nevermorethroppish

A meeting

It's not often that he gets visitors these days. His daughter only visits when she needs a place to hide for a while and he'll always provide it; he'd told her since she'd walked out the door that she could always walk back through it. Erik, on the other hand, hasn't been up in ages and Liir's neck is probably less sore because of it; they'd never much gotten along even if the two of them agreed on more than they didn't. But he comes today, someone new in tow, and Liir starts the creaky old engine of hospitality up once more if only out of necessity.

As Erik makes introductions, they don't talk much. They don't say much of anything as he leaves either. But once he's actually gone, Liir gestures to the most comfortable spot in the small cabin that he makes his home in for Scott to take as he likes.

"Have you eaten? Prison's a hungry business from what I remember of it."

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There were a few things in there he would have gotten angry about - but none of them involved him or defense of himself, and the anger was more about the truth in all those words than the opposite.

So he basically grunted a reply and went to work on the machines. "If I'm going to hell," he said, basically to no one, "It'll be for better reasons than fixing machinery."

He'd be finished properly by the time Liir made it back in.

Liir came back with a basket full of eggs and a chicken draped over the lot of them. The creature hadn't expired naturally, as the angle of it's neck shows, but it hadn't laid for long enough that Liir had decided to make the bird useful again as only a farmer could.

"No hunting today," he said as he slipped into the kitchen. "Though I can show you how to clean a chicken at least."

He's a little disturbed by the lifeless bird, but it doesn't show. "It's your home and your schedule. Teach me what you want, when you want, if you want. Just tell me what I need to be doing or where I need to be."

He's there, he'll watch, he'll learn. He'd still rather get his chicken in plastic wrap or out of a garbage can.

"You need things to do," he says in reply, "as there's not much out here. Learning is a thing to do."

He starts sorting, putting the eggs in a little holder in the makeshift pantry; the chicken he leaves out on the main counter.

"Though if you've no stomach for this kind of work, I won't blame you. You can learn to milk the goat instead."

"My stomach's fine, thanks." He's managed to do worse things than gut a chicken. Does it bother him? Yes. A lot as it turns out? Will it stop him? Hell no. "Show me what to do, and let's get it done."

It's not an easy process, though it involves perhaps more fuss than Scott might have thought. Through it all, he might note that Liir does the task with practiced ease and military efficiency: hot and cold baths to loosen the feathers, plucking out, and then the eventual evisceration. Nothing is wasted, though some things are put in a bin for making stock and others are cleaned out for other uses. By the end, though, what they arrive at does look like the very bird one might buy from a store.

"A few onions, some garlic, and a few apples and this will roast up well."

He stays more or less with it and learns the important parts in spite of himself. "Tell me where and when." But it was still early so he assumed... he was going to have somehours to fill, somehow.

He glances over at Scott.

"For the moment, best to fill it, butter it up, and let it sit in the icebox." We'll pull it out a bit later, then put it in the oven a bit after that."

He tilts his head.

"There's the garden, though. And the orchard. And the goat."

He considers the options, hesitates and spins his wheels a little. His impulse is actually to withdraw entirely, but he likes Liir and that is blatantly unfair. Even if it weren't, he has a strong bias against being alone that fights the somewhat exhausted urge to retreat into himself.

"...Can we take a walk?"

He blinks. A... walk. Hmm. He doesn't have an objection. Walking was generally something he did to get from one place to another, but he didn't object to just sort of... going. Wandering.

"Of course. There's a few paths I know around here."

"Pick one." It didn't matter to him, he just wanted to move.

He did look around and realize the chicken needed dealt with first and tried, awkwardly, to help.

Liir moves almost like a machine, passing a number of apples and onions over to Scott as he starts in on the garlic. The knives are easy enough to reach and Scott can take one for himself.

The flesh is stabbed in a couple of places where he puts in garlic, oil and butter mixed together and melted before some herbs are chopped and added.

"Put them in the cavity until no more fit."

Scott can find and help himself to a knife and do a decent job chopping, yes, and while he's also mechanical in doing so it's a different kind of mechanical.

He follows the instructions he's given, stuffs the cavity and then washes his hands and goes to put on his shoes and wait for Liir.

Liir doesn't take long to get the bird in the box. Then it's just a matter of pushing on his boots and grabbing his broom. It's placed in a holster he puts on that looks like it would have been a quiver if it wasn't around one's waist. The door opens and he looks outside, frowns, and grabs another, smaller basket to put on his arm.

Then he's gesturing for Scott to exit.

He walks out when Liir does and after a moment: "What's the basket for?" The broom he is apparently just taking on faith. Or, well, fairytale.

"Herbs," he says with a tip of his head towards the outside, "and mushrooms. Since we're going to be out and about. Might as well."

He's not used to doing much without some manner of utility to it.

He moves out without complaint, getting out of the way so Liir can close and, if inclined, lock the doo. "Do you do anything with the herbs besides eat them?" He's just curious, but yes. Might as well. It'll give the walk purpose and, hopefully, direction.

"On occasion, I use them to make the place smell a bit sweeter during the winter months. On occasion, I'll enjoy some mint from the garden to do the same for my breath if we've a guest. But I've never one to get sick since an incident in childhood and you've seen how I handle an injury."

He walks along for another few moments before-

"Were you thinking of some other use?"

He smiles, faintly. "No. Just indulging in curiosity." Or, well, manufacturing the appearance of curiosity for the sake of conversation. "I think I even recognize some of the cooking herbs. I may be able to be helpful."

"I'll never say 'no' to usefulness," he says as they walk along, "but don't feel obliged. You are a guest, after all."

He takes a couple of steps before-

"Honestly, I've been terrible not putting out a proper cheese plate."

He's baffled, but gently so. "Why would you put out a cheese plate for a guest that was dumped on your doorstep and you didn't want?"

"I put out a cheese plate for the people who killed my dog and eventually, my mother," he says, seemingly without inflection, "it's what you do when people come over. Without it, civilization might as well crumble into dust."

He takes a few more steps before leaning down to pick up a sprig of something or other. Wild lavender, it seems from the scent.

"Or so would say my Nanny."

That is fucked up, even by his standards. "I don't even particularly like cheese." Or lavender, though he wanders off to find a whole ton of mint growing like the weed it basically was.

He pauses at that.

"...now who's from another world."

But it's teasing, plain and simple, no real bite to it and Scott has already heard when he puts some bite there so he should know the difference.

Liir finishes up with the lavender before making his way to where Scott is gathering mint.

"...I prefer that variety, actually. Well spotted."

He's knelt down to collect and then looks up and gives Liir a bit of a smile. "It smells better." Which is it's own thing, and probably some weird admission, but not something he's thinking too deeply about.

"And I'm pretty sure I've always been from another world, at least metaphorically."

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