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Ororon handed him a freshly washed cabbage and a knife. “Chop this, please.”
The request was so foreign and out of place to his normal experience that Capitano could do little else but stare dumbly at the vegetable in his hands.
It had been a couple hundred years since he regularly made meals for himself or others, seeing as his house staff in Snezhnaya and his subordinates refused to let him do what they considered to be a menial task unfitting of the first harbinger.
Capitano prided himself to be a fairly approachable man to the people around him, but he had not been treated as a person – just a normal person – in a long time. It was an experience he’d forgotten was an option.
The knife chopping onions came to a slow halt and Ororon gazed at him, curious and non-judgmental. “Do you not know how to cook?”
Somehow the lack of judgment made it all the more irritating. Living for half a millenia without learning basic self-preservation skills should be something to be ashamed of.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I know how to cook,” Capitano said defensively.
His mother had asked a similar question when she found out he tended to replace his meals with rations even when he was off duty. He had been just as incensed back then. Some things never faded away, no matter how old one grew.
After she, and the rest of his family died, he’d tried to recreate a stew she used to make during the winter months. He never got the taste right.
Under Ororon’s watchful gaze, Capitano placed the cabbage on a second cutting board and placed the knife next to it, then proceeded to strip out of his coat and hand guards. Tentatively, he removed his gloves, lifting them one finger at a time before fully taking them off.
If the other man had any complaints about the state of his bare skin, he said nothing.
“What shape do you want it to be chopped?” he asked as he washed his hands.
“Thin strips.”
“Very well.”
They stood in companionable silence while they did their separate tasks. Ororon rolled a lime over to him when the cabbage was done. Capitano sliced it as instructed. The lid of the clay pot jumped rhythmically with the boiling liquid within, emitting a rich smell of chicken broth.
Equally enticing was the pieces of chicken searing over a low heat on the side. “You’re not supposed to sear them like this, but I like it better this way,” Ororon said.
Less than an hour later, Ororon ushered him towards the kitchen table and made him sit. Soon after, the fruit of their labor emerged in a bowl, filled with an assortment of vegetables and meat in a smooth broth.
These days he took his meals in private. It was both expected of him as a superior and purely practical in terms of his mask.
With Ororon and his odd way of perceiving others, like souls rather than flesh and bone, Capitano felt a little like the man he was before he’d received his title. Before he started wearing this mask. A simple Kanri’ahn soldier in a foreign land.
Ororon made no fuss when he unlatched the metal jaw of the helmet, lifted the entire thing off his head and proceeded to place it on the vacant chair next to him.
The mask itself was still there. He dealt with it by lifting it above his nose, leaving the lower half of his face bare. And that was that. Painless and natural in the right company.
If only the other man knew the trust in him he’d just revealed by doing this. But perhaps the lack of notice was why he felt comfortable doing it.
He took the spoon and scooped up some grainfruit and chicken.
“This is grainfruit meat soup, is it not?”
“Correct. But if you ask my grandmother, my modifications make it a completely different dish. She just put it in a more colorful language.”
Capitano let out a small huff of amusement, practically a laugh by his standards.
“Have you had this soup before?” Ororon asked, blowing on his spoon before putting it in his mouth.
“I have. Long ago.”
“Tell me if you think of this version. Is it too different?”
This version of the dish was piping hot, for one. The normal version of this soup would be served cold to preserve the crisp textures of the vegetables. The meat had been seared over flame and had a smoky flavor because of it. It paired well with the sweetness of the grain fruit and the tart lime.
The cabbage had been placed in last and still held the expected crispness for a little while longer, but with how hot the broth was, it would not stay that way for long.
It was an acceptable sacrifice, he thought. Coming from cold climates – that being Kanri’ah and later Shneznaya – he preferred hot soups.
After a few commentless spoonfuls, Ororon’s ears started to twitch subtly and he gazed directly at him.
“How is it?” Ororon asked like he’d tried to hold back the question.
Capitano took his sweet time chewing the meat, then swallowed. Seeing Ororon’s ears like this amused him. “It is different, but it’s not a bad thing. This is more to my taste.”
Ororon’s ears perked up, a pleased expression warming his face.
What a strange man, Capitano thought. To be gratified by such a simple little compliment.
He’d thought little of him after their first meeting, unaware of the sharp wit and powerful magic Ororon of the night-wind wielded. But more importantly, he’d grown to like Ororon’s character.
All that talent, and none of it seemed important to him unless he could wield it for good. Instead he’d become an aphid keeper and farmer.
And he didn’t even have the decency to be bad at that to balance it out.
Capitano huffed, earning him a look.
“What’s so funny?” Ororon asked.
“I'll tell you someday.”