shelley_winters | (no subject)

Sitting curled on the couch, Elan was calmly reading. He wore a perhaps overly snug fitting and garishly red shirt. He did not necessarily understand the humor involved, but it was what happened when one bought one's shirts off of the bin of surplus sold at a loss. He commented calmly to her.

"You look very cold. A hot bath has been drawn if you would like the use of it."

He knew that Shelley walked home and seeing the weather had drawn a hot bath for her use once she returned. Every little thing that he could perform would help.

Shelley drops her bag and shivers deliberately, sending tiny droplets of water flying.

"...Okay."

She's chilly and very uncomfortably wet, and can't work up the urge to argue with a hot bath. She takes a step towards the stairs, pauses, removes her shoes, and continues damply on her way.

Glancing over to her, Elan spoke in an off-handed manner, turning the page in his book. Normally, he would be interested in watching her bathe, but without his powers that was impractical.

"Hopefully, it is scented to your liking."

"Don'care," is the only reply as Shelley trails up the stairs, leaving slightly damp footprints behind her.

Warm. And dry towels after. Yes.

Elan sat for a moment still reading. When he was finished with the chapter, he would begin to prepare supper. Having walked down the street and fetched a few ingredients for the meal, he ought to be able to create a reasonable dish, and a nice dessert.

Warm.

Having allowed herself a blissed-out ten minutes just lying in hot water, Shelley gets down to the complicated task of washing her hair, then applying and washing out conditioner without putting clean hair back in the just-washed-out bubbles. It's about half an hour, all told, before the bathroom door finally opens, and she darts, towel-clad, into her bedroom to get some pyjamas and a dressing-gown on.

Oh, it's nice to be dry.

As Shelley came downstairs in her pyjamas and dressing-gown, the kitchen brimmed with the sounds of cooking. Elan stood with flour on his hands and on his apron as he sautéed some garlic in the skillet. The counter was littered with ingredients as Elan had not managed to be a very efficient cook yet.

Shelley eyes her kitchen like a lost and bewildered child, hovering in the doorway.

"Er... what...?"

Elan ignored her for a moment, turning down the flame on the garlic. Too hot to truly extract the flavor; a low heat was necessary. Leaving the skillet unattended, he rummaged through the piles of cans strewn across the counter.

"I am preparing dinner, Shelley. Would you like to help? It would greatly expedite the process."

It would be nice for them to interact together on something with a relatively low chance of him ending up in a towering rage, and her in bitter tears. They had a difficulty doing that even while sleeping, so it would certainly be a change.

Shelley has the sinking feeling that they could manage it.

"What are you trying to make?"

She takes a few steps in more tentatively than she realises, peering about, and idly tugging her dressing gown closer around her.

With a small noise of acclamation, Elan pulled a can of coconut milk out from the pile of cans.

"A stir fry with a coconut milk sauce."

A pause as he glanced down at the flour covering his hands and apron.

"Do not worry about the dessert."

"...I won't."

She really, really will, now he's said that.

"Do you know how to use a can-opener?" she asks after a moment, stepping in further, and unable to resist checking. The idea of him trying to stab it open with a knife is not one she's quite ready to handle.

Elan frowned as he glanced at her. That would have been very helpful, indeed. He had found these metal cans very problematic. Why would anyone store food in such a thing?

"...You have a device to open these?"

"...Yes?"

How did he think they were opened? If he'd been using sheer force, how could she have done it? Shelley rummages in the cutlery drawer and brings out a hand-held can-opener which she passes over.

"There."

Then she says nothing else. He's clever, or supposedly. He can figure it out.

Studying the device for a moment, Elan managed to open the can, and poured it into the skillet. He figured that she would be more comfortable if he did not have a knife in his hand.

"Would you like to chop some of the vegetables?"

"Okay," she says, reaching for the chopping board and a knife. "But you'll want to take the garlic off the heat completely while I do that."

She concentrates on the task, ignoring his presence as far as she can, but aware of him, all the time, like a prickling on the back of her neck. Peppers, mushrooms, baby sweetcorn.

And no cutting yourself accidentally, Shelley. Focusing on vegetables.

Reaching around her waist, he turned off the heat. The skillet would keep it warm for a time. Moving a few cans, Elan maneuvered the rice cooker into position.

They were close enough to time to begin cooking the rice. Gesturing to one of the lower cabinets, Elan inquired of Shelley.

"The rice is in this cabinet, Shelley?"

Shelley stops chopping as he reaches around her for fear of cutting off a finger, or something.

He needs to... stop that. Or she needs to stop reacting. At his question, she nods once, and carefully cuts a piece of pepper in half.

Crouching down, Elan removed the container of rice and carefully scooped some into the cooker. Brushing his hands off on his apron, Elan walked over to the sink and drew a cup of water.

After pouring it into the cooker and setting it to a slow cook, Elan stopped for a moment and considered the matter. Here they were, he in an apron, and her in her dressing gown cooking dinner together. This struck him as rather strange, especially given how naturally this had come about.

There was something nice about it. Calm. No worrying about poison or plots, simply cooking dinner with her. The knife glistened wet as she chopped, the rhythmical pounding motions. He... could become accustomed to this.

Broken from his musing by a can toppling from a pile, Elan set the can back up, and proceeded to resume his efforts on the dessert.

Surprisingly enough, Shelley is not thinking that anything about this is nice.

She does, however, regain some element of calm as she finishes chopping and turns the heat on again to heat the oil. It's okay. She can deal with him.

And if not, a heavy frying pan containing hot oil could be helpful, and she has a knife...

Opening the pantry, Elan removed two bars of chocolate. After unwrapping them, he broke the bars into their component squares. From one of the pile of pans, he removed a small pot, and set it on the eye of the stove. After placing the chocolate squares into the pan, he turned on that eye. Though he liked standing next to Shelley, he would not want to irritate her while she had that pan of hot oil.

"If I am in your way, please do tell."

"I will," she says, tipping the chopped vegetables in with a hiss and a puff of steam.

Then she blinks, and scrambles to find a wooden spoon to stir them with before they burn.

Keeping the heat low, he stirred the chocolate as it melted. He did not want it to burn, and it certainly would if the chocolate stuck to the bottom of the pan. Dipping a finger into the chocolate after it was a liquid, Elan tasted it.

Hurrying away for a brief moment, Elan grabbed a bottle of vanilla extract and poured a cap full into the chocolate. After stirring it into the heating mixture, Elan scurried over to the bowl of fruit. Picking up an orange, and a cheese grater that was lying in the pile of equipment, Elan grated some of the peel into the chocolate before stirring it again.

Once the chocolate was done, Elan saw that Shelley was nearly done with the main meal, so he removed the main dessert, a chocolate custard crouching in a cookie bowl of his own creation, from the freezer. Using the spoon, he poured the chocolate mixture over the dessert.

Contact with the frozen dessert solidified a shell of the chocolate, while the remaining liquid pooled at the base, filling the saucer that the dessert sat in.

Setting the pan aside, Elan licked one side of the chocolate-coated spoon. Tasty. Smiling, he proffered the spoon to Shelley.

Elan was not aware that he had chocolate on the tip of his nose.

Shelley pauses in dishing out the sauce, and eyes him. The motion was entirely too- and he looks ridiculous, and-

"...Got some on your nose."

She does not take the spoon.

Frowning slightly, Elan glanced down at his nose. He was unable to catch a glimpse of the offending chocolate.

How... unfortunate.

With a slight smile, Elan wiped a small bit of the chocolate onto his index finger. With a quick motion, he deposited the chocolate on the bridge of Shelley's nose.

"You also have some on your nose."

She flinches automatically, then frowns, putting the pan down so she can wipe it off.

"Oh... grow up."

He's certainly old enough to- not do that!

Shaking his head, Elan held up the spoon for her. With his other hand, he removed the chocolate from his own nose.

"Merely interjecting some levity--Would you like the spoon?"

"No," she says sulkily, and instantly regrets it.

Anyway, you don't have chocolate before dinner. You just... don't. Right.

She turns determinedly away from him, still wiping to be sure no mark remains.

Elan set the spoon down braced against a can so that the chocolate was not touching the surface of the counter. Lifting the two saucers with the desserts, Elan walked back towards the fridge.

"...I will return the desserts to the cooling unit until we are ready to partake in them."

"The fridge," she corrects, absently and irritably, before opening a nearby drawer to find knives and forks. Although this sort of thing is traditionally eaten with chopsticks.

...She should introduce him to chopsticks at some point. Yes.

After placing the desserts in the cooling unit, Elan removed plates from the cabinet and began to set the table.

"What would you like to drink, L-Shelley?"

"Anything. Water," she says, laying out cutlery with more studious attention than is technically needed for the task.

Nodding calmly, Elan filled two glasses up with ice and then with water. After placing the glasses, he sat down himself.

"Thank you for helping me with dinner."

Shelley transfers her gaze upwards slightly to meet his, but doesn't reply directly, sitting down instead.

There is a pause.

"So. You're feeling better today, then?" she says, abruptly.

Blinking in surprise, Elan thought for a moment before answering. It was very odd for her to be asking, and his voice mirrored his suspicion.

"I am. Why do you ask?"

There is a pause, as Shelley considers the tone in his voice. She might not be a skilled reader of people, but she can try.

"No reason."

Elan frowned but continued eating for a moment. This was very odd. Uneasily, he replied after a time.

"...I see."

After another moment, he inquired of her to continue the conversation.

"How was your day at work?"

"All right."

She'd found it hard to concentrate, but that's nothing new, these days. She examines a piece of pepper meditatively.

"Boring, more than anything, at the moment."

Elan nodded calmly, and took a bite of his food. Being interested in her interests was an effective means of relationship building.

"As an administrative assistant, what do you actually do? I am sure that it is different than what I am familiar with."

Shelley shrugs slightly, poking at her rice.

"Depends. Sometimes look after official visitors, organise trips and visits. Also just secretary-ish things - filing, keeping Mr. Mayor filled in on things he should know, on a slow day."

It is possibly good for all concerned that Elan has not, and never will see the movie Secretary.

Elan nodded calmly and sipped his water. That was not all that different from what was normal in the Second Age.

"Ah, much like Vashti did, then."

"Similar. It's more public, and not for the cause of evil."

Shelley sips her water, eyes almost daring him to contradict her.

Elan nodded, seemingly unperturbed by her accusation. The Second Age had a world government and so autonomous governments were not really a concept he was familiar with, even the Shadow was unified under his rule.

"You said that you arrange official visits. Of what sort are they, usually?"

Shelley shrugs again.

"From other towns, or countries. Or going to other places, or to give speeches. That sort of thing."

Elan sipped his ice water, and paused after he made an affirmative reply. It was rather odd for her to be conversing with him so readily, often it was like using Compulsion on her to gain conversation.

"Ah."

It is a product of Shelley's determination that he isn't going to rule her life, now he seems to have lost the Power. Terrified she might be, but she can get over that.

And eventually, he'll be nothing more than someone who stays around because he has nowhere else to go, and she can get on with life.

That's the hope.

Because if she can't stop reacting to him, it's just as if she was in the Second Age again, only here she has to pretend everything's fine.

She stares down into her glass, apparently forgetting the meal.