[attr="class","beck"]"as expected."

with comfort, no matter how little, comes an eventual sense of ease, and it's what allows comments such as that to escape him where they might have once been held back, perhaps even buried under the weight of his past.

his smile stays.

"seeing as we're tied...one more?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

whatever mystery had dazed her subsided in an instant, and she glowered. as expected?

”fine.”

she reset her fallen pieces and turned the board to give him white back. he’d need it, because she was putting her game face on. it still looked bothered.

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]there's a subtle shift in the air and in her expression. he recognizes it, understands it, but reacts little to it.

he simply glances down at the marble-white pieces and, after a breath, moves his knight.

the réti opening.

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

the silence wasn’t a comfort as it typically was. it crawled with things she didn’t want to touch her mind.

a pawn moved far into the center.

“who taught you how to play?”

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]it's a mundane question — one that should mean little, nothing, even, but to theo, it means a little too much for comfort.

his pawn moves to meet hers.

"my father did, whenever he had the time."

he clears his throat, not even realizing it.

"he worked in the mines."

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

her palms began to sweat the slightest bit, and she reached to top off her whiskey (forgetting his) before moving her knight.

she heard him clear his throat, but ignored it. had she made a wrong turn? 

“in kanto?”

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]what was once thought to be buried surfaces, and he can't help but reach for his mug only to find it empty.

so, he takes a moment, then nods.

"we lived on cinnabar. it was...nice."

beautiful, even, at least it was before the war.

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

she nudged the bottle towards him, muttering, “got it for you.” there was the smallest, regretful wrinkle in her face after she said it, not wanting to be misinterpreted considering the turns of their conversation.

cinnabar. maybe he had known Sénon Game . probably not, though.

she didn’t know what else to ask him. lulu was not good at connecting with people. so, she merely stared at him vaguely, expecting him to the continue if he wanted.

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]for him?

"...thanks."

perhaps it's his turn to be caught off guard. he's left confused for a moment, distracted from the game enough to make a mistake that leaves him vulnerable.

"we lived by the coast. he also taught me how to fish."

something compels him to keep sharing.

"we'd spend all morning and day out on the water. some days, we wouldn't even get more than a catch or two, but i never minded."

again, his throat clears as he reaches for the bottle to pour himself a refill.

"it was less about fishing and more about...connecting with him."

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

his ‘thanks’ seemed equally awkward, and there was a twitch of her brow. small acknowledgment for the passing of something that should have never occurred.

in fact, there was much regret in these moments. a bit of his story, which she finally opened up to hear, caused a crack somewhere. another sudden flaw in her assumptions of him, though she couldn’t peg exactly where in the abundance.

the fallacy was that he was made of stone, and carved from no-one in particular. and on top of it, she was a bit of a dick, wasn’t she?

whatever…

so.

the fishies were from his father.

she blinked, assessing the moment. 'connecting', he said. what was that like? didn’t seem like the question to ask.

“so… what happened, then?” she brought the whiskey to her lips again before clarifying, vaguely, over the mouth of the glass, “after fishing?”

it was a fold, in a way. bring on the sore topic. the sob story. how else did any of them get here?

getting to know one another.

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]after fishing.

he mulls it over for a second, considering a few different answers before landing on one. it's one he fondly remembers.

"dinner."

another sip helps him reminisce.

"mom would cook and i'd help. we didn't have much, so often it'd be chicken or fish, if we caught any on the day."

his voice lowers slightly, bordering a whisper as though he's sharing a secret.

"but honestly...she was a terrible cook."

he laughs, free.

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint

she didn’t seem very affected by his humor, face seeming rather serious in whatever assessment she was making of him.

they’d come from different worlds, but this wasn’t an uncommon discovery. the quinns had been very well off—more so than most. lulu had abandoned her family’s wealth, and there was a trace of guilt in it, but it didn’t rise to the surface here.

chicken… why not just call it combusken? so scientific.

what she’d been asking about was rather what happened when shit hit the fan, or at least presumably. she didn’t press for another answer though; only sipped her whiskey and watched him for a moment.

”better than no cooking at all, i suppose.”

had either of her parents ever cooked for them? she couldn’t remember.

THEO BECKETT

[attr="class","beck"]his childhood definitely wasn't as nice as he paints it out to be. was it even nice at all? compared to this and to what has happened, probably.

but it's only the nice aspects of it that he chooses to remember. the rest can stay buried and forgotten.

"true."

he sips at his whiskey, mirroring her for a moment before asking:

"can you cook?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Lulu Flint