chikaidestroyer | ∞ 44: Another meeting [written/action]

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∞ 44: Another meeting [written/action]

Filtered to the council and Golbez
[written]

I would like to call a meeting in the very near future. We have much to talk about -- the tunnels, the desert, the fort, the ruins. In addition, we have the matter of a destructive new resident who had to be forcefully neutralized; Sir Golbez, another newcomer, can report on the matter.

Your thoughts on meeting soon, everyone. Mark is unfortunately absent due to our captors.

/end filter

[action]

[Albert is finally heeding his body's need for nourishment, going out to shop for groceries. He has a lot on his mind -- but really, when does he not?]

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[Caesar's expression mirrors Albert's.]

If I shut up, I don't even have to try.

Then shut up.

...

Fine.

[Albert remains at the window, trying to decide if he should eat or not. This entire situation has ruined his appetite, and the nagging has started to affect him, too. He finally decides he might as well attempt to cook, since that was why he bothered going shopping at all.]

[Caesar is silent, occasionally chewing his lip to keep himself from blurting out something aggressive. He considers helping, but decides against it because this Albert mentioned once his Caesar can't cook.]

[And so Caesar can watch Albert work his way around his kitchen. The coat comes off as Albert preps and begins. Soup is far from anything particularly gourmet, but it allows Albert to busy himself cleaning and chopping vegetables and not pay attention to the experiment-born Caesar that he is keeping his back to.]

[Caesar takes a seat at a table, having nothing else to do. This is where his Caesar would have sat and watched. Caesar ruminates, not really able to ease his anxiety, but pretending he can anyway. This is where he would have dozed off while waiting for his meal to be cooked.]

[Eventually, there comes a point in the cooking where the cook must simply stand back and watch -- or wait, for that matter. Again restless, Albert turns to find Caesar sitting at the table.]

Are you hungry? [Again, he finds himself inviting conversation.]

[Caesar hesitates for a second before responding. It really might be for the best if he just kept silent during his whole stay in Luceti.]

...Kind of. [Another pause.] Are you?

I was. [Until you showed up and started talking conspiracy.] But I'm going to eat anyway.

[His tone is once again dry.] It's nothing special. But it's better than mediocre.

Good. [Because shoving things you don't like into your face is what I do best.] You should.

I manage to keep my fingers out of the knife's way and the boiling water. That should be good enough.

If you intend to be a mess cook for the army. [Albert rests his hands on the table, examining the pale digits. He really needed to invest some time in finding new gloves.]

And if I don't manage, at least it would be something special.

[Noticing the paleness of Albert's fingers, Caesar subconsciously puts his hand in his pocket. He had picked up a pair of gloves for Albert before finding himself here, but would they still be there? ...They are. Caesar frowns.]

[Albert quirks a brow at the comment.] Special?

You don't get to contemplate the true meanings of finger sandwich and bloody stew everyday?

[He almost fishes them out of his pocket, but shoves them back. ...Maybe later.]

And this is why you will never be a chef.

[Albert returns his attention to the soup, giving it a stir. Right now, he wished he had been thinking about a dish that required higher maintenance; the wonderful thing of soup was that he could usually just throw everything into the pot and then return to work. I really don't want to entertain this guest.]

Excuse me if I'm not offended.

[Caesar fumbles in his head for a topic, then gives up as none of what he can think of seems even remotely appropriate. He stands up from the chair, aiming to go out of the kitchen and give Albert some room to breathe.]

[Albert looks over his shoulder as Caesar leaves, taking a deep breath and silently exhaling. It takes some willpower not to massage his temples, too. This is by far the most ... spiritually draining experiment yet. What would he do if this wingless Caesar stayed around for an entire week? Would he try to interact with the others in the village?

He snaps himself out of his reverie when he realizes he has been staring at the now-boiling soup.]

[There isn't much to explore in the house; Caesar finds himself at loss, again. He doesn't want to open the doors and peek inside the empty rooms, knowing one of the four would be this Albert's Caesar's. He shouldn't be the one to open that door.

In less than five minutes, Caesar is back to doing nothing, quietly leaning against the wall outside the kitchen. He wonders where Rune is, for the sake of wondering.]

[If Caesar really bothers to look closely, the little owl is actually perched on a basket by the windows in the sitting room. The cold weather doesn't agree with his tiny frame and he does a lot more sleeping than usual.

Meanwhile, Albert removes the pot from the heat, then begins gathering bowls and spoons. The soup has a chicken base, with onions, potatoes, and carrots mixed in with pasta noodles. He looks out of the chicken, wondering where Caesar disappeared to.]

[Caesar finally notices the owl, and begins contemplating whether he would be able to strike a deal with the bird. Maybe if he offered him an extra piece of bread, Rune would find it fair enough to lie to Albert that he brought the gloves.

Because he is designed to be pushed into awkward situations, Caesar manages to peek inside the kitchen just as when Albert looks out. Their eyes meet briefly, and he silently slips out from behind the wall into the kitchen.]

[The brief meeting of the eyes affirms Albert's belief that this wingless visitor isn't Caesar; there's something different in those eyes, though he can't quite place it. He breaks the gaze to gesture with his chin.]

It's time to eat.

[Caesar recognizes the look. Of course I'm not yours. The hope, the suspicion, the evaluation and the strain. He is used to being treated as the "wrong" version of himself; obviously there is some kind of absolute standard regarding Caesar Silverbergs and he fails to meet it. It was nothing he couldn't handle -- if only he were still in that world where nothing ever stays in its place. He sits at the table, dropping his eyes to the bowl of soup. What am I if I'm not yours?]

Thanks.

[Albert sits across from Caesar, avidly watching the younger boy stare at the soup.]

You're welcome.

[The weather seems to reflect what Albert thinks of the situation; there's something almost dead in the air, something that unbalances what he considered normal between himself and his brother. The jubilant, thoughtful charm that he associated with Caesar was missing in this visitor.

He shakes the observation away as he begins to eat.]

[He dismisses the thought as quickly as he can; it is too emotional, too sentimental for his taste, not at all suiting a Silverberg. It isn't going to help rectifying the situation, even if it is rather accurate in addressing the problem beneath it all. As Albert said, it isn't about him. It really doesn't matter. ...Perhaps his Caesar wouldn't feel the need to dismiss this kind of thoughts.

He eats quietly, not looking up from his food. He would eventually have to finish the bowl, and he doesn't know what to do. If anything, it would depend on what Albert would want to do.]

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Albert can detect the lack of "You know I love you" sparkles in his eyes?:o

Caesar doesn't love him? :o SHOCK.

He does, but he doesn't radiate the love like Luceti!Caesar does.