Appointments Post

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[Action, January 1st]

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[Action, May 18th]

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...Remembering your birthday is the least I could do. [Good old Awkward, couldn't go very long without you around, could he? To distract himself, he leaves the stew for the moment and starts cutting vegetables to add to the salad: carrots and onions and cucumbers and... diced apples?

After a moment, he clears his throat.] I don't know if you've had this before. I only remember it because it was served every time I visited Burgusstadt. [So not only is he making Edward dinner, he's making Edward dinner as served to visiting royalty.]

[Action, May 18th]

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I don't recognize the recipe, but I admit that I've never been much of a chef. [He never really figured Sigmund was, either.]

...Thank you. I appreciate this, really. [Even though he neglected to say it before.]

[Action, May 18th] /finally gets back to this

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[He pauses in slicing the onion and turns his head to half-glance at Edward over his shoulder.] I know. [Or he wouldn't have done it.]

You've not had a chance to celebrate, since we met.

[Action] |Db

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There were more important things to deal with at the time. I didn't mind. [But this is... nice. Very nice.] Can I help you?

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If I said no, would you listen? [In another universe, from another person, that would almost sound playful. But he isn't playful. He's Sigmund.]

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If... you ordered me not to, I would. [HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO TAKE THAT.]

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Sit down, Edward. [Some dressing on the salad, and... You better be sitting, Ed, the first plate of dinner is coming your way.]

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Y... yes my lord! [And he sits, because... well, he can't say no to Sigmund. Not over something as silly as lunch, anyway.]

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[And Edward's salad is slid onto the table in front of him, soon to be joined be a glass of cider. Sigmund glances at the stew while he's pouring - yep, everything looks to be in order. He can sit down to eat.]

I'm not making a habit of this. [Who serves whom is very well established in this house, and he'd rather keep it that way.] This is special.

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O-of course not, my lord- I'd never expect you do- [Oh good grief, now he's really losing it. Settle down, Ed.] This is fine. It's not your duty to cook.

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Relax.[Sigmund joins him at the table, with a salad and a glass of cider of his own.] Enjoy your meal.

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[Relax, he says. Edward tries his best, though, since it's Sigmund, and... really, nerves aside, he's happy. He hasn't felt this happy in a long time. And it isn't just for his sake either- Sigmund seems content again. And after Capell's disappearance, this is more than a blessing.

So he's glad. Very, very glad.]

...It's delicious, my lord! [And for once he's not lying- it really is lovely.] It tastes like home.

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[Content... it may be a long time until Sigmund is content again, the way he was with Capell around; but he's seen what good he does when he falls apart. He's trying. For Capell. And... for Edward.

Yes. For Edward. He lifts his glass up in a toast, with the sort of bearing suited for banquet halls, not quaint country kitchens.]

To another year.

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To another year! [With you. He raises his glass to touch it against Sigmund's, knowing better than to say it aloud. He can pine. He can pine and wish and keep it to himself. He's good at that.

As long as Sigmund is alive and well and with him, he's happy enough.]

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[Sigmund holds his gaze for just a little longer than strictly needed... or proper, in his mind. Then he looks down at the table and takes a sip of his cider, idly pushing some salad around his place with his fork.

How does this conversation thing work again?] This can't be how you expected to spend your birthday.

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Not at all. [His surprise is still pretty prominent. Mind you he's not much better at this than he is.] It's... a pleasant surprise, though, if you don't mind my saying. It's been a long time since I had a meal from Burguss.

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I didn't intend it as unpleasant... [Although really it's just luck that it isn't. The hunt could have gone poorly or the stew could have gone wrong or their minds could have been tampered with or it could have started raining fire or-

Or he could just be so caught in being lordly around Edward that he can't relax, at all. Why is this so hard? A meal with Edward should be like a meal with... with Touma. ...Well. Not exactly like a meal with Touma. He would never consider- urgh. No. He takes another, larger drink of cider and takes this terrifying metaphorical intimate conversation dragon by the horns. Because he is King Lord King> Lord awesome and eh doesnt afraid of anything.]

I've fond memories of Burguss... although the people were often less than impressed with me.

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Many people from Burguss are not good judges of character.

[A slight against himself, perhaps, but it was true enough; he'd misjudged plenty of people, including Capell and many of their other allies, as well.

Sometimes he gets it right, though, even if it involves those ever-rose-tinted glasses. Like when he's around certain Liberators.]

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No? [He leans forward a bit. He's taking a risk here. Opening up. Enforcing his own identity.] I thought it was the dragons.

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Dragons? [It takes him a moment to clue in, and a slightly awkward smile follows- mostly because he's never entirely certain of what Sigmund is trying to say.] I'm sure most of the citizens didn't protest the removal of local pests.

[Even he can admit that not all dragons are wonderful beautiful benevolent creatures. ...Actually most of them aren't.]

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Some said I had a vendetta. [He does have a vendetta. Dragons. Fffffff. Fuck dragons.] And that I wasn't to be trusted- Oh!

[He rushes-while-trying-to-appear-unrushed over to the stove to check on the stew. Good. Everything alright here. He takes it off the heat and starts ladling it into a tureen before resuming his sentence, proceeded by one sharp, almost breathy noise. A laugh?]

Wasn't to be trusted near Saruleus.

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Was their fear unwarranted?

[He asks without thinking, though afterwards regrets it a little; he hadn't intended to sound like he doubts Sigmund, especially when they have an oddly-teasing conversation going. ...And he isn't entirely positive he'll like the answer. BUT NOT BECAUSE OF DOUBT]

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[The tureen is placed on the middle of the table - he has to push a vase and salt and pepper shakers aside - quickly joined by two bowls.]

Saruleus is a Claridian, not a dragon. [This an obvious distinction, Edward. Seriously. It's not like anyone would call Karathos a turtle. Sigmund doesn't sound all that upset, though, perhaps a bit fondly wry.]

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[Well sure, he can make that distinction, but... sob. Well whatever, Sigmund's alright with it. Amused, even. How is he not dying of shock here.]

I can't think of an excuse for them to be worried about you, then. How foolish of them.