Wikus chopped the lettuce into small bits, not doing it with much grace as he simply brought the knife up and down with strength against the cutting board. He was basically butchering the inanimate vegetable who couldn’t even protest. Once it was well chopped up, Wikus took the tomatoes and began cutting them in cubes as much as the fruit allowed him. Tossing it all into the bowl, he’d move to the onions. Cutting the basal plate and the tunic afterwards, he’d peel the skin until the leaves were all gone and the ingredient was white as a pearl. Only then he began cutting it. He did so, once again, into small cubes as until very recently he had no teeth with which to eat and chew, Kavala having done him a favor in returning them with her own magic. He was somewhat thankful, but he was also somewhat disgusted by her. Magic was, after all, a world he didn’t understood and thus feared. Grunting, he’d go search for something else to chop and add into the salad. Some parsley, some cheese… If it could fit in the cup, then it could be eaten. Tossing the bits of onion in the cup, he’d go to clean his hands – somewhat unnecessary as he had begun his cooking without cleaning them, but it was still something.
“Like neck decorations from shop? That is magic?” Wikus recalled the necklaces and rings, all made of bone or containing some bone, and somewhat doubted that could be considered magic. Wasn’t magic making fire from one’s fingers? This discipline this woman presented seemed a lot milder, but more useful. Everybody ate and there were always bones remaining. Making those bones into something useful other than toothpicks or simple decorations was certainly something he was interested in. “How it works?” He’d say, looking back at her and locking eyes, as he usually did whenever he interacted with her. She seemed somewhat cautious, as expected from her. Wikus had realized that she, just like him, was somewhat lost in this place and never truly managed to belong. It was possible that it was her brashness and somewhat lacking social skills, in a way quite similar to him despite his home being across the plains. A place like the jungle didn’t seem to be as near as the endless plains of the Sea of Grass. Truly, she would’ve been a good woman if she polished her endless rough edges. She had good hips, after all. He had seen their silhouette the past season and still noted them once in a while with a peek to make sure he didn’t make a mistake.
Still, if she was ever a mother, she was likely to kill her child the first week, most likely beat it to death. She did seem like that kind of woman, after all. The fire of the stove began taking a toll on him, removing his shirt and curling it into a ball before tossing it aside. He didn’t value clothing as much as everyone else. Glancing once again towards the woman, his usual frown was present when he nodded towards the stove. “The water… Deyhan.” If his sense of humor was more developed and his expression wasn’t always as stiff as it was, he might’ve scoffed or chuckled at his words, yet sadly that was not the case. She wasn’t from around here, after all. She was the Deyhan no matter how much she didn’t like to admit it, Wikus not quite aware of the meaning of the word but nonetheless adding it to his vocabulary. He cut the rest of the ingredients for the rather abundant salad, and at last looked for some oil to condiment it all. He almost forgot about the salt, something he missed in the wilderness and thus something he craved to taste again. Taking a bunch from the cup of salt the woman had extracted, he’d spread it on the salad. The bottles of oil were plenty, all of different colors and different scents. Wikus picked the one that stank the least.
Now that the salad was about to fall from the large cup, he had to stir it. His hand took care of that, cupping between all the ingredients and starting to mix it with his hands. And just like that, the salad was complete. The water was to boil soon enough, and so they could scald the hen once and for all. If it was for him, he’d eat it raw as he had done many times before, but since they were doing this the fancy way they might as well finish what they started. “Watermelon here?” He asked at last, hoping the Myrian would know of some storage or any place in which the delicious fruit could be present.
“Like neck decorations from shop? That is magic?” Wikus recalled the necklaces and rings, all made of bone or containing some bone, and somewhat doubted that could be considered magic. Wasn’t magic making fire from one’s fingers? This discipline this woman presented seemed a lot milder, but more useful. Everybody ate and there were always bones remaining. Making those bones into something useful other than toothpicks or simple decorations was certainly something he was interested in. “How it works?” He’d say, looking back at her and locking eyes, as he usually did whenever he interacted with her. She seemed somewhat cautious, as expected from her. Wikus had realized that she, just like him, was somewhat lost in this place and never truly managed to belong. It was possible that it was her brashness and somewhat lacking social skills, in a way quite similar to him despite his home being across the plains. A place like the jungle didn’t seem to be as near as the endless plains of the Sea of Grass. Truly, she would’ve been a good woman if she polished her endless rough edges. She had good hips, after all. He had seen their silhouette the past season and still noted them once in a while with a peek to make sure he didn’t make a mistake.
Still, if she was ever a mother, she was likely to kill her child the first week, most likely beat it to death. She did seem like that kind of woman, after all. The fire of the stove began taking a toll on him, removing his shirt and curling it into a ball before tossing it aside. He didn’t value clothing as much as everyone else. Glancing once again towards the woman, his usual frown was present when he nodded towards the stove. “The water… Deyhan.” If his sense of humor was more developed and his expression wasn’t always as stiff as it was, he might’ve scoffed or chuckled at his words, yet sadly that was not the case. She wasn’t from around here, after all. She was the Deyhan no matter how much she didn’t like to admit it, Wikus not quite aware of the meaning of the word but nonetheless adding it to his vocabulary. He cut the rest of the ingredients for the rather abundant salad, and at last looked for some oil to condiment it all. He almost forgot about the salt, something he missed in the wilderness and thus something he craved to taste again. Taking a bunch from the cup of salt the woman had extracted, he’d spread it on the salad. The bottles of oil were plenty, all of different colors and different scents. Wikus picked the one that stank the least.
Now that the salad was about to fall from the large cup, he had to stir it. His hand took care of that, cupping between all the ingredients and starting to mix it with his hands. And just like that, the salad was complete. The water was to boil soon enough, and so they could scald the hen once and for all. If it was for him, he’d eat it raw as he had done many times before, but since they were doing this the fancy way they might as well finish what they started. “Watermelon here?” He asked at last, hoping the Myrian would know of some storage or any place in which the delicious fruit could be present.
WIKUS
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