Sarkan toyed with one of the small loaves of bread he'd taken from Kooza's pantry, shredding the loaf into smaller chunks before eating them. He watched Azar spoon up the last of the thick beef stew he'd made for the pair of them and reached out a hand, armed with a bit of bread, to swipe at the last dribbles. Azar glared and aimed her spoon at his knuckles, scowling when she missed, whacking the table instead. He smirked and popped the bread into his mouth, licking his fingers of stray juices.
Azar smiled and shook her head. "Hard to imagine you doing something as common as licking your fingers," she said before he asked.
Sarkan chuckled and settled back in his seat. "As hard to imagine me making as plain a dish as beef stew?" he replied slyly.
When he had presented the main dish for their private dinner, Azar had been visibly surprised. She had confessed that she expected something more along the lines of what Michael made on the rare occasion when he was allowed into the kitchen to cook. Ilkin didn't like letting the Pickpocket into his domain, complaining that things often disappeared into Michael's pockets. Of course, whatever had been stolen was returned, courtesy of Heimloss, who spent almost as much time replacing whatever small knick knacks Michael had filched as he did running the machinery of Kooza.
"As hard as it is to imagine you making beef stew, yes," Azar said, before cocking her head to one side. "Where did you learn to make it?"
Sarkan's eyes looked elsewhere for a moment. "…I grew up with it," he replied absently after a moment. He frowned and crumbled another scrap of bread between his fingers. "Meaty dishes with various vegetables were the main fare. Potatoes were a particular favorite." He glanced up, eyes clear and focused now, at Azar and his lips twitched into a brief smile. "It wasn't until I was older that I learned about other cultures and their cuisines."
Azar sat in silence, a small part of her stunned at Sarkan's sudden willingness to talk about his…childhood? She blinked mentally. It seemed tonight was a night for making her imagine things she had never thought possible. She shivered at the thought. Sarkan tilted his head to one side but didn't say anything as he stood. Azar watched as he wandered over to the counter where Ilkin kept fresh fruit for those seeking a simple snack between regular mealtimes. She let out a soft huff of laughter as Sarkan trailed long fingers over several apples, an orange and a bunch of grapes before picking up a pomegranate. It had come as a surprise to her to see- and feel- how tactile a person Sarkan was. He hummed something under his breath as he walked back to the small island counter where they had eaten, rolling the fruit between his hands.
He set the pomegranate down gently and fetched a sharp paring knife from a drawer and a small bowl from one of the numerous cupboards lining the walls before reclaiming his seat. Azar watched, curious, as he played with the small knife, carefully walking it through his fingers and back before slicing into the thick rind. Bright red juice leaked from the cut and dripped into the small bowl Sarkan had brought to the table. A few moments later more juice splashed into the bowl as Sarkan sliced the fruit in half, neatly cradling the two halves. He managed to keep his suit clean but grimaced as he felt something slick on his hands.
The pomegranate slid onto the island as Sarkan studied the dark red juice now staining his palms and fingers, eyes dark and unfocused. Azar shuddered at the morbid sight and reached towards Sarkan. Abruptly Sarkan moved, pulling back as he curled his hands into loose fists. Azar stared at him for a moment, wary of the sudden, almost feral gleam in white eyes. Slowly she reached down and picked up half of the pomegranate, picking out one of the ripe seeds and eating it. Sarkan's head gave an odd half twitch and he blinked before smirking. "Were you aware that the pomegranate is considered to be my fruit?" he asked, playing with the pomegranate half not in Azar's hands. He ran a finger over the fruit and dislodged several seeds that scattered over the counter.
Azar watched his hands; every motion fascinating with the play of different colors dyed into his skin. "…Yours?" she replied after a moment, glancing up.
"Mm…It would grow near where I wandered; those who would seek me would leave them as offerings." He bared his teeth in a sharp smile, eyes glittering. "Those who gained my so-called favor would find themselves marked with the juices…"
Azar stilled at those words. Sarkan watched her with half lidded eyes as she lowered her eyes to the counter and the small bowl of pomegranate juice sitting on it. "Did you give them a choice?" she asked, curiosity overcoming the small voice urging her to stay silent and to start edging towards the door.
Sarkan chuckled, another smirk, wide and darkling, curving his lips. "Doubtlessly they would cry nay but they all had warnings and chose to ignore them." He tilted his head back thoughtfully. "You though…You need no such warnings."
It was Azar's turn to smirk. She knew precisely how little she knew of the being before her. The others in Kooza were just as wary as her, if not more so; they didn't know Sarkan, didn't want to know him. He was the Trickster, enigmatic and aloof and powerful. "Where is this going Sarkan?" she asked in her usual fashion: blunt and to the point.
Sarkan smiled. "I've always thought you looked marvelous in red," he murmured. She frowned. Understanding dawned as Sarkan picked up and held the bowl of collected pomegranate juice in one hand. "May I?" he asked in a soft voice, holding out his free hand. Azar looked at him, surprised to see a strange eagerness battling uncertainty in his eyes. He wanted this, she realized. He wanted his markings on her skin but was leaving the choice up to her. She considered it for a moment...And gently placed one of her hands in his outstretched hand.
Sarkan's smile widened by a fraction and he gave a content sigh, curling his fingers around hers, eyes closing for a moment. He set the bowl of juice back on the table by her hand. He dipped a finger in the small pool of juice, deepening the stains already present there. He carefully trailed the same finger along the back of her index fingers, lips twitching as he watched the juice bead on her skin for a moment before sinking in and spreading in a rich scarlet stain. Azar studied the rich shade and decided that she liked it, smiling at Sarkan.
"Let me do the others then," he murmured, dipping his fingers back into the bowl. She nodded and watched as he quickly applied more to her middle, ring and pinky fingers, finishing her other index finger with the last of the juice. Azar studied her hands, flexing the fingers to watch the play of light on her skin. Sarkan tilted his head to one side and hummed thoughtfully.
"Might I suggest one change?" he asked. Azar shrugged a shoulder and his lips twitched. "Change the coloring to gold. It would contrast with your clothing and hair, bringing out some of the aspects of the markings along your brows and cheekbones. It would also," he paused to smirk at her. She raised an eyebrow and glared. "It would also refract in the light during your practice, catching everyone's eye."
Azar stared at her hands, considering the suggestion. She was not quite as vain as some of the others but she did like it when the others watched her perform, commanding their respect and attention. She smiled as Sarkan tapped one finger on the table idly as he waited for her response. "They would also match your markings," she pointed out, her tone dry. "…I'd like that."
Sarkan looked surprised for a moment but nodded, brushing his fingers along the back of his hands, transforming the red to a shining gold that glittered even in the kitchen's low light. Azar hummed, pleased with the new look. Sarkan also looked pleased, catching one of her hands in his and brushed his lips over the gold. Azar sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying his attention. "Ilkin is going to murder us if we leave his kitchen in this state," she said after a moment.
Sarkan growled, his breath warm as it washed over her hands but he pulled back reluctantly and stood up. "True," he agreed with a sigh and started collecting the few leftovers from their dinner, taking them to the large refrigerator for storage.
Azar stood and brought some of the dishes over to the sink, turning on the hot water and scrubbing at the dried gravy and remnants of food. She heard the fridge door swing shut. Seconds later, she gasped as she felt Sarkan press up against her, having ghosted across the kitchen on silent feet. "Absolutely marvelous in red," he whispered, tracing intricate patterns down her arms before twining his fingers with hers.
Azar shivered and Sarkan chuckled before lowering his head and pressed a soft kiss to her neck, teeth scraping over her skin. Azar closed her eyes and groped blindly for the hot water tap, Sarkan's fingers still intertwined with her. "I think Ilkin can handle a few dirty dishes…" she managed to breathe out as Sarkan started maneuvering her towards the door, his low laughter vibrating along her spine.
AN: And, here's another oneshot masquerading as a drabble! More importantly, it covers Azar getting the gold leaf on her fingers. And yes, I know she has gold leaf on all her fingers including her thumbs but when this was first written, I couldn't tell from the picture in the program and now I like the aesthetic of her thumbs not having gold leaf on them.
As a side note, Sarkan has an ulterior, personal motive for suggesting the color change. He would mark his victims with the juice of a pomegranate in such as fashion that it was quite clear who had done so and what he had been up to with them when he'd applied the markings. If he was in a nice mood, he would kill the girl. If he wasn't, he would leave her near the edge of her village, to be discovered. His markings would make sure they were ostracized and occasionally, they would end up pregnant with his child.
So while the markings are completely different on Azar, the color still triggers memories of his past escapades. Sarkan doesn't want to particularly remember those. Hence the color change, which has the bonus of y'know, being canon in the trapeze artist's character design.