Since today is apparently a day to be lazy, Helaena emerges into the living room in pajamas with her hair still damp, flushed from the shower, soft and unselfconscious. She plops down next to Dreuer in the pillow nest and greets him with a kiss to the cheek before pouring herself a cup of tea. Ros is given a thorough scritch behind the ears and a soft boop to her incredibly boopable nose. "I see Fluff has decided Ros warrants only a ten foot safety distance now," Helaena notes conversationally. She could get up to find a bit of sugar to add to her tea, but eh, she doesn't care that much. "Maybe we'll get it down to where they can be in the same room soon."

“Hmmmh.” He’s warm and comfortable. He’s hazily happy as he slumps down flat on his back against the pillows. “I would not count on it. I have never known anyone to hold a grudge quite like Mr Fluffikins.”

She reaches for his hand with her free one, idly playing with his fingers as she drinks her tea. “Pets do take after their people,” Helaena teases gently. “Must be why Ros adores naps and cuddles in front of the fire. Her fondness for eating shoes is all her, though, I never quite saw the appeal.”

“Hmm you’re r-… what do you mean take after their people?” He scowls and sits up. “I don’t hold grudges.” HA!

Helaena bursts into giggles and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Yes, dear, of course you don’t.” Self awareness might be a problem for both Fluff and his person, then. “And neither me nor Ros have temperamental hair that seemingly sheds everywhere, either.”

“What? I dont.” He protests, his expression serious but his tail… well his tail gives the game away, flicking happily at his side.

"I didn't say you did!" Helaena protests, laughing. "You are the most forgiving and gracious person I've ever met, my love. So openminded and sweet-tempered, too." She can't keep a straight face. Another peal of laughter interrupts her facetious compliments.

“Hmmmmh.” He makes a mental note to hold onto this low level indiscretion… the irony of which he is blissfully unaware. “… you can keep saying nice things if you like though.”

"God, you're bloody ridiculous," she mutters, before kissing him, mostly because she wants to, and nothing's stopping her. "I will say all sorts of nice things about you, but how about I try to stick with ones I actually mean, hm?"

“Of course. I am not asking you to be disingenuous but I would encourage you to be flattering.” He grins like a satisfied cat as he steals a kiss before slumping back down again. “All compliments are golden when they come from the lips of the most beautiful woman in the world.” His tail gives a lazy flick as he fumbles blindly for the bookmarked Austen volume at his side, drawing it to his chest.

She blushes at the compliment. He really is entirely too smooth for either of their good. “Flatterer,” she accuses mildly as she sets her almost-empty tea aside and curls up on her side, close enough her stomach is pressed against his hip. “For any other compliments I might need a refresher from ms Austen. Or, judging by the point in the story we’re at, perhaps a reminder of what not to say.”

“I do not flatter. I am honest.” His tail lazily drops around her waist, and he clears his throat before beginning to read in his usual slow, warm tone.

She huffs but the sound is almost unbearably fond. Still, she believes he believes what he’s saying, and that’s plenty good enough for her. “You’re very sweet.” Her head settles on his chest as her arms wind around him, feeling the steady, gentle rumble of his voice as he begins to read. She doesn’t know about beautiful, but she might be the luckiest woman in the world.

He could loose hours, and undoubtedly will, sprawled on soft cushions by a crackling fire, reading from literary classics. Occasionally he allows his fingers to trail through her hair as it dries. If Ros wriggles near he gives her belly a scratch. The time that is wasted with good company and a good book could stretch on, at least in Dreuer’s mind, ad infinatem.

She falls asleep like that, her head pillowed on his chest as the immortal words of Austen lull her into a state of drowsy relaxation. But that’s okay. They have nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. His voice is the best lullaby she’s ever had.

His reading peters out when he realises she’s asleep. He lies in perfect silence. Just the sound of the fire crackling and the distant chirp and warble of birds. If he strains very hard he can hear the distant rush of the Gala Water river, chasing the line of the trees who crowd together to try and muffle the river’s noise. There is no crackling radio playing. No whoosh of traffic. Nothing to tear him away frol this idyllic moment. He traces nonsensical patterns on her arm with the back of his fingers, staring into the flames with a small smile on his face. It is nice to be still. To be silent. It’s a privilege. Especially in the company of someone who knows him and loves him.

She’s not sure how long she sleeps for, but when she wakes, she is exactly as she was, warm, comfortable and loved. “Mmmm,” she hums lazily, nuzzling into the soft fabric of Dreuer’s shirt. “I’d apologize for falling asleep, but you make for a lovely pillow.” She presses a kiss above his heart, the steady beat of it a comforting drum against her cheek. “Do midday naps count as sufficiently lazy? I’m still learning.”

“They do.” His eyes are closed but he’s awake. His fingers continue to trail lazily over her arm. “How do you feel? Are you hungry?” He doesn’t want to open his eyes yet. There is something precious and liminal about such a moment. As if it might be a dream… a dream made manifest.

Her stretch is barely there at all, more a lazy flexing of muscles than anything. “I could eat,” she admits, a little reluctantly. “But I’m also very comfortable and don’t want to move. Or to have you go anywhere.” She presses another kiss to his jaw, just a caressing brush of lips. “You’re going to turn me revoltingly decadent, I just know it. Downright hedonistic, even.” She doesn’t mind in the slightest, and her fond tone of voice reflects it.

“Well aside from waiting an hour for a pizza to get here from Edinburgh I am afraid I will have to fracture your hedonistic ideals.” He wraps his arm around her waist as she draws in closer. He is still flat on his back, and with the firelight behind her and the snowblind sunlight from the windows, she looks positively incandescent above him. “… Have I told you yet how abominably beautiful you are, Helaena?”

”Oh, abominable, is it?” she teases. “You’ve mentioned you think so. The sentiment is still very much appreciated.” The last words are mumbled against his lips before she leans down to kiss him. “I suppose an hour for a pizza is somewhat absurd,” she concedes. “But we can still be lazy. Eggs and toast?” She works in a cafe serving full breakfasts. Her perspective of lazy might be slightly skewed.

“Eggs on toast.” He agrees. His tail flops idly against the floor. He relinquishes his hold on her with a slight pang of regret, and for a split second considers if he might travel around on her back, clinging on like a baby sloth.

She gets up with a slightly theatrical groan of regret, but the rumbling of her stomach confirms her to have made the right decision. Stupid bodies requiring regular maintenance… “You’ve never ordered breakfast at the cafe, so I actually don’t know how you like your eggs,” Helaena suddenly realizes as she’s pulling a carton out of the fridge. “You always just order coffee in the mornings.”

“Hmm… soft boiled or poached.” He says. He hasn’t moved, still sprawled comfortably on his back, his tail idly flicking up and down. “I know… I suppose I will not have to now. I no longer need to make excuses to see you.”

"Excuses, no, but I'd still like it very much if you came to see me in the mornings." Poached it is. They could do eggs and soldiers she supposes but somehow cutting toast into strips seems like more work than poaching eggs to her hospitality industry addled brain. Luck is on her side, and she finds a bag of spinach to wilt for a lazy Eggs Florentine in the fridge. Is she incapable of minimum-effort meals? Perhaps. "Or any time, really. I probably shouldn't admit how long your visits were one of the highlights of my days."

If he had his way he would see her every morning anyway. He would wake up beside her, share breakfast with her, travel to work with her. Of course it’s far too early to confess to such clingy thoughts. “I suppose I shall keep coming then.”

”I’d like that.” Her smile for him is loving, but just a little shy. She doesn’t want to seem clingy or needy either. “I’d like that a lot.” She starts to hum as she begins the familiar motions of breakfast. Something a bit more modern, now. So what if she likes a bit of Hozier, at times? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6o7XFKWwn0

1

Scram ( durge: Dreuer )

marilewd

Close

He knows that song. He likes that song. Without being too conspicuous he stands. His tail swishes. She has a sweet tone of voice, even humming. Perhaps he is biased since he is sweetened towards her but he doesn’t care. He lights a cigarette and cracks his back, waiting for her to be around the corner and out of sight before making for the piano. After a beat, he plays along with her. The same song, the same tune. Almost whispered in his slow, low voice, he utters the words. “There are some things that no one teaches you love, that come natural as a dream you didn’t know you were in…”

"And darlin', all my dreamin' is only put to shame... And darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name." She blushes a little, unused to singing for an audience larger than Ros. Somehow she hadn't expected a man fond of classical music and rock roughly as old as he is to like something so... recent. "But it came easy, darlin'. As natural as another leg around you in the bed frame..." Her words trail off. The song is... very relevant, in a way it largely never has been to her before. "I didn't expect you to know that one," she admits quietly. "It's a personal favorite."

He plays the piano part with some apprehension, playing by ear from memory and not without error. But it’s still nice. It still fits. The song in his memory, and spoken in proximity, feels like a warm embrace. “I have a soft spot for the modern poets.” He says quietly.

"Just wait until I make you listen to Liana Flores." She's only half joking. "I, uh... I sing a lot. When I cook. It's no great art, I know, it just... makes me happy. Well, I mostly do it when I am happy in the first place. I usually have music going in the kitchen of the cafe, but my employees tend to hijack it. Don't let Lae'zel pick the music, ever. I had to tell her to put on earphones if she wanted to listen to death metal during work hours." She's babbling again.

“Who is Liana Flores?” His tail gives a little flick as if intrigued of its own accord. “I um…” he laughs softly. “… I do not tend to sing. Not loud enough to properly be heard but I will play piano for you, if you wish to sing.” He had sung before. Loudly and confidently and blossoming with love but it was one of those parts of him that still felt wounded and raw.

"She's a singer-songwriter. Sort of... folksy jazz. Very... melancholic?" How do you explain Liana Flores to someone who's never heard her music? "She mostly plays the guitar." She smiles at his explanation, sensing more behind that tend to. But that's okay. He doesn't have to tell her, or explain himself. "I'd like that. But I fear your skills with a piano put my singing to shame. I never learned, not properly." She... doesn't consider herself to be good at very many things. Practically any arts among them. She's decent with sewing, she's a good cook, she was a serviceable historian. She's no great musician.

“I’m not particularly skilled Helaena, I am no concert pianist.” He says honestly. He is far from the finest piano player in the world, he is in fact what most would describe as passably competent. But that is enough to carry a tune and entertain loved ones. Which is all that really matters. “So long as you like to sing, I will play.”

She makes a small sound of assent, and doesn't argue the point. His music is beautiful, imperfect as it is. Her singing is, at best, not actively painful to listen to. "I could throw a few rashers of bacon on a pan if you wanted," she offers as she cracks an egg into a pot of boiling water with practised ease, blatantly changing the topic. "You're much more of a carnivore than I am."

“Hmm. Yes please.” He grumbles, leaning back to peer at her in the kitchen. “… may I help?” “Don’t you dare. Amore no. She deserves better than your terrible cooking.” The voice rises swiftly and sharply from memory and imagination… or perhaps Anthony really is still whispering in his ear. He makes himself chuckle at least.

4

Mairon✨ (Tav: Adriel)

ogfiremaia

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Wicked ( Tav:Mitch )

somethingwickedart

Ell (Tav: Rosie and Co.)

polarized2023

Close

"That depends, can you stir a pan or flip bacon without burning it?" she asks, her voice light and just a little teasing. "Thank you for offering, either way, but I've got it, I promise. More tea might be nice, though?"

“Yes it is probably for the best that I stay out of the way.” She knows. One look at the contents of his fridge and she knows not to trust this man with anything more complicated than a teaspoon. “Tea I can manage.” He nods, and sets about brewing another pot.

She blows him a kiss, just a little cheekily. "Love you." Breakfast quickly takes shape. She's been poaching dozens of eggs a day for years now. A new kitchen is a slight adjustment, but not enough to throw her off. Besides, she likes this one. Part of her wishes she could have met Anthony just so she could shake his hand and thank him for agreeing on the superiority of Maldon salt, because there is no way it was Dreuer who initially brought that into the cottage. "Dreuer, do you have any lemon juice?"

“I love you too.” He smiles at how easy it is. Easy to share the space with her, to move around her. To tell her he loves her, finally, after so long concealing his true heart. “Lemon juice?” He frowns. Unless she brought it, it is unlikely to be found. “Um… I do not know.”

She chuckles. At least she'd found some white wine vinegar in the cabinet for the eggs. "I'm guessing that's a no, then. It's fine, it was just for the spinach, to make the flavor pop a little." She reaches up to kiss his cheek before she starts to plate things up, a habit from work leaving her prone to make everything _just so_, even and pleasing to the eye. Oh well, even without the, in her opinion, often overly rich Hollandaise, it should be quite good. "Bon appétit."

“I’m sorry. I was never allowed into the kitchen to cook you see… and I do not know what may have been here that the cleaning staff would have discarded.” He puts out his cigarette on a small dish atop the piano before settling at the table that not long ago had hosted a very different sort of dining experience. “That looks beautiful.” He comments, watching her cook. “Where does your culinary talent come from?”

”Hmm, short version is my dad and I cooked a lot together when I was younger and I used it to decompress during uni. My roommates loved me for it, I used to stressbake like mad during exam season.” She hesitates as she places a leaf of fresh spinach (for lack of access to other herbs) as decoration. “Longer version is… cooking calms me. It’s predictable, and has tangible results. It makes people happy. After I left Cambridge with no idea of what I wanted to do beyond _not academia_, I needed that.”

He can’t help the smile that fades into his features as she speaks, her words as thoughtful as her actions as she garnishes the food. “It’s beautiful that you left academia and stepped into the arms of that which grounded you before.” He says quietly, his tail idly swishing at his side. “There is love in what you cook. That is why I have always liked your cafe, even before I knew you. There is a heart to it… you care. I think you care deeply about everything you do, Helaena. And that is a precious thing.”

She smiles at him, a little shyly. “I try my best. I’ve never been very good at not caring, so… I tried to make something good of it, I suppose.” She sits down next to him and slides the plate with bacon over to his side of the table. Her blush deepens at the thought of what they used that table for earlier that morning. “It was probably objectively stupid, to leave a prestigious university with a PhD program waiting for me, especially in favor of unskilled labor in a city hundreds of miles away. But I think it turned out alright.” The first bite of her food is greeted with a satisfied little hum. Not to toot her own horn, but it’s not bad at all given her constrictions in ingredients. “We should go grocery shopping,” she muses, slightly out of left field.

Initially he eats in silence. The calm of a well enjoyed breakfast - well, lunch given the hour - was always something he treasured. “I do not think it was objectively stupid.” He says, his tone rather abrupt but his manner relaxed and his words true. He does not elaborate. His brunch does not last long, filling his rather empty stomach and calming the rumbling hunger within that he had managed to dull thus far with nicotine alone. “There is a small supermarket in the town. I believe I still know the way.”

I do not think it was objectively stupid. Well, that makes him one of the few. Still, she appreciates it. They enjoy their late breakfast in comfortable silence, the peaceful ambience of the cottage in the woods sinking into her bones. It would be so easy to get used to this. She's not even been here a day and she loves it already. She looks up from her almost-empty plate with a smile at his words. "Oh really? We can go there. Or drive further afield, I don't mind. Stocking up a bit might be good, though." No matter how lazy they are in their little sanctuary away from the world, they will unfortunately need to eat.

“It will take too long to drive further… if I recall rightly it’s twenty minutes to the little supermarket.” He hates leaving the house and has always hated the supermarket. On the rare occasion that he dared venture out with his husband, he tended to skulk about being told to put things back on the shelves. As if his desire to buy twenty bottles of expensive wine is unreasonable.

3

Mairon✨ (Tav: Adriel)

ogfiremaia

Alvilda (Tav: Helaena+)

alvilda_

Ell (Tav: Rosie and Co.)

polarized2023

Close

She chuckles at the realization they are so far away from everything that yes, it is indeed going to be a bit of a drive to get to even the nearest village. It's lovely, but it does have its inconveniences. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. You can always keep the house warm, perhaps bribe my dog with the last of your bacon. But unless you wish to live for the next week off of..." She takes a quick mental inventory. "Eggs, toast, the remnants of a nut roast, pasta with no sauce, perhaps a bit of cheese..." She thinks she's made her point.

“No… it won’t be fair to make you drive around the whole of the Gala Water looking for a supermarket on your own.” He finishes breakfast, the plate all but licked clean. “Let’s get dressed, and we can venture into the town.”

There is such a thing as Google Maps, but his attempts at chivalry are very endearing. "Oh, if you insist," she demurs with a smile. She's not going to protest the company, is she? Getting dressed is a sad necessity, even if "getting dressed" in this case means slipping into comfortable, soft knitwear she rarely wears outside of days off where she can stay in. "Do we have to worry about our pets killing each other while we're gone?" she muses halfway through putting her hair into a lazy bun. "I could put Ros in the bedroom."

“Hmmmh…” he considers it, the tip of his tail curling back and forth like a cats. “I can barricade the stairs. Mr Fluffikins will stay in the studio.” Slowly he rises to his feet, gathering empty plates to clear and tidy away. It’s only fair after Laena cooked.

”Good plan,” Helaena agrees. She pecks his cheek in gratitude for clearing the table. Her loathing of doing dishes (her sensory issues alone make it an awful experience) is a good part of what leaves her eating takeout and leftovers out of cardboard boxes. It’s also a good part of why she splurged on getting a dishwasher for her apartment. Still, having someone to cook for who enjoys her food is more than enough to make up for it even if she did have to do the dishes by hand. “I’ll go check if my car’s frosted over, be back in a second.”

There has been no further snowfall, but it is indeed a frozen world that waits outside of the cottage doors. Frost glistens on every surface like crushed diamonds scattered by a benevolent god. The sheets of snow over the surrounding space are criss crossed with animal tracks. The only sound to be heard alongside the pleasant hush of the steady wind is the clucking warble of a grouse somewhere nearby.

Dreuer finishes the dishes and seeks to get dressed. He flicks through thick woollen jumpers bought to chase away the harshest of Caledonian winters. All had been bought with the intent to be shared, though the horn-snags around the necks of a few were enough to indicate their favoured wearer rather plainly. He dresses comfortably, in dark brown cords cuffed at the ankle and a thick cream coloured aran. For a moment, he presses his face into the neck and inhales the commingled scents of years of laundry, aftershave and the slight must of the wardrobe. Over this, his usual black coat and typical muted striped scarf, and he follows Laena on whatever tasks she has to complete before they can leave. Dreuer has never understood the complexities of vehicle ownership… no does he ever wish to.

She's just about done scraping ice off her windshield when Dreuer comes out of the cottage, ready to go. "Sorry, almost done!" Between the cold and the effort, she's a little rosy cheeked, and she shoots him a smile as she beats a thin crust of ice off one sideview mirror. "So, tell me about Galabank," she asks as she gently coaxes the car back to life and turns the heat on. "I only caught a glimpse when we drove through. It's obviously not that far from Edinburgh, but what drove you to pick this exact spot?" Her guess would the quiet. The gentle ambience of the woods, the rush of the river not too far away, the wildlife treating the place as theirs, any humanoids simply temporary visitors. It's utterly lovely, even to someone who loves the city.

He feels a little uneasy as she asks about the town. His answer is likely to be unsatisfactory and will do little to endear her to him. “… Anthony was fond of it.” He says, which is not untrue, but it’s certainly not the main reason they came to hide away. “… it’s close enough to Edinburgh to still get into work, and it’s quiet.” And the house itself is far enough away from civilisation that he never has to worry about utterings of foulblood or devil.

”It’s quiet enough I can hear myself breathe. I don’t think I had that even growing up in Hay, between two siblings and a dog it was always chaos,” she muses as she guides the car down the long driveway, a bit more slowly than she might if it wasn’t still a bit frosty. “I love it out here.” It’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it. If he doesn’t want to share some of the more painful parts of his past. She hopes he will someday, of course, but she’d never force him to. Silence falls for a few moments as she simply focuses on driving, her thoughts whirling like the wind blowing through the loose snow on the fields they pass. “You know there’s almost nothing you could say that would make me think less of you, right? But I’m never going to force you to answer a question if you don’t want to. I just… love you, and I want to know you, and that unfortunately means my curiosity will make me ask a thousand questions. But I can try to stop if it’s too much.”

“No… it is not that I do not want to talk to you Helaena…” He feels a slight twist of guilt in his stomach that he has kept secrets from her… but there are no secrets in his mind. Just things he considers not worth putting to words. Little things, complex things… he uses his words sparingly. “I am not the most verbose man. Forgive me, I have always been content with silence, as off as that may seem.”

"No, that's perfectly alright." She reaches out to grab his hand and lace his fingers with her own. "You can talk or not, exactly when or how you want to. And on whatever topic. I'm used to being around people more extroverted than I am, so it's a bit of an adjustment, but I enjoy the quiet, too. At least if I'm not alone." Her smile is warm and hopeful. She never feels alone when Dreuer's with her. "But anything you have to say, I will listen to and enjoy hearing. That's all. I like talking to you, almost no matter what we're talking about." She's unfortunately not very used to driving one-handed, so she has to let go of his hand with a reluctant squeeze to turn onto the road that will take them into the village.

He willingly lets go of her hand, preferring not to meet a gruesome end on the road that he is far too familiar with and deeply afraid of. He directs her along the road, the journey passing largely in a pleasant silence punctuated by his occasional guide notes (“there is the nearest pub” “that’s my favourite tree” “you can see the church spire”). Though he is quiet it’s more talkative than he’s dared to be on a road journey in some considerable time.

She listens, drives, and enjoys the quiet. Part of her wants to ask follow up questions. Is the pub any good? Why is that particular tree your favorite? Is it a nice church? The rest of her is content with just this. She reaches out to squeeze his hand again as they pause at a stop signal. Just as a sign of affection, a reassurance. I'm here. I love you. Finally they reach a supermarket that does, indeed, look small, but hopefully big enough to have everything they might need. Because she's just like that, she of course pulls several reusable shopping bags out of the trunk of her car. "Ready to go?" she asks, smiling gently. It's not lost on her that if Dreuer's barely been back to Galabank since Anthony's death, many of these little things will be firsts or close to it since _before_, too, even if she doesn't know exactly which. She'll give him grace, and time. It's the least she can do.

-# This post contains references to racism and hate crime. Read with care. ||Sometimes his limbs feel too long for his body, his gait awkward and his posture too strange. Perhaps it’s part of being a tiefling in a city largely populated by elves, dwarves and humans rather than anyone more anatomically outlandish, as it were. Out here in Galabank, most were human. A handful were dwarven. Dreuer had seen no other tieflings. Sometimes children stared at him, but that came with a flush of innocence he didn’t mind. It was the eyes of adults, boring into him with distrust and disdain, that he couldn’t abide. There was a woman watching him as he walked across the car park. She said nothing, she likely meant no ill will at all, but it was noticeable how her gaze followed him. He liked it best isolated, among the trees with the deer and grouse and squirrels. He had never had to endure the silence alone and that made the silence tolerable. Since Anthony’s death it had screamed at him, an emptiness he couldn’t escape. He had to step out among those who saw him as strange and unusual at best, or threatened him at the point of a knife and told him “fuck off back to where you came from” at worst. These little trips into the real world are easier knowing the comfortable silence is waiting, ready to slip back into. Safe, away from the world with someone who cares for and loves him, and does not think him a monster or a foulblood. They step into the supermarket and he all but forgets the stranger’s tracked gaze, distracted instantaneously by offerings of beautiful fresh fruit and vegetables.||

Helaena notices nothing. Why would she? She's a human, raised in a place where she has always been the majority. If she knew, she'd wish she noticed. Instead, she smiles at the eager sway of Dreuer's tail as he sees the produce section. "Divide and conquer?" she offers, looking down at the list she'd made. It's very general, mostly all around restocking coupled with simple meals she won't have to put much thought into. It's a pretty long list, it's obviously been a while since anyone spent any significant amount of time in the cottage. ... She's glad they're driving. "I'm not in a hurry, though, and you probably know this place better than me," she muses as she puts a bag of apples into their cart. "And I obviously don't know much about what you like apart from meat and your hot beverage orders."

“hmh?” He turns around after perusing a row of rather lovely looking pomegranates. “… oh I don’t know this place well at all.” He grunts. “I hardly ever came here.” There is more to his isolation than grief. His anxiety drove him indoors most of the time and he had relied so heavily on his husband. The transition into living a solitary life had been brutal in every possible way. Anthony Wildfel was a rare thing. A kindness that wasn’t so easily found and not so frequently given without restraint. Not the way he did. Dreuer had wanted for nothing, giving in return all he knew how to give - love. He still remembered the harshness of his first trip to feed himself after the accident. The late night in the city, the stark neon lights of the 24/7 corner shop. Bread and beans became his forte, as anything else was too complex and became a health hazard. “… I like pomegranate.” He says rather stupidly, in answer to her enquiry. “Though I do not know what to do with one.”

"Pomegranates," she echoes, a small smile playing at her lips. "Well you can do almost anything with them. But I love to put just a bit of sugar and lemon juice on the seeds. It's wonderful on yoghurt. Or panna cotta." She adds a few to their cart. She'll figure out exactly how he prefers them. She's stubborn, she'll wriggle out a stated preference or two from him. "I was thinking I'd make tartare one of these days," she muses. "Maybe not with pomegranates, though," she jokes weakly. "But I'd like to make it for you." Helaena shows love through food. It's one of the most important ways she does. Few things make her as happy as making something someone she loves enjoys, and enjoying it with them. Food is one of the few things she feels she can add to the world. To make it just a little better, for at least the few minutes of pure enjoyment it takes to eat a good meal. If she's not good for much else, she can at least feed people. That's a lot more than nothing.

He wanders and browses, though it’s been a ling time since he went to a big supermarket and not a corner shop. He fidgets around the fresh produce aisle, mulling over vegetables he doesn’t know the names of. “I would like that.” He says at her suggestion, his tail swishing. He points at a radish. “What is this can we get this?”

"A... radish?" She picks up the bundle by its still-attached tops. "Uh, you can put them in salads, or roast them, or... Shit, now I'm really regretting the fact I left all my cookbooks in Edinburgh." She opted for packing light. She did bring her kindle, though she should have known Dreuer would have plenty of books for her to steal. "But yes, Dreuer, we can absolutely get radishes if you'd like radishes," she tells him, struggling not to laugh at his reaction to vegetables she works with at least once a week.

“I don’t know if I like radishes…” He picks one up and bites into it. Uncaring it seems when it comes to grocery etiquette. Even more so when he pulls a face and puts it back. “… no I do not like that.” He grimaces, and wanders off in the other direction.

Helaena bursts into laughter and drops the bundle in their cart. She'll find a way to use them, and they can't just leave a half-eaten radish in the store. "Are there any vegetables you do like, or am I meant to sustain you solely on raw meat and bacon?" The words are gentle and fond, but she doesn't try to cover the genuine curiosity behind them. She wants to make food he actually likes, not just food he eats to be polite.

“Hmm.. I’m not sure. Anthony was in the habit of hiding them in my food I believe.” Like a cat that needs a crushed up pill rolled into paté. He stops to consider a cauliflower and poke at it with a cautious claw. “I just bought… green. Things… my doctor said that I should.” It’s all he has to offer by way of his preferred vegetables. It’s rather safe to say that he’s somewhat carnivorous.

Green things. Helaena giggles into her grocery list at such an archetypically male answer. “I guess we’ll have to do a bit of experimentation, then.” She’d made her dad stick to a heart healthy diet. She’s up for the challenge. Kevan Cresswell had not taken kindly to the announcement from his doctor that he had to get his cholesterol down or risk serious illness. Helaena eventually got him to admit her roast cauliflower wasn’t half bad, but it took a while. “… You know there were vegetables in basically every meal I served you at the cafe, right?” Maybe he fed them to Ros. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Hmh, yes…” he concedes, going along and poking at a courgette and a red pepper in turn. “They all look different cooked. Smell different.” He looks up and the tips of his ears perk from his hair, and without any further word of warning makes for the nearby artisan cheeses. “I think we should get plenty of this.”

Helaena’s eyes almost roll out of her skull as she adds a few bell peppers to their cart. “Cheese isn’t a vegetable, Dreuer,” she informs him, her tone bone-dry.

“No. it is far superior.” He drops several indulgent truckles of lovely looking expensive cheeses into the trolley and tries his best not to look offended by the peppers.

”Two vegetables per cheese,” she negotiates. “And I’ll roast the cauliflower with a bit of parmesan.” Yes, she’s using the same strategy as she might to make a toddler eat their broccoli. If the shoe fits…

Continued here https://discord.com/channels/1151902831310274651/1332167558152982548/1332167620371415060