Gold's paying for this shit, so why the fuck not? ]

[ He doesn't really need to show off, so he won't, opting for simple and setting to work -- flour, eggs, olive oil, salt, and he's sure to clean his workspace first.

In the meantime he leaves Carver to his work and directs all his focus there. His hands are careful and deliberate, measuring out his flour, forming a bowl in its center to crack the eggs into, mixing in the oil and salt before he gently incorporates the flour from the sides until it's possible to work it with his hands, and soon enough he has set to kneading.

When you grow up around places where most things are made by hand, you know the look of someone who did, too. The task seems to immediately center him. ]

[ It helps that Gold doesn’t try to make small talk. That there’s just silence and the work of prepping food. Carver knows he’s no good around other people these days. He can manage it in small doses, for short periods of time, but he’s alone in a crowd - surrounded by strangers, and hopelessly outnumbered. He misses the comforting noise of his family, their presence at his shoulder. Trusting that he could sleep because someone would be on guard.

Now, he barely sleeps at all. Too much noise, too many people underfoot. But the cooking, that’s real. That’s something he can focus on.

Carver works silently, prepping the garlic and spices, eying Gold occasionally. Seems like he wasn’t kidding about knowing how to do this.

It doesn’t matter. It’s just what they’re doing.

He roasts the garlic, in the meantime. Does it in olive oil, with some spices tossed in. Easy, doesn’t take long. But it has to be done properly or it burns, and that’s no good.

It’s quiet work. Takes focus. He lets himself focus on that, and some tension bleeds out of his shoulders. ]

[ He's keeping a furtive eye on where Carver is as he works to gauge how much time he has -- dough usually needs time to set and rise and such, more than they likely planned for, and he won't mind using a tiny bit of magic to move that along.

He doesn't like to stare or be stared at, but he can watch, appreciate a technique even while he applies his own. Soon he's portioning it into workable pieces and flouring his work surface again to move on to the next phase. ]

[ The rest won't take long. Kale needs to be cooked, the peppers cleaned and chopped. The sausage cooked and then cut up. Then it's just a matter of tossing everything together.

Easy. People think cooking's a lot harder than it is. It's just repetition, following steps. Making sure things are done properly.

It settles Carver like nothing else ever has, or ever will. Not even the brutality of a long fight, or drinking himself unconscious. He tries not to do the latter one these days.

He eyes Gold again. ]

Can you make the water boil faster?

[ That'd be nice. That'd be a neat little trick, wouldn't it? ]

[ He raises an eyebrow. ]

How much faster?

[ Color him relieved that at least this kitchen was stocked with a rolling pin, because improvising when you don't drink can be tricky. But even in making conversation, his flow isn't upset. ]

[ Turns out there are a whole collection of knives. Carver entertains - briefly - the notion of stealing one, but just starts washing peppers and then laying them out to be diced. ]

If you can snap your fingers and make it happen, do that. It'll speed things up.

Is the snapping required?

[ Said with some amusement. ]

If you'll get the pot on the stove and season the water properly. One for the noodles as well -- salted. Just to have that out of the way. They will probably need to be dropped in last.

How the fuck should I know? That's your deal, not mine.

[ He cocks his head, watching Gold, but then nods and goes to it. ]

Show me.

[ It's different. This trick of Gold's, this magic. Carver doubts he'll ever be able to use it himself, but understanding - there's power in that. ]

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