Really, the enthusiasm continues to be shocking, if gratifying.
“You don’t need to give me anything,” Rezo says, automatically reassuring. It’s not as if he had thought about getting anything in return, or much other than ‘people who are nice to me deserve cuddly chinchilla dolls.’ And he supposes handling fire on a regular basis makes for palms and fingers that are resilient rather than dextrous.
But Esteban is not deterred- handicrafts may be out but food, apparently, isn’t. Which gives Rezo pause.
“Things I like?”
Rezo appreciates being given food though that is a bit of a problem as truthfully, he’s never been remotely picky about food. Esteban could serve him a boiled turnip and Rezo would probably eat it without bothering to ask for butter. But he does have preferences, if he tries to think about it. He drums his fingertips against the bench.
“Hot pot…” he muses, after a moment’s thought. “Curry… Cottage pie… Things like that, mostly.”
no subject
“You don’t need to give me anything,” Rezo says, automatically reassuring. It’s not as if he had thought about getting anything in return, or much other than ‘people who are nice to me deserve cuddly chinchilla dolls.’ And he supposes handling fire on a regular basis makes for palms and fingers that are resilient rather than dextrous.
But Esteban is not deterred- handicrafts may be out but food, apparently, isn’t. Which gives Rezo pause.
“Things I like?”
Rezo appreciates being given food though that is a bit of a problem as truthfully, he’s never been remotely picky about food. Esteban could serve him a boiled turnip and Rezo would probably eat it without bothering to ask for butter. But he does have preferences, if he tries to think about it. He drums his fingertips against the bench.
“Hot pot…” he muses, after a moment’s thought. “Curry… Cottage pie… Things like that, mostly.”
(Basically: Comfort food.)