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[assassin_daddy]

Jᴀᴄᴏʙ Fʀʏᴇ "I'm no criminal. I just do as I please."

 

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[assassin_daddy]

"Oh. Thank you. You don't have to." He says, pleased with the kindness that he wasn't expecting, getting up to take the empty plates and the glasses into the kitchen. He csn at least make himself useful by setting them in the sink and beginning to wash them. "Sharing food is a kindness people don't understand much here."

He smiles, shaking his head.

"I won't cook. But I know some great curry places in the Down. It's not quiet Indian food, but it's very, very close."

[handleyourshit]

"They've never had to wonder where their next meal is coming from - not really." Even poverty, just outright not having the money to buy food that still exists nonetheless, is different from there being nothing. Rosita holds the tupperware out to him when she's done loading it up with what she thinks she and Jesus won't eat between them.

"I haven't had much curry, and not for a long time. That'd be... nice."

[assassin_daddy]

He nods, because that is what he understands the future is like. Food is in abundance, something that seems to him incredible, woth the population being as big as he's told it gets. Here is like that, the shops always seem to have food. The unsettling thing is that no one knows where it comes from.

Its part of the reason he wants to try to grow something. Keep some chickens. Something. If they sign this contract, if he gets Hollow, then perhaps that's possible.

"Thank you. For the food. And the company. And talking the contract through. When we sign it, I'll bring curry."

And woth that, he will leave her, give her some privacy and walk back to the Down, turning over the events of the evening in his head.

[handleyourshit]

It's two more days before Rosita sends him another text - Bring the curry. I have the final copies. - and a time to meet up at her place again.

She's there, a bit more put together herself - dark hair sleek and brushed back out of her face into two low ponytails, a loose but feminine cut henley, tailored jeans and her ever-present knife - when she lets him in but the apartment no messier and largely unchanged, which would make the one change there is a bit more glaring in comparison even if it weren't brightly colored and completely different from everything else about the decor. On the coffee table where they'd gone over the contract before is now a very small, very limited collection of items including half a dozen marigolds and skulls cut out of neon orange, blue, and pink paper on a string around a shot glass half-full of amber liquid and a lit tealight candle.

"Hey - come on in. I hope you were serious because all I have is chips and canned corn."

[assassin_daddy]

The little display on the table doesn't escape him, taking it and all three little changes in. He's looking for dangers and hiding places and exits, taking them in even as he steps into thr room and holds up the two bags.

"Curry, as madam requested. There's one that's spicy chicken and one that's fish. And there's rice and bread, cheese and peas and something with potato."

He has got the menu in his pocket with what they actually made up for him, in case she wanted to know exactly what things are, and he's happy to help set the table or grab dishes as needed.

"Do you want to sign first? Or after?" He asks, wondering if it will feel more celebratory if they eat afterwards.

[handleyourshit]

"Let's get it out of the way," she decides. Halfway between official and not - they won't have turned it in yet after all, they can still rip it up, but it will be signed.
It will be finished that far at least.

"Here," she offers the clear counterspace for the food, then nods to the table with two neat stacks of papers. "Contract's there. Deeds for the house and the pub are underneath. I already talked to Vrenille."

[assassin_daddy]

He nods, setting the bags of food down- they're boxed up in silver trays with lids labelled with the contents, the bread wrapped in paper. There's also a litre of lassi, which he's never had before but the lady at the takeaway offered him because he was such a handsome submissive. He'll tell her that and dish up the meal after things are signed.

"You've been busy then," He says, coming to the table with the papers, looking over them to see how the things they've agreed have been written up, interested in the wording.

It's while he's waiting for her that he glances toward the coffee table again, the flowers and the... alter that's been set up, pondering it.

[handleyourshit]

She's taken care with the contract, transposing the notes they both made and agreed on into the official document rather than notes scribbled in the margins - and she even left his British spellings where he changed them. Vrenille was similarly careful with his wording on the ownership of the properties, arranging for them to be transferred over to Jacob's care - as gifts, since this is the only language the city will recognize - in the event of his contracted Dominant's disappearance. The only difference there is it says Rosita Espinosa where it once said Vrenille.

She's done all she can. She doesn't rush him, doesn't crowd him, only nods - "I like being busy." - and moves over to take the chair he doesn't.

"I've been thinking since we talked, and - I think this really will work out best for all of us. I think it can. I want it to." She's looking over her copy for the thousandth time it feels, so she doesn't notice him eying her ofrenda, clicking the pen idly in her hand.

[assassin_daddy]

"The devil makes works for idle hands," Jacob agrees, looking up at her from the pages and giving her a bright grin. He too likes to stay busy, it's in his nature. He's never been able to sit still for too long, although as he's grown older he's managed to get into less and less trouble.

His attention goes back to the papers, and he reads through them before he finds a pen to sign with, before handing that page to her so she can also sign.

"I hope so. I want... this to be beneficial to both of us. Not only keeping you out of jail I mean. I enjoy your company."

[handleyourshit]

Rosita snorts at the line about the devil and her hands, but she doesn't argue; her mother used to say something similar, she remembers, but Rosita has seen a thing or two about what the devil gets up to and it has nothing to do with laziness. So she favors Jacob and his grin with a tolerant smile, though her amusement bleeds through around the sides, and slides the paper over in front of her to add her signature beside his.

"Well, I am delightful," she allows, blowing on the ink before setting all of it aside. "I almost feel like there should be some of those bottle poppers or something. Some champagne. ¡Salud!, you know?" She glances towards the bags he brought, then back at him. "Don't suppose anything in there explodes?"

[assassin_daddy]

It's not really about laziness, more about mischief makers, like himself, who if not doing something useful would probably put their wits to making pranks for others. Still, it's not important, and he's almost completely grown out of that now. There is, alas, always work to be done and that has to be his priority.

"You are, and I won't have anyone say otherwise." He agrees, and although she might not have meant it, he does. It's not so evident in his tone, unfortunately.

"No, but-" He says, and pauses, moving to pull a hip flask out of the inside pocket of his coat, "If you did want something, there's whiskey in here. The Scottish stuff." He adds, because the stuff that is made in America is... not the same. He'll be polite. "The only things that I know explode are explosives, and I don't think we should opt for that."

[handleyourshit]

"Just ready to go for celebrating, huh?" she chuckles, teasing. And she does eye it for a moment, because good god she does want a drink. She hasn't been around this big of a selection in years, and hasn't been in a position where anything more than a mouthful or two was a wise decision in longer - but now she has a better reason than general common sense to turn it down, even if that reason slips through her fingers a little more each day.

"Meds," she says instead, since she's already explained it once. "But once I'm off 'em, watch your back. I have a tolerance to reclaim." She does get up to get herself a bottle of something sparkling and nonalcoholic she plucked off the shelf at the grocery store, and she does raise a glass of this to his flask.

[assassin_daddy]

"I'll see you at the Eagle when you're off them." He says, accepting the explanation as she has given it before, only a couple of days ago. He's not sure how long she'll need them but she knows best. Hopefully no longer than necessary, those things can be as bad as the bottle as far as he understands.

He will gently knock his flask against her bottle, taking a sensible swig, and then capping it. Drinking is only something he wants to do with people nowadays. But he will fetch the plates and the food, so they can eat, letting her do whatever she needs to do with the papers.

"Was Indian food something you had much before?" He asks, putting down rice on both plates and some of the bread too, moving them to the table and then putting the silver trays down too so they can pick at what they fancy.

[handleyourshit]

She carries the pill bottle with her, sometimes, to shake as an extra punctuation to her refusal of alcohol; it's still as full as it was the day she was handed it, unwilling to chance it. At least these days she doesn't regret that decision, mostly: the pain is constant but at such a low thrum now she can ignore it readily if anything else is going on - like a toast she readily participates in.

Still, she lets him grab down the dishes, and only trails over after she's slipped the papers into an envelope to deliver tomorrow morning first thing. She follows her nose, peering curiously down at the food.

"Once," she admits. "It was a long time ago though, so let's go with no. What is it?"

[assassin_daddy]

"Alright, you're an Indian food virgin." He says woth slight amusement, and then adds "Not that this is Indian food. Its about as close as I've found in the city. And its good."

"So rice- I think it's probably different from the rice you have, a different variety. Then we have chicken curry, which is like a Tari Wala, and fish curry, and I don't remember the name of that one. The dish with peas in is Mutter Paneer, the white cubes are cheese. It's the most amazing sort of cheese I've ever had. The fried, spicy potatoes are... something aloo. And bread. Naan, it's called."

He brings over the bottle of lassi too, "This is yoghurt, but made into a drink with mango. I thought it might be nice for dessert. Or if it gets too spicy for you." He teases, sitting down to eat with her.

"There's probably going to be left overs. But all of this is good the next day too."

[handleyourshit]

She recognizes the bread, although she doesn't remember it's called naan until he says it; the curries all look similar and smell fantastic, but she doesn't know those words at all. Nonetheless she's happy to let him dish it out, until he makes the comment about spice and she snorts.

"I'll do my best to keep up," she assures him, picking up her fork. "It smells amazing. Which one's your favorite?" She's assuming it's here, since she didn't have a preference.

[assassin_daddy]

He knows she'll be fine with all of these dishes, none of them are too spicy to have actual flavour and they aren't a patch on what he's actually eaten in India when he's visited his sister and Jayadeep.

"My favourite of what they make here is the paneer," He admits- and that's what he helps himself to first, the paneer is soft and smooth, the peas add a pop of freshness, the spice it's cooked in warms you from the inside out. It's simple and delicious. "After that? The fish. But in India? Its all a hundred times better."

He'll let her help herself to whatever she fancies, the fish is creamier than the chicken but the spice has sunk deep into the white flakes. It's almost too good to be true.

[handleyourshit]

With few exceptions, Rosita has gotten into the habit of eating quickly and not thinking too hard about what she's putting in her mouth. Sure, there are good times during the spring and summer, and the winters have gotten gentler since they've had a chance and knowledge to prepare, but she still catches herself eating as much as she can, as fast as she can, even now.

She takes some of each and makes herself not shovel it in.

"I'm a scavenger and a scout back home," she offers as she picks up her fork. "Sometimes it means I get first pick of whatever I find, but usually it just means I miss out on whatever they're cooking inside the walls. It's a learning curve to oh my god."

She likes the fish, the way she cuts off and immediately takes another bite, and then a third attests.

[assassin_daddy]

He pauses in his own eating to listen to her, taking a swallow of water instead and nodding. He's never had to forage, the nearest he's come was going through hedgerows as a child with his grandmother and picking berries for preserving, or helping woth the apple harvest. But that's not anywhere near the same as she must be doing.

But then she tries the fish and clearly its a good choice on his part as she takes fork
full after forkfull. He's pleased she likes it- he isn't sure she felt the same way when she cooked for him, but he thinks she did, he remembers her watching his reaction, but maybe that was just to see if he cried because of the spice. Then again, she can't be immune to it, the anticipation of seeing what the other person thinks of something you think highly of, or love, or made. It makes your heart beat a little faster.

"It's good, right? They're not far from the Arena, so I end up in there a lot. They're nice people." Which is more than some LIERs will say about the natives.

[handleyourshit]

"It's amazing," she says, and doesn't bother to stop chewing to do so; it would be a little embarrassing, if she bothered with being embarrassed, which she doesn't. For as close as she keeps her emotions most of the time - and she does; it's the reason Jacob is questioning now if she'd been as anxious, as pleased that he'd liked her casserole as he is about his offerings - she doesn't mind showing her genuine enjoyment of this.

Even the bread is delicious. Good lord. She uses it to wipe up the sauce from her first helping before going back for a second.

"We don't really have spices anymore. Just what we can grow or find, and that goes pretty quick when you're trying to feed a community through winter." She's been involved in those discussions; she is, often, on the side of practicality over luxury. "You said you grew up with this though?"

[assassin_daddy]

His smile is bright and easy, wide as a smile can be. Sharing food is such a wonderful experience, it brings people together and cements them. While this food inst from his culture, it is something he thinks she'll like more than the traditional foods of his home with its potatoes and vegetables, its bangers and meat gravy.

"They're not very common for us either. Even with the Empire and trade as it is, most people can't buy cumin and turmeric and that sort of thing as easily. And things like cinnamon or saffron won't grow in Britain. But there's got to be herbs and things that grow where you are. Or could, under glass."

He gets a little more of the chicken and the paneer, letting her have more of the fish, "India is part of the Empire, so some of the food they have made it to us. And my father spent several years over there, so he would have the cook try and recreate it. And then once we met Jayadeep, he would make us more authentic things."

He gives a slight shrug, "Not all the time. But we did eat a lot of Indian food. As well as whatever else was easy to grab."

[handleyourshit]

"They could," she allows. "Mint takes over fucking everything. It's just not a priority when you can grow just a bit more squash or potatoes instead of a half plot of basil, feed everyone two extra days instead of seasoning a few pots of stew."

And Alexandria makes a lot of stew.

"You had a cook?" She glances up from finishing her second helping, from giving herself more of the chicken. She is, though, slowing down. "Who is Jayadeep?"

[assassin_daddy]

He doesn't know too much about growing things, not really, but he does know that about mint. "That's why you have it in a pot, I think," He says, but really it doesn't matter, what is far more important is feeding people for longer, not adding mint to things.

"My father was a widower, he had two small children, a day job and assassin work. I don't think, even if he'd known how to cook, he would have had time." He explains, but in truth they had been middle class anyway, having a cook and a maid wasn't unusual. "And Jayadeep was an assassin in London, he helped us when we first arrived there. And now he's my brother-in-law."

[handleyourshit]

"Yeah, well, we didn't know that did we?" she chuckles. Maggie might have, honestly, but she'd had enough else on her plate at the time and now they're stuck with an entire hillside of mint.

There are worse things, especially with the smell.

"Oh," she says, sobering, when she's reminded that indeed, Jacob never got to know his mother at all. Everyone she knows has lost a lot of people, lost most everyone they know in turn, but there's still a bit of sorrow in her for that. "So Henry and Jayadeep are the same person?"

[assassin_daddy]

"At least its useful for more than just cooking." Jacob offers. It's good for teeth and as a soap, from what he remembers. Or something you put in soap.

He picks at some more of the paneer, finishing that mouthful before he nods.

"It's a little... complicated. But my father had a hand in training Jayadeep too, before we were born. When he brought Jayadeep to England, he decided to call him Henry instead. Henry Green." Jacob's scowl says exactly what he thinks of that. "Then again, his enemies didn't associate an Indian man with that name, so it helped keep him safe for a long time."