[why should one need to specify that when one asks for a duty to be assigned to them they mean something actually relevant to their skill set or role? luciola doesn't know, nor get it, but-]
FROM: luciola@cdc.org
I could not ask you to do such. I was told any results, good or ill, would be by responsibility.
[ Look at it this way: the best way to Dio's heart might be through his stomach??? you're learning a useful new skill. ]
FROM: varr.noh@cdc.org
You're not asking. I'm offering.
[ Because he and Luciola haven't spent all that much time together, and he'd like to get to know the navi and his world better. Figuring he's going to have to make the decision on Luciola's behalf, the next message is shorter: ]
[sob he is wondering already how he can get a cupcake to Dio without being obvious about it... And though he feels bad about it, he also doesn't wish to argue with a superior.]
[ He does insist, but he doesn't respond to Luciola with that--instead by the time his junior shows up Noh-Varr is already at the kitchens, having informed the Skellies of the pair's good intentions.
Luciola will find him taking out muffin trays and sugar, flour...measuring cups? He isn't entirely certain what he needs, but he has a rough idea. He's eaten muffins, cupcakes and cakes before. ]
[The reason Luciola had gone so far as to request to be given a task from their Instructor themselves (himself? herself?) had been primarily to prevent him from thinking of the one thing that bothered him most, the thing that had made him restless, anxious, unable to focus- even if Luciola himself did not acknowledge the reason or even quite realize it himself.
It's not working, however.
There is an absence in everything he does. Despite the fact that he did occasionally operate independently from his lord when the need called for it or he was ordered, Dio's precense was still there, soon to be returned to. He was a bodyguard as well as aide, and the function called for close.
But he had been dismissed. The nature and time of the period was unknown. There was no definitive end. He had laid hands on the other in a way that could be taken as hostile- on Dio Eraclea. Dio had said "were".
Past tense. "Were" my friend.
Those thoughts dominated the back of his brain even as he attempted focus on this task, inane as he found it- he would do as he was told no matter his opinion on it. Loyalty, diligence, obedience- his genetics were coveted for such traits, was it not so? One foot in front of the other until he reached the kitchens to find his superior in Orange, and the supplies Warriorhead had assured him would be there.]
Greetings, sir.
[He bowed, stiffly, automatically, before straightening up and continuing towards the counter, pulling out his Blackglass and pulling up his correspondence with a fellow recruit, placing the device out of the way of potential mess with the screen visible. Despite the formalities, his expression remained... More blank than usual. Apparently that was possible.]
[ Noh-Varr doesn't know the cause of Luciola's suffering, but even he, a relative stranger, can tell the younger man isn't at his best. He turns to observe Luciola, his gaze keen from concern.
He doesn't reach for Luciola, but instead the blackglass, tilting it to better see; he reads the recipe briskly, committing the ingredients to memory. ]
I don't see why not. Alice is human.
[ Meaning, by extension, that she must have more experience in these things. (Despite the fact that she plainly says she doesn't cook. #notallhumans) That Luciola might consider himself 'human' doesn't occur to Noh-Varr, because Luciola isn't from Earth. ]
We should start with the batter. Will you measure the dry ingredients?
[ The measuring cups are lined up--each neatly notched, despite the frequent use they must see. ]
[Luciola, for all he did appear largely human, (for all Noh-Varr himself did), only seemed to nod along with the assessment. "Human" was not something he considered himself per se, not after reading files and ascertaining what was considered to be a "normal human". He was Guild. In truth, his own file identified him as "genetically modified human"- but it was not a label he had ever considered for himself.
There was only Guild. There was only Lord Dio, Maestro Delphine, and duty- and one was dead, one had dismissed him, and one had become to bake cupcakes.]
Yes, sir.
[The recipe was straightforward, the task seemed simplistic despite his complete inexperience in the matter. Sorting through the tools made available for the task yielded those labelled with cups and those with teaspoons, and without another word he stiffly began doing as instructed, beginning to measure out floor, sugar-
An alarming amount of sugar that only manifested as a slight furrow in his brow, rechecking the recipe, (that much sugar), before returning to the task at hand, however frivolous he found the assignment.]
[ While Luciola sets to work Noh-Varr watches him, considering a single worker more than enough for the task at hand. Despite his offer to 'help', he's really here to supervise...or perhaps just to keep Luciola company. He huffs out an amused breath at the uncertain pause Luciola does over the sugar. Once upon a time, that had been him. Absently, he begins measuring out two cups of water, and the oil.
The Kree view food as they do just about everything else: it must be minimalist, practical, and it must be genetically ideal. The Kree would find Earth's preoccupation with genetic modification in food laughable, when their fare is typically composed of nutritionally dense, tasteless porridges and bars. Food is fuel, it is not representative of pleasure or social communion. Earth, in that way, was something of a revelation: music, and food, and dance, and so many ways of gaining pleasure of the senses, every indulgence accepted.
Now, he'd still prefer a good vinyl to dessert, but he can stomach more sugar than he otherwise would. ]
Why did you ask Warriorhead for a task?
[ He doesn't find the idea strange, per se. Noh-Varr is not what anyone might call lazy, but he guards his relaxation time jealously. Having come from a militarized background, however, he can see where Luciola might have found the emptiness taxing. ]
Luciola had asked himself that same thing once it had been handed down that the task he had received would be to make cupcakes. It seemed a waste of time that could far easily be used to do something actually productive. If the desire was to raise morale, why not do something that survived their odds of survival? If the act of creation was what they desired to teach, why not create something with more substance than a sweet cake that would be gone in moments?
But he had received it. There was no taking it back now. As he turned the question over in his head, trying to avoid the heart of the truthful answer, (dismissed), his expression darkened slightly, a slight pause in his motions before he mechanically resumed measuring, precise to the point it became almost silly to see.]
As I had nothing to attend to, it seemed best to make myself of available to the superiors.
[But actual lies were never his way, and even that answer smells faintly of excuse. An aide and guard to an Eraclea scion never had nothing to attend to- attendance to one's lord was a job that occupied all of one's time, even if it was spent merely tailing them silently or being at their side in case of some task needing doing or call for service. Luciola had great respect for rank and equally great awareness of social hierarchy, but he had never showed the same care for the CDC higher ups- not like the care shown his own lord.
Friend. Former friend?
His expression melted from the dark of negative thoughts to the soft ache of insecurity, however subtle such a change was, mere angle of the brows, slight inward draw of the bottom lip.]
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unfavoured
no subject
So it seems.
[why should one need to specify that when one asks for a duty to be assigned to them they mean something actually relevant to their skill set or role? luciola doesn't know, nor get it, but-]
FROM: luciola@cdc.org
I could not ask you to do such. I was told any results, good or ill, would be by responsibility.
no subject
the best way to Dio's heart might be through his stomach???you're learning a useful new skill. ]FROM: varr.noh@cdc.org
You're not asking. I'm offering.
[ Because he and Luciola haven't spent all that much time together, and he'd like to get to know the navi and his world better. Figuring he's going to have to make the decision on Luciola's behalf, the next message is shorter: ]
FROM: varr.noh@cdc.org
Come, I'll meet you at the kitchens.
no subject
FROM: luciola@cdc.org
If you insist, sir.
[He's already on his way.]
no subject
Luciola will find him taking out muffin trays and sugar, flour...measuring cups? He isn't entirely certain what he needs, but he has a rough idea. He's eaten muffins, cupcakes and cakes before. ]
I hope you brought a recipe.
[ Should he take out the chocolate chips? ]
Accidentally tldrs ignore this
It's not working, however.
There is an absence in everything he does. Despite the fact that he did occasionally operate independently from his lord when the need called for it or he was ordered, Dio's precense was still there, soon to be returned to. He was a bodyguard as well as aide, and the function called for close.
But he had been dismissed. The nature and time of the period was unknown. There was no definitive end. He had laid hands on the other in a way that could be taken as hostile- on Dio Eraclea. Dio had said "were".
Past tense. "Were" my friend.
Those thoughts dominated the back of his brain even as he attempted focus on this task, inane as he found it- he would do as he was told no matter his opinion on it. Loyalty, diligence, obedience- his genetics were coveted for such traits, was it not so? One foot in front of the other until he reached the kitchens to find his superior in Orange, and the supplies Warriorhead had assured him would be there.]
Greetings, sir.
[He bowed, stiffly, automatically, before straightening up and continuing towards the counter, pulling out his Blackglass and pulling up his correspondence with a fellow recruit, placing the device out of the way of potential mess with the screen visible. Despite the formalities, his expression remained... More blank than usual. Apparently that was possible.]
Do you believe this will be satisfactory?
no subject
He doesn't reach for Luciola, but instead the blackglass, tilting it to better see; he reads the recipe briskly, committing the ingredients to memory. ]
I don't see why not. Alice is human.
[ Meaning, by extension, that she must have more experience in these things. (Despite the fact that she plainly says she doesn't cook. #notallhumans) That Luciola might consider himself 'human' doesn't occur to Noh-Varr, because Luciola isn't from Earth. ]
We should start with the batter. Will you measure the dry ingredients?
[ The measuring cups are lined up--each neatly notched, despite the frequent use they must see. ]
no subject
There was only Guild. There was only Lord Dio, Maestro Delphine, and duty- and one was dead, one had dismissed him, and one had become to bake cupcakes.]
Yes, sir.
[The recipe was straightforward, the task seemed simplistic despite his complete inexperience in the matter. Sorting through the tools made available for the task yielded those labelled with cups and those with teaspoons, and without another word he stiffly began doing as instructed, beginning to measure out floor, sugar-
An alarming amount of sugar that only manifested as a slight furrow in his brow, rechecking the recipe, (that much sugar), before returning to the task at hand, however frivolous he found the assignment.]
no subject
The Kree view food as they do just about everything else: it must be minimalist, practical, and it must be genetically ideal. The Kree would find Earth's preoccupation with genetic modification in food laughable, when their fare is typically composed of nutritionally dense, tasteless porridges and bars. Food is fuel, it is not representative of pleasure or social communion. Earth, in that way, was something of a revelation: music, and food, and dance, and so many ways of gaining pleasure of the senses, every indulgence accepted.
Now, he'd still prefer a good vinyl to dessert, but he can stomach more sugar than he otherwise would. ]
Why did you ask Warriorhead for a task?
[ He doesn't find the idea strange, per se. Noh-Varr is not what anyone might call lazy, but he guards his relaxation time jealously. Having come from a militarized background, however, he can see where Luciola might have found the emptiness taxing. ]
no subject
Luciola had asked himself that same thing once it had been handed down that the task he had received would be to make cupcakes. It seemed a waste of time that could far easily be used to do something actually productive. If the desire was to raise morale, why not do something that survived their odds of survival? If the act of creation was what they desired to teach, why not create something with more substance than a sweet cake that would be gone in moments?
But he had received it. There was no taking it back now. As he turned the question over in his head, trying to avoid the heart of the truthful answer, (dismissed), his expression darkened slightly, a slight pause in his motions before he mechanically resumed measuring, precise to the point it became almost silly to see.]
As I had nothing to attend to, it seemed best to make myself of available to the superiors.
[But actual lies were never his way, and even that answer smells faintly of excuse. An aide and guard to an Eraclea scion never had nothing to attend to- attendance to one's lord was a job that occupied all of one's time, even if it was spent merely tailing them silently or being at their side in case of some task needing doing or call for service. Luciola had great respect for rank and equally great awareness of social hierarchy, but he had never showed the same care for the CDC higher ups- not like the care shown his own lord.
Friend. Former friend?
His expression melted from the dark of negative thoughts to the soft ache of insecurity, however subtle such a change was, mere angle of the brows, slight inward draw of the bottom lip.]
My intent was to be of use.
[Intent, at least.]