amicustenebris | Duplicity

[ 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. ]

So insistent.

[ Once the sink has been left, he washes and dries his hands before going to join him there. There's no snap; instead, he touches a finger to the rim of the pot, and then as he waves his fingers over it, the steam and bubbles begin to rise. ]

[ There's no great production. Gold just touches a finger to the pot and then it happens. Steam rises. Miracles usually come with more blood, and brutality.

He rocks back on his heels. ]

Okay. That's something. That just happens, huh?

[ He tilts his head up at him. ]

Sometimes a thing works whether or not you can see the mechanisms at work.

Like faith.

[ Carver watches him for a long moment. He knows all about faith now. ]

Or gravity. I guess.

Precisely.

[ A little smile, but he steps back to his station to continue working -- at the cutting stage at this point.

This is oddly the most relaxed he's felt since -- he can't remember. It's just very normal, and the first thing that's felt normal. But realizing it sends a shock of tension up his spine. ]

[ Carver watches him for a moment longer, shifting - unconsciously - to stand at attention. It's strange, suddenly, how Gold reminds him of Pope. Not physically - Pope always held himself differently, like a large cat ready to explode into motion - but something in the way that Gold speaks. Yeah.

It sparks similar. Some things just are. Doesn't make them easy, but you accept them.

Carver twitches, then goes back to deal with the kale. ]

Someone teach you that?

[ He doesn't glance up from his work. It creates a safe barrier. His answer is almost playful. ]

To cook? Or that I cannot see everything?

The second part.

[ Most people don't learn to cook on their lonesome. That part's assumed. But knowing that would mean something personal about Gold, and that feels like a line that ought to be left alone for now.

He deals with the kale, in the meantime. ]

Part of it is like what you said about faith. Or wind. That part everyone learns when they're young. It's usually the easiest way for an adult to explain to a child that there are not always answers. The rest was self taught. Personal observation.

[ He had a lot of time for that.

The first line of noodles are cut, tossed in flour to stop them sticking together. ]

[ Caver keeps an eye on the kale, but it's a waiting game at this point. He's more interested in Gold right now, trying to suss him out. There's so much he doesn't know, that he has no context for.

He gets a strainer ready, in the meantime. Might as well have it out. ]

So, who did you observe?

[ He cocks his head. ]

Or what?

Magic. The lives of others. The mechanisms of governments. Changing traditions. Really, all the things you see in a very long life.

[ Interesting phrasing right there. Carver turns it over in his mind, watching intently. ]

You're older than you look, then.

Yes.

[ No point in not admitting to being old; it already works against him. ]

[ Carver's eyebrows go up. He doesn't push, doesn't scoff. He would have in a different moment, if this place hadn't already knocked him on his ass about what's possible and what's insane.

Magic is real. So are other things. And he's cooking dinner with a man he let at his throat with a straight razor. ]

How old are you?

...How old do I look?

[ Carver shrugs. He's not good at judging that sort of thing, but going on sight alone, he'd suspect Gold and Pope are around the same age. ]

Don't know. Mid fifties?

[ He suspects the answer is something a touch stranger. ]

[ ...That's fair, honestly. ]

Add about two hundred years more.

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