rookshire | Even if I don't know what your pain is

Even if I don't know what your pain is

Who: Spirit and Kit (willing or unwilling), and then Spirit and everyone!
What: When a man promises to make soup, he makes soup! Feel free to find him outside cooking or as he's bringing a pot of definitely-edible-but-not-great soup around.
Where: Just outside the sallyport, and then around inside
When: New Moon
Warnings: See post headers, none yet

I. Cooking

There's no stove inside. At first, Spirit considers this sort of a problem--how is he supposed to go about cooking without a heat source? Until the hangover (and it's a terrible hangover) wears off enough, and he considers cooking outside. He doesn't mind the heat enough for it to be a deterrent, certainly, despite the fair skin that would suggest that he can't manage.

So he gathers the ingredients he can scrape together (a few Cup of Noodles, two cans of soup broth they'd found in the city, some cans of vegetables, some water). It's not much, but he's pretty sure he can make something that's at the very least edible. So for much of the late morning, he's a little ways away from the sallyport entrance with his hair tied back and sleeves rolled up (they're dry now, thanks Liam!) attempting to coax something flavorful that doesn't taste like garbage from the Ingredients of Dubious Quality.

Because he's outside, his back is to the sallyport and he's whistling quietly to himself as he cooks. Probably not difficult to sneak up on, but if you scare the cook too much you won't get any soup.

II. Serving

Kit gets first dibs. He'd made that much clear last night, despite the slur to his words. So he starts with her, carefully managing a large pot of soup with noodles and a few vegetables. It's not the best thing he's ever made, but it's better than the canned junk and actually doesn't taste half bad (he knows, because he's tasted it).

After serving her, he makes his way to the break room. Here, he sets the pot aside and returns to the locker room to collect a few more pans. It's an interesting array serving items he's got: two shallow pans, another larger pot, a few mugs and some utensils--exactly none of which are spoons.

He posts himself at the door, knowing there isn't exactly a wafting scent of tasty soup to speak for his efforts. He's holding the single large spoon that he'd been using to cook in his right hand, and will absolutely flag any passers-by down. He'll also be calling down the hall if he hears you.

"Hey. Soup's up, if you're interested. It's not terrible!" Given the available resources, he considered this an accomplishment. "It's cooled down a bit too."

III. Aggressive Dad Mode: Activate [Closed to Kit]

Spirit meant what he'd said about the soup. She gets a mug and a fork, and Spirit doesn't wait for her to appear so he can offer. Instead, he looks for her through the hospital until he finds her. If she's awake or not it doesn't matter: he kneels beside her, holding the cup carefully in his hands.

"I promised soup. It's not the best I've ever made," he's talking quietly, thoughtfully, as he offers the small mug to her, "but it's better than what's in the cans, and it isn't too heavy. Should sit in your stomach all right."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Spirit doesn't hand over the mug, instead helping support it with the hand closest to her.

"I said I'd help you," he's mumbling, half to himself and half to her. A bit louder, and now more uncertain: "Just a sip or two, if it hurts your stomach. Just something."

He doesn't note the unnatural stillness, not now. There's too many layers of blankets, and too much of his focus on getting her to eat. If eating truly will hurt her, now's probably the chance to tell him.

It won't actually hurt her. She just...won't digest it as easily as she would if it weren't the new moon. If she ate the whole bowl there would probably be a problem, but a few sips won't hurt her.

Unless, of course, she dumps it on herself trying to hold the damned thing. Which was exactly what would happen if Spirit had let her take the mug for herself. She might not be shivering, but she was as weak as Gladio's nickname for her. Still, she couldn't exactly eat while leaning against someone's side, so she shifted to sit on her own, wobbling a bit but managing it.

For the most part.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

He shifts so he's able to still provide her some support, his other arm still against her back. As she brings the cup towards her, he helps steady it.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he replies quietly. "Because I try being nice to everyone."

A beat, and in a far more lighthearted tone: "Not many people end up on my 'don't be nice to' list, you know."

Her first sip was a slow thing, testing it first to make sure it wasn't going to burn too much. The warmth was wonderful and the taste was pretty good (what she could taste, anyway), so the second sip was a bit bigger.

Under the blanket, her stomach gave an unwelcoming growl and she made a face as she lowered the mug back down.

"It's good. You're good. I...I'm just very tired, I'm sorry." Tired and sad and just all around miserable.

"I'm sorry you have to take care of me when you probably feel pretty bad yourself." And yep, she was back to leaning against his support.

A parental instinct had kicked in, and he tucked her against his side. When she finishes with the soup, her places it beside them and tucks them around her.

"Don't apologize. I wish I could help you feel better."

Spirit shifts, and there's a slight shrug against her side. "I don't feel sick, just...odd. Part of me is missing, you know?"

As warm as it was and as good as it tasted, Kit was glad to see the mug be set aside. Her stomach was already uncomfortably tight around what little bit she had managed and the result was uncomfortable.

He shifted around her and she settled a little more firmly against her. Even with all the self doubt and no small amount of self disgust rolling around in her head, she was still so desperate for touch. Reaching up, she let the blanket slip down to expose one almost bare shoulder as she tapped his nose.

"I meant your hangover..."

Most people would be more focused on the fact that she was apparently only wearing underwear under that blanket, but the thin scar that ran from her collarbone to her chest was clearly visible if one were to look. Including the telltale dots of sutures that ran along side it.

Spirit laughs weakly, "eh--woke up feeling kind of bad, but I'll survive. Worked with hangovers before."

He's initially focused more on tucking her back beneath the blankets, concerned that she'd feel only worse if she grew colder. But as he pulls a layer up over her chest, he notes the scar and pauses. It's familiar in that he's got a similar one, though his runs across his chest differently. She might feel the sudden tension, though he doesn't move away from her.

Instead, Spirit pulls the blanket up, averting his gaze. "Quite a scar you have there, kid."

Different scars for different reasons.

She allowed him to tuck her back into the blanket without much fuss. She didn't have a whole lot of energy to fuss. When he commented on her scar, she gave a half hearted shrug of the shoulder that was still visible. "I have a lot of them."

That was it. No sudden dash to hide it, no startled pulling away from him. Just tired acceptance. Up on the window ledge, the crow blinked open dark eyes and gave one rough chide before fluffing up his wings and settling back down.

"You were pretty gone last night. Was good to see you so relaxed, though the sheet was an interesting wardrobe choice. 'Course, I can't say much..."

The laugh this time is a little more forced. "Ah. So do I."

Spirit has always been shy of the scars over his form, in large part because he'd spent much of his Academy years hiding them. He's a bit startled by the crow, and Kit can probably feel him jump slightly.

"Oh--right," a hint of a blush crawls up his neck and into his cheeks. "You missed Liam's dare to jump into the pool fully dressed. I was freezing. Gladio demanded I take off the wet clothes."

This time, she noticed the jump. Even as out of it and in her own head as she was, the tension in the man she was leaning against was building to the point where even she could feel it. Frowning a little, she sat up a little so that she could turn to properly look at Spirit instead of just use him as a pillow.

"Are you okay? You're getting a little tense.

Was it the scar? I can cover it up, if it'll make you feel better?"

"No, no--you're pretty snug under those blankets anyway," he replies flatly.

Spirit glances up at the crow, an unnerved frown on his face.

"I don't have a lot of experience with, uh..." the hand further away from her gestures at the crow, though it's vague, "animals. In general. They don't have a good association at home, either." A beat, before he hastily adds: "No offense to your friend, I mean."

Okay. As long as it wasn't her scar. She didn't want to make this man upset, at least not if she could help it. Spirit had been nothing but kind to her and ...

Well, she'd messed up enough without also pissing off the person still trying to take care of her after the debacle of last night.

Still, she pulled the blanket back up, cinching it tight around her throat so Spirit couldn't see any of the other scars dotting her body before she also glanced at the crow. "Oh. He's not bad, not really. I don't think he liked me too much in the beginning, but he's coming around I think. That or we're just used to each other now..."

Not helping, Kit.

"Oh."

He is still staring at the crow somewhat warily, but there's less anxiety in his eyes. He settles with her against his side again, frowning.

"You...uh," how does he phrase this politely? "Didn't initially get along with him? I thought animals didn't stick around if they don't like you."

The crow, for his part, was back to ignoring life. He didn't go so far as to actually tuck his head under a wing, but he was so close it wasn't even funny.

Kit chuckled, though it turned into a bit of cough halfway through. "I don't think I was as ... intent as he was hoping for." That was the understatement of the century, but she wasn't exactly ready to go into that just yet. One secret at a time, thank you very much.

"I don't think I can eat anymore. I'm sorry. It was good, I just...I don't feel good."

"Okay..." he's clearly uncertain, but he also knows nothing about pets in general. A part of him wants to ask for more information, but it isn't as if he really knows that what she's saying is unusual.

When she declines further soup, Spirit nods, slowly. "That's fine. Even the little bit is good for you, you know?"

The mug is placed aside, and he fusses over the blankets. "Are you warm enough? I can sit here for a while if you'd like company. I do know how to sit quietly, if that's what you'd prefer."

Silly Spirit. Who ever said that the crow was a pet?

At his offer to stay, she quickly shook her head, digging down into herself to pull herself back up to a proper sit. No more leaning, right.

"No, it's okay. I'm alright. I'm just going to go back to sleep."

She was a terrible liar, but she didn't give him a chance to argue before she was arranging her blankets so that she could be completely cocooned once she laid down again.

Despite her very clear body language of go away, Spirit doesn't initially move. He's sure about the lie, but uncertain of the real answer. So instead, he helps pull and tug the blankets till they are well and truly bundling her up. Even when he's done that, he doesn't move.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I might sit for a bit." She's entirely bundled now, and likely can't see the rather solemn expression he wore.

"Gotta let this old man take a break or two from all this running around, you know?" This too is a lie. Even from just the sheet yesterday it's clear that the redhead is fairly strong; to suggest he's weak and tired is some kind of ridiculous.

"Just till you're asleep."

Dadstincts go!

She hid the explosion of emotion that welled in her chest. He wanted to stay? She hadn't coerced him in any way? Thinking back, she was pretty sure she hadn't done anything that could have guilt-ed him into staying if he didn't want to. In fact, she'd made it clear that he'd been welcome to leave at any point in time.

Right?

"Yeah, okay. I don't mind, I'm just...not good company."

Which was probably the understatement of the year. Laying back down on her pallet of old coats she'd found in the lockers when she'd first explored them, she was careful to keep herself from curling in closer to him...but she also didn't pull away.

He was offering her the comfort of company and she wasn't anywhere near strong willed enough to refuse it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even if I don't know what your pain is

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject