[ 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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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.]