“Oh hell, Norm!No, it’s not.Why would you think...don’t answer that, it’s a broth.Chickencoq au vinis, like, chicken poached in this fragrant, savory sauce and?—”
“Cooking?That is your non-magical skill?”Desmond raised an eyebrow.
I stood proudly.“It’s an art.”
“So is body painting,” Norman said with a grunt.
“Is that your non magical talent, Norman?”Desmond asked, his tone rather cheerful.“Are you a Picasso of flesh?”
Norman laughed.“Not quite, but I have painted before.When I was six.”
“Then what is your boring talent?”
We came to a fountain and he practically ran to the thing, leaving Desmond and I in his dust without an answer, but I wasn’t about to stop him.He sunk every one of his tentacles into the water, huffing out a sigh of relief and I almost felt bad for the guy.
Almost.
“I think it sounds interesting.”Desmond said softly.
“What does?”
“Coq au vin,” he said, turning to catch my gaze.“Perhaps you should make it for me.”His tone was tinged in sarcasm, but beneath that was something else.
Hope.
“Are you asking me to cook you dinner, Desmond?Because in case you haven’t noticed, I am bound.”
“I was thinking more that you couldteachme this skill of cooking,” he said, his voice tinged with humor, but also a fraction of disdain.
I knew I shouldn’t take his bait, but I loved a challenge.And I truly loved cooking, so...
“Why would you wish to learn something like that from me when you have a plethora of teachers and servants who cater to your every whim?”
He wrung his hands as he pursed his lips, his expression shifting.“I hear women like it.”He said the words and they nearly knocked me on my ass.The way he said them was like the way Professor Laughlin usually described long-winded rituals.
Methodical.Calculating.Detached.
“You hear?”I asked as a woman screamed.I looked up to see Norman pulling his tentacles back, muttering sorry.
The woman smacked him and he braced for the hit.
“We should get going,” Desmond said, pushing past our moment.
“We should,” I agreed, but I could not shake the words or his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability.
“Enough splash time, Norm, let’s go,” I said as I helped him up.
He pulled his tentacles back, inward to himself.
“Are you all right?”Desmond asked.
“Physically, yes,” Norman answered.“But mentally, there’s no saving me.”
Always cracking jokes, Norman Chee.I swore the man did not have a serious bone or cartilage in his body.
Except as he said the words, I noticed his smile falter.
“Well, perhaps I can buy you a drink when we get to the bar, and that will right your mental state.”
