adregem | 000 - voidtreckerexpress Universal Contact Post

Ah, nevermind. Learning from the ramen episode with Senku and Gen, Roland still remembers what it feels like when the dough cooperates with the knead. He works at it, with a much lighter hand than the rubbery dough from the noodles, and eventually he gets to a good rhythm, the wrap forming as intended.

Glances at Tidus's bowl from time to time, to make sure he's doing it right. So far, so good! But back to their chat -

- Roland wouldn't be offended, but won't agree either. Respects Evan and his departed father too much to say things out loud. So he'll offer a shrug instead. "No. No fur. Not even the nose - yeah I know what you're talking about." His dad was a Lion, wasn't he? But he got none of that...? Strange, indeed. Not that he's ever thought about it seriously till today. Roland's not going to think about grimalkin race genetics, thanks.

"Ronso, huh? Are all of them muscular with cat-everthing's? That's pretty unique, I've got to say."

One wrap, down for Roland.

Rolling the dough isn't as entuned in his hands as working on a stove, but there isn't a lot of thought to it. Keep rolling it in on itself, knead against the bottom of the palms. Keep it up, add a little flour if it still sticks, but never too much.

"Yeah, there isn't as many Ronso as humans, but they're big tough things! One was Yuna's guardian - more her caretaker growing up," he fixes. "Quiet guy, but loyal as anything. Kimahri. You think I can jump? That guy can throw himself anywhere."

His voice blooms with colour, affection, warm and carrying easily with his kneading.

"So I guess Evan's like a... human lookin' guy with just some fuzzy ears and a tail? Pretty...bare, for a cat guy." Boy. Whatever. Their kneading done, Tidus directs for the dough to be set aside for a while; remembers what he said before and points over to the peppers.

"Think we can use some of the sauce left over and those peppers for a pizza? What veg do you like?"

So far, Roland realizes that Tidus speaks fondly about certain aspects of his time in Spira more than others. Yuna of course, would always hold something special for him. Even if Roland never got the chance to meet her before she disembarked, one need only to know Tidus then to understand that connection well. This too, was a welcome thing to hear from him. Kimahri, part of his team, which Roland now tries to imagine as he sets aside his own finished wrap and takes a look at the rest of the ingredients distractedly. It does warm him up some to be a part of the story Tidus shares with him when he can, when Roland is allowed to hear it.

"Oh yeah?" He says, engaged. "But can he do that blitzball spinning move you did at the gym?" Roland jests, though the implied compliment is genuine.

He'll turn to the line up again, fully intending to deflect his own honesty about how less of a cat Evan is but more of a human boy wearing a costume if he looked at it that way. The grimalkin would probably skin him alive, and Evan would give him that face. Roland's own expressions were something, but Evan had the eyes that could knock anyone out of their defenses.

"Yeah, sounds good. Easy on the hot peppers for me, but everything else we throw on it, I'll eat." A pause, a slight tilt of the head, before he adds: "Do we have cheese, though? Where I come from, pizza has cheese." Which is more of a clarification than anything. He's learned not to assume so much, especially in interdimensional communities like this.

"Never know! Never got him to try," Tidus adds to the joke, mirth in his throat. He goes over to the where the peppers are to ready them by the cutting board, nothing too offensive used on it already to bother with picking out another.

"Check the fridge? The cheese always goes quick- train doesn't know it's more popular than fifty tonnes of carrots."

What was even with its picks in that. Maybe he shouldn't have been so down on the bacon before, although the constant salty meat bored Tidus quick.

"If you're going that way, can you grab some potatoes? I got another recipe that needs 'em. Just one or two should work."

"Got it."

Roland is a fast worker; when instructed, he follows and does it efficiently. He returns to Tidus's side with three potatoes - one extra, just in case! - and a quarter of a block of cheese, a little stinky but he knows that's where the flavor lies. "You weren't kidding about how fast these go," he says with some level of wonder. "I'm pretty sure when I last checked, this was still a whole wheel." All ingredients requested are deposited neatly by Tidus's free side on the work station. Roland washes his hands again, just to be safe.

He peers to check what's going on. Pizza, and then...something else? Roland's a little unused to so much cooking happening all at once, enough to at least ask innocently. "Say, don't you want to finish the pizza before we start prepping for the other recipe? What dish is it anyway?" He'll pick up a potato now, just getting the peeler ready from the bottom drawer. He may be wondering about the process, but wasn't about to slack off as the sous chef.

The peppers quickly chopped and diced, put away into their bowl, Tidus is messing with...the flour. But a different flour than the one used before, measuring it out and sticking it into a fresh bowl. They're going to run out, soon...

"Foccacia," Tidus answers first. "And I'm just measuring out the ingredients. We'll get back to the wraps in a sec- then we can clean up and prep the dough while the pizza wraps are cookin'." See? It's making use of all their time! "You always gotta wait for bread, and we'll have more time to wait between kneading dough with yeast in it, so we might as well do something else, you know? We're already in a kitchen."

Back home, he could step out of the kitchen and into the living room, put on the TV and catch up on some blitzball games or dramas. But he had none of that here. Just himself, a kitchen, a friend to send off to the store car whenever they needed more ingredients.

"We can take out the wrap dough and work with it now if you want. But there's no harm giving it time to settle. Plus, we've got more recipes in here." He takes the book, brushing through the pages. "--Here, hey, how about dipping sauce? We can use that with the focaccia."

Roland is, quite frankly, unused to the sight of Tidus so busy, messy, yet organized at the same time. He knows he has energy to spare for it - in what is perhaps the natural state of an athlete at their prime - but the process in which he moves from one unfinished dish to the other is astoundingly confusing. And awe-inspiring? Roland can barely finish one dish without his absolute attention in command, yet here comes Tidus with about three to four dishes already in his mind's eye, with more yet to come.

He didn't think he would be accessing his multitasking hat for cooking, but what was life without the spice of surprise? Roland adjusts fairly quickly anyway, just making sounds of slight affirmation and understanding as he tries his utmost to create a system for both of their benefit. When Tidus talks, points to something, Roland moves and rearranges it right away so that ingredients that are either about to be used, or are already in the process of being baked or cooked, are in a certain order of ascending priority. The breads to rise and dough balls remaining for wraps are put in their own space, and he soon realizes he'll need to maximize the counter tops for more work yet.

We look like we're cooking for a party.

"Okay, focaccia. I've had that before. That's pretty fragrant." And a bit of a shock that Tidus knows about it? Then again, it's evident who's the expert here. He'll put both his hands on his hips as he looks over at the recipe on the book Tidus mentions; dipping sauce for the bread. Simple enough, almost like pizza sauce even. Tomatoes, basil, olive oil, garlic and balsamic vinegar. He's already on the move back to the stores, memorized enough of it to know what they don't have.

"Can we work with this dipping sauce if we're missing the balsamic vinegar?" He calls out from the adjacent room.

Edited 2020-10-26 16:19 (UTC)

He likes the building amount of work, of future results. No reason for a break when they have space, options, more than one oven to work on than his tiny boathouse. When Roland isn't there, Tidus is eyeing what they have going on, takes out more cutlery and sets them where they won't be immediately in the way.

Easily, his fingers get itchy for the cookbook by the time Roland is calling--lucky thing, by the sounds of it.

"We got fresh parsley?" he calls back. "Get some and more lemons! Hey, what about cooking wine? We can make our own--think it's that and somethin' else."

It's a good distraction, stopping Tidus from slipping through the pages for a new potential recipe (you know, in case they want to). Grabbing a fresh frying pan and sticking it on a ring ready, then wetting some cloths to tidy down the side and to prepare the space for rolling. Pins out and ready, both of their dough balls for the wraps brought back forward too. It's been about ten or so minutes Tidus reasons, or will be about once and if they get done the dips. All they need to do for those is set them in the mixer, puree them down to a fine mess.

"Know what we can make? Pancakes!"

Just throwing that out there.

Roland returns with the said ingredients, and even the ones that Tidus instructs him to use as replacements for the sauce. Running low on lemons, so he just grabs a conservative amount; two pieces for now. Cooking wine was in the pantry by the rest of the spices, but fresh parsley was lacking. Roland takes the dried herb version of it instead, bottled up nicely and seems barely used. But by the time he returns, Tidus is already moving towards another dish entirely - Roland barely managing to sputter out, "Well now. Someone got...busy." - before each item in his arms is set where the head chef could easily see and assess.

But there are more instruments out now, a mixer, rolling pins. Roland crosses his arms and isn't quite sure what to make of this crazy kitchen under Tidus's command. Then, the idea of pancakes -

Strangely, something Roland isn't too keen on shooting down. He likes pancakes. For reasons that allow him a moment to smile just a tad bit fonder, moving back in place, elbow-to-elbow to try and shift through the ingredients for it that have already been laid out. He nudges him as Roland checks on the flour bag. Where in the world did that go? (Right. Two kinds of bread.)

"Your turn to make a supply run. Grab the vanilla extract. Bottom shelf. You can't make pancakes without it, trust me." Suddenly an expert? All in due time!

You can't make pancakes without it, huh??

"You the pancake expert now?" Tidus throws up his hands, a hum of resignation. "Alright then, you're the new chef. But get a second pan ready if you wanna do pancakes next. Unless you want our pancakes as big as the pizza wraps!"

Since, you know, that's just what the wraps are called now. But Tidus turns and without any further fuss jogs down to the stores car door, searching for the shelf with the extracts and flavourings for baking. Right next to the flour and yeasts. He takes one, resists grabbing a few of the baking spices and the easy cakes they could make, heading back up surprisingly empty handed for his last run down.

"You wanna make the batter now, or roll out the wraps first? Won't take five seconds if we stick the hand mixer to it."

He plops down the extract bottle onto the side. Lead us, oh mister president of pancakes.

Edited 2020-10-26 17:44 (UTC)

"Not an expert. Let's just say I've got some tricks up my sleeve."

Plus, he's not so ready to take on the mantle of chef just yet! What's one simple little dish like this compared to all the rest cooking before him; out of his reach until Tidus directed him how to do it? A marvel, indeed. For now, Roland takes a second pan, a little smaller than the first. Space to make more than one pancake though, and that should be enough. He also grabs spoons and a ladle, setting those aside for later.

"You and I can split the task. Let me handle the pancake mix."

Roland nods in thanks and begins to prep the bowls as soon as the extract is acquired. The recipe itself, for once, is ingrained in his brain. Routinely, albeit slow as if double-checking if his memory is still correct, Roland starts with measuring the dry ingredients first: flour, a little salt, a little baking powder, some sugar. Then he shakes his head as he does each measurement task with practiced ease.

"The fun part is in mixing it by yourself! Besides, pancake mix isn't doughy like bread. Anyway, this is a great way to get some exercise in, too." He jokes, pushing the dry mix aside for now and focusing on the wet ones. Eggs to be cracked into the mound of white, milk, then Roland starts looking around for butter. In the meantime, if Tidus is on wrap duty - pizza wrap duty! - or puree for the focaccia bread, Roland will mimic his energy and starts to looking around for...more ingredients? He has the bowl against his chest, one hand holding a spatula. Turns back to the younger with an almost uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Err, you don't happen to have any candy or chocolate in your Arms Band, do you?"

Tidus's hum is sing-song, an alright in the noise. He scoops a half a handful of the plain flour and sprinkles his workspace with it. Slicing the dough into the amounts written down, then beginning - once rubbing his dusted hand over the pin - to roll it out. Turning, shifting; the first few rolls always a pain, but the dough begins to comply with his efforts.

He watches Roland less than he keeps his ears open for him, but he does take some looks over to see what he's doing. Not exactly keeping an eye on him than just curious, snippets to take his attention as the once small ball smooths out into a nice flat disk.

It's with his own arms getting a workout with the wrap that Roland speaks up, and Tidus lifts his head. Chocolate?

"What'cha want?" A look at his hands, he sees there's nothing on them, and so doesn't mind stepping back to hold out a hand. Gold glitter welcomes a thin bag appearing from nowhere into his grip, made rectangular and bulky from whatever's inside. Tidus lifts it once. "Try this?"

Inside, once unveiled, are rather decent sizes of milk chocolate slabs, multiples on one another. ....just hanging around inside Tidus's arms band. No big deal.

Why did Roland know that request would somehow follow-through? Nevertheless, he says his thanks to Tidus before he wipes his hands on his apron, picking out a couple of the brown slabs from the bag. He'll turn back to the chopping board, setting the chocolate squares down and smashing them gently with a firm palm against the surface. They break into tiny pieces, though he leaves a couple more that are bigger than the rest.

In two batches, he adds the smaller, almost shaving like chocolate into the wet mixture, alongside a couple of well-measured drops of vanilla extract. Both wet and dry ingredients are finally combined, and thanks to the color of the chocolate, what should have been pale and cream-colored has now turned a bit darker. Though Roland does look pleased. Meanwhile, the other half of chocolate, bigger pieces, are set aside. Butter is placed in the slowly heating second pan as he glances from time to time at Tidus's own workstation.

He'll speak as soon as he notices Tidus's curious gaze at his ask for chocolate in the pancake mix, if at all. He shrugs and casts as an odd look at the whole set-up, as if in a slight daze.

"Just checking to see if I can still remember how to do this." Roland swirls the butter around the pan with one hand, his other resting against his hip. By all means, it almost looks domestic.

"Let me add the Crane family recipe for pancakes to your little spread here. Thought it might be nice." Which is to say, one of the very few things Roland can cook by memory.

If Tidus thought about it, he might have asked Roland -- despite him doing it anyway -- to be cautious about how much chocolate he used. But then, unbeknownst to the president was the amount that Tidus had anyway, of different flavours and varieties. So, again: no biggy, really. He and Inigo did a lot of shopping back on Irivar.

But the sight of Roland at working is certainly something. Standing by the stove, set in an apron and looking content. The Crane family recipe calls it, and it makes Tidus's mind want to conjure up a different kind of view.

"So presidents have time to be in the kitchen back home, huh? Just put you in a button up shirt and roll your sleeves, grey that hair, and I can see it." The humour spreads the ends of his mouth into its grin. Yeah, that's a way more likely view, isn't it? "I wonder what you look like at your normal age of eighty..."

Was that the number they last went with, him and Inigo? Ah. Wait.

"...eighty two?"

"I'm not eighty two!" Roland sighs deeply, but he's so used to their running joke that it's no longer something he lingers on anymore. He should just be lucky neither of them were ranking him up in the hundreds yet. But as he banters with Tidus, hears the amusement drawl out of the teen, Roland finds his hands already moving in muscle memory too. The butter, as soon as it gets to a good sizzle, meets a ladle of the batter. The smell wafting through the air, instant.

It's what Roland does as soon as bubbles appear on the surface of the largest disk of cooking pancake that's interesting. The ladle is swapped out for a spoon, and he begins...shaping things on the pan, with more pancake mix, or by moving the largest pancake around so that its edges bleed out into something. What, right now, one can't tell yet.

This he does while speaking, though Roland will bend a little to level at the pan, studying it like art.

"That's a surprisingly accurate image of the past, Tidus. Except for the part where I had the time to do this, because I definitely didn't." There's a wryness to that response, but Roland is still, more or less, quite jolly about it. "Truth be told, I only cooked this on Sundays when I could afford an easy morning. Will loved it. Or at least, pretended to." He chuckles.

As Roland places the larger chunks of chocolate against the wet part of the pancake, it does occur to him somewhat that this might be the reason why he could afford to talk a little bit more about the life he left behind. It felt...surprisingly, good. Freeing. Like he can breathe because someone sees him for something besides the man in charge of a country, or the second-in-command in case the king is out of commission.

(The pancakes are beginning to form...a face? Was that a snout or a nose?)

Speaking of what things were starting to look like, or what they once did - Roland straightens up and looks as if he just remembered something interesting. It's enough that he momentarily lowers the heat setting on the stove and leans back against the edge of the counter, hand beneath his chin in thought.

"Hm...What I looked like before..." Tidus, make sure that doesn't burn!!

He's rolling out the wraps here to ready, what is he supposed to do!

But it's interesting to Tidus, to hear Roland speak about himself. He's not been entirely a shut book to him - it's just that sometimes, they haven't thought to share about each other. Not certain details about their lives. And what was life like for a man with a family, busy with running a country but also having a son?

And what was that son like, that Tidus barely knew? Just a message in a sea floated off to find its destination to a boy a guy-- did Roland ever tell him his son's age? Tidus collects each of the readied wraps onto a plate, hoping that they won't be a pain to separate once it's their time. Edges somewhat trimmed and made more circular, their remnants made into a smaller, goofier wrap.

Or rather, saved for one of their pizza-wrap attempts. Another of the bases too, the leftover tomato sauce opened spooned out.

... ... but Roland sure is thinking hard about something over there, isn't he.

"Hey, don't forget the pancake. No napping on the job!"

Voidtrecker to Roland over there.

At the light reprimand, he shakes himself out of the stupor and falls back into the routine of pancake making: flipping it so the other side gets an equal amount of cook, despite the melted chocolate. Thankfully, it hasn't burned yet, though the golden brown turns into a deeper shade thanks to the additional sweets. The lowered heat keeps the pan at a careful temperature as his thinking resumes. What he looked like before...

Roland is silent for the most part, though his eyes don't leave Tidus's pizza-wrap-hybrid making station. Hands him some clean spoons, salt and pepper jars too in case he needs those to season the sauce, or whatever he'll be placing on the wraps. Checks on the dough balls too, still resting there and rising quite well thanks to the residual heat of the overall work area. Roland still hasn't spoken, more hums and nods than words coming out of him.

But when the pancake finishes, set on a plate and looking much like an animal with a face, though distorted from the first attempt, he finally speaks. Pancake plate to the side for now as one hand leans against the edge of the counter, hips to a slant while he faces Tidus.

"I think I can show you what I used to look like. But I'm not sure about it yet." A helpful offering. "It's been forever since I last held it." A vague offering? Roland turns his head and absent-mindedly twirls the plate clockwise, busying himself.

"Did Zanarkand have cellphones? Do you know what those are?"

Edited 2020-10-29 17:51 (UTC)

Never have someone been so reserved about showing themselves off. It gets Tidus thinking as Roland seems to deliberate on the idea. Can he shift himself from young to old? Maybe? Maybe not? Wait-- held what? Tidus has the tomato sauce and the salt and pepper besides him, his small finger dipped in for a taste to decide if he was happy with the flavouring. But-

"Cellphones? Like... in your data-tablets?" The clash of two languages, two worlds, trying to understand each other. "The phone option? Sure. But what about it?"

If they're even speaking the same language here, which they know they aren't, but maybe if they're close? But it's bizarre, since what does a phone have to do with how Roland looks?

(Roland offers him another clean spoon, with only a very light chiding of "Hey, don't use your fingers," though that has very little weight to it too. More important matters are being discussed; just that the habit is hard to break.)

Thankfully, Roland's owned a tablet too, so the technology might be similar in nature even if they're just named differently. Mobile innovations, communication. He nods, the closest Tidus might get to recognizing something from Roland's first world, and decides to busy himself again as he explains. The second batter of pancake hits the pan with a new ladle to the remaining butter, though the sizzle is more gentle now that the fire is low.

"Does a data-tablet have a camera function? Can it take videos and photos and save them in it for later viewing?" Which is where he was going with, really, not so much the texting and calling that other people might have assumed to be his point about bringing up the cellphone. The movement of making pancakes is a bit more fluid now, getting used to the routine. He places three dots in particular against the wet side again, forming another face. The previous spoon used to scoop out and dollop two circles against the top of the bigger circle - ears? Then the spoon molds the bottom half of the half-cooked pancake, as if creating a longer jaw. This he does, eyes focused on the pan, still as he speaks. Multitasking seems to come naturally to him, where it counts.

"...I remember I had my cellphone - or my data-tablet - with me when I first came to the second world. It was one of the first things I checked before things got crazy." A glance to the side, meeting Tidus's eye as his kitchen companion begins making pizza alongside him. The smell of the sauce is admittedly, a strangely complimenting aroma with the sweet pancake in his pan.

"If I'm not mistaken, I kept it in my Arms Band. But I need to think real hard to bring it out, if at all." If Tidus catches his drift; where Roland is going.

( YOU'RE NOT HIS DAD ROLAND. )

Tidus hums to Roland's initially questioning for confirmation, little finger in his mouth, the sauce now sucked off. Uses the back of the spoon spontaneously provided for no reason to transfer the tomato sauce from its bowl and onto the flat dough discs, spreading it out. His ears listening out when Roland speaks.

"You don't want to?" Why skirt around his meaning than just say it? If Roland knows it's in there, then that's not the obvious problem. It's forgetting what you have in there. But he does ask, with more thoughtfulness to it, sprinkling a handful of the peppers over the two prepared pizzas:

"You got other pictures on there?"

(Just use a serving teaspoon for things that might spoil fast!!!)

"...I don't remember, if I'm going to be honest with you." The pancake is flipped in the pan, and it's looking a little bit better than the first pass, cooling on the plate next to him. The heat is cranked up a bit again, his spatula just moving wayward pieces around in the browned butter. If Tidus meant incriminating pictures, then that would be a clear no.

"And it's not because I don't want to. I just..." But really, was it? The phone put on the very back of his mind since it was useless in the second world, then suddenly finding relevance as they discussed the pasts, where their fates might intertwine. Of letting go little by little, acceptance of their lives then, and how they had to move forward now. Maybe Roland just didn't want a reminder, constantly weighing down on his back pocket - the phone his constant companion on every trip, on every job. Not pictures, but messages, an inbox, emails, papers, scripts...Not Roland the Chief Consul, or Roland the Voidtrecker. Roland the president.

He takes the pancake out of the pan, puts it on top of the first piece, and the pan is removed from the heat for now. An intermission. He grows quiet again, closing his eyes and feeling his breath, in and out, in and out. It's not for anything, he reminds himself. It's just for a photo. Just to see; a mirror back into a past that had no magic, no soulmates, no void trains and all.

His right hand opens, palm facing ceiling, and he thinks harder. The year, the model, attempts to remember its shape and its color. Goes back to the first memory of holding it in an alien land, then again when he receives his first Arms Band. There - that's it, that's what it latches on too. Gold sparkle, familiar and true, successfully summoning what he didn't think to ever use again.

A modern day cellphone, scratches on the back, a slightly cracked screen but nothing too damaging. Roland is in slight awe, leaning back against the counter as the device is studied like a foreign object.

A little cheese is added, sliced mushrooms and the block of billy bear meat brought to the side to dice that, all the previous lot chopped up already added to Roland's rice. They'll need more, and it's getting a knife into that atop one of the cutting boards that Tidus notices the break that Roland's taken. He cuts into as much of the meat he thinks he'll need, cuts some way into it - but he's admittedly distracted. Taking glimpses at Roland, how long he's actually taking. Maybe he was being serious when he said he wasn't sure he could recall it.

And he starts to grow concerned, 'Roland?' on the end of his tongue when finally - the familiar glitter and gold, and there's something in his hand. Small and... thick? Thick for a data-tablet, even a phone! And from his section of the kitchen he stares, quizzical, unable to tell much about it from where he is, but-

"That's your...data-tablet?"

Why does it look like a brick.

Roland shoots Tidus a strange look, eyebrow quirked up as the phone is held up for him to study himself. "Yeah...Wait, what do they look like in your place? Is it a lot different than what I was expecting?" Not really too aware that Zanarkand was in fact, much more advanced in technology than Earth was despite being thousands of years - worlds, even - apart. Still, there's some recognition there so it's not a complete loss in translation.

He'll glance at the pizzas being assembled as his fingers find the indent in the side of the phone. A hard press to the button, a futile effort really, but it's something he wants to see for himself. He does this all the while watching more meat being cut, peppers and mushrooms being put on top of the meals. Roland's itching to ask who they're making it for, are they leaving it out for the train, but honestly he wanted pancakes for sentimental reasons. Who was he to judge? "Ever heard of pineapples on pizza?" Roland adds to the lull in the conversation, seeing as how many toppings were coming onto the board. He'll give up trying to understand the ebb and flow of this cooking session - not really caring anyhow. The company, the skill demonstration; it makes him happy to be a part of it.

The phone in his hand remains unlit and defunct. He shrugs and pockets it out of habit. "It's out of juice, so I'll charge it one of these days and show you. I'm pretty sure the pictures I kept here are still intact." And with that, the matter is sort of settled, Roland's conflicting feelings about finding what can be considered a relic at this point buried back beneath the activity, the hustle and bustle of making more food together. He won't return to the pancake station right away, assessing what he's made with a keen eye.

Eventually, Roland will clear his throat and show Tidus both pieces from the plate, like an exhibition. One was more well put together than the other, but overall, seemed amateurish at best.

"You said the Ronso are kind of like cats too, right? Any resemblance here?" Ah. Good attempts, though he may have given each too many emphasized feline features. And the fact that he's got nothing but his imagination to guide the pancake art...Yet Roland is compelled to try anyway. They can maybe taste it after the judging.

"Well, they're like..."

Wow, way to ask a question with too many questions. He raises his hand with the SCA.

"Some of them are just a wristband like this? Or you can install a pen to it, or an earpiece? Or even a ring version. And you just use whichever one and boot it up front of you."

He makes the shape of a square, a rectangle - is Roland getting the idea at all? And there's so many questions about how Roland's own data-tablet apparently works, but asks the question first while he finishes off with the bear meat.

"Pineapple? Uhhh... no? What's a pineapple?"

He doesn't know, Rol.

Tidus comes over however, with the two pizzas carefully plopped onto trays, ready to be put into the oven (along with the wraps themselves left bare), and Tidus looks at the -- faces? Yeah, faces, an astonished scoff leaving him before Roland even speaks.

"Uhhh... dunno. Not quite as chocolate-y around the face?" He grins, then, to carry it on: "Are you gonna eat your King Evan, Roland?"

And in the oven the trays can go, to cook off what are hopefully their successful attempts at wraps and pizzas.

Well, it's not hard to imagine that kind of tech existing in his world either - where mobile phones were linked to wristwatches and the like. If he's not mistaken, a lot of his counsel wore them too, bluetooth technology and all of that jazz? It's the ring version that gets him to make a face, imagining it and how convenient that would be. Perhaps it would be holographic tech then; how else would you call and type on it?

The pineapple bit though, receives not so much an incredulous look, but a shrug of one shoulder, an understanding that Spira just was not quite like Earth. In some ways similar, in other ways not. "It's a fruit. Sweet, tart, and yellow. Caused quite an uproar back home because some people liked it as a topping on their pizzas. Jury's still out if I'm a fan or not, though."

He sets the plate of pancakes down as the oven is put to use, and tears off an ear. He raises his eyebrows once as he eats, a sign of a challenge received, and chews a little more dramatically than is expected. A slight smirk resting on his lips, amused. "He'll understand. The needs of the people demand a taste test." He holds back a cough right after, and what might be the start of a laugh as he looks away, covering his mouth.

"...I can't believe I've still got it." Roland says, tearing off the second ear and offering it to Tidus. "It's just as bad as I remember it."

Too little sugar, which one might think the chocolate offsets, but the salt and the flour ratio was not doing it any favors either way. Now if this was a bowl of cereal...

000 - voidtreckerexpress Universal Contact Post

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject