Dracobolt: Yay graphing calculators! Thanks.
Seventh Sage(x2): Oh. I see. I'll try to stick it into the next chapter.
ObviousMan: Much thanks and I hope you continue to find this fic funny.
BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: Updating...
Avari: Getting Alicia's personality was kind of weird. She needs to be able to grow into the character that would say the lines she did and she needs to be a person who non-murderer Regal would fall in love with. In short, I have no idea what I'm doing. (Hey, one of my friends used to do that, but with poems.)
End of Response Section2/22/05 Writing this chapter was kind of odd. Alicia was incredibly nervous for most of it and it made me keep stalling. Weird.
Disclaimer: Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items. The line about rice being the perfect side dish was taken from Fairly OddParents: she doesn't own that either. The recipe appearing in this chapter can be found at beefdotallrecipesdotcom, which she does not own.
.-.-.-.-.-.
Alicia felt like walking into that kitchen was one of the hardest things she was ever going to do. But she was going to do it and somehow, it would be impressive.
So, after much internal debate, she stepped into the kitchen.
For one long, perfect moment, he stood there, taking inventory on the items he'd gathered and put on the counter before him. For one long, perfect moment, he stood there, calm and content and at ease, his back turned to her. And after one long, perfect moment...
He turned around.
"Yes."
His calm and contentment visibly disrupted, he blinked, his eyes matching his hair almost exactly. There was then a long, uncomfortable silence as she waited and wondered if he'd realize what she'd meant and why in all of Tethe'alla did she say that of all things.
"I see."
...So that was what his voice sounded like.
Her pulse throbbing at more parts of her body than she thought healthy, Alicia walked over to stand beside him, feeling his eyes on her the entire way. Ten feet was never such a long distance. She kept her own eyes on the ingredients, trying to figure out...
"Pepper steak?"
She wasn't sure, but he looked mildly embarrassed. "With rice."
"The perfect side dish."
He looked at her intently as if trying to see a sign of sarcasm. Alicia found it difficult to look him in the eyes and prayed to Martel that she wasn't turning red.
"So... I'll do that part," she hurriedly volunteered. Grab bag of rice, don't act like it's as heavy as it is, open drawer, get a measuring cup, ignore how this was a really bad order to do things in, reach up for the medium sauce pan, pretend she had meant to take that one, put everything in said sauce pan, grab apron and get waaaaaay out of his way... She really wasn't doing this right, was she?
So nervous she was nearly twitching from it, she could feel him watching her. What she wouldn't give to break the silence. Or to make it so she hadn't had the idiotic idea of getting Melissa to loan her this nightgown. Not only were her legs cold, it had to be really obvious it was borrowed. Appearance had never mattered to her this much before, but considering her current level of intelligence, it seemed that it was all she could have going for her.
A half-cup of rice and two full ones of water later, Alicia listened to the Rearranger's movements from her position by the stove. In not even the time it took for water to come to boil, she'd realized, or at least partially convinced herself, that her little crush was on a romanticized version of the man. But still...
The water boiled.
A lid! She needed a lid! Why hadn't she gotten- because she'd been too embarrassed, that was why! And now she was panicking!
Heavy footsteps.
Abruptly, she became aware of why the Rearranger hadn't immediately turned around when he'd first heard her. He hadn't wanted to. And yet, after what was anything but a perfect moment...
She turned around.
He handed her a lid.
She thanked him.
He went back to his side of the kitchen.
She brought the water down to a simmer and put the lid on. Too big. She used it anyway. It wasn't that big. Not really. If you balanced it the right way. It was better than it being too small, anyway.
Alicia brought her hand to her mouth. No laughing. Tired or not, she couldn't break into giggles about this. It would offend him and drive him away...
But it was funny.
Calming breaths, in and out, in and out. She set the timer and turned her mind towards other things. Like what she was going to do for the next twenty minutes. Pepper steak, pepper steak, what were the specifics of pepper steak? There was the rice and then there was onion and green bell pepper to sauté, but - she quickly glanced in the other's direction - it looked like the Rearranger was doing that. What came next, what came next...?
Uhhh... That's where the steak came in wasn't it? Steak, garlic, and, um, browning sauce got mixed in to the sautéed part. And the steak was cut into thin strips. Alicia looked around to see where he'd put the steak and... no, it wasn't in strips. It was, however, fairly close to him.
Huh.
Well then.
She didn't really need to do that. He was probably very good at multi-tasking. Meaning that she could stay put. Over here.
So now what?
She could just... watch the rice... she guessed.
Sigh.
Fine.
But... she was going to wash her hands again before she did that. Thoroughly. And the same went for drying them. Cleanliness was very important in a kitchen.
There.
She'd need a cutting board. Where was...?
Underneath the steak.
Okay... Alicia could get her kitchen knife first.
There, she had her kitchen knife. She checked again. Yes, it did have "Combatir" craved into the hilt.
So now...
Sigh.
At what she assumed was a casual, non-aggressive, and non-cowardly pace, Alicia went over to him. To the steak and cutting board, she meant.
She was standing next to, uh, in front of the steak and cutting board now. Cutting, cutting, cut cut cut.
He was looking at her. She could tell.
She glanced at him.
It seemed he hadn't been, or had just stopped.
He glanced at her, blue eyes staring into blue eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat and then the words "Time to mix the steak and garlic in?" tumbled out. She wasn't entirely sure, but "Did you put the browning sauce somewhere around here?" might have made it out too.
To Alicia's disappointment, he only nodded, the number of words he'd spoken remaining at four. She added, he stirred and somewhere in the middle of it, the Rearranger practically visibly relaxed. There was something about standing two feet away from a person and making a cooperative effort at cooking a dish that made two people either edgy or comfortable with each other. Alicia was, to understate it, happy that it was turning out to be the latter.
A short while later, the pair each held a plate in hand. There was a pause as each looked at the other and Alicia fully realized just how tall the Rearranger was. He was really, really tall.
Alicia hopped up to sit on the counter, remembering to keep her knees together before realizing that the nightgown wasn't that short. She opened the drawer next to the one that her leg was hanging in front of and got out two forks.
She looked at him.
He sat down next to her.
She handed him a fork.
They began to eat.
People seldom think about how private an act eating should be. A person makes sounds when they eat, embarrassing sounds. It's no particularly fun thing to have another person witness this, nor is it exactly comfortable witnessing the sounds of another. This uneasiness usually inspires conversation.
Usually.
"Perhaps we used too much pepper."
Never mind.
Alicia stared at him and chewed very thoroughly, trying for time. "It is pepper steak."
"True."
That was basically the entire exchange between them as they ate. Still, it was something. The count was up to... eleven words now.
Clean up was a simple matter, the only part worth mentioning coming when the Rearranger realized the size of the lid he'd handed her in comparison to the pan she'd used. He didn't say anything. Neither did she.
Everything put away exactly, Alicia having shown him wordlessly for the places that he had trouble with, she felt she had to say something.
As she hung her apron back up, the Rearranger beat her to it.
"Will you join me again tomorrow night?"
"I- Yes." She couldn't help but smile. "See you then."
"Good-night, Alicia," he said to her as she left.
He'd called her by name! "Good-night!"
.-.-.-.-.-.
Things fell into a pattern and Alicia found herself spending nearly all her time in the kitchen. And getting tension headaches from nerves. As well as developing a taste for coffee. So much for the theory about it being made by half-elves.
Anyway, the nightgown was returned to Melissa without comment, though there was some wonder as to where she went on her little late-night walks. This, combined with her new need for coffee during the day and frequent yawning during the night, led her to limit her visits to every other day or so. During those meetings, it quickly became apparent that their tastes varied and they began to make separate, but complementary, dishes switching off from main courses to dessert plates to appetizers.
And so, slowly at first, she got to know him. A burnt finger led to a conversation about using Martel's name as an oath; was it sacrilege or were people calling on the deity for aid and patience? A reference she had been confused by led to a history story and the longest discussion she'd yet had with him. Alicia began to recognize when he was willing to talk and when he simply wanted to cook. And more and more, she was finding that the quiet man wanted to talk. She found she wasn't as nervous anymore.
She also realized she didn't know what his name was.
It had come up during what could only be called a fight over the cutting board. He wanted it on the right side of the sink. She'd wanted it on the left. No real reason, it was simply a conflict of preferences. One of them could have simply have gotten another one, but, to Alicia at least, it was more fun this way, waiting for the other to stop using it so it could be stolen. Eventually, as it was just so fitting, she'd gone and called him by the only name she knew him by.
"What?"
"That's what Cook calls you. Stuff kept moving around and so..."
"I became 'the Rearranger'," he concluded, looking somewhat amused.
"Right. Now give me the cutting board."
A small smile on his face, he had deliberately moved it further away from her.
But that was when she had realized it. His name could've been anything from Mithos to Ichabod. She doubted it, but still... She hadn't asked. He hadn't volunteered. Would it have been rude to ask? It felt like it would be. Why, who knew? It just was how she felt about it. If the Rearranger wondered about it, as he probably did, then maybe he would tell her own his own. Did it really matter that she didn't know?
Okay, yeah, it did and it was driving her nuts. But it was a step she wanted him to take of his own volition. It would be sort of like... she didn't know... fishing for compliments otherwise. She might get it that way but it wouldn't mean as much. Or anything, really. Or so she told herself.
.-.-.-.-.-.
Nearly three weeks after their first face-to-face meeting, the communication via her apron pocket picked up again.
"Ali?"
"Yeah?" she happily asked back.
"Have you ever considered decaf?"
Alicia just laughed, her mind immediately going back to her newest note. She'd read it over and over and the meaning was still sinking into her head. Or maybe it already had and she just wanted to be sure.
Because it was fairly simple. It was so simple, in fact, that she had to be missing something. It couldn't possible be that simple. No. It just... couldn't. She had to be misunderstanding him somehow.
He couldn't possibly want to do something non-kitchen-related with her.
But the note said he did.
Technically, he'd asked her if she wanted to. But that implied he wanted to. And that meant, well, it meant that she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Or something close to it. She assumed.
He'd written that he knew a way off the Lazerano Company area and to that of the "Theatre"(his spelling) area, something that was only rumored and wished for since the train wasn't supposed to go to the Lazerano Company at night. That had implied he'd done this sort of thing before and, as the casino was by the Theatre, knew a way around being underage.
But all speculation aside, it all meant one thing:
He was asking her out.
"No, seriously. We're switching you to decaf."