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Dakarai N'Sehla had a different roof over his head for the moment, a break from the norm. Where normally he would have asked for Cecile's hospitality, it was Elena that had offered hers, following the help of his pokémon. He'd assured her he had mighty little to do with that, but she wouldn't have any of it, and offered him a meal. Perhaps under different circumstances, he might have objected, but since he'd had neither breakfast nor lunch and had been travelling, his body was quick to insist he accept the proffered gesture.
It feels like an undue luxury, even though it's no more lavish than anything the gym leaders have ever done for him. The key difference, of course, is that he's infinitely indebted to them already, and each act of kindness on their part only worsens his debt. Elena, on the other hand, could hardly be said to have anything on him, making the invitation so blissfully without the tang of obligation that it felt like a treasure. “Thank you again for inviting me,” he's saying as they're entering her home, glancing around with an almost childish curiosity rather than looking at her as he speaks, not thinking it rude, taking in the unfamiliar place.
The apartment was like many others in Njoty: outwardly boxy and stacked with many others of identical structure. Inside was a comfortable level of clutter and character. A painting of sunset over an ocean hung on one wall of the living room while another held photos of several people and a variety of pokémon. By the bookcase in one corner several mismatched armchairs clustered around a ladden coffee table and there was a brief motion as something cream-coloured vanished out of sight.
“Do you have any objections to meat?” Elena asked as she dropped her gear beside the door and toed off her boots. “I think we've got some leftover Krabby in the fridge.”
“I'm not sure how I feel about crustaceans,” Dakarai admits. “I've never had any.” There's a tinge of shyness to his voice, an almost cute deviation from the otherwise so self-assured seeming man who'd accompanied her the past hours. The touch of his left hand against the back of his neck only adds to that impression. “Although I'll also admit that in the state I'm in, I imagine I'd eat old furniture if you offered me some.”
Elena giggled and led the way through to the small kitchen. “I can make many things tasty, but never tried furniture. Too chewy,” she joked as she dropped the berry basket on the wooden table and set about filling the kettle. A chopping board and knife were fished out of a drawer and a pot put on the stove before Elena looked around for the matches.
A full minute of rummaging later and they were still missing. She'd even checked the shopping list to see if her parents had used them all up. With the kettle beginning to hiss she pulled out a wooden taper instead. “I think Kurama has stolen the matches again, I'm sorry, I'm normally less chaotic about this,” she flusteredly apologised to Rhaptor.
One the pokéballs was plucked from her belt and in the free space beyond the table an Arcanine materialised. “Roman, help?” Elena pleaded, holding up the stick for the pokémon to ignite.
Dakarai gives a sound of amusement that's not quite a chuckle at her apology. “Hey, you're talking to a guy who spends his time begging for scraps, I think you're a whole lot more organised than I am,” he comments, raising both hands to gesture that it's more than okay, smiling warmly. As she calls for Roman, Dakarai's interest seems briefly kindled, peering toward the creature for a moment, before he's back to an unassuming posture. Iris and Paragon are currently snugly contained in their pokéballs - not that it means anything near the same thing to them that it would to 'Roman', but that has hardly come up yet. “If I can do anything to help…?” he adds, again with that slightly awkward tinge of shyness.
A soft exhalation and a puff of fire later and Elena scurried back to the stove with her smouldering taper. The Arcanine padded around the table to look apprasingly at Dakarai. “Roman, be nice, he helped me,” Elena said absently as she tossed several spices into her pot before snagging one of the berries from the basket and shredding it in.
Roman gave a growl of acknowledgement and flopped onto the ground like a throw rug as the chopping board and knife was deposited in front of their guest. “Could you roughly dice those?” Elena asked, adding some roasted vegetables from the fridge to the wood in front of him.
“Yes, ma'am,” Dakarai acknowledges, half seriously, half in humour (at himself), dipping his head and shoulders in a gesture of obedience, albeit clearly meant neither seriously nor mocking. A moment later, his attention's shifted accordingly and he's working on the chore, happy to be contributing something other than an abstract favour to his meal, slow and cautious at first, then with a little more speed once he's reasonably sure he won't do something stupid like chop his own fingers off. Given he's someone who lives mostly out of cans, bread and other people's cooking, he doesn't really have a huge amount of cooking preparation experience. 'None' would certainly be an exaggeration, but that misconception would hardly make a difference.
The kettle whistled its boiling and the hot water added to the sizzling pan. A handful for dried pasta followed by another pinch of spice and Elena stirred it for a few minutes as pleasant smells began to fill the room. Once Dakarai finished slicing vegetables they joined the pot along with some of the shredded crab meat from the fridge and she took the time to rinse the tools and fetch two bowls while it simmered.
“It's a little lumpy, but 'diced vegetables and meat in tasty broth' only takes a few minutes and 'smooth vegetable and meat soup' is more like an hour slow cooking. I'm too hungry to wait that long for something that tastes similar,” Elena said depreciatingly as she poured the soup into the bowls and passed one over as she sat down.
“It's not old furniture,” Dakarai reminds, tone light. “On a more serious note, I'm used to a diet of bread and canned food, so I assure you, anything properly cooked…” - with no strings attached, at least - “…will be cherished. I really appreciate you doing this for me.” For someone who's just getting a lunch, he's being rather… well, thankful. But if what he's said about his travelling habits is true, perhaps it's to be expected.
✘ in progress