27_53 | (no subject)

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They need to stock up on a few things, eventually.

It is only normal, after all. Even if this is anything but normal, with her here and both of them still having trouble with things that should be normal. He cannot find the bar (he has not really gone looking, not after the other day and how much it drained him to try) and she is nowhere near able to go looking, either.

So they make plans to head to the coastal town a few miles down the road. It will not be a long walk. There will be cigarettes, there. And maybe even lobsters, if they are lucky.

(He hopes they are lucky. The lobsters deserved it.)

He has his coat (as always) and he's gotten the most of the blood out of it. There are a few tears that need mending, still, but they are unimportant.

"We can cut across the field. It is shorter, that way."

Following the roads is for boring people, apparently.

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That only earns a 'harrumph' from her - broken, not broken, he isn't flying, and one of them needs to be not completely useless. Since this is his territory, the logical choice is him.

(Never mind it gives her something to do other than fret.)

The lobsters, however, are starting to look a rather cheery red, so it is clearly time to dump the pot of water out onto the somewhat decrepit picnic table. Again, she's confronted with just how useless she is - a few days ago, the pot would have not been a problem to lift.

Ordinary human muscles have an issue with a large heavy pot with lots of water and crustaceans in it.

The lobsters are no longer waving their claws at them, and for that, he is grateful.

He hops off of the rock to grab the box of butter, that has been sitting in the sun. It is not completely melted, but it is soft enough.

Once the majority of the water has dripped off of the coffee table, he drops into the bench, setting the bottle of vodka beside the pile of lobsters. There is a knife, too. And a hammer.

"I'm glad they are not talking to us."

She shudders at that, fastidiously.
"Food should not be capable of speech." That is for vampires and werewolves. She wouldn't have eaten those creatures at the bar for all the tea in China.

"No, it shouldn't," he agrees.

The lobsters in their current state are very incapable of speech. Thankfully. He perches on the edge of the bench, settling in.

He offers her the hammer, if she'd like to crack the first claw?

She accepts, and rapidly deconstructs the lobster in front of her with the precision expected of a battle mage.

Or someone who just likes really good lobster.

She hands back the hammer, then happily begins digging out hunks of sweet meat, pausing only to drag her prize through the butter.

"You have style," he points out, cheerfully.

Before he soundly begins to thwack at his lobster (the first of many) with the hammer. His precision is lacking, but the results are not, and soon he also has a pile of cracked shells and claws to pick the meat from.

The amount of butter he uses is probably unhealthy, but he's not concerned. After fighting off hoards of demon creatures at the end of the universe and then having to reach out for a little boy and drag him back from death?

He is hungry.

And if they can't order Chinese food, then these delicious lobsters will have to do.

They are doing quite well, actually - there's not much better than sweet, fresh lobster and butter. Especially when you get the whole lobster, with all the tasty bits that so many people think are gross.

Katya believes many people are nuts, as she hums happily to herself.

People have always thought Skellig was crazy for the things he enjoys eating, so the gross bits of the lobsters aren't anything that throws him for a loop.

"Perhaps," he says, after he has finished picking all of the edible bits out of his first lobster. "The boy was worth it."

"Perhaps." She shrugs, placing another lobster in front of him, and grabing another for herself. This one she attacks with the knife, flaying the body apart and leaving the claws until later. "At least he got some exercise."

Her humor is a very dry sort of humor.

He takes the opportunity to watch her work with the knife, and also ensures that their glasses of vodka are not empty.

(It will take him less time than it will take her for the body to start to metabolize the alcohol. This will become evident shortly after he finishes this next plastic-cup full.)

"He did deserve it," he agrees. "The exercise. Not the drowning."

In case he needed to clarify.

"Da, but I do not think the mother believes so." She snickers, evicerating the creature as the shell gives under her fingers.

"She is an idiot," he proclaims without hesitation.

If he were more recovered, he could easily crush the shell of the crustacean with his hands.

But he's not, and he's still tired - and the arthritis in his fingers is causing his joints to ache something terrible, lately - so he resorts to using the hammer once more.

"It is surprising the boy has not fallen into trouble sooner."

"Perhaps he has." She shrugs - she's not nearly strong enough to trace through the causality of his life right now. "There could be others." Other Others? She isn't even going to attempt to deal with that grammar. The second lobster rapidly goes the way of the first, and she rises, licking butter off her fingers.

The pot needs refilling - they're gonna need more lobsters, at this rate. She rehydrates with the vodka he so thoughtfully poured for her.

He is a slower eater (blame the avian tendencies) but he will be ready for another lobster once they are boiled to perfection. It will take some time for the water to heat again, anyway.

"There could be."

He studies the broken bits of shell in front of him, and idly begins to arrange them into a pattern while he eats.

"I have not gone looking."

Once the water is set to boil, she goes back to the table to get more vodka, and bumps him with her hip as she does so.

"Well, there are two now."

"Yes."

He grins at that, an honest grin that feels right and natural for the first time since this entire disaster began to unfold however many days ago.

(Two.)

"We are not alone."

He toasts her with his vodka, and then lights another pair of cigarettes.

"And we have all the lobsters."

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