A Familiar Flavor

The kitchen hung heavy with the aroma of bread and herbs. Glaive could hardly smell it—his sense of smell was about as stunted as his emotional capacity—but the warmth comforted him somewhat. He held his blades underneath running water to clean the doughy remains off of them. Cleaning up was the worst part of cooking, in his opinion. He’d much rather leave that portion of the work to someone with actual hands, although he knew it was irresponsible to do something like that. Verdi reminded him of that constantly; after he left a mess in their room she was determined to make sure it never happened again. Glaive appreciated the concern…but that didn’t make cleaning up any less annoying.

On the battlefield, the dirt and grime was a grim motivator: stand your ground, or you’ll be thrashed until you become the mud staining someone else’s feet. A key difference was that the battlefield’s mud was coppery and smelled acrid, whereas the dough on his blades right now was light and fluffy, and it smelled rather nice. It was also useless on the ground.

“Here, you are, Glaive! I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.” A clear, lilting voice rang strongly in his head. He turned slightly, bringing Verdi into his line of sight. They both nodded sharply toward each other.

“What are you making this time?”

Glaive carefully tapped the recipe on the countertop.

“Mmm… You’d better let me taste some. That reminds me of the stuff we used to make back at the cafe…”

Glaive nodded once more.

“Oh…huh?” Verdi’s horns twitched. “You’re not pranking me, are you?” She picked up the recipe page and tilted her head back, putting the details into full view. Her eyes sparkled, Glaive couldn’t tell if she was excited or about to cry.

“These books still exist…? I thought they went out of print when the cafe shut down… How did you find this?”

Glaive’s answer probably wasn’t one that Verdi would be able to read from just his emotions, so he tried to show her through gestures. To no avail…

“Long story, huh. Well… if you have any more of these pages, let me know. I’d love to cook some of these things with you someday. How nostalgic…”

Glaive nodded again, with more enthusiasm this time.

“I almost don’t believe it. I never knew where you were from originally. Were you near our cafe? I can’t think of any other way you’d have material from our official cookbook.”

Glaive tried to shrug as he turned off the water flow. His blades sparkled when he lifted them up, even more so when he shook them to get the water off. Verdi flinched at the sight, even though Glaive was exceedingly careful to keep the sharp edges away from her.

“In any case, seeing this recipe after so long sure is nostalgic. I wanna help you with this, shall we hang out until it’s out of the oven?” Verdi grinned. It was evident that even if Glaive said no, she’d stay regardless. He rolled his eyes and poked a nearby stool, signaling for her to sit.

———

Time passed slowly as they talked. Well, in truth, they sat in silence, accompanied by the oven’s low drone and the trills of other pokemon playing outside. Verdi’s telepathy was loud and rattling inside Glaive’s brain, and he gestured frantically in an attempt to keep up with his friend. Verdi told him stories of the old cafe, her fairy-type friends, and her trainer’s chaotic antics. Glaive tried to return the favor by explaining his old life in the fighting ring, but that brought the mood down and Verdi wasn’t having it. Spending time with Verdi was nice, but awfully tiring. Glaive always had energy for fighting and swinging his blades, but not so much for conversation. Fortunately, the oven’s alarm spared him from further torture.

“Oh, it’s done already? But I was just getting to the good part!”’

Glaive shook his head, hopefully conveying the ‘your stories are mad boring, let me talk’ emotions that he felt. The pair hopped off their stools and cracked the oven door, recoiling when the blast of hot air hit them both head-on. It smelled even better, though. Especially this close; Glaive could actually savor the scent. Verdi’s grin melted into a soft smile, and without a word she lifted the tray and set it on the counter (telekinetically, of course).

For the first time that afternoon, she spoke aloud, “This is super cliche, but…it smells like home.” Glaive smiled (as much as he could without a mouth) and sliced the loaf of bread. The steam clung to his blade and burst into the air as tiny clouds. He pushed the halves aside and looked at the inside…not close to the recipe at all! The different colored doughs were supposed to make a fun pattern inside, although it seemed Glaive had messed up. He quickly excused it. Cooking was his specialty, not baking, and besides—it was hard to pour dough when you had blades for hands. Fortunately though, a quick glance at Verdi confirmed that she didn’t care one bit. Perhaps just seeing such a familiar recipe—if a bit botched—made by familiar hands was enough. Verdi’s smile always reassured him, and somehow even more so when he was the one who caused it. That was all he needed, really. He decided he might bake a bit more, one of these days.