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[vitainmorte]

Hello, this is Cypress. If you leave me a message I will get back to you as quickly as possible.

Thank you, have a good day.

Comments

[vitainmorte]

[ well-- grabbing a bowl to put what she's already chopped in and hand it to him; they're all coarse and uneven and just generally terribly done, sorry.

confused, though: ]

... in what way?

[mourningson]

Romantically--deeply?

[taking the bowl and slowly dumping into the pot with some broth]

I assume that's what they were conveying, correct?

[vitainmorte]

[ frowns... ]

I already said I wouldn't... I don't-- even know if I'm capable of feeling that way, I said before.

... I care deeply for them, but I'm not-- in love... with them.

[mourningson]

If you develop feelings for them, let me know.

[vitainmorte]

...

I'm dating you, now, aren't I?

[mourningson]

[softens a bit from smiley jerkface mode]

...yes. We are.

[vitainmorte]

[ looks away-- and after a moment's hesitation, picks up the knife and cutting board to bring to the sink to wash. ]

Then-- if I somehow develop those kinds of feelings for anyone, isn't it most likely to be you?

[mourningson]

[blinks]



[wait what]

[vitainmorte]

[ surprise, that's the point of dating

anyway, she'll just silently wash the items because she's sure he's making a dumb face and she might die if she has to think about what she said too hard ok. ]

[mourningson]

[She's Right.

after a good moment of being frozen like that, he starts wordlessly grabbing some bowls and utensils, getting everything altogether—so he can finally hold out a bowl of soup towards her]

Here—it's done.

[vitainmorte]

[ flushed, but dries her hands and accepts the bowl with a quiet thanks, waiting for him before either starting to eat or heading to the table. whichever. ]

[mourningson]

[time to sit at the bar, where he just starts helping himself without looking over at her—it's a hearty beef soup, one that's been nicely seasoned]

[vitainmorte]

[ glances at him. then at the soup-- and it's bit awkward, currently, so she just puts her hands together in prayer and says grace in her head, quickly, before taking a careful sip from her spoon. ]

... oh...

Sunny, this is really good.

[mourningson]

It's not a bad dish—it's warm, healthy, and ought to increase stamina.

[vitainmorte]

It tastes good, I mean. I didn't know you were such a good cook.

[mourningson]

[mulls over that while on another bite]

It's a survival skill. I'm sure you can cook well, too.

[vitainmorte]

[ she huffs, turning back to eat the food. ]

No, I'm quite hopeless.

[mourningson]

...is your cooking edible?

[vitainmorte]

No, not at all.

I can make coffee. That's about it.

[mourningson]

Make something next time, and I'll prove it's edible.

[vitainmorte]

[ looks. vaguely uneasy. ]

Oh-- no. No, you don't want that. I promise you it's bad.

[mourningson]

I insist.

[vitainmorte]

[ mmmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn ]

... okay...

[mourningson]

I think you are worrying too much. Even if a meal doesn't taste delicious, as long as it can be consumed I can consider it an acceptable meal.

[vitainmorte]

You know that isn't very encouraging, right? Food should be enjoyable. If it's bad enough it can make it nearly impossible to eat, even if it technically is edible.