ellectrical | (no subject)

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She's done this enough that she knows where to look in X's kitchen without having to ask. It's been about fifteen minutes she started, and various vegetables are scattered across the counters, one steel pot already on the stove. A look into the latter would indicate she's making soup, though it's not as simple as the kind X likes to order, nor is it coming out of can, the way Elle would normally choose.

At the moment, she's standing aside from the stove, using a large knife to slice up carrots across a cutting board. Elle's careful about it, the knife hitting the board at even and precise intervals.

(This really isn't her favorite part of cooking.)

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X can try to explain, but she has never been very good with words.

"Other people do not always mind. That we are different."

At least in her experience. They're just --

Harder to find. A little.

She looks down again. "It wasn't that."

After a pause, she adds, "I think it's almost done."

"Okay," X says.

Whether that is in reference to one point or both is, perhaps, unclear.

"I will set the table."

It's not like this will take long. But X likes being busy.

She nods silently.

After a few minutes, she reaches to the front of the stove, and tuns off the heat.

X comes back in for the cups.

And the milk.

The bread will be done a little bit later. Not by much, though.

She moves to the table and picks up the bowls, ladling some of the soup (though it's come closer to the consistency of stew) into each of them.

Her own cup is filled with leftover soda. Elle isn't too picky.

X double-checks the timer, turns the oven light on for one final look at the bread, and then settles down at the table.

Steve McQueen perches on her foot, looking up.

Farrah takes up a position by Elle.

Surely some of that food is intended for them. Surely?

X appears to vote 'no'.

Elle might be a little more indulgent, but she's going to follow X's lead. She doesn't seem to notice Farrah - her eyes go to her bowl, and she sticks her spoon into the soup, though she doesn't move beyond that.

"Do you think I'm -"

Beat.

"- okay?"

X pauses in the act of lifting her spoon from the bowl, looking up at Elle.

Her nostrils flare.

"You are not bleeding. Or sick."

Beat.

"And you are my friend."

It seems like that should cover all the possible permutations of 'okay'. But sometimes it is better to be clear.

"Yes."

Elle turns her spoon over in her soup, still not looking up, though her demeanor suggests nothing more than someone gnawed by a persistent curiosity.

"Do you think I'm doing something wrong?"

X leaves her spoon in her soup, body gone stock still.

"I do not understand."

She frowns.

"There is context? For the question. And the assessment?"

She gives a small shrug, looking up, though still turning the spoon between her fingers.

"Because I don't want to date."

Okay, maybe want has something to do with it.

"No," X says.

Her frown has only gotten deeper.

"I do not think it is a requirement."

Is it?

"All right."

She does seem perfectly content with this answer, and finally lifts her spoon from the soup.

X waits another few seconds, as if to make sure further questions aren't forthcoming.

Then she, too, starts eating her soup.

There's a few minutes yet before the oven timer goes off.

After a couple minutes, her eyes flicker to it.

Then, she says, "It's okay."

It's not entirely clear what she's talking about.

"Yes," X agrees.

It could be about the food. It could be about everything else.

Either one would be correct.

"It is."

"I haven't done it without a can before."

Apparently it is the food.

"I have not, either," X acknowledges.

The soup, of course. Not the bread.

"Next time we can try tomato."

If Elle likes that, anyway.

"I thought this would be ..."

She's not quite sure what word she's looking for, and eventually decides on, "... harder. To make."

"Most of the recipes I have are not difficult."

As if that is reassuring.

Or something.

She gives another small shrug, glancing over at the oven again.

"Sometimes I like doing the harder things first."

"Okay," X says agreeably.

The timer goes off.

"I'll get it," she says, putting her spoon down.

"Okay," she repeats.

Elle, after all, knows where everything is.

Farrah and Steve follow her into the kitchen. Just in case she drops any food.