Share a meal with the character above you IC

Veritas poured the strong liquid into the teacup. He was never much for coffee, he had enough energy and he was much more of a savory guy rather than the gut punch coffee gave him of bitterness. But hey that was just him, who was he to judge others for their taste. SO that's why he made coffee for the little lad who was just bein a 10/10 guy to him. Sliding the cup over to Salvador, he did as he usually did when he was just a little too excited about being nice, he rambled a LOT.

"Ya know this sorta thing is real easy to make" he started "comparatively I mean. Beans, water, a few other things and bing bang boom. You got yourself a drink ta get ya the punch to move in the mornin." A deranged giggle came from the giant's mouth as he thought about...something. If he was being honest he didn't know what made him giggle, not that he would ever say that. He was just happy he supposed? Kindness made him happy, but then again, so did violence. But that didn't matter. WHAT DID MATTER WAS!

Along with the coffee he had prepared a baked potato with chives and some sour cream that he was lucky enough to get his hands on. So of course HE wasn't going to eat what little he had. That honor went to his guest "Lets not forget actual food. Classic baked potato, might not be the best around but hey, I bet it'll be edible. If not just let me know and I'll whip you up a new one. Or even something else, either way. Enjoy!" 

NP: He eats anything quickly and happily

(throws ebeneer and baby kell at you)

Ebeneer didn't often get guests. His little home was tucked away from the busy sectors of the city, a little hamlet in a quiet district, and it made anyone stopping by his door an off-putting rarity -- especially people he didn't know. But it was cold outside, colder than usual, and Veritas would freeze in such terrible weather; so he invited him in, shoving away the pile of snow by his doorstep with his boot as he did so. Hospitality was a point of pride for Ebeneer.

Inside, the kitchen was aglow with warmth and the smell of a dinner being prepared. He had offered Veritas a seat at the table and a blanket to put over his shoulders, but the heat of the stove helped just as much. It was a little home, but by no means crowded; instead, it brought a comfortable coziness befitting of someone like Ebeneer. At the table next to Veritas sat a young child, who was preoccupied with nibbling away at some vegetables. They held out a carrot for him to take.

"We don't get visitors often," he said as he idly collected some leftover mushrooms from the countertop and sealed them up in a jar. "So I'll admit, I didn't make much. But that doesn't mean a thing, so you take as many servings as you need! Hopefully it'll warm you up."

He turned from the countertop, one hand leaning on his cane and the other balancing two bowls, which he placed down in front of Veritas and his child. "Here. Mushroom stew." 

Once they were settled, he brought his own bowl to the table and smiled at the smell of the food. Ebeneer made sure his child was eating first, then nodded towards Veritas. "Kell here and I actually foraged the mushrooms ourselves! A friend of mine has a cabin far out by the forest. We spent the day with him and found tons of mushrooms. If you'd like, I can send some home with you."

It’s been awhile since Connie had shared a quiet moment with someone alive. Albeit she and Ebeneer were strangers in terms, but she could care less when she spotted him out in the wilds- she assumes he was searching for something. Though now the two were simply sat on a mysterious bench Connie said she ‘found’ for a quick chat and bite.

Off to the side out of Ebeneer’s sight she makes a small meal to share; two fruit sandwiches with very juicy fruits cut into a triangle and a few warm wildberry muffins; with some chunks of melty dark chocolate on the inside in separated labeled bags- thinking he’d appreciate at least something warm. Although it isn’t much; it’s the easiest to excuse that’s she had the entire time, but hidden. She’d rather not accidentally give Ebeneer an off feeling. Although the strawberries in the sandwiches are lightly tinted blue- that could go unnoticeable.

“Here. It’s not warm, but it is hydrating.”
Placing one of the fruit sandwiches into Ebeneer’s hands, and putting the muffins between them, she‘s satisfied with the setup.
”Please, eat as you want or need. Taking breaks are good for wandering.”
She places her own sandwich in her lap, uninterested in actually eating for the time being. Food has never been of must interest to her. Although the allure of sweets is hard to ignore; even for someone who doesn’t much care for food.

”I lied- apologies. The muffins are quite warm. There’s chocolate inside that’s.. likely melted. Be careful while enjoying.”
It seemed Ebeneer would enjoy something warm; although she wasn’t quite sure. At least for now the moment is peaceful, and the day is nice.

——————
SFGMNH oml this had me laughing so hard! The therapy bit is gold! Poor Ethan, that’s so unlucky

     Several beads of sweat lined Ethan's forehead as he tried not to stare at the guest that had suddenly sat besides him at the table. In his house. His locked house. Where there was no one else besides him inside.
     He didn't hear the security go off and he didn't hear the windows or doors open. What's more, the person besides him-- He wasn't even sure she was human. Scratch that, he was very convinced she was not human. He hadn't looked at her yet, only relying on his peripherals, but by what he saw there were things moving on their own and it was freaking him out. 

     His hand had been stuck holding up a spoonful of cereal for minutes now. His thoughts were racing so much that his attempt to act normal only made things go the opposite direction. His hand was even beginning to shake, though he couldn't tell if it was fear or from keeping that position for a while. Eat, dammit!
     Bad luck reacted instead and made him drop the spoon, splashing him with some milk and oats. Ethan sighed and wiped himself off with a napkin, finally looking at his guest. Yeah, definitely not human. She didn't seem harmful. If anything, she seemed interested in what he was doing. He felt like he was in a zoo, strangely.

     Clearing his throat, Ethan did the only thing his brain said made sense: he pushed his bowl of cereal towards her. "D-Do you want some?" Silly, scared Ethan, forgetting to offer to make her a bowl instead. It was okay, he'd lost his appetite. He'd also need therapy after this.

v I LOVED this!! 

"I kept my word," Nathaniel partly laughed as he placed the plate in front of Bound. "If you beat me at cards I'd serve you dinner and, tadaa," he gestured at the still steaming plate. "Dinner." On the plate lay a fully roasted chicken. Its head was removed and its skin coloured gold and brown. Salt and rosemary decorated the top. Butter, partly melted, pooled underneath it. Peas and potatoes framed the meat in. It smelled fresh and heavy.

Nathaniel sat down on a chair across from Bound. Showing the other a sharp toothy grin. "Take a bite," he invited. Nathaniel picked up his own knife and cut a piece of the chicken. The meat had gone so soft, that it crumbled underneath his cold blade. "I am more of a fish person," Nathaniel admits as he scraped some meat, peas and potatoes into his own direction. "But poultry would do." Nathaniel picked up his fork, scooped up the food and took a bite. The soft, honey-like meat dominated the taste. Peas popped underneath his teeth and the potatoes rounded the flavours together.

"What brings you here?" Nathaniel asked. His gaze now shifting to the other. His eyes boring into Bound's.

"And I am not talking about the food, your tricks, or the card games," he said. Allowing to ease his manner into a smile. "You got an agenda? Right?" Nathaniel took another bite. Letting the silk chicken meat to melt on his tongue.

Nathaniel dapped his lips clean with his sleeves. "What high are you hunting?"

--

I keep thinking about this image

     Only August and Carmen were seated at the long and extravagant dining table-- one meant for countless feasts and gatherings but hadn't seen one in a long, long time. The emperor sat at the head regardless, his arms crossed and his expression stoic. He'd somehow managed to find the god again and convince him to have lunch with him. Ever since their first encounter, August couldn't help but ponder if they shared any blood. It felt like too much aligned: their traits, their curse, even their fighting styles with the swords.

     All that left was one thing, one sure way to know if Litari blood flowed in Carmen: his taste in food.

     Two butlers left the kitchen with a silver platter in hand. Although both were expressionless, a closer look as they set the plates down in front of the two showed that they looked paler than most. The silver lids were removed and underneath... were several Hot Pockets.

     "Many people, especially at our social status, wouldn't even look at food like this," August said while pulling his plate closer. One was a plain pepperoni and cheese flavor, one was broccoli and cheese, and the other was a rare, spicy buffalo wing flavor. His eyes gleamed as he picked that one up first. "I like how these taste. It's a family tradition, apparently, to like this kind of food. This meat, by the way, is all imitation; it's fake." He took a large bite.

     Yes, exquisite flavor.

v (SCREAM)

Times change. Roswell knew that. The witch thief let out his breath as he picked up the strange curved knife. Still, he couldn't look the Emperor in his eyes. Because when he did, he saw glimpses of his friend. He heard his friend in the voice of the other. He recognized the small mannerism. It all reminded him of his friend. A friend that wouldn’t have agreed with August’s way of doing things. Roswell’s stomach felt hollow as he started to silently cut the dark root. But August had promised him money, lots of money. And Roswell did what he always had done. Surviving. Serving the winning side of history.

“Yer need to chew on dese,” he told the emperor. Roswell picked up a slice, and held it out to the other. The outside of the root was pitch black. The inside was a faded yellow. Prepared in a strange way. A thick dark red sap stained Roswell’s fingers and blade like blood. Roswell picked another slice and popped it in his own mouth. It was disgusting. An earthly like smell that tickled the roof of your mouth. The tasteless juice paralyzed your tongue. Stained your teeth black. Chewing on it was like chewing on sandpaper and brine. The hairs on his arms raised. His nosestril flared. The flames on the candles in the room extinguished. Roswell coughed as he finally managed to swallow the piece, his eye sting. But it worked. The witch’s thief’s fingers moved slowly, the darkness of his office felt like a living thing, one that followed every movement of his fingers. Swirling around them, like snakes. Like eels just out of his reach. Constantly moving. Slippery.
“Do yer feel it?” he asked August. Finally looking the other in the face. Roswell managed to press a smile on his face. His lip stained. “Strange isn’t it,” he muttered. Roswell reached for the compass on the ritual table. The darkness, the ink black tendril of the never ending Leegte, followed his movements. Attaching Itself to Roswell’s hands, like strings of a marionette.
“Oi canny tell yer who cursed yer. Yer bloodline.” Roswell’s nose wrinkled slightly at the last word. En at least had carried his curse with pride.
“All oi can show yer, is a path.” His fingers pressed against the compass. The needles started to spin. In the wrong directions, in a shaking way, until they stopped. Both needles pointed to the south-west. “Der yer should go. It will move more… direct, the closer you get to yer… Path.” 

The ring of campers and RVs is alive with activity as the troupe prepares for their big Saturday night performance, clowns and jugglers and acrobats rushing about after stray pieces of their costumes and runaway bats and balls, the air is full of chatter. Under the small awning that indicates Brand’s ‘porch’ though is a little area of calm from where Roswell can watch the hustle and bustle and reminisce about the good old days. 

Brand sits cross-legged on the ground, leaving his single lawn chair to his more aged company. The temperature verges on uncomfortably warm, but it’s just as hot inside the camper with pans simmering on the stove, and too cramped for two men besides. That, and Brand not wanting to invite a near stranger inside- infamous thief or not! He’s not sure why the older gent has apparently taken a shine to him, but he gets it. Circus folk have to watch each other’s backs because no one else will, even if Roswell is retired from the life. For all the glamor with which Ros describes his own circus days, Brand doesn’t doubt that he remembers the hard parts too… and just maybe, he enjoys Roswell’s storytelling too, despite not understanding every third word. That he honored the old thief’s request to visit the next time his circus came around stands as proof of that. 

And when you have company, you feed them. That’s just hospitality. Brand balances a borrowed griddle in his lap, squinting up into the setting sun. “...sorry, I would’ve waited to make something together since you shared one last time, but- I have to be at the show tonight. Short on time, so I had most of it ready ahead of time…” Nudging it with one finger, he checks the underside of the fresh naan on the griddle. Though it’s no tandoor oven, the flatbread is golden and the bubbles browned and crisp. “Oh, that’s done. So, um, it’s best fresh… I don’t like to eat too much before, y’know, before I’m up there doing flips and all, so there’s plenty for you to have as much as you want.”

He offers the naan up towards Roswell, before standing and pushing the whole griddle at him. “Actually, can you hold that for a minute? Got some vindaloo keeping warm inside, I’ll dish some out if you- …I remember you mentioning you could handle spice? I’ll bring out a bowl. The naan cuts it a bit, anyways…” 

He’s back out in a flash, carefully taking the griddle in one arm and passing Roswell a bowl in exchange. The curry is thick and red with generous chunks of meat, whole spices and chilies, steaming hot, and the smell of spices is strong enough to make both the mouth and the eyes water instantly. “Sorry I don’t… have a table out here, um- water? Coffee?” With his hostly duties attended to, Brand folds his legs and plops to the ground again with his own bowl, untouched, his own gaze cast a bit moodily over the flurry that is his circus. “There is- um, there was one thing you mentioned that I was thinking about. You always sound sort of… nostalgic when you talk about being in the circus; how’d you end up leaving? I mean-” he gestures vaguely in his direction, which a quick glance at the eyepatch. “-if you don’t mind saying. I think it’s something I’ve been worrying about. Um, the thought of…. aging out of it, or something… nevermind. Or the camel! I wouldn't mind hearing about that instead."