Okay. (it may be a winded, tired reply, but it's a grateful one.) And that's important, I think. Not, like, patriotism or whatever, but enjoying where you're at.
(in the brown bag sakura picks up is a poorly packed assortment of food. the effort is clear, though depressing; each item is individually bundled in cling wrap. there is a triangular piece of sort-of squished fish cut from a whole filet, three small, cooked red potatoes, and the heel of a ciabatta loafβall rapidly cooling from their previous lukewarm temperatures, insulated by absolutely nothing.
jonas gestures to it, his soul dying inside of his body translating externally as a demure blush.)
Oh, uh... I said I'd make you something, but I'm sorry about... whatever that is.
Everything started to go wrong around the time I realized I didn't have any Tupperware to put my cooking in. It should still taste alright, justβI used a lot of salt by accident, but salt makes everything better anyway, I figure.
οΌ she still sets it all out like it's a king's feast, pulling some chipped plates out of one of her desk drawers. she eats here more often than not, and as a consequence she has most of the amenities one could want tucked away in various nooks and crannies.
... besides, the men in her life don't exactly trip over themselves to make her food, okay? salt or no, she's going to enjoy this. οΌ
(stares down at the sad-ass banquet. traumatizing..........)
Well, not the ciabatta butβwait, you're totally teasing me right now, aren't you? (immediately, jonas begins to chuckle, tension gone from his shoulders.) Look, okayβrest assured, I'm ordering takeout next time. That's all I have to say about that.
Mm-hm, (he hums, his mock skepticism unable to last when she continues with the rest of her sentiment.)
I think so, too. I mean... if the meal totally sucks big-time, then random takeout being brought to me might mean a wee bit more than the alternative, but it is nice, I grant you.
(starts gnawing at his piece of ciabatta like a savage)
Can you cook? Like, what would be your favourite thing to cook if you had all the ingredients and stuff?
οΌ silly jonas, asking a woman born to a world where 'housewife' is the default if she can cook. sakura laughs a bit, tucking an errant piece of hair behind one ear. she misses her headband, but hasn't really found anything yet to replace it, and the hitai-ate is safe behind the door of her soul room, a little piece of herself she isn't yet ready to share with anyone here. οΌ
I can, though I don't very often. I wouldn't say I'm incredible at it or anything, but I can follow a recipe.
οΌ kunoichi were taught flower arrangement to conceal and smuggle lethal poisons into an otherwise innocuous situation, just like they were taught to cook meals one could serve to an enemy. her training as a shinobi was quite different than naruto and sasuke's, well before they ever graduated as genin. οΌ
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(in the brown bag sakura picks up is a poorly packed assortment of food. the effort is clear, though depressing; each item is individually bundled in cling wrap. there is a triangular piece of sort-of squished fish cut from a whole filet, three small, cooked red potatoes, and the heel of a ciabatta loafβall rapidly cooling from their previous lukewarm temperatures, insulated by absolutely nothing.
jonas gestures to it, his soul dying inside of his body translating externally as a demure blush.)
Oh, uh... I said I'd make you something, but I'm sorry about... whatever that is.
Everything started to go wrong around the time I realized I didn't have any Tupperware to put my cooking in. It should still taste alright, justβI used a lot of salt by accident, but salt makes everything better anyway, I figure.
no subject
... besides, the men in her life don't exactly trip over themselves to make her food, okay? salt or no, she's going to enjoy this. οΌ
Wow! You made all this yourself?
οΌ excuse her?? οΌ
no subject
(stares down at the sad-ass banquet. traumatizing..........)
Well, not the ciabatta butβwait, you're totally teasing me right now, aren't you? (immediately, jonas begins to chuckle, tension gone from his shoulders.) Look, okayβrest assured, I'm ordering takeout next time. That's all I have to say about that.
(no more abused fish. NO MORE!!!)
no subject
οΌ look, it's just Her Life, okay? once everything is laid out, she pulls two sets of chopsticks out of a drawer and hands one to him. οΌ
I'd rather have something someone made than take-out. It's the thought that goes into it, right?
no subject
I think so, too. I mean... if the meal totally sucks big-time, then random takeout being brought to me might mean a wee bit more than the alternative, but it is nice, I grant you.
(starts gnawing at his piece of ciabatta like a savage)
Can you cook? Like, what would be your favourite thing to cook if you had all the ingredients and stuff?
no subject
I can, though I don't very often. I wouldn't say I'm incredible at it or anything, but I can follow a recipe.
οΌ kunoichi were taught flower arrangement to conceal and smuggle lethal poisons into an otherwise innocuous situation, just like they were taught to cook meals one could serve to an enemy. her training as a shinobi was quite different than naruto and sasuke's, well before they ever graduated as genin. οΌ